A fun 4th

I love the 4th of July. It's a great break in the middle of the summer, especially if it falls close to the weekend. There are loads of opportunities for cookouts, lake trips, fireworks, and time spent with friends. 

As a kid, our neighborhood pool always hosted a 4th of July party with crazy relay races and eating contests. The highlight was tossing a huge, greased watermelon into the deep end. Whoever pulled it out won some kind of prize. Um, not a very safe game .. but it was a blast. 

I've often heard about the textile mills closing for 4th of July week, which led many of the families to head straight for the beach. It was the highlight of the year, an annual excursion to Myrtle, Ocean Isle, or Carolina Beach. Kids met up with friends they'd only see that particular week of summer. Parents saved all year to cover necessary beach expenses like cotton candy, cheap T shirts, hermit crabs, bottle rockets, and rides at the Pavilion. 

I'm a sucker for tradition -- annual events/traditions/rituals that draw us together year-after-year. Whatever your tradition is this 4th of July, may you be blessed by the warmth of community, the delicious smell of grilled burgers and baked beans, and the joy of celebrating our nation's freedom. 

Singing at the top of your lungs

When do you stop singing songs at the top of your lungs? 

Pastor Laura and I are at Lutheridge this week with 17 confirmation campers. It’s been a great week, no doubt, and a wonderful time to experience these students on a different playing field. 

On the way to lunch, I heard counselors leading their campers in singing. Well, screaming mostly. At the top of their lungs, leading chants with hand motions and cheers. They were on the porch of the dining hall, but I’m sure their voices could be heard all the way down the mountain. Especially one counselor – Isaiah, I think – who had a particularly loud voice that started to crack by the end of the chant. The kids were going crazy. 

34 years ago I may well have been that counselor. Not that I was some crazy cool counselor or anything, but I do remember getting hoarse from singing at the top of my lungs. 

I wonder when that ended? 

I’m older, of course, so maybe that has something to do with it. More mature? Some days. Wiser? Definitely … and I’m glad for all that. I like being in this stage of life, with kids in different places, a job I love, memories of fun times in the past, and the anticipation of fun times in the future. 

But I have to admit that I miss singing at the top of my lungs, unfettered and totally free. Listening to Isaiah sing/scream, I wished I could go back to that place in time. 

That’s one of things I like so much about confirmation camp. Our 17 kids arrived with hesitation, maybe even some fear and trembling. They were anxious about meeting new people and worried about what others would think of them. But it’s Thursday, and, well, they’re starting to sing a little louder, dance a little crazier and laugh a lot harder. This morning, I saw Chris Kafitz totally let loose with a crazy man dance that made me laugh out loud. 

Sure, I miss that in myself, but I sure am glad to see it in others. Because our life and faith is something to sing about at the top of our lungs. And maybe even do the crazy man dance every now and then. 

Normandy, 75 years later

Today marks the 75th anniversary of the D-Day landing of June 6, 1944, ranked by many as the boldest and most successful large scale invasion in military history. On this one day, 160,000 Allied troops crossed the English Channel to successfully secure a beachhead on the coast of Normandy. They were supported by 7,000 ships and boats, and 5,000 landing and assault crafts. Within ten days there were a half a million troops on shore. Within three weeks, that number swelled to 2 million.

At our men's Bible study this morning, we learned that Don Duggan was a new 18 year old recruit exactly one year later, on June 1945. After a week of training (one week!), he was headed to Japan, where almost everyone was anticipating yet another invasion, what certainly would have been the largest amphibious invasion in history.

All but one of the men around the table (20 or so?) had a family member who fought in WW2, many of them part of the Normandy invasion. They spoke of Col. Robert Sink of Lexington, commander of the famous 506th parachute infantry regiment, the first men to land. Two months later, he was named commander of the 101st Airborne Division. Others spoke of Col. Thomes Ferebee, known as the man who dropped the first Atomic bomb, destroying Hiroshima on August 6, 1945, but saving the life of Don and millions of others, American and Japanese alike. Ferebee grew up on a farm in Mocksville and was the cousin of Joe Ferebee, the long-time baseball coach at Pfeiffer and good friend to men around the table.

For most, WW2 is a thing of history books. But for many of these men, June 6, 1944, was a day of vivid memory, after which brothers, uncles, and dads would soon be coming home.

I hate war, but I'm thankful for those who had the bold conviction to fight when war was necessary. Today, we remember their sacrifice and pray that someday God will bring peace to all the land, when even lion will lie with the lamb. What a day that will be.

Growing old .. and red wine

My favorite news magazine is The Week, a summary of news articles and commentaries from around the world. This week they shared a report from National Geographic about the secrets of longevity. Researchers pinpointed five areas -- called Blue Zones -- where residents made it to their 100th birthday at 10 times the rate of the general US population. Places like Sardinia, Italy; Okinawa, Japan; Ikaria, Greece; Nicoya, Costa Rica; and Loma Linda, California.

We would all do well to look closely at what researches say are the nine most important contributing factors: keeping physically active, maintaining a sense of purpose, taking time to relax/play, avoid overeating, plant-based diets, close family ties, socializing, drinking wine (1 or 2 glasses a day), and participating in a faith-based community.

Well there you have it. If you've ever wondered why you should come to church, now you know. Well, let's just claim it as "yet another reason." Staying active in your church, researchers tell us, cultivates a sense of purpose, protects against cognitive decline, boosts happiness, and may well be the secret to longevity.

It's all in the data. Oh, and a glass or two of red wine can't hurt.

Don't you just love working in God's Garden?

More shootings. Where's the leadership?

Two more mass shootings. Another young adult male arrested. 3 more deaths and 7 more injured. More "our prayers go with the victims" and, soon, more proposals to spend even more money (excuse me, reassign already-budgeted monies) securing public space.

Do we see an end to any of this?

One of the shooting victims in Charlotte was a friend of our communications specialist. One of the students present in the classroom is related to our children's minister. Even if there were no connections at all, the fact that UNCC is but 34 miles away is chilling.

But what hurt as much as anything was hearing the grim story of Lori Kaye, a member of the San Diego synagogue who courageously jumped between the shooter and her rabbi, a close friend. She later died in her husband's arms.

When will this end? The common thread to all of these shootings -- and there seem to have been a lot lately -- is hatred. White supremacists and

anti-Semites are easy to blame, and sure enough their brand of hatred has to be identified and called out on the national stage.

But there's more to it than that. Our increasingly violent culture (something Psychology Today has been writing about for years) is a mixed bag of mental health issues, TV and video game violence, domestic disputes (54 percent of shooting deaths are committed by intimate partners), our imprisonment philosophy, racial unrest, and the proliferation of guns, just to name a few. We'll wring our hands about all of them, but several weeks from now, little will change. Which, interestingly, is the street definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results.

We need leaders who heed the words of Moses in times of crisis and uncertainty: Now is the time to "be bold and courageous," he told the people of Israel (Deut. 31:6). I agree. Now is the time for bold and courageous leaders who set aside grand-standing and partisan bickering in order to find common ground and create viable policy. It's possible.

In the meantime, our prayers go with the victims, their families, and the UNCC, San Diego, and Jewish communities reeling from yet another senseless act of hatred. May God grant to them and all of us a "peace that passes all understanding" (Philippians 4:7).

A make-shift memorial at UNCC's Kennedy Building, where the shootings took place.

If Trump and Pelosi met at a bar ...

Krista, Anna, Leo, and I ventured up north for Spring Break, stopping at some of the most historic cities in the country: Washington, DC, and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Since Anna and Leo are both high school juniors, we also toured some colleges along the way, but the main item on the agenda was to reconnect with our country’s past. 

And that we did.

If you haven’t been to DC or Philly lately, do yourself a favor and go. From a private tour of the Capital (thanks to Congressman Budd’s office) to the National Portrait Gallery (the new, life-size Obama portrait is amazing) ... from standing where MLK delivered his “I have a Dream” speech, to a silent walking tour of the Korean War memorial ... from a glimpse at one of the few Guttenberg bibles still in existence (Library of Congress), to an interruption of an NBC live news update at the Supreme Court building (yep, that was us). And that was Day 1!

Anyway, go if you can. You certainly won’t regret it.

I learned something new at the Betsy Ross house in Philadelphia. As you probably know, the Pennsylvania colony – and Philadelphia itself -- was founded by William Penn, a Quaker who was determined that the city be designed and ordered according to Quaker beliefs. Central to Quakers is the belief that all are created equal and possess within them a bit of God’s eternal light. Government, by extension, must be a work of the people, and decisions should respect the opinions, insights, and “truth” that all bring to the table. And the people, Penn thought, should reflect a rich variety of backgrounds, denominations, and races. He actively recruited non-Anglicans and made sure that Pennsylvania was the first colony to outlaw slavery.

In addition, City leaders gathered in circles so that no one voice was more dominant than another. The country’s first flag symbolized that ideal, with 13 stars arranged in a circular pattern, all states as equal partners. Likewise, representatives to the first Continental Congress (1774), chairs arranged in a circle at Carpenters’ Hall, weren’t yet interested in revolutionary phrases or incendiary actions; they simply wanted the English king to hear their collective voice and be recognized as equal participants in decision-making.

Here’s an idea: let’s force President Trump, Nancy Pelosi and leaders of Congress to take a walking tour of Philadelphia! And what if we add to that list talk show hosts from MSNBC and Fox News? Reconnecting with a little Quaker-inspired ideology just might make a difference in these oddly combative, ego-centered, overly-opinionated times we’re living in. Or we could always hope .....

Until then, circle up with some friends and enjoy some time together. Listen to each other’s opinions and be open to glimpses of light that emanates from within. Sounds like a good way to spend a Spring evening, doesn’t it?

Michael Jackson

I enjoyed growing up in the 1980s. 

I mean, this funky little decade gave rise to some of the best (and cheesiest) music, the most iconic movie themes and images (think “ET, come home”), styles that made you laugh (leg warmers? Parachute pants?), and moments in history that made you stand and shout (“Mr. Gorbachev, bring down that wall!”). 

I know everyone thinks “their” era was the best, but, well, the 80s was pretty darn cool. 

For me it started by playing PacMan endlessly at the local Put Put Golf Course. Some highlights were sneaking into my first R rated movie (Caddyshack), convincing my mom that midnight movies were safe, wholesome places (I’m not sure I mentioned anything about “The Rocky Horror Picture Show”), and watching Michael Jordan sink the game-winning shot to win a national championship. 

I remember thinking MASH was edgy, until MTV introduced me/us to a whole new world of temptation and overexposure (think “Like a Virgin” by Madonna). I remember driving to Charleston with my friend Allison singing “The Heart of Rock and Roll” and searching through Brad’s vinyl collection for anything by Police (sing with me, “Every breath you take …”) or REM. 

The 1980 Olympic hockey victory brought us to tears while four years later Carl Lewis and Mary Lou Retton brought us to cheers. When I think of the ‘80s I think of the Reagan Ranch, the Challenger, fall of the Berlin Wall, and the first PC. I think of the Wall Street Crash, Iran-Contra, and the Cold War. 

I sing along to Queen, Footloose, We Are the World, and the song of my youth, “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

I also think of Michael Jackson. And that’s where it gets a little touchy. 

Last week I watched part 1 of the new HBO documentary, “Leaving Neverland,” that uncovers the sordid story of Michael Jackson’s obsession with children. It’s hard to watch, in large part because this performer had such a defining role in my growing up years, the 1980s. Billy Jean, Thriller, Beat It. Even if you didn’t like Michael Jackson, you knew all the words to his song. He was everywhere. 

But I’m having a hard time listening to his music these days. Suddenly it feels like a lie, that it represents something entirely different from what I remember about his music and the ‘80s. It represents an underside that was always present — there’s always an underside, right? — but that I chose not to accept. 

I don’t mean to cast stones before everything is known about Jackson and the men who are now sharing their brutal stories. But I am reminded of how careful we have to be in choosing heroes. 

I’m also reminded of a Gospel that sets aside heroes for the sake of servants, ego for the sake of humility. I’m reminded that truth is not always connected to perception, but is found in faithful living. And, yes, I’m reminded that in spite of the sordidness of sin, there is always the promise of new life. 

The season of Lent walks us from that place of sordidness, sin, and death to a place of truth, light, and resurrection. While Mary Magdalen walked to the tomb assuming death, she walked away that Easter morn filled with life. 

The lesson: Hope wins. Love wins. Light shatters the darkness. Good stands in the way of evil. Why? Because God is always about the business of restoring the Garden until all the world might know the beauty and power of his love. 

“What’s love got to do with it?” you might ask. Everything, as it turns out. So, my fellow ‘80s friends, “Don’t stop believin’.” 

Please, don’t stop believin.’