I was driven to Whipsnade one sunny morning. When we set out I did not believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God, and when we reached the zoo I did. Yet I had not exactly spent the journey in thought. Nor in great emotion. “Emotional” is perhaps the last word we can apply to some of the most important events. It was more like when a man, after a long sleep, still lying motionless in bed, becomes aware that he is now awake.

C.S. Lewis
Surprised by Joy

My friend called early evening on this past Tuesday, late afternoon California time. He had just come from an amazing meeting at a Peet’s Coffee with some new friends who have been attending the church where he serves as pastor. I had known part of the story.

On the Second Sunday of Advent, just four days after the shootings in San Bernardino had raised anxiety across the Los Angeles basin, two Iranian men walked into the morning worship service at the church. The congregation is not large enough for visitors to slip in and out unnoticed. Being the congregation that it is, however, the visitors were welcomed and invited back. And they came back. Four of them the next week. Recently arrived from Iran, the four had been raised as Muslims, but were wondering about Christianity. Continue reading →

But now even more the report about him went abroad, and great crowds gathered to hear him and to be healed of their infirmities.  But he would withdraw to desolate places and pray. Luke 5:15-16

Between this weekend’s Women’s Retreat and next weekend’s Men’s Retreat, nearly 80 LPC men and women will leave the routine of soccer games and trips to the grocery store or Home Depot and maybe long Saturday afternoon naps even if only for forty hours or so.

Both the women’s and the men’s retreats are the n^th annual; no one has kept track of how many there have been. Retreats are nothing new or original in the program year of LPC or, for that matter, the holy catholic Church. In fact, retreats are what Jesus would do. Continue reading →

When bugs of various kinds appear in our house, it is my responsibility to see that they are escorted out, usually via a simple flush or smashed in a tissue and dropped in the trash can. It’s a good system and I see no reason for us to change it. I’m sorry, I don’t think we need the share our space with little crawly things. But I don’t often appreciate how amazing those little crawly things are.

One of the joys of my week in California was a series of conversations with my brother who lives in San Francisco. It began on a long walk over some of the fabled hills of the city and then into the night and over coffee the next morning. Peter is a very good brother and the conversation was good. Among the things Peter talked about was a book he had read, The Givenness of Things, by Marilynne Robinson. I had read Robinson’s Gilead trilogy, but none of her non-fiction. As Peter talked, I knew I wanted to read The Givenness of Things, so I loaded the Kindle version onto my iPad and it was my companion on the flight back to Philadelphia. Continue reading →

Eight days after Easter. It is a tradition that stretches back to my days as a youth director. Eight days after Easter, the West Coast Presbyterian Pastors Conference begins at the Mount Hermon Conference Center in the redwood forest near Santa Cruz, California. Since I was youth director at First Presbyterian Church in Santa Cruz, California, the conference was a 10-minute commute. My trip to WCPPC began to take the shape of a pilgrimage when it became an annual trek first from Portland, Oregon, then from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, next from Western Pennsylvania and now from Langhorne. Continue reading →