All Creatures Great and Small

I remember the first time I saw the property.  I was drawn to its gentle contours and beautiful trees.  After we visited with the owner and heard him say that he was not interested in selling, I was disappointed.  Then, six months later I received a phone call that was completely unanticipated.  He had thought over our offer and he was willing to sell 20 acres as long as we assured him that the property would be used for church purposes.  A year later, we closed on the property and paid off the mortgage within two years.

I remember the day we broke ground for our church building on the property.  All of us could hardly believe that our dream was coming true.  Seven months later we held our first worship service in our “own” church building and the excitement was palpable.

I honestly envisioned that those twenty acres would serve us well and be our church home in perpetuity.  Imagine my surprise, disbelief even, when I learned that the Columbus Zoo had purchased all the remaining property that surrounded us.  We were now an island in the middle of the Zoo.  But, they were willing to negotiate an exchange and sale of property.  Little did I realize that it would take four years of arduous negotiation to conclude the transaction.  But, after 14 years we packed up and moved two tenths of a mile.

It’s hard to believe that we’ve been in our new church facility for five years.  Yesterday brought the cycle of history full circle though.  A few of us were given a preview tour of the Columbus Zoo’s soon to open Polar Frontier exhibit constructed on our old church property and using our old church building.  As I walked into what had been our church, I had so many memories of the wonderful years we enjoyed there.  And, I was mesmerized by the transformation.  Then, as I saw the polar bears swimming in their pool outside what used to be my office window, the Alaskan brown bears wrestling with each other in an area that used to be the driveway and the Arctic foxes in their cages near what was the parking lot, I marveled at the plan and providence of God.

When the Polar Frontier opens for the public a week from today, it will serve as an incredible gift from the Columbus Zoo to current and future generations.  In what has been ranked as the # 1 Zoo in the United States, is a new exhibit that, in the words of recently deceased Zoo Director Jeff Swanagan, will touch the heart as it teaches the mind.  Every time I go to the Zoo I marvel at the wonder of God’s animal creation.  The Polar Frontier only adds to that marvel.  And to think that it’s all happening on ground that had been consecrated for the worship of God.  It makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it?

To Live, To Love, To Learn, To Leave a Legacy

I knew that it was inevitable, but the news still caught me by surprise.  I happened to be on the Holland (MI) “Sentinel’s” website last Tuesday when I saw the headline that Hope College Men’s Basketball Coach, Glenn Van Wieren, was announcing his retirement.  Glenn has been the men’s basketball coach at my alma mater for the past 33 years.

For those who live outside of west Michigan or who do not follow NCAA Division III basketball, the name Glenn Van Wieren probably is unfamiliar.  His accomplishments as a coach are legendary.  Winning 660 games during his coaching career puts him in a very select strata.  He reached the 600 win game mark faster than any other coach in Division III history.  Glenn’s teams averaged 20 victories a season during his coaching tenure.  He only had one losing season.

But Glenn will be remembered for much more than his coaching achievements.  As good a basketball coach as he is, Glenn is an even better husband, father, teacher and Christian.  As I read the news articles about his retirement, what impressed me most were the comments from colleagues, former players, people whose lives touched.  To a person, they spoke of Glenn’s Christian character and how that influenced everything he did.  Glenn was passionate about his players getting their degree.  I’d be surprised if any of his players failed to graduate.  He was also passionate about his players learning to serve.  So, Glenn took the team on mission trips and they served in the Holland community as well.

My life certainly was blessed by knowing Glenn.  It was very early in my freshman  year at Hope, as I played on the junior varsity team that Glenn coached, that he helped me understand very clearly (in a kind way, I add) that my future playing college basketball was going to be a very short one!  So, I pursued other interests and am a much better person, I believe, as a result.  Glenn served as one of the directors at Cran Hill Ranch, a church camp where I was a counselor.  Following the motto of Young Life, Glenn sincerely believed that it was a sin to bore a kid when talking about Jesus and he made sure that we presented the Christian faith and life in a way that was winsome, inviting and exciting.  I still remember the tooth brush skit in which Glenn played the leading role.  Decorum doesn’t permit me to describe it in detail.  Suffice it to say that Glenn was hilarious.

Whenever you were with Glenn, he took a particular and personal interest in you.  It didn’t matter if you were an athlete or not, he wanted to know about you—what made you tick, what motivated you, what got you excited.  He wanted to know about your family and often he would ask about your faith.

Several years ago I came across this phrase from author Steven Covey:  to live, to love, to learn, to leave a legacy.  Glenn Van Wieren leaves a remarkable legacy—certainly among the ranks of Division III basketball coaches but his influence reaches much farther beyond.  Hope basketball will continue as most things do in life.  But those of us who know and have observed Glenn over these years now realize that we were in the presence of a man who modeled true greatness—leading by example, valuing others, putting faith into action by serving.

Does It Make Any Difference?

It’s been a month since I last wrote.  While I’m tempted to say that I gave up blogging for Lent, I know better.  Lent is always a busy time and that busyness, along with a lack of creative inspiration, got the better of me.

It was a glorious Easter yesterday.  The sun was shining brightly, the Sunrise Service at the Columbus Zoo was marvelous and the sanctuary was resplendent with the beauty of Easter flowers as we celebrated the resurrection during three inspiring worship services.  But now it’s Monday.  And I wonder, does Easter make any difference?

Last evening I watched Huckabee on Fox News.  (As an aside, Mike Huckabee’s statement about the significance of Easter was one of the finest I’ve ever heard.)  What captured my attention, however, was his interview with the Tuohy family who were the inspiration for the book and movie “Blind Side.”  Jean and I happened to watch the movie on Friday night and I was completely captivated.  I’ll admit that I’m a sucker for any movie that has football in the plot and that “Blind Side” featured a left tackle was just icing on the cake.

If you know the story, you know how inspiring it is.  If you haven’t seen the movie, by all means do so!  Still, I was moved and convicted by Leigh Anne Tuohy’s response to Mike Huckabee’s question as to the role her family’s faith played in adopting Michael Oher.  I’m sure that I paraphrase but I believe Leigh Anne Tuohy said something to this effect:  “We’ve always believed that it’s important to walk the walk.  More important than your talk is your walk.”

As I said in my message yesterday, by all rights the fledgling movement of Jesus followers should have faded into oblivion after Good Friday.  However, these followers of Jesus were changed people on Easter because they encountered a risen Christ.  As they began to transform the 1^st century world, certainly they had a compelling message to proclaim.  Even more compelling, however, was the way that they lived.

I hope I’m not terribly callous when I say that anyone who goes to church on Easter can feel good about what they’ve heard and experienced.  The litmus test of Easter is how we live on the Monday following.  And that’s the difference Easter makes.

Happy Birthday, Robomurph!

I met Diane when we were students at Nile C. Kinnick High School (aka YoHi) in Yokohama, Japan.  We weren’t close friends but, when your high school class numbers 100 plus or minus, you pretty much know everyone.  We would talk at the Teen Club during lunch and weekend dances and her smile and laughter were contagious.

Diane left Japan in 1968 when her father was transferred back to the United States.  I left two years later when I began college.  Many, if not most, of us lost touch with each other when we left Japan.  In fact, it wasn’t until the mid to late 90’s that we began to reconnect through the technology of the internet.  As more and more YoHi Red Devils were “found,” we brought each other up to speed on what had been happening during the past three decades of our lives.  We also began to realize what a unique experience was ours attending YoHi during the late 1960’s.  So, some began to organize a reunion in Las Vegas during the summer of 2000. It was in the months before that reunion that Diane reconnected with us.  She wrote, “Ten years ago I was involved in a car accident which left me a paraplegic. Ford Taurus and utility poles just don’t mix well with each other. I won’t be too hard to find at the reunion; I’m the short one that can run over your toes.”  It was at this time that Diane became known to us YoHi alumni as Robomurph.

Diane attended the reunion in July of 200 and attended another five years later in Las Vegas.  I was not able to spend much time with her at the first but spent a considerable amount of time reminiscing together when were in Las Vegas five years ago.  There were many fun memories shared but the impression which continues to stay with me is Diane’s uplifting spirit in the face of great difficulty.  Diane did not bemoan her state in life nor wallow in self-pity.  But, she wasn’t above asking for help either.  As the evening wound down in Las Vegas, she asked if I would push her in her wheelchair back to her room.  She made the request with remarkable dignity and grace as though it were the most natural thing to do.

I’m humbled by those who persevere and overcome in the face of adversity.  I’ve observed that when life hands us difficulty and suffering that we never expected, we’re faced with a choice.  We can either become bitter (as some do) or we can become better.  Diane most definitely chose the latter.

It was some time last summer that we learned that Diane died on April 18, 2009.  Those of us who knew her miss the occasional emails and postings that she would offer on our YoHi Devils yahoogroup.  My personal sadness is tempered by gratitude that Diane’s life and mine intersected for a brief moment in time and that she is now whole where there is no pain and suffering.

So, on this day before your day, from all of us who knew you and miss you, “Happy birthday, Robomurph!”

Lenten Sacrifice

I read the article in last Friday’s “Columbus Dispatch” and the editorial in today’s edition.  Both featured three high school students in central Ohio who are giving up Facebook for Lent.  That started me ruminating about the whole concept of Lenten sacrifice.

I must acknowledge that giving up something for Lent is not a part of my upbringing or experience.  Since I attended elementary school on a US Air Force base in Japan, the school cafeteria never served meat on Friday.  We usually ate macaroni and cheese or grilled cheese or tuna sandwiches.  I had several friends who were Catholic when I was in high school and many of them would talk about what they were giving up for Lent.  For some it was chocolate, for others it was cigarettes (this was the 1960’s), and for still others it was soda, French fries or something else that they enjoyed.  But the idea of giving something up for Lent just never gained any traction with me.

I’ve tried to understand how this concept developed.  Some identify its origins in the fasting that Jesus experienced in the wilderness for forty days immediately following his baptism.  I’ve seen others who suggest that Lenten sacrifice is part of the penance one should perform during Lent.

It occurs to me that sacrifice in the 21^st century western world is almost counter-cultural.  If anything we’re encouraged to be self-indulgent, to make sure that we or others cater to our needs and desires and wants.  Far be it from most to sacrifice anything.

I’m undecided if I’m going to give up something for Lent this year.  I’m sure that there are many things it would be good for me to give up.  I will however, focus as I do each Lenten season on the greatest sacrifice ever given.  As John recorded for us in the 15^th chapter of his gospel,  “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

Nothing Held Back

I don’t believe in reincarnation.  If I did, though, I think I’d like to be an Olympic mogul skier in a future life.  As Jean and I watched the event last evening, we were both mesmerized by how the skiers attacked the moguls, performed their acrobatics and raced to the finish line all with reckless abandon.  It seemed to me that caution was thrown to the wind; nothing was held back.

What a great metaphor for life.  I admit that I’m a self-acknowledged adrenaline junkie.  I love the rush that risk provides.  At the same time, I wonder if I’ve missed out on opportunities because I’ve been too cautious or haven’t been willing to take a chance because I’ve wanted to be certain of the outcome at the beginning.  I’ll admit that too often I’ve played it safe.

I wonder if this has anything to do with the abundant life that Jesus promises in John 10.  Living each day fully, “to the max” seems to be what this life is all about.  Certainly, the journey of following Jesus isn’t for those who are cautious or timid or risk averse.  Actually, this journey is about dying to the old way of life so that one can be raised to new life.

Three years ago I came across a poem by Mary Oliver titled “When Death Comes” that seems to say it well.

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

Sports: Bringing Out the Best and the Worst

It’s the eve of the Super Bowl and my thoughts are naturally turned toward sports.  I have to confess that it never ceases to amaze me how sports seem to bring out the best and the worst in people.

One of my favorite sports when I was a child growing up in Japan was sumo.  I  would turn on the television after school every afternoon during the sumo tournament to follow the action.  And once a year my father would take me to the Fukuoka tournament with other Reformed Church missionary friends and we’d all go out to dinner after the day’s bouts.  I still follow sumo, except it’s now online.

In this past Thursday’s Japan Times online I read that Yokozuna (Grand Champion) Asashoryu offered his resignation which was accepted by the Nihon Sumo Kyokai, the governing body of sumo.  Although Asashoryu is third on the list of all time sumo champions, his career has been checkered with numerous indiscretions and offensive behaviors.  The proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back was his assault on a man at a bar after a night of excessive drinking on January 16 and this was during the New Year’s tournament!  Asashoryu is Mongolian which makes him a gaijin (foreigner) Yokozuna.  Unlike other foreign Yokozuna he failed to learn and respect the tradition of sumo.  Because of his athletic prowess he came to the conclusion that rules that applied to everyone else did not apply to him.  It seems that, for a long time, the powers that be in sumo agreed.  But his flagrant arrogance, misbehavior and transgression of the rules finally caught up with him.

Then Saturday I happened to be on Facebook.  I noticed several posts congratulating my cousin Lori.  The posts cryptically referred to Lori’s being elected to the Hall of Fame.  Inquiring minds want to know and so I wondered what this was all about.  I sent her a message and then happened to catch Lori online.  It was then that she told me that on Friday evening she had been inducted into the Lee High School (Wyoming, MI) athletic Hall of Fame.  My grandfather, Bill Norden, was the custodian at Lee High School.  My uncle Marsh, my Dad, my cousin John and my cousin Lori are all graduates of Lee High School.  So I’ve known about the Lee Rebels ever since I was a young child.

After Lori graduated from Hope College she began her teaching career in the Godfrey-Lee district of Wyoming, MI, a suburb of Grand Rapids.  She retired a few years ago after thirty years of teaching and coaching.  I’ve never bothered to ask Lori what her won-loss record was as a softball coach at Lee.  In the final analysis, it really doesn’t matter.  By the outpouring of affirmation and affection on her Facebook page, it was clear that Lori made a huge difference in the lives of young women.  Post after post thanked her for who she is.  And that is really what it’s all about.

Lori, you’re the best!  And you’ve made investments in young lives that will reap dividends for eternity.

Setsubun

Tomorrow, February 3, is the Setsubun festival in Japan.  It is customary for either the male who was born in the corresponding animal year on the Chinese zodiac calendar or the male head of the household to throw Fukumame (roasted soybeans) while the family shouts “Oni wa soto.  Fuku wa uchi.”  (Roughly translated “Demons out.  Luck, or fortune, in.”)  Frequently, family members will wear masks portraying the oni, a demon, and fuku, good fortune.

I remember the first time I participated in Setsubun.  It was at yochien, Japanese nursery school, so I must have been four years old.  All I remember is that I was terrified of the oni and spent quite a bit of time crying.  In today’s litigious society, I’m sure that a case could have been made that the event was so emotionally traumatizing that I was scarred for life.  I’m kidding, really.

It’s interesting that many cultures have some sort of cleansing ritual by which the evil or bad fortune of the previous year is swept away as one invites the possibilities of a new year symbolized by good luck or good fortune.  There’s something cathartic and renewing about that.

While not entirely analogous, I’m reminded of Yom Kippur, the day of atonement from the book of Leviticus in the Hebrew scriptures.  On that day the sins of the nation were transmuted upon a goat that was sent into the wilderness.  In fact, that’s the origin of the term scapegoat.

I’m also reminded of the Apostle Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 5:17:  “So, if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation:  everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!”

Whether or not Setsubun makes any sense to you, think about the prospect of a new beginning and what that can mean for you.

Weeping Rachel

“A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.” (Matthew 2:18)

I’ve long struggled with tragedy on a global level.  When a hurricane, tsunami or earthquake strikes and large populations have their lives devastated, my heart goes out to them.  Still, the pain of those events usually doesn’t touch me viscerally.  I wonder if because in our 24/7/365 “real time” media world we are able to see things as they happen, I’ve simply become used to global tragedy.

But when tragedy is personalized, my heart breaks.  I’ve been struggling for the better part of two months with the tragedy of death, especially the death of young people.  On the Saturday night after Thanksgiving, two of our local high school students were killed  in an automobile accident.  I knew both of them and their families; one was a neighbor and the other I had known since she was in elementary school.  Then, a week ago our youngest son emailed me to tell me that two students at Hope College had been killed in a private airplane crash.  I didn’t know either of the students.  Still, my heart breaks in both situations—for the families, for friends, for all whose lives are devastated by these tragedies.

As I struggle with a broken heart, I also wonder what if any purpose there is to these deaths.  For those of us who believe in a loving, caring God the death of a young person calls into question our most fundamental beliefs.  Why do people in the prime of their life, with so many good years ahead and filled with such potential, have life taken from them?  We want to make some sense out of things so we struggle when things don’t make sense.  And, because we humans do not like irresolution, we come up with answers to provide some resolution and perhaps make us feel better.

I’ll be honest.  Most of the answers that I hear simply don’t cut it.  When I hear someone say that God needed a young person in heaven more than God needed them on earth or that God just needed another angel, I cannot comprehend that.  While I don’t like for questions to remain unanswered, most if not all of the questions I ask remain just that—unanswered.

I trust in the goodness of God and so I choose to believe that “someday I shall fully, even as I am fully known.”  But, right now, Rachel weeps again.

Forgiveness: Setting the Prisoner Free

It was on an unusually warm evening in April, 1998 that I sat with a good friend in Busch Stadium in St. Louis.  Through the generosity of a good friend of my friend, we sat a row or two behind the dugout on the third base side of the stadium.  Mark McGwire had four at bats that evening; he hit four home runs.  Even though it was very early in the season, I had a sense that history was in the making. And I intently watched his home run race with Sammy Sosa throughout the 1998 season, one which concluded with McGwire’s hitting 70 home runs.

So, it was with more than passing interest that I watched Mark McGwire’s interview with Bob Costas earlier this week.  The torment and anguish that was evident in Mark McGwire’s voice and eyes and on his face was palpable.  Several times he choked up with emotion as he talked about the regret he felt at having used performance enhancing drugs and having disappointed his manager, teammates, family and friends.  He spoke about the pain of calling Tony LaRussa and Roger Maris’ family.  To say that it was a very emotional interview would be a great understatement.

As I watched the interview, I began to think about forgiveness.  I wondered if those who are voters for election to the Baseball Hall of Fame would be able to forgive Mark McGwire.  I wondered if teammates, family and friends would be able to forgive him.  Mostly, I wondered if Mark McGwire would be able to forgive himself.

Forgiveness is, in some sense, an unnatural act.  Our inclination is to want to extract revenge, even to want someone to suffer for their misdeeds or the injuries they have caused.  That’s why forgiveness is so powerful.  Forgiveness does not excuse the misdeed or injury caused, nor does it sweep them under the rug.  Forgiveness does not pretend that what happened does not matter.  At a very personal level, forgiveness says to the one who causes pain or who transgressed, “I’m willing to love you and move forward in our  relationship in spite of what has happened.”  In a sense, forgiveness is to set the prisoner free and, when we are the ones who need to forgive ourselves, we set ourselves free.

Every time I recite the Apostles’ Creed, I make this statement:  “I believe in the forgiveness of sins.”  Perhaps a more contemporary way of stating that would be, “I believe in the God of fresh starts.”  I hope that baseball fans are willing to give Mark McGwire a fresh start.  Especially, I hope that Mark McGwire is willing and able to give himself a fresh start.  I know that God has.