Football on the Beach

Weeks ago, when plans were made, the last weekend of May seemed like a good weekend for a beach party. And while overcast skies are the norm for May and June mornings, lately the gray skies have been sticking around 24 hours. The temperature at the beach was around 60, but a strong onshore wind made it feel much colder.

Nevertheless, Troop 29 had its family beach party, and while the adults shivered around a blazing bonfire, with sweatshirts and blankets wrapped around them, the kids kept warm by playing football. Some of them, in shorts and t-shirts, seemed oblivious to the cold.

Intensity

As I came in the door, my wife said to me, "We had World War 3 before you got home." She was visibly frustrated and angry with our son, but also with herself. By her definition, World War 3 happens quite often, and I considered mentioning that this was actually World War 752, but it wasn't quite the right time. So instead, I went to have a talk with our son.

I found him on the floor of his closet, a place where he can hide when he's upset, a place where he feels safe. I sat down next to him, and I asked him what happened. I had a pretty good idea of what happened, but I wanted to hear it from him. However, he remained silent.

So I waited. I told him I didn't have any plans, and that I'd sit there with him and wait until he was ready to talk.

After about ten minutes, he told me that he didn't like himself. "I always ruin everybody's day," he said. "People would be happier if I wasn't around."

The problem is that he is a very sensitive and emotional person. Like Tinker Bell, who was so small that there was only room in her for one thought at a time, my son only has room in him for so much emotion. Once capacity is reached, the emotion--anger, frustration, impatience--comes spilling out. Actually, spilling might not be quite the right word. Perhaps "exploding out" would be better.

I told him that, yes, he needs to work on controlling his emotions, but that I wouldn't want him any other way. I wouldn't want him without his emotional intensity. Without it, he wouldn't be himself.

I told him that there were two sides to the intensity of his emotions. I reminded him of what happened a few weeks before, when we were at Disneyland, waiting for the fireworks to start, and he saw a small child sitting with her parents; he had walked over to her, smiled at her, played with her, all in an effort to make her smile. It worked, too. Instead of being bored, waiting, the little girl giggled the time away.

I told my son that his sensitivity, compassion, and desire to make people happy also comes from his emotional intensity. There are two sides to almost everything, I told him, and we need to work on cultivating the good side and controlling the dark side. I think I also mentioned something about Star Wars and the Force. This seemed to make him feel a little better, and while things haven't been perfect in the days since, they haven't been all that bad, either. Knock on wood.

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About a month ago, 78 homes were destroyed by a wildfire in Santa Barbara. Fire is a constant threat in southern California, especially to those who live in or near natural areas. Most houses today are designed and built in such a way that they put up a strong defense against encroaching flames, and landscaping is also designed with fires in mind. However, there is almost no stopping flames whipped up by strong off-shore winds, which come right into homes like a most unwelcome guest.

And yet, fire is a welcome guest in our homes. It is used to provide heat in winter, to cook food, and provide hot water for bathing. One cannot say that fire is bad. Such generalizations are almost never accurate. Fire has both a good side and a dark side. Fire can consume and destroy, but it can also provide life.

This Sunday is Pentecost, a day when the disciples were "set on fire" by the Spirit. I've known a lot of Christians over the years who were "on fire for the Lord," especially when I was in college. However, their "fire" wasn't always the kind that provided life. In fact, too often, it was destructive.

---

There has been a lot of intensity this week in California over the state court's ruling on Proposition 8, which bans gay marriage. The courts ruled that the ban is not in violation of the state constitution, but that 18,000 people in same-sex marriages who were married before the ban took effect would continue to have their marriages recognized by the state.

Many of those who support Proposition 8 would describe themselves as being "on fire for the Lord." I see their fire as destructive.

Some of those who support gay rights are getting angry. Last night, there were protests, and some of the protestors held signs that said "No more Mr. Nice Gay." Their feelings are intense. I hope they don't become destructive.

I want to be "on fire," but I want it to be a fire that provides life.

Maybe I'll preach on that this Sunday.

View From the Aquabus

Beer, Revisited

I've been trying to think of something to write for this week's post, but nothing's coming to me. I wonder if a beer will help, then realize how strange it is for me to think that.

Four years ago I wrote a blog post. It had a one word title: "Beer." And one of the things I said in that post was: "I'll never be a beer drinker." (Read Beer.)

I guess that's why it felt a little strange last week when I joined a number of parents from my son's scout troop for an "unofficial" troop committee meeting at a local pub. (This followed the "official" meeting; don't worry, everyone was responsible.) Glasses and pitchers were passed around, and yes, I had my own--glass, not pitcher. Still, I wouldn't let the man next to me refill my glass, although he tried several times.

In that previous post, I was looking forward to the Disciples General Assembly, which was taking place that summer in Portland. I was amused that, in the Assembly's advance publicity, Portland was promoted as a city that has one of the highest concentrations of micro breweries in the country. This is a real draw for Disciples.

Well, there is another General Assembly coming up this summer, and I'll be attending. So far, the promotional materials, including several videos on YouTube, highlight:

tools for greening our lives

resource groups, preaching, music ... and TV's Drew Powell

a chance to bring cultures together ... and Bill Thomas' puppet show

... but so far, no mention of beer. C'mon, what kind of church have we become?

Why Dogs Have Four Feet

Yesterday I noticed it. Today I meant to bring the camera to take a picture, but forgot.

The only disturbance in my office from Sunday night's earthquake was that five of my six Snoopy figures fell over. I guess that's what he gets for always standing on his hind legs.

Fixing Dinner

Last night, it was just us boys, as Ginger was out playing bunko; although, half the time, she comes home and reports that after a couple of drinks, her group never actually gets around to playing the game.

Anyway, when she left, I took on the project of painting the bedroom, something that I'd been promising to do for awhile. I even bought the paint two months ago. Now that our Disneyland passes have expired, I actually have time to do some things, and with Ginger gone (not to return until this morning), it seemed like the perfect opportunity.

After a few hours of painting, I heard pots clanging in the kitchen. I kept painting for a while, but eventually, curiosity got the better of me, and I peeked into the kitchen. Ethan (who's 11) had prepared dinner as a surprise, and was in the process of serving it up. The menu: Kraft macaroni and cheese, tortilla chips, and cheez-its.

It was delicious.


Now I need to finish cleaning up before Ginger gets home.

A Message That's Worth Something

Moving to a new town is difficult, especially for children. When we moved to Los Angeles County, it was a homecoming for me, but my kids had only known life in rural northern California. So, to make things easier, my wife and I promised them annual passes to Disneyland.

OK, the passes weren't just for them.

Those passes expired this week. Over the past year, we spent a lot of time at Disneyland. In the process, I discovered that there are many, many people who have annual passes, and that some of them are obsessed with Disneyland. They spend every free moment at Disneyland, they have weekly meet-ups in front of Sleeping Beauty's castle, and they have online chat groups, where they discuss and debate every little thing, like whether a certain bench has been repainted, or how fast the parking lot trams travel, or why there is a platypus missing from a certain spot on "it's a small world."

Lurking in the chat rooms, I was amazed at how much time some people spend talking and thinking about Disneyland. It seemed to me that Disneyland had become more than just a place where they could go to have fun once in a while. Reading their conversations, I could tell that they felt a real sense of ownership over the park. Disneyland had become a part of their life, and something about which they were very passionate.

As a pastor, I wondered why Disney can get that kind of passion and commitment from people. What holes in peoples' lives was Disneyland filling? And what can a church that is committed to being a movement for wholeness learn from this?

I wanted answers, so I joined their online community. I asked the "mice-chatters" (as they are called): "What about Disneyland is so meaningful to you? Why is it such a big part of your life, even when you're not there? And what can I, as a church leader, learn from all this?"

Some in that online community were taken aback by my question. They were used to less philosophical topics, like, "Why is the back row on Big Thunder the best?" or, "Did you see the drummer from Blink 182 on the Alice in Wonderland ride yesterday?"

A number of people responded to my question by saying they go to Disneyland to escape reality, and that there are no lessons there for the church, which must remain in the "real world." That's a true enough assessment, I suppose, but I wasn't satisfied with it. I wanted to go deeper with the question.

Eventually, I got this response: Disneyland was born out of one man's passion, a man who wanted to do things right. The level of quality there surpasses anything else in the world.

I think the author of that response was on to something. On my visits to Disneyland, I had fun, yes; but I also noticed things like the trees and flowers which blend in to the scenery well, but which clearly are the result of an immense amount of landscape design and gardening. I noticed details in the architecture, in things like window sills and balcony railings. Disneyland wasn't just built; it was built well. At Disneyland, "good enough" isn't good enough; only excellence will do.

The people who work at Disneyland share the passion. Never mind that the operators of Space Mountain have to unload, load, and dispatch a train every 30 seconds (or something like that) or the computer will shut the ride down; they still do their best to treat guests with courtesy and respect.

Because of all this, when I'm at Disneyland, I get the feeling that I belong there, that Disneyland wants me there. Yes, I know that what Disneyland really wants is my money; however, because I get a red-carpet treatment whenever I visit, I have willingly given Disneyland quite a bit of money over the past year. To feel welcomed, and to be treated with dignity in a place that insists on doing what it does with the highest level of quality: that's worth something. It's worth quite a lot, actually.

The basic message of the church, in its simplest form, is "God loves you." That message is worth something, too. It's worth getting passionate about. It's worth committing our time and our resources, so that we do the best possible job in sharing that message with the world.

Don't you agree?

If you're interested, you can see all of my Disneyland photos from the past year here.

Never the Same Place Twice

On Saturday, two friends and I, along with one of my friend's daughter (my goddaughter), hiked to the top of Mt. Waterman. The last time all three of us were up there, we were in scouts--and got caught in a violent lightning storm. On a ridge near the summit, one of the scouts we were with was hit by lightning. He survived.

Each of us have an image in our head of the spot where this took place. However, 22 years after the event, we could not find it. It was obvious, though, that this ridge is a frequent target of lightning strikes.

Prayer and Exercise

Last week, I mentioned the way I don't pray, which may spark one's curiosity regarding the way I do pray. I didn't plan on bringing this up, except that it's been something that I've been working on lately. I also bring it up because I mentioned a book I'm reading on prayer, and somehow the author of that book, Robert Benson, found my blog, read what I wrote, and left a comment. That's both motivating and intimidating, although the intimidating part is lessened somewhat by the fact that I've now found his blog ("the long pew," I put a link to it in the column to the right), and I already know a little about his prayer life, having read his book. His prayer life isn't perfect, either, and whether it's right or not, I find some comfort in that.

I know it sounds strange, but even though I'm a pastor, it sometimes feels a little awkward to take time to pray. "Shouldn't the pastor be at work? Why is he just sitting there with his eyes closed?" That's what I imagine people saying, although the only voice that I've ever actually heard say those words came from within me.

There's always something that needs to be done. I hope to find some time to pray, but something else always seems more important, more pressing. Phone calls need to be made, my report for the board meeting needs to be written, and this week's sermon isn't finished yet. Of course, the sermon is never finished until I give it on Sunday morning, and sometimes I even want to make changes to it Sunday afternoon, after it's been delivered. But I digress.

When I began my ministry here at Bixby Knolls Christian Church, I found that riding my bike to the church every day gave me some time to pray. In fact, prayers came quick and fast when the driver-side door of a parked car would open directly in front of me. However, those weren't the kind of prayers I was searching for.

When the weather got cold and the wind chill that one experiences while riding a bike became too much, I started walking to church. Walking works better for prayer than cycling. Some of my best prayers have taken place while I was journeying by foot, and the 15-minute walk to church was a perfect time frame. However, when a lady walking past me greeted me with a friendly "hello," I nearly stumbled over my own feet in surprise, lost as I was in prayer.

A few weeks ago the weather started warming up and I started riding my bike again, and I decided that there had to be a better way to pray. I'm the first one awake at my house, and I realized that I could use that time to pray ... and exercise. I work out three times a week, and realized that if I did that every other morning, and prayed every other morning, well, it would be a good start.

This is a rather disciplined sort of prayer for a free-thinking Disciple like myself. I've even dared to open up some books of prayer that I've had since my days in seminary; three different books on prayer, one published by the Presbyterians, one by the church in New Zealand, and one by the Disciples. Wouldn't you know, all of them have sections on daily morning prayer.

I just may have to start using them.

I'd like to pray like this every day. But on the days I exercise, there just isn't time. I know that sounds horrible, and it is. However, I'm making progress. I once heard a friend talk about Jesus' command to love our neighbor; he said that he couldn't love his neighbor perfectly, but he could work on loving his neighbor just a little more, a little better, each day. I know I don't pray perfectly, but hopefully I can get better at it, little by little, day by day, year by year.

The fact that I am as disciplined as I am is a hopeful sign. True, some mornings, I don't feel like praying. (Some mornings, I don't feel like exercising, either.) For both prayer and exercise, some days there doesn't seem to be much point to it. I think to myself, one day really isn't going to make much difference.

But still, I do it. It's work, as Robert Benson says in his book. It's a discipline. Besides, I've exercised long enough to notice that some muscles are a little firmer than they used to be. I may not get much out of one morning's prayer, but I know that, over time, as those mornings add up, my prayer life grows stronger as well.

Break Time

Ethan (right) and his friend take a break from running camporee events last weekend.

Camporee

Taking a break from a busy weekend of activity, several scouts hang out at a tower which was the central landmark for the Los Fierros Camporee. The camporee took place this weekend at El Dorado Park in Long Beach; 300 scouts and leaders attended.

Troop 29, chartered to Bixby Knolls Christian Church, hosted the camporee--which meant a lot of hard work by the scouts and their parents. My son Ethan is a scout in Troop 29.