Saturday Mourning

My dear friend's father passed away last week. He was 59, and this was a sudden and unexpected loss. One might expect the funeral service to be mournful, somber, filled with women wailing near the casket, and men shaking their heads in that "what a shame, such a tragedy" way.

But Roger Smith was the beloved pastor of a small church in South Los Angeles, located just a few blocks from the intersection of Florence and Normandie, where the 1992 Rodney King riots began. It was a neighborhood I'd never even driven through before I met my friend Denise, whose blood family and church family I have since grown to love. How would this affect them? Pastor Smith -- I never heard anyone, even his wife, call him anything but "pastor" -- was their leader and teacher and visionary.

To my surprise, I couldn't have picked a better way to spend my Saturday morning.

When I arrived for the viewing, there was already "something wrong with this picture." People standing in line to sign the guestbook were greeting each other with smiles, hugs and laughter. There was a buzz of animated conversation emanating from the sanctuary. The worship leader (and now, senior pastor) of the church spotted me immediately and hugged the stuffing out of me, welcoming me with the broadest of eye-twinkling grins and saying how good it was to see me.

Am I at a funeral, here, or what?

An usher handed me a booklet, containing the order of service, some photos of the Smith family, and a bio/obituary. The front cover said it all:

"Victory Celebration For The Life Of Pastor Roger Smith"

Aha. These people aren't kidding. Look at them -- a few tears, but they're also laughing. What gives?

The reason, I think, that I had been so perplexed is that my immediate family doesn't believe in funerals and memorial services, thinking them morbid. Over the years, I've often heard people say that instead of a funeral when they die, they want a "big party" to "celebrate their life." But that strikes me as a sad attempt at self-consolation. What's the point? If I'm never going to see you again, what does it profit me or anyone else to get drunk and tell stories about the good old days? Those memories will die with the people who experienced them, leaving no legacy, and drowning sorrows in alcohol will only delay the experience of the sorrow itself -- sorrow which will surely be experienced alone, after the partygoers have all gone away. You're still dead, I'm still alive, and I'll never see you again. What is there to celebrate?

But this funeral was a true celebration. It wasn't a gathering of people pretending to be happy about something, people living in the so-called glories of the past. This was a gathering of people who were marking a day of sorrow by trusting in the hope of the future. And by future, I do not mean the work of the church that Pastor Smith had accomplished. I do not mean the lives that his life and ministry had touched for the better. I do not mean the lives of his children and grandchildren still in their prime.

Pastor Smith was a family man and an accomplished man, to be sure. He served in the U.S. Navy; earned a Bachelors, Masters and Doctorate; worked for many years in major aerospace corporations and in civil service; was active in his community; pastored a church; earned his pilot's license; and at the time of his death had just begun to realize his dream of reaching out to the poor via an ongoing series of medical mercy missions to the Dominican Republic. He had not wasted his life.

But the dozen or so people who spoke at his service didn't mention these things. The focus was not on Pastor Smith's greatness, but instead, on the greatness of God.

The loving tributes were full of memories, yes, but also full of scripture and of joy. Over and over again, the speakers addressed the family's grief but also told of God's promises -- that He will send a comforter in the person of the Holy Spirit, that He will never leave nor forsake His people who love Him, that He will prepare a place for us to live with Him in eternity, that His victory over death is complete and available to all who believe. It was not a goodbye, but a sendoff in acknowledgment of a later reunion. It was a worship service, and it wasn't Pastor Smith who was being worshipped.

And it was beautiful. And it was thought-provoking. And I left that hall of glorious mourning with a lightness of being I've not felt in quite some time.

Someone did mention that a few weeks before his death, Pastor Smith had (prophetically?) preached a sermon on Ecclesiastes 7:8a, which reads, "The end of a matter is better than its beginning." The obituary in the tribute booklet reads, "On Monday, May 22, 2006 Pastor Smith unexpectedly crossed over into glory -- as was his ultimate wish for himself and every other believer. He has now been issued his new, perfect body and sits at the side of the Savior in joyful worship."

Amen, Pastor Smith. Catch you later.

Turns Out, Enterprise WILL Pick You Up

Got a ride home from the Enterprise Rent-A-Car office where I'd just returned the three-cylinders-and-a-hamster-powered Nissan Sentra that got me to Fresno and back this past weekend.

The driver hit on me.

According to most companies' customer service procedures, this is unacceptable. But he thought I was his age (23), so I think I'm gonna let this one slide.

There Goes the Neighborhood

It's bad news everywhere we turn, here in the neighborhood.

There's one section of our little residential hideaway that we affectionately refer to as "Freak Street." Just about everything strange that occurs here, in the neatly manicured upper-middle-class whitebread territory of our happy 'hood, happens on this one street.

The naked guy: an older gentleman of questionable mental faculty, tan of flesh and white of whisker. This one's pretty self-explanatory; he walks around naked. Except, of course, for the track shoes. Thankfully, this usually occurs at night.

Recently spotted fully clothed, and in broad daylight. This was strike one.

The "House of Pain": a fairly normal looking house, on the corner of Freak Street and Neighborhood Shortcut. The house is brown. The shrubs are green. There's a nicely router-cut sign hanging from the porch that reads, "House of Pain."

I drove past the other day only to find the sign missing, and a moving van parked in the driveway. Uh-oh.

And finally, the H-Wing: a man with too much discretionary income has modified his Honda Civic Del Sol to look like an X-Wing fighter, complete with R2 unit and battle damage. License plate: OBISHWN.

The most disturbing development of all? The H-Wing has been totaled. "NOOOOOOOOOOO! That's not true! That's impossible!"

There is weeping in Westchester tonight.

Today's Disturbing Moment in the Workplace, Brought to You by Hormel

The hallway leading to the bathroom smells like bacon. The kitchen/breakroom, which is near the hallway leading to the bathroom, does not.

Nurse, Hand Me That Hacksaw

Where can you find WWI military health posters, chunks of John Wilkes Booth and James Garfield, the bullet that killed Lincoln, photos and drawings of the effects of battlefield surgery, dentistry equipment from the 1700's, and stories about a Civil War general who made annual visits to the amputated leg he donated?

The National Museum of Health and Medicine, of course. Bring the kids!

Not Just Jesus the Wise-Talking Parable Dude, but Jesus the Christ

Since Easter is approaching (and Passover is upon us), I thought I'd casually mention that Jesus fulfilled more than 300 Old Testament prophecies about the coming messiah...most Christians probably don't even know that, thanks to the sorry state of biblical literacy in the church these days. It's to our shame, really.

But, thanks to the Internet, handy collections of such knowledge are often just a click away. For example, this site lists those prophecies and their fulfillment, and as a bonus, points to other sources that explain in plain English other topics such as biblical archaeology, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and the origin of the Bible.

Fair to Judge This One by Its Cover?

Eww. Eww. Eww. EWW. EWWWW!!!!!

This One's For Deborah

What toddler doesn't love to see a funny face?

On Lent and Basketball

So, you guys already know about this. Not that it would have been a pretty sight, but I agonized over whether to watch Monday's game. Since I put so much thought into the decision, I decided to subject other people to my reasoning. Hence, this post.

A number of people tried to persuade me that the game "wasn't really TV," for various reasons: I could watch it on the Internet, I could listen to it on the radio, I could even see it in person if I were so inclined. Or I could tape it and watch it on Sunday (because you can break from whatever you're fasting on the sabbath). This made a certain amount of sense, and I considered it. I didn't want anyone to think I was being "legalistic," as though I thought I had to follow some rules -- "the letter of the law" -- in order to be holy or get God's approval. So I thought maybe I'd just exchange my sabbath days (forego my Sunday viewing for Monday's game, as long as I'm taking just one sabbath during the week), and that this might be a good opportunity to show that God looks more at the intentions of the heart than at strict observance of ritual just for its own sake.

Then I thought, people who don't understand this are going to think I was just looking for a convenient excuse. A cop-out. A loophole. And I didn't want that either, because I really do take my vows to God seriously.

So, like Jesus often did when confronted by the religious leaders of His day for failing to conform to sabbath regulations, I sought to honor the spirit of the Law. What is Lent all about? Why and how do we choose to observe it? I *voluntarily* undertook a Lenten vow in order to both sacrifice something (thus making me mindful of Christ's sacrifice for me) AND do something that would be an improvement upon my life (thus making me a better steward of the time God has graciously given me).

I finally decided to listen to the game on the radio (while I was in the kitchen making dinner), knowing that some might say if I'm listening to it, I'm not really giving it up and I might as well watch it on TV. But what I was giving up was actually seeing it, which for me heightens the experience. Basketball is a hard sport to follow with just your ears, and the colors and crowds and bands and players jumping up and down, and the "will-it-or-won't-it-go-in" arc of the ball from the 3-point line...it fills me with memories of my alma mater and my experience of college (where I sat on the floor of every home game at Pauley Pavilion save one in all four years). Watching a game brings me joy on a deeply personal level.

Ultimately, the sacrifice was meaningful to me (even though we got spanked by the Gators). And God blessed me additionally in a surprising way: I reflected more on the sacrifices made every day by visually impaired people, and that strengthens my connection with Lomax, the puppy I'm raising in the hope that he'll someday become a guide dog. In the end, He took the fruit of my mental gymnastics and brought my Lenten vow back around to reflect on Himself and my service to Him...which is the point of the whole thing.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand...

1! 2! 3! 4! 5! 6! 7! 8!
U! (clap clap clap)
C! (clap clap clap)
L! (clap clap clap)
A! (clap clap clap)
U-C-L-A Fight! Fight! FIGHT!

My Dad Has Cancer

My dad was diagnosed with lung cancer today. So I'm asking everyone I know to pray for him.

The funny thing is, I'm sure he'll read this (he does read the blog) and think I'm full of shit for believing such things might make an ounce of difference. He'll probably think I'm naive, a foolish child, for even making such a request of you.

Those of you who aren't Christians might think prayer is just our way of trying to get what we want from God, but that's not how it works. The holiest person on earth could spend every waking hour on his knees, pure hearted and with the best of intentions, petitioning the Almighty for a certain set of circumstances that would make life better or easier or more interesting...but there's no guarantee God will grant his request.

Prayer is about submitting your will, your desires, your authority, and your life to Him and acknowledging that He is sovereign. Prayer is about trust in God and in His ability to see and affect the outcome of the big picture as well as the small one. Life in general is difficult and painful at times, and the Christian life can bring those moments into even sharper focus. We don't always get what we want, but there is a greater force at work who, when we acknowledge His existence and authority, makes sure we get what we need, whether or not we know what that is.

I don't care whether or not you believe, Dad. We're praying for you.

My Grammar Can Beat Up Your Grammar

Bumper sticker on the back of a luxury SUV I saw on my way to work this morning:

"Somewhere in Texas, A Village is Missing It's Idiot"

Here's the thing. If your sign declares someone else to be stupid, you might want to make sure it's correct.

It's Official: I Drive a Hoopty

Let it not be said that my pickup truck doesn't come with options. It comes with LOTS of options:

1.) The paint on my hood could be described as "distressed" OR as "a choppy ocean scene."

2.) If I want to experience uphill acceleration, I can either drive someone else's truck OR get out and push my own.

3.) On a rainy drive home from work at night, I can use the headlights and the windshield wipers, OR the windshield wipers and the defroster, OR the defroster and the headlights. (Provided I am not also using the radio.)

4.) That smell? It could be oil OR transmission fluid OR coolant.

5.) That puddle where I park? That happened either when I left this morning OR when I returned home.

6.) I will purchase another vehicle at the end of this year, OR the next time my mechanic says, "Six hundred dollars, please."

Why God Made Voicemail (A Commercial)

Stereophonic Latin-beat ringtone.

WOMAN NEXT TO ME: "Hello? Great, how are you? Yes, absolutely."

ME (thinking): Unbelievable.

WOMAN NEXT TO ME: "No, I got it from Alex. We still need to negotiate the-- what? Oh. Is that what they told you? Absolutely not. There's no room for that."

ME (thinking): So wrong.

WOMAN NEXT TO ME: "What? No, I'm...no, of course not."

ME (reaching just over my left shoulder): FLOOOOOOOSHHHSHSHSHSHSHHHH!!!!!

WOMAN NEXT TO ME: "CanICallYouBack?" *SNAP!*

ME (thinking): Heh heh heh.

TAGLINE: "Commercial-flush toilets: God's gift to those who still give a crap about public decency."

Da Vinci's Agenda

Many in the Christian church (and, I would imagine, *especially* the Catholic portion of the Christian church) have been concerned that Dan Brown's bestselling novel The Da Vinci Code is rife with misleading information regarding...well, just about everything having to do with the faith. Now that it's about to be released as a movie, the discussions are active again.

The concern, obviously, is that people will take the work of fiction as fact and the conspiracy theories laid out by Dan Brown as scholarly. There's been a great deal of talk about how Brown gets it wrong with respect to documented church history, the actual life of Christ, and the teachings, motives and disposition of the church in general. But one issue that's been largely passed over thus far is the subject of today's insightful A-Team Blog post on how The Da Vinci Code glorifies paganism.

Just as a side note, the A-Team Blog is always worth a read -- whether you're a Christian who wants a stimulating intellectual discussion on faith, culture, politics and society, or a non-Christian who wants some reasonable insight into the Christian worldview. You are ALWAYS welcome to bring your two cents, and you'll always be acknowledged in the discussion.

I Feel For You

Yvette Marie Stevens is 53 years old today.

Carnivorous Van Dwellers of West Los Angeles

We spend way too much time in our cars here. I'm used to seeing people driving while:

* talking on a cell phone
* applying mascara
* writing a check
* reading a map
* rehearsing lines for an audition
* sipping a latte
* reaching for something in another seat

...hopefully not all of the above, at once.

But yesterday as I was headed down Sawtelle, I caught out of the corner of my eye someone weaving in the next lane. Not excessively weaving, just enough to make me wonder if I had missed something in the road.

On my right, a bit ahead: the telltale rattley-putt-putt-clank of the ancient VW bus, in burnt orange and rust-spot, slathered with assorted "peace is the way" and "the earth is our mother" sentiments, piloted by the requisite aging hippie.

Who was gnawing on what appeared to be a giant, barbecued beef rib.

Kirk Cameron on Nightline?

Who'da thunk it?

Apparently, Kirk Cameron (you may remember him from the TV show Growing Pains...or, ladies, from various cheesy teen-idol magazines of the '80s) is going to be interviewed on ABC's Nightline tonight (11:35pm in these parts, but check your local listings). Interviewed about what, you say? Of all things, Christianity.

I think you might be surprised about what he has to say. I was even kind of surprised when I read this.

Check out the show and let me know what you think. Because I'd watch it myself, but...you know.

(Hat tip: The A-Team Blog)

More Search Return Fun

It's time once again to play the game that's sweeping the Web: "How Did You Get to My Blog?"

That's right, ladies and gentlemen, you can't hide from Big Brother Internet. Thanks to my handy-dandy site statistics service, if you got here via a Google/Yahoo!/MSN/whatever search, I will know what you were looking for!

Aside from the usual searches for my name, or my blog name, or "8675309," I get some doozies. Here are a few of my recent favorites:

* taco trucks in fresno
* listen to 8675309 beat
* weight watchers cookbook
* looking for a wealthy benefactor
* photos of ladies wearing pantyhose

Quite frankly, this last one perplexes and mildly disturbs me. But there is satisfaction in knowing that this person must have experienced great disappointment upon landing here, on a blog full of silliness and Jesus.

As for my other blog, the top search always seems to be "Maybe the dingo ate your baby."

Tragedy at the Aquarium

"F," noted Neon Tetra and resident of Happy Gallons Aquarium, has passed into eternity. A brief, private memorial was held this morning at Porcelain Waters Mortuary. F is survived by A, B, C, D and E.