Sanctuary

I pulled onto the church campus Tuesday morning with the knowledge that a shooting had taken place near the church Monday night. Matt and Heather, who live in the parsonage, had heard gunshots ring out and spoken with the police. Today’s newspaper said it was a drive by shooting. An 18 year old was shot in the back- bullet when straight through him –he was treated and released from the hospital. Men, apparently just a bunch of teens, had stood right in front of Matt’s house, shooting at someone running towards the church… Debi, my sharp eyed wife, caught what the police had missed, bullets through our windows and into our walls. One 45 caliber bullet had even bounced off the masonry of the building, leaving a pealed slug on the concrete.

Too much violence: walking the grounds, in light of this week’s news, I couldn’t help but think that suddenly Riverside looked a lot like Laguna Beach… and not in a good way. In our 20 years at Central Community we’ve had a car run off the road and into the wall of the sanctuary, lightning strike trees on our grounds and the resulting thunder blow out our windows, a small plane crash on our corner and now kids with guns and bullets in the building. Not exactly the church growth strategy we’d planned.

The shooting took place on our day off- Monday –and no one from the church was hurt, with the exception of understandably shattered nerves for Matt and Heather. Even the kid who was shot- is alright –and they caught the guy who shot him. The plane crashed on a Thursday evening, right before services, when we still had a little house on the corner with staff living in it. Mark was at church while Natalie was home alone. She didn’t know a plane was sitting in their front yard until she heard the sirens. The lightning struck on a Sunday, just after everyone went home. Leaders were still in the offices and thought the world had come to an end when the thunder exploded- but no one was in the building where the glass blew out- where we’d just had services an hour earlier, again, thankfully, no one was injured. The morning the car ran into the building, school had just started, Debi was having breakfast with our son John in Sister Lane’s little house on the corner in her breakfast nook. They saw the woman lose control of her car and thought they were goners- she missed the house and hit the church. Judy and I heard and felt the impact- again, no one was injured. God is good.

So much has happened on our little corner that people use to say that they didn’t know when Jesus was returning but they knew where: the corner of Phoenix and Arlington, (our cross streets).

Sanctuary: refuge, asylum, shelter, safe haven, a holy place, a sacred building, a church that protects fugitives, the “holy of holies,” it’s a jammed packed word. Most of us think of it in regard to “church,” the place we sing and listen to the message each week. We hold it in high regard, not sacred maybe, but safe, hopefully. I’m old enough to remember the days when people still wanted to keep the doors of the sanctuary unlocked, maybe not even have locks, on the sanctuary. The idea always appealed to me. At Central Community, it caused quite a controversy when we put an alarm system on the sanctuary, people openly said: “Who would rob God?” and “We should trust it to The Lord!” Today, no one doubts the need and a few may wonder if they’re safe enough, even in the “sanctuary.”

A good thing to remember is that the sanctuary we use is really just our auditorium. A big meeting place with a fancy name. No special powers against the world. The building won’t fend off bullets, cars, airplanes or lightning and thunder… it’s just a building… we should expect nothing more from it. That which is special about it is that which we bring to it: our desire to worship, our hearts open to God, His Word ready to be lifted up and listened to, the fellowship of the fallen – ready to be held together and healed in His Hands. Sanctuary, true sanctuary, is in the eternal love of Christ Jesus and His redeeming power alone. It’s eternal. Lightning, plane crashes, out of control cars and even young wannabe gangsters with guns can never penetrate it- it’s secure and it’s the treasure of all those who follow Christ.

Believers are dead to the world and alive in Christ Jesus. He is our Sanctuary.

My prayer for you: whatever your circumstance and where ever you live, is that you might dwell richly in the sanctuary of Christ Jesus, today and all the days of your life.

Blessings,

Eric

Our 15 Minutes

I've heard it said several times this week in the controversy concerning NBC's showing of the killer from Virginia Tech's tapes that they were just giving him his desired forum- 15 minutes of fame he doesn't deserve. I wish they'd never shown it because I can't get the kids face out of my mind. Can't imagine how it's burned into the hearts of the victims families.

Makes you wonder why anyone would want their own 15 minutes... then this video landed on my desktop. It's a young woman who's started her own tv review show on yahoo video's. She's smart, funny, see's things in tv shows that I never imagined were there and probably well on her way to her own 15 minutes of fame. I've not watched her other reviews- but this one- on American Idol, has been forwarded around so much that over 25,000 people have watched it... maybe a few more will here... and smile. We could all use a smile this Monday- to begin a better week.

Enjoy. If you take the time to watch all her work- something I've not done -and she's offensive- forgive me, and let me know, so I can remove this. But wanted to share this with you. Maybe you'll get inspired and make your own tv show. It's a happier, safer way to your own 15 minutes of fame.

blessings,

Eric

Remember to Double Click to view the video

When We Remember

It wasn't even what the people would call a "proper" village. Just a spot in the trail with a new little wooden church. The first in their area. I woke up this morning thinking about the people- thinking about you- and I prayed. When we remember, when we pray, God unites hearts in ways we could never imagine.

Most of you will never visit Kenya. Those who do will probably never set foot in this little church, deep in the heart of land still ruled by the Maasai. Looking back, it seems a miracle to me that I've been there. Looking forward, it seems impossible that I'll never return.

We set up our van and inverter as our power supply. The screen just fit in the little building and the brand new video projector and sound system were like items from another planet. It was the first time a movie had ever been shown in this area- for most of the people- this was the first movie they'd ever seen.

God worked wonders. The Jesus Film in Maasai is its own miracle, but then, as the storm clouds grew in the film, while Christ was tormented, beaten and hung on a cross... a fast moving storm came off the Mara- a tremendous equatorial rain storm, filled with thunder and lightning that shook the little building- as if to knock it down. Everything grew dark- everything but Jesus- in the darkness, the movie got brighter. Then, with the resurrection of Christ, the rain ended, storm clouds cleared and hearts, long set in their ways, found Jesus knocking at their door and many let Him in. God worked wonders.

We parted ways like a family - holding on to one another - not wanting to let go. I promised them that if we were never together again in Kenya, that someday, in Heaven, we'd tell stories of that day, of that storm, of God working in our midst.

I made a short video of part of the day. It doesn't do it justice. But watch it. Enjoy. I promised the people I'd tell their story. There's power in a promise kept. There's eternal wealth when we remember that God holds each of us, everywhere, in His Hands, in His Promise. I want to remember.

blessings,

Eric

Remember to Double Click - to watch the movie

Loss at Home

Shock and heartbreak have again touched our homes as the tragedy at Virginia Tech continues to play out on the news. Adjectives we rarely hear in reference to campus life; “massacre,” “slaughter” and a collection of others more commonly associated with horror films, now top web pages at CNN, MSN and front our daily headlines. Well meaning people are talking and writing about how we all grieve the loss of these young lives, this seeming loss of innocence on a university campus.

Watching the news, reading profiles of the victims, we can’t help but have our hearts go out to these families- only the coldest of individuals could not be moved by the devastation wrought in a matter of seconds… minutes… hours… lifetimes… by this young gunman. It’s enough to make us question our own humanity and value system as a people- and we should. This culture of death, violence and corruption is quickly who we’re becoming. This is “us.” We can’t escape the unwanted glare of the spotlight down this dark alley of neglect we’re so quickly accepting as another facet of our daily news programming. Tragically, with each event, we’re a little less shocked and few solutions are lifted up.

But for dozens of families- most we’ll never meet- many we’ll only see a picture of on TV or hear an uncle or aunt interviewed as the only willing participant in the media coverage, they truly grieve… life will never be the same. The deepest investment of their heart- the reason for their home and so many late nights at work- the child they coached and encouraged through dreams that were always looking forward… “You can do it son.” “Just stick with it sweetheart.” “We’re so proud of you.” Have come to an unwanted end and won’t be coming home after this semester. When the murdered and wounded of Virginia Tech fall off our “news cycle” like Columbine did, like the killing of the little Amish children did, there will still be an empty bedroom, t-ball trophies on the wall, unfulfilled dreams and clothes in the closet for families of each individual killed.

These families grieve. We sit in the shadow of their grief and in our best moments, pray for their comfort- wish there was more we could do… and more often, embrace our own children, with a phone call- or, if we’re close enough, hug them tightly –maybe buy them lunch, and silently thank God they were spared… whisper a plea for continued protection over them… this is how it should be… this is not grieving.

Both of our children went away to college and lived in dorms. Both of our kids returned- like the great majority of young adults do –safe, forever changed by college life – never the same little boy or girl we sent off to college –but safe. I’ll never forget the tears we shed or the moment we said “goodbye.” It was like confronting an unexpected sadness that we couldn’t shake for weeks.

Our daughter went to a state university: we’d gone to the parent days and walked through each step of the assimilation process with her- but she was our first born- first out of the house, I was devastated. I’d unwisely promised to keep a church obligation later the same evening, leaving my wife to finish the final hours with her at the dorm after we’d kissed, cried and said goodbye… I felt like such a big baby. That night, people moved around me, talked, asked me questions and I responded like a man in a trance- my heart, my mind, “I” was someplace else. For weeks, I’d walk by her empty bedroom, sometimes sit on the edge of her bed… heck, sometimes, if no one was around, I’d throw myself across it and weep openly.

My daughter wasn’t brutally and unexpectedly murdered- she was just growing up –and I couldn’t deal with it. I felt like no one knew my pain…

Our son went to a private Christian university that offered an entire weekend for mom and dad to take a bath in letting go of their kid. Having been down the road once- knowing fully how much it hurt –we jumped in with both feet and sought all the help they offered. It was good. I was smart enough not to schedule a thing for days around the big goodbye- I’d learned. Even still, when they sent “the kids” off to the dorms after a worship service together and a few final moments to say goodbye… my wife and I found a bench on that little campus, held each other as tightly as we could and cried our hearts out. Our little boy was “grown up” and moving away to college… hours away. Even watching other parents go through the same ritual, we felt uniquely alone, surely no one could know our pain at letting go… our joy, our pride.

Our son didn’t have his life shattered by a gunshot, his dreams ended by a young man he’d never even met. He was doing what every parent prays and works for their children to do- living out his dream- growing up. We were still ill prepared to confront the moment.

The families of the dead wake this morning with no hope of graduation. Loved ones murdered: today their hopes are in Heaven. The tears they shed are not those of a mom or dad learning how to let go of a growing child- they’ve done that. They now grieve the ultimate loss… their children will never come home. Their only hope of reunion is in The Lord. Like King David and every other parent forced to release a child to death too soon, they’re invited to embrace The Hope of our future Homecoming. The trance they walked the night their daughter moved out- now an attractive memory. The final embrace as their son walked to a new dorm- a precious part of letting go they hope never to lose.

Grief: it touches us all. Love is always tempered by the reality of life and death. Carol Kent, in her book on loss: When I Lay My Isaac Down, openly discusses the pain and suffering that comes with the midnight call every parent dreads. The loss of hope when a child- in her case –a son, who was president of the National Honor Society, a graduate of Annapolis and just beginning the joy of family life and career when they received the call that shattered everything; death… gunfire… murder in a random parking lot. Unbelievable tragedy, an entire gun emptied into the back- instant death –so many lives changed forever. Their son, their only son, who’d given them so much promise, joy, hope… had been a valuable reason for living… was now a murderer. Life would never be the same for two families. One man would never breathe again.

How does one continue? She tells the story of Abraham and his faith in giving his son Isaac back to God. She recounts how she day by day, is able to face her new reality, the mother of a murderer… now living behind bars for life. Reading the book this week I couldn’t help but think of the families of the Virginia Tech students and professors as they each in their own ways, in the ways families always have, try to survive this darkness and find reason to live. We all pray they experience comfort and grace beyond any they’ve ever imagined in the days and years to come. Each of us must ask ourselves: “How do we continue?” The temptation is to pray for something to take the spotlight off of this dark moment… but that won’t change the path we’re on.

The families who’ve lost a loved one this week will never be the same- and they know it- we all know it. American society will also never be the same… we just don’t know it yet. How many mass killings will it require until we’re ready for change? Our children pay the price. Until then, we lay our “Isaac’s” down at the altar of an uncertain world.

Talk with your family about the tragedy in Virginia. Give your friends and loved ones the opportunity to vent their fears, pain and grief – it’s the least we can do. Pray for those who are directly impacted, who’ve lost loved ones, who are in positions of authority and now seek a solution. Turn to The Father. His Heart breaks. He holds The Solution to our heart break today. We can trust Him. May He richly surround those in loss and suffering just now with The Fullness of His Mercy, Comfort and Healing Grace in this time of deep loss and death.

Blessings,

Eric

Vacation Time

I try to take a little time off each year after Easter. My kids give me grief for working from home. They think I need to take days away from the house, leave my lap top and cell phone at home and relax. They’re probably right. The discipline of “getting away from it all” on a regular basis seems to be slipping away from me. It might be part of the aging process… I’m not sure. It might be part of being a pastor… I’ve not known too many pastor’s who ever retire or for that matter are very good at “getting away from it all.”

Rather than aging or serving, more likely it’s connected with cutting back on my weekly and monthly routines of surfing, fishing, sailing and kayaking. Running and cycling are fantastic substitutes but just don’t hold a candle to dropping in on a wave, hooking up with and fighting a fish, riding the wind or finding your way on a kayak. They’re just a few of the things I love to do when I take a little time away. They cleanse and refresh me. Re – creation at it’s best.

I’d like to think that Jesus took plenty of time away from it all. There’s little scriptural foundation for the thought. When I read or hear others teach on the topic it always sounds like they’re stretching it just a bit thin to me… but then again, “I love my work!” The Bible talks about Jesus; waking up early in the morning to be alone and pray, walking on the beach and the water to meet his disciples, fighting evil and fasting in loneliness in the desert. Hardly the “get away from it all” plan most of us consider a recipe for release.

Jesus was killed at the age of 33. He grew up in poverty, on the run in nations occupied by a brutal military regime an ocean away. His culture emphasized education and spiritual disciplines for their young men, keeping them busy. First born in the family, most Biblical scholars’ think He had to take over or at least train heavily in the carpentry shop with Joseph from an early age. And to top it all off, Jesus really did love His work: loved it enough to live and die for us, no holds barred.

It’s hard for us to ask, “What would Jesus do?” when it comes to taking time off, at least if we want an answer backed up by His life.

I’ve shown the Jesus film in a number of languages; English, Russian, Pokot, Swahili and Maasai. I always enjoy it. That said, my favorite part is when Jesus is teaching on the lilies of the fields, how they don’t worry or fret- but God takes care of them –so why should we spend our lives lost in worry? In Swahili it’s a terrific translation: Jesus says and I kid you not, “Akuna Mutata.” You know, like the cartoon character in “The Lion King.” No worries. Don’t worry about it. Don’t get yourself all bunched up. Akuna Matata. Some day I’m going to capture that piece of video for my blog and use it as an opener: a smiling Jesus, teaching the crowds, hanging out with the kids, walking through the fields and gently, yet firmly, teaching us an important lesson for living, “Don’t worry so much.” “Akuna Matata.”

I’d like to live my life according to His teaching in every area- even this –“Trust God. Give it to Him. Don’t worry so much.” This week I’m taking some time off: Pastor Ken’s not. He’s in Mexico Wednesday, has a funeral Thursday, before preaching Thursday evening, has a wedding rehearsal Friday, a wedding Saturday, before preaching Saturday evening, he’s preaching twice Sunday morning and along the way covering many of my other weekly responsibilities as well as his own, all the while doing Easter follow up. Looking at his schedule- it’s hard to imagine that it’s also “my” schedule week in and week out.

It’s enough to make me worry about Ken… but I’m not going to – I’m going to trust God – and thank Him, rest a bit… write some… visit Siempre- and if things get too uptight, I’m going to remember The Words of Jesus: “Akuna Matata” and take it easy. Ken can carry the load. I might even dream of going fishing or even slip out for a surf. If God can take care of the lilies of the field, if His Eye is on the sparrow, I know things are going to be A-OK.

Enjoy the fishing video. That’s me- hanging a tuna a couple hundred miles in the ocean a few years ago. I just might do it again this summer. If I can get out of the office, let go of my lap top and surrender my cell phone… “akuna matata.”

Remember to Double Click on the Video to View It

It's Easter

I have lots of Easter stories. When you grow up a preacher's kid, Easter's a pretty big day. Sunrise services, both as a kid and as a pastor - to times when I was far from God and needing to find my way back home, Easter and the cross have been a hinge point, not only in history, but in my personal life as well.

There was the season I was living on the Atlantic coast of France, surfing. We left the water mid-day to see what the celebration was all about. People were everywhere from what was then the sleepy town of Biarritz down to St. Jean De Luz: bells were ringing, it seemed like we were missing out on a great party. Still dripping ocean, clad in a wetsuit, board under my arm, I stopped an old man and asked him "What's going on? Why all the activity?" Looking at me as if I was from another planet, he responded with a huge smile, one arm waving in the air, "It's Easter. Christ is Risen!"

I hadn't even known it was Sunday.

Saturday, "fine tuning" my Easter message – life times away from that lost young man who didn’t know what day it was - I heard a familiar voice in the next room: my father's. Not his post stroke voice, but clear, confident and at his best, telling his story of salvation. Pastor Ken, who I've worked with at Central Community for most of our years in ministry, was clearing through some old video and had come across this one from several years ago. I had been preaching on salvation and had asked a few people to share their stories as part of the message - including dad. The video's now a priceless keepsake, the moment , when my heart caught in my throat, tears welled up in my eyes, well before I walked into the other room to look at the screen, a favorite Easter memory.

Ken and my dad have been close for decades. They love each other. When Ken was an aspiring pastor and college student, dad was his pastor. Ken’s younger sister Leta, now with the Lord, had spent time as dad’s secretary. Ken and his brother Gene used to sing in church together with dad. They have a bunch of shared memories, even some Easter memories, some I share and at least one when I was out in the world and didn’t know it was Easter. Once, when dad was sick and in the hospital, he held my hand, (I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this), spoke quietly and said “Don’t ever lose Ken- he’s a gift, he’s such a big part of your work.” Truer words were never spoken.

Our family has this Easter memory of dad because Ken saved it and brought it out just when we needed it. Thanks Ken.

Dad’s testimony is worthy of your time: whether you’ve ever met him or not. At his core, he’s the son of a working man, a coal miner. Even at 92 years old, that’s important to him. Even more, he’s a child of God and his words carry weight. They touched my heart this morning as I prepared for our Easter services: I hope they touch yours as well. What a great Easter memory.

Because He Lives

There's something exciting about a baptism service: a sense of wonder fills the air as hearts and lives are completely surrendered beneath the water, then lifted up to new life. If you've not followed The Lord in baptism by full immersion- do it. It's what The Bible teaches, it's how all the people in The Bible were baptized and wonderfully, it's one of the ways we show the world that we're living for Him.

My dad baptized me in the little church we grew up going to in Long Beach. I remember 4 of us standing in the wings – we’d all dressed the same, powder blue Levi’s and white shirts – it was the mid ‘60’s. Mickey, Alan and my older brother Tim, it was a good day. Think it was summer… maybe fall… not sure.

Easter Sunday, tomorrow, will be a good day for those being baptized at Central Community. We do it on Easter so they’ll always remember when. If too many people want to get baptized during the year, we do one at Thanksgiving or New Years- even did one once on Memorial Day Weekend, in the ocean in Baja. We try to pick a time that people will always remember. It’s a big step: one worth remembering.

Easter’s my favorite time to baptize: it’s a great time to remember Jesus. When someone says, “Why you getting baptized?” It’s easy to say: “Because He lives.”

Hope you have your best Easter ever and if you’re not busy, join us. It’s going to be an incredible day!

Happy Easter!

Eric

PS
Found this old video of an Easter baptism from 2002. A slimmer, trimmer less gray version of me- and fun to watch: enjoy!

Because

When I was in my late teens and early twenties I wasn’t nearly as close to The Lord as I would have liked to be- odd thing too say –but sometimes we just don’t do the things we’d like to or know we need to do. I didn’t go to church that often and had no ministry or mission in my life.

But Easter always woke something up inside of me, especially Good Friday.

After my first year in college I started working in a bank. Banks in the early ‘70’s gave employees two hours off for Good Friday. It was a great excuse for tellers to get together and head out for lunch – I chose to walk to the local church – a church I only went to on Good Friday – share communion, hear God’s Word and be reminded of why I was. Those Friday’s helped save me. They were genuinely good.

Today I’ll preach two Good Friday Services – one at 7 this evening, usually the most crowded and my favorite, at noon. Easter decorations have been removed from the auditorium and the cross is draped in black. These are some of the most liturgical steps we take at Central Community; I didn’t learn them in seminary, though I read about them. I learned them when I was searching for hope, searching for God, searching for my own lost soul… one Friday a year at a church I can’t even remember the name of. That's it! I found it online! If you live in Belmont Shores check it out sometime. It's on Toledo.

People who visit Central Community just once a year – Good Friday – will sit and listen today and in their searching eyes, I’ll see an image of my own young self, longing for a resurrection. Together, we’ll share The Lord.

Hope you have the opportunity to mark the sacrifice of our Savior today. Good Friday’s a great place to begin our search back to Him… a great place to anchor our soul… an incredible reminder that Jesus, The Son of God, was only 33 years old when He gave His all for you and me. That’s why we call it good.

Blessings,

Eric

Threads

That's a younger, tanner me, surrounded by friends and family, rigging up our little C-15, a sweet sail boat. We've owned bigger boats, kept in slips- and smaller boats, kayaks- kept in our garage and carried on car top, I've loved them all. Boating and more often the dream of boating has been a thread that's run through my life since childhood.

When the Sear's Catalog came to our house when we were kids, I turned to the sports section and checked out the Ted Williams fishing boats. In HS a buddy of mine and I dreamt of moving to Baja, settling in on some unchartered coast, surfing, fishing and rowing a dory boat. If a friend or family member owned a boat- they invited me. I saved money to fish on boats. I even spent a month on a Greek Island, (got there on a boat), living in a cave, (no lie), and each morning the fishermen would row their boats around the little peninsula and I'd wake up just to watch them go by. Boats... as much as I loved them, they were merely a way to get me on the water. I've always loved the water.

Winter of 1970 a friend's dad took me sailing on their "little" boat: they had two- a beautiful middle class sailing vessel in a slip- and a C- the C stands for Coronado - 15 kept at their yacht club. He sailed it in cold gray weather, under heavy winds, without a worry- pointing out to me what he was doing as he skippered, teaching me how to crew for him as we sailed. I'd spent teen aged summers sailing a C-15 with friends, in warm weather, diving in the ocean when it got too serious. But this guy went out in winter because it was serious. And I fell in love with the C-15. Dreamed of the day I would own one.

That's it in the picture- at Mission Bay, August, 199? something. I bought it from a guy for $700- who'd bought it new in 1971, sailed it several times in fresh water, stuck it in the garage when his family lost interest, but held onto it for almost 25 years... couldn't bear to let it go. The day I brought it home, giddy with excitement, I swore I'd never let my little boat sit... but I did.

Not that we didn't sail her, we all loved her. Every member of our family and many of our friends still tell stories and laugh about good times together. Then we got a bigger boat... the C-15 wasn't being used and it was time to let go. I fought to find time to get to the "big" (really a modest '23 ft sailer given to us) boat- the C-15 didn't stand a chance. Sold it to a college professor who helped establish study bases on Antartica. He drove from Half Moon Bay to pick her up and we spent the night "talking story." The next morning all I had left was some wonderful memories and the occasional picture I run across... and the thread that draws me back to the water... I feel it's pull every day.

Each of us have threads that pull at our hearts: a young love, a hobby, a horse, a collection... something that speaks to our inner being... something that takes us someplace where we begin to live out our dreams. It's the way God made us: to dream. Around the world people are preparing their hearts for Easter. For those of us who follow Christ, it's The Thread that pulls at us throughout the year. When we first discover that God loves us, that Jesus lived, died and lives today for us, we're excited- it's even better than that new boat, coin, stamp, TV, bike, painting, whatever it is that makes you dream, Jesus is The Dream. Finding Him surpasses all other joys.

Soon, too soon, too often, the joy wears off and we lose our way... then it's Easter and we're reminded of the sacrifice, the celebration our invitation and the incredible Grace of our loving Creator and our hearts are pulled towards Him again and His promise of a new beginning. We can afford to let go of a boat- but we can never lose our faith. It's The Thread that holds us close to The Heart of God pulling us away from our personal challenges and turning our eyes towards God... towards His Dream of love, hope, life, unity and joy for His children.

May He richly fill your spirit in the days to come. And if you're on Easter break- go sailing- get on a boat- live The Dream.

still dreaming,

Eric