The Cafe At Two Rocks

The cafe at Two Rocks

When Lisa worshiped with us for the first time a few weeks ago, I placed my accustomed phone call to suggest that we meet for coffee so I could learn about her journeys of life and faith and tell her more about St. John’s. Hearing people’s stories is one of the greatest joys of ministry, so I always wait eagerly for a reply.

Lisa wrote quickly to say that she’d gotten my voice mail message. She suggested we meet the next morning, a Friday, “at Stbx. in the Lowe’s Center.”

John sent back a friendly message saying Lisa’s proposed time wouldn’t work because he conducted a church service each Friday morning. He mentioned other possible times and added, “Sorry! I don’t know where the Lowe’s center is or what Stbx stands for. It’s my age!!...God bless. John.”

Lisa had undoubtedly heard that some pastors were out of touch, but what was with me? Granted, the Lowe’s reference was a little obscure, at least if I wasn’t into home improvement. (I’m not. Just ask Kathy.) But even a non-stockholder ought to know what Stbx means. Lisa was beginning to think that I lived in a monastery or maybe a cave under the St. John’s altar. Even at this point in the correspondence, a person would be excused if she went looking for another church. But Lisa’s kindness and patience held fast. She wrote, “Stbx is short for Starbucks and it’s the one in the Lowe’s shopping center in RSM.”

One more aspect of the reply bugged her. She had heard me make a big deal about our new weekly fellowship ministry, but I didn’t even know where it met. It was obvious I wasn’t paying attention to what was going on in my own church. She wrote, ”I think it’s where St. John’s has Happy Hour on Fridays.”

She asked if I was free the following Wednesday. The next reply she received fell into the category of one step forward, one step back. Her befuddled prospective pastor said that he’d be free anytime after noon. That was progress. But then he added, “So it would just be getting wherever RSM is? Let me know what time and the where and we will be on to meet. It will just be how long it takes to get there from Yanchep. Blessings. John.”

“Yanchep” might have been a hint that Pastor John really was living on another planet, or at least another continent. Lisa’s reply is my favorite in the whole thread: “RSM is Rancho Santa Margarita. I think Wednesday at 12:30 wld be great. If I’m late it’s because I’m coming from Yanchep to the Lowe’s Stbx.”

John was the first to punt to Google. “I think we have got each other confused with different people,” he wrote. “I am in Yanchep Western Australia and Rancho Santa Margarita is in America. If not and you’re in the same Yanchep why not meet at the Lagoon or the café at Two Rocks?”

My address is revjht@msn.com. Lisa had written to revjt@msn.com and reached, it was now obvious, a different Pastor John. When she shared the e-mail thread with me, Lisa suggested that the title of my next sermon – or Vaya article, I hope she’ll allow -- might be “the Misfortune of Misunderstanding.” Because it entailed waiting for understanding and connection, it’s a great Advent story. Lisa’s gifts of patience and good humor despite Pastor John’s moments of cluelessness and John’s own unstinting, cheerful hospitality are all essential virtues for dealing with those we love at Christmas. So good on them both!  

This post first appeared in the Vaya Con Dios, the newsletter of St. John's Episcopal Church.

Our Little Sphere

The morning after the Newtown massacre, I heard a fire engine coming from behind as I drove along Rancho Santa Margarita Parkway toward the church I serve in south Orange County, California. I pulled over and watched it roar past, a blur of Christmas red.

At such moments, does your mind work like mine? If I’m near home, at first I think, “Maybe they’re going to our house!” If I’m near work, I think, “I hope there’s nothing wrong at St. John's!” Once these brief visions of incendiary toasters or Advent wreaths recede, I pray that everyone is okay wherever the firefighters are headed and give thanks for all the people in the world who make a vocation out of rushing toward danger.

We’re usually not the victims when horror strikes – until we are. On the Monday after Newtown, I tried to imagine what St. John’s School parents were feeling at drop-off. Their heads probably assured them that their children would be safe on our campus. Their hearts warned that the parents of Sandy Hook Elementary School had made the same assumption.

To the extent that safety is a state of mind, we’re in more a dangerous state this Advent and Christmas. That same Monday at least enabled St. John’s School to thank some of those who risk their lives on our behalf. U.S. Marines and their families visited campus for a chapel service and meetings with our students. Kristen Lanham, Cindy Farnum, and other organizers of our annual Operation Christmas Spirit sent our guests back to Camp Pendleton with presents, food, and clothing.

Preaching in a church packed with students, colleagues, and our guests, I told my fire engine story in the hope of reassuring children who had been hearing about Newtown all weekend. While bad things do happen, we’re pretty safe. If we’re still worried or scared, it helps us feel better when we count our blessings, care for someone else who’s suffering, and give thanks for those from Afghanistan to the neighborhood firehouse who pledge themselves to safety and service.

Worry and fear won’t keep tragedy away, but planning and preparation may. At St. John’s School, we have regular fire and lock-down drills. At the national level, an urgent conversation is underway about the gun violence that marred this year more than any in recent memory. What can we do as one nation under God to deter such acts? It won’t be a thorough conversation unless everything’s on the table, including mental health education and treatment, the prevalence of semiautomatic weapons, and the way video game and television violence influences troubled people.

What might help most of all would be paying more and better attention to one another in our fractious, individuated society. Faith communities such as St. John’s can contribute by modeling how to conduct civil dialogue on difficult issues, build and sustain mutually supportive communities, and care for the lonely, despondent, and marginalized.

Thinking there’s nothing we can do after a moment like Newtown would inflict tragedy on tragedy. As Charles Dickens wrote in A Christmas Carol, “Any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness.” Every one of us is part of the solution, capable of accomplishing far more of God’s just and righteous purposes than we usually imagine. But how could it be otherwise at Christmas, as we prepare to celebrate our enlightenment and empowerment in Emmanuel, God with us?  

This post originally appeared in the Vaya Con Dios, the St. John's Episcopal Church newsletter.

Brief Empty Nest Inspection

My favorite Christmas Day photo -- Kathy after making the day festive for everyone, Lindsay rocking her Nepalese cap from Joshua Tree and getting set for the snows of Washington State, Valerie and Mark experiencing their last single Christmas, and Meaghan and Dan a few hours before their flight to London.

The Kids At Christmas

At home in Yorba Linda, Dan, Mark, Valerie, Lindsay, and Meaghan

At St. John's before midnight Mass, Julianna, Caden, and Davey

O Christmas Trees!

My Christmas letter to the people of God at St. John's Church. The drawing is by Catherine Marie Michaels:

When you enter St. John’s Church at Christmastime, take a close look at our beautiful decorations and, in thanksgiving for the Holy Trinity, count to three.

This year, Kathe Hayden and the Altar Guild have been inspired by an old folk tale about three saplings that dreamed big. One wanted to be made into a treasure chest. The second yearned to be a great sailing ship. The third just wanted to be tallest.

What happened? You probably know the story. One tree was used for the rough hewn feed box that became our LORD’s cradle, the second for the disciples’ rugged fishing boat on the Sea of Galilee, and the third – for the hard wood of the Cross.

The story teaches, as does Holy Scripture, that God exalts the humble and humbles the proud. That’s a timeless prophecy to a world that is still hungry for justice and freedom, a world where people so often seem to be rewarded for doing the wrong thing by receiving far more than their share of blessings.

But God’s just purposes are just part of our promise in Christ. Even more wonderful is knowing that there’s no tree in the forest, no lonely traveler along the often difficult way of earthly life, for whom God doesn’t intend something unique and indispensable. From schoolyard to workplace, from pew to dining room table, from hospital bed to the neighborhood board and care – whenever we find ourselves on our journeys, we are in God’s care and called to perform ministry that we, and we alone, are in the position to accomplish for God’s glory.

That’s the promise of Resurrection. That’s the power of Incarnation. That’s the glory of Christmas. So join us at St. John’s this Christmas – and please bring a friend to church!

Holy Families

At the St. John's School Early Childhood Center Christmas pageant, last week on Grandparents Day

At last night's elementary school pageant

Red Noses And Angel Voices

The St. John's Middle School choir was due at a local retirement community for their annual Christmas concert. The young people, hoofing it from our campus a half-mile away, got a late start because of the chilly, changeable weather.

I arrived early and sat in the lobby as concertgoers gathered. "It was supposed to start at 9:30," one resident said. Her friend replied knowingly, "It was moved to 10." Looking at her watch, someone else said, "It's 10 now." One of the first two wondered whether the performance would interfere with lunch. Older people often get up and eat and go to bed earlier, but I still thought it would be okay.

The double doors burst open, and the red-cheeked Cardinals soared in. The choir was introduced by Mrs. Bonhall and conducted by Mrs. Speciale, who sounding each song's starting pitch in her pellucid soprano. They sang ten numbers, including "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing," "Deck The Halls," and "Jingle Bell Rock." Residents smiled, sang, and clapped. As would have happened if Pavarotti or any temperamental genius had been a half-hour late for a recital, memories of the brief delay were borne away on angel voices.

During "Rudolph," as I took pictures, a woman tapped me on the shoulder and pointed. One chorister had donned a red nose that was blinking in time with the music. I thanked the woman with a smile. She winked. It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

Sunday Sermon: "Our Three Gifts"

Like the magi paying homage to the Bethlehem baby, we bring the things of the world and lay them before the altar of God. Our gold, frankincense, and myrrh may be nothing more glorious than a tendency toward anxiety, guilt, and an excessive preoccupation with what other people (such as park rangers) may think of us. Whatever we offer in faith, God can use for his glory. My sermon for the second Sunday after Christmas is here.

Tenth Night

It's still Christmas in the chapel of the Holy Spirit Retreat Center in Encino, where five clergy buddies and I spent two days solving all the problems of the world and the Church. We'll be announcing our findings soon from a pulpit near you; call ahead for service times and the preaching rota if you wish to avoid hearing more. The center's run by the most gracious and hospitable Sisters of Social Service (R.C.).

Sixth Night

Helping the Church of Christ keep the season of the Nativity alive for its constitutionally mandated 12 days are car companies (all those commercials, all those holiday events!) and the good people who live around East Lake in Yorba Linda, who are strenuously encouraged to put up lavish displays by the homeowners association. Several streets adopt themes, such as, for instance, animated mailboxes with Santa letters. Kathy and I didn't notice these until tonight. But how have they been getting their real mail?

Christmas Sermons: Remembering Our "Wow"

When something great happens, we say, "Wow!" We certainly didn't expect it. We didn't necessarily deserve it. And before too long, we'll probably forget it. That's the only reason the church is here: As a temporary reminder of the world- and life-changing glory, grace, and mercy that even Christians are prone to forget. My Christmas sermon is here.

As for the wow of wows, the most important moment of revelation, the evangelists are all over the map, from the Resurrection to Bethlehem to the beginning of all things. When did you realize that the universe, despite all appearances to the contrary, was safe? When was your first Christmas? My sermon for the first Sunday after Christmas is here.

Troubles, And Troubles

In a fascinating analysis of a 1992 Seymour Hersh article about the struggle between Richard Nixon and the National Archives over his White House records, Maarja Krusten tells the kind of Nixon story we don't often read:

Since ‘tis the season, I’ll mention an example from Christmas time. Hersh’s portrait of Nixon does not take into account stories such as the one in Haldeman’s diary (which we at NARA processed during the early 1980s) about Nixon’s quiet Christmas Eve visit to the Washington Home for the Incurables. The president told Haldeman, “Boy, we think we’ve got troubles.” The chief of staff noted in his diary, “It’s just amazing to watch him in this kind of situation because he handled it so well.”

A Jerusalem Christmas

Jeffrey Goldberg (who's Jewish) describes Christmas Eve in multicultural Jerusalem. With Israeli friends, he went to services at the Church of the Redeemer (Lutheran) in the Old City and heard a German pastor read Luke's gospel in Hebrew. But that's not the half of it. Earlier in the day, he took one of his kids to see a doctor:

The clinic, called Terem, is well-known in Jerusalem in part because it was started by a physician named David Applebaum, who was killed in the September 9, 2003 terrorist bombing of a cafe in the Germany Colony neighborhood, along with his daughter Naava, who was scheduled to get married the next day. The physician who saw my son at Terem, like many of the clinic's physicians, is an Arab from East Jerusalem. In Terem, and at Hadassah Hospital, and the other hospitals in town, Jews treat Arabs, Arabs treat Jews, and no one thinks twice about it. No one who lives here, I mean. For visitors (even one, like myself, who once lived in Jerusalem), these sorts of commonplace facts of life -- Germans praying in Hebrew, Arab physicians treating Jews in a clinic founded by a terror victim, and on, and on -- can be astonishing.

It's hard to see clearly, but this photo, which I took in the Old City during a 2007 pilgrimage, shows a minaret on the left, a cross on the right (station #3 on the Via Dolorosa, "Jesus falls for the first time"), and (in the middle of the image, in the distance) a menorah.

Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silent, Pal

AP photographer Alexander F. Yuan caught this image on Christmas Eve in Beijing's South Cathedral (formerly known as the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception), one of China's official Roman Catholic parishes. China doesn't permit its Catholic churches to recognize the external authority of the Vatican. At least the little guy at right knows who's boss.

Pray For The Peace Of Bethlehem

Christmas Eve in Manger Square, near the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. Photo by Reuters.

God Rest Ye

We church friends were in a Rancho Santa Margarita, California Starbucks the other evening, in the midst of our weekly "Tuesday Tuneup." We do lectio divina at 5:30, break for a cup of joe, and return to St. John's for an hour of Bible study. During the coffee break I felt that, in the light of the season, I was discoursing too insistently on the sorts of matters that Marley's ghost describes as belonging to the worldly mind. High time for a home-town random act of culture as a troop of Girl Scouts (two wearing reindeer antlers) stood up and started belting out Christmas carols without so much as a howdy-do.

"Half Jewish And Half Christmas"

Reflections of a Jewish wife and mother who decided to give her culturally Christian husband and children the gift of Christmas:

Christmas...is a slippery slope. Once you've surrendered, you can't just hang a scrawny fir with costume jewelry. You need one of those trees that takes over the living room; you need ornaments to weigh it down. You need lights, stockings, jingle bells and candy canes. Before I knew it, I was making wreaths, decorating cookies, helping the kids write letters to Santa, leaving out milk and cookies, and a carrot for Rudolph.

What are you? someone asked [daughter] Eliza at her kindergarten holiday party. I'm half Jewish and half Christmas, she said without pause. I had done my job well.

Greening Team

Magi watch in wonder as the St. John's Altar and Flower Guilds dress the church for the Nativity.

They Forgot. Mary Remembered.

Featuring artwork by Brenna Hayden, daughter of Bob and Kathe, here's my annual Christmas letter to the people of God at St. John's Church:

In the adult Christian formation hour during Advent at St. John’s, we’ve been taking a new look at the greatest and most treasured stories in the world: The accounts of Jesus Christ’s birth in the gospels of Matthew and Luke.

In the middle of our series, I remembered something I had wondered about in Sunday School all those years ago in Detroit. If everyone knew Jesus’s birth was such a big deal – if angelic hosts proclaimed it, if great men came from the East, if mighty King Herod himself tried to hunt Jesus down – why did they seem to forget all about it until his adult ministry began 30 years later?

Fr. Raymond Brown, a Roman Catholic scholar, has an answer. It’s the difference between amazement and faith. Luke writes that the people in Bethlehem “were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart” (NRSV 2:18-19).

Amazement comes easy. Think of all the times we say, “That’s amazing” or “That’s incredible.” Soon the world’s demands and distractions muffle our amazement. We go searching for the next big thing so we can be amazed again. So it was with the superstitious people of Jesus’s time. They were amazed, and they forgot. But Mary, in the depth of her faith and destiny, understood everything. Mary, whom the Church called God-Bearer, was memory-bearer as well.

May she be an example to us this Christmas as we are again amazed by the children’s voices, the beauty of the music and prayers and candlelight, the small miracle of reconnection with family and friends. We don’t really need the next big thing, because we have the biggest thing of all. So join us at St. John’s this Christmas – and bring a friend to church!

On Christmas Eve, we worship at 4 p.m. and 10:30 p.m. The second service concludes about midnight. We offer a spoken service at 10 a.m. on Christmas Day. Directions and other details here.

Click-Click-Click MERRY Christmas

Hat tip to Jim Lusby