The Power of Hatred and Forgiveness

I met Col. Glenn Frazier in June in Pittsburgh at the second annual Descendants of the Defenders of Bataan and Corregidor (DADBC) Convention. Like my father, he was a WWII exPOW and survived to tell about it. Unlike my father, he hated the Japanese—all of them. He hated them so much that he could not even stand to be in relationship with anyone who did not hate them too. Though he had been very successful as a soldier and in business after he retired from the military, his hatred destroyed his first two marriages and left him estranged from four children. Colonel Glenn Frazier had reason to hate the Japanese. He had suffered torture and starvation, and witnessed unspeakable atrocities at the hands of the Japanese in World War II. Glenn is a member of the Battling Bastards of Bataan. He survived the Bataan Death March, O’Donnell Death Camp, a Hell Ship, and forced labor in Japan. Glenn had suffered a lot for almost four years. And every day of those four years his hatred grew. Glenn Frazier is a member of the Greatest Generation who fought to secure freedoms every American enjoys. But as the Camp O’Donnell Memorial Cross on at Capas National Shrine in the Philippine Islands states clearly, “Freedom is not free.”

On July 4 we celebrate the birth of the United States of America. We celebrate it wildly with waving flags, fireworks and parades. And, of course, we eat sumptuously with family and friends! All this we are able to do because over the years men and women of the armed services have paid dearly. As the veterans like to say, “All gave some. Some gave all.” My father also was a prisoner of war of the Japanese for three and a half years. So were some 300,000 other men and women. One hundred thousand perished. These ex-POWs understood the cost of freedom and they appreciated every day thereafter and every meal they were able to eat after they returned home. But for Glenn, the survival and return was bittersweet. His hatred of the Japanese tainted every part of his life. He was a free man living in a free country but he was imprisoned by his hatred. His nights were sleepless, filled with horrific nightmares. His days were filled with arguments and tirades with anyone who dared to own a car or anything made by the Japanese. His health was failing and hatred was killing him.

Then along came a young Japanese student. You can read Glenn’s story in his book, Hell’s Guest. http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Hells+Guest&x=0&y=0 But the book does not tell about the young Japanese woman who was an angel sent from above. Glenn told me this story himself when I met him recently at the annual convention of the Descendants of the Defenders of Bataan and Corregidor. Through an extraordinary act of grace and compassion this young Japanese student asked Glenn to forgive the Japanese who had caused his suffering. But she did not stop there. She asked permission to take off his socks and shoes. Then she took a basin filled with water and washed Glenn’s feet. When she was done, she prayed for Glenn to let go of his anger and forgive the Japanese for what they had done. She prayed that he would be freed from the hatred that had imprisoned him all these years. And he was! After this, within three weeks, Glenn’s nightmares ended and he was sleeping through the night. Hatred gone, he began to build relationships with people and to serve joyfully in his church. Glenn’s third marriage is holding strong, and he has reconciled with two of his four children. And Col. Glenn Frazier now takes every opportunity he has to tell people that freedom is not free. America’s freedoms have been won by the suffering and sacrifice of hundreds of thousands of men and women. But more important, Glenn takes every opportunity to tell people that the ultimate freedom is the freedom from sin, like Glenn’s hatred and anger, and that freedom is only found in the grace and mercy of God. Spiritual freedom also is not free. But thank the Lord, someone else paid the price! Jesus Christ suffered and bled and died, so that we might be free from all that imprisons us. The love of Christ delivered a man named Glenn Frazier from fifty years of hatred and anger and the wake of destruction it left in his life. Freedom is not free. But Christ has paid the price.

Love Hate Relationship with Technology

Sometimes I love technology. Sometime I hate it. It is a love hate relationship. I cannot live without it and yet, at times, I would like to try! This week my computer decided to shut me out of the network in my office. I cannot access files. I cannot do a lot of thing necessary for performing the responsibilities of my job. Our computer tech person took one look at my computer and said, "I have no idea what happened." At times like this I hate technology. Especially when even highly technical people cannot figure out what it is doing or why.

I am a moderately educated user. I get by. But frequently my computer does things and I have no idea why. I assumed that was because of my relative idiocy when it comes to all things computer technical. But if even our tech guy is stumped, what's a person to do? I also hate computers when I encounter people who have become trapped in the vices it provides. And I encounter a lot of these people. Pornography, sites that prey on people, online affairs and addictions of all shapes and sizes make the computer and the internet high on the list of potential evils.

And yet, I do love the technology as well. Especially this last week. Last Thursday my first grandchild was born in San Diego, California. Laurel Ana was safely delivered at 9 p.m. on the 7th of July, screaming her healthy lungs out! For a variety of reasons, I could not be there. But my son sent me the audio of her birth. On my Iphone I have the recorded sound of my granddaughter announcing her arrival. It is amazing--both her lung capacity and the fact that I was able to hear it (and have the sound to play over and over again)! I love this technology! We live in Los Angeles about two hours away from my son and daughter-in-law and new baby. With Southern California traffic it can take four hour to travel the 100 miles to San Diego! So I cannot run by their home every day or even every other day to see this sweet baby. But thanks to technology we can Skype and see this little family in living color, live anytime they allow us. Two nights ago I watched as my son held Laurel and explained how sweet she was. He said, "She is so cute I just want to squeeze her really tight! But she is so tiny I know I have to be careful." How wonderful is that? Because of this technology that I cannot begin to understand, I can literally see and hear my little Laurel Ana and her wonderful parents every day! I love this technology.

And because of this technology I can also share some of these sacred moments with my extended family and friends. The beautiful picture in this blog of my son hanging over the basinette adoring his little daughter says so much. His wife Jackie sent this picture to me this morning from her Iphone and I was able to share it with all my siblings immediately...no waiting til the next family reunion to share pictures.

Wow! Its a rough call. Technology can be horrible and it can be wonderful, but because it can enhance connection between us when we are separated from those we love, I think I will go with the, "I love it!"

Of Thee I Sing

My father was a WWII POW. He was in the US Army just 19 months when he became a prisoner of the Japanese during WWII. He was starved and often brutalized and suffered for three and one half years until Japan surrendered in August of 1945. He was liberated about a month later. He did not re-enlist. But he often said, “If my country needed me and I could serve, I would go again.” He was very patriotic. And one of the signs of his patriotism was evident whenever the national anthem was played the tears would roll down his cheeks. Whenever the flag was raised or any patriotic songs were sung or played my father would silently cry. These symbols of our country moved him deeply. He lived to be 85 and I don’t think the emotion ever subsided. I have witnessed this over and over again with the American people, and veterans in particular, in a variety of contexts. Patriotic music moves people—especially people who understand the cost of our freedom.

As a pastor and worship leader it makes me wonder. So often I sit in worship and observe people singing songs about the love of God, the sacrifice of Christ, the price he paid for our sins, the grace and mercy and forgiveness of the Lord, the new life we are given, and yet I would dare to say the majority of people sitting in worship are at least visibly unaffected by what they are singing. Now, don’t get me wrong. I do not believe that tears are the primary or necessary evidence of heartfelt worship. I am just saying that the contrast between what I see when veterans sing the national anthem and what I see when many Christians sing in worship makes me wonder. It makes me wonder if we understand the cost of our spiritual freedom? I do not see the same level of engagement with the lyrics of the words of worship music as I do with patriotic songs. Animated and enthusiastic is how I would describe patriotic singing followed by clapping and whistling and cheering. Not so in worship in many churches I preach and worship in. And heaven forbid, if someone actually moves or raises their hands during the singing! Even when the song’s lyric’s say “we lift up our hands” few venture to actually do such a demonstrative thing.

The important question for person to ask is, of whom or what do I sing? What makes my heart sing? What gives me goose bumps? What makes me want to shout for joy? What causes me to silently be in awe? These are questions especially important for people claiming to be set free by the blood of the Lamb. Tears will not reveal the answer to all of these questions but they do indicate some level of deeper engagement in the music and its words. The question for me is clear, no matter what the visible signs, who is the “thee” of whom I sing?!

Crossing Cultures With Cupcakes

They moved in to the neighborhood several months ago. The women all wear long, black robes and black scarves that completely cover their heads and necks. Their faces are exposed. My curiosity was piqued by the fact that they often sat out on their driveway in plastic lawn chairs. This seemed like an openness to the neighborhood. But their very conservative dress made me hesitant. I was afraid that I might inadvertently offend them. I had no idea what country they were from or if they spoke English. Later I noticed the women were also sitting on furniture in the garage with the garage door completely open. This too seemed to me to express openness in spite of their dress. The problem was that when I saw them, I was usually working and on my way to the hospital or some meeting—no time to spontaneously stop.

So, I prayed for an opportunity. And I determined that the next time I was home and saw that they were sitting outside or in the garage I would walk over and introduce myself. A long time passed and no opportunity presented itself.

Then on Memorial Day I was working in the yard and noticed their garage door was open. I quickly went inside our house and put some more appropriate clothes on since I was wearing my bathing suit and a short skirt cover-up. I figured this would definitely offend them. Then I remembered that I had a new batch of cupcakes and Rice Krispy bars for our guests arriving later. But I also know I always have way too much food whenever I have company. So I put some of the cupcakes and bars on a plate and covered them with saran wrap. Then I scribbled our names and phone number and address on a Post-it Note and attached it to the top of the saran-covered plate. I said a prayer and walked outside. But all the preparation had taken long enough that my neighbors’ garage door was closed. What to do? I said another prayer and determined there was no turning back. I would have to ring the door bell. I did.

It took them a while to come to the door. I could hear a lot of commotion inside. And most of it was not in English! Finally, an adult woman, dressed in the full black robe and scarf, came to the door, talking on the telephone. I held out the plate and tried to explain what I was doing. The woman smiled but shook her head. Quickly an older man and another woman appeared. The gentleman seemed to understand and said something to the women, and they took the plate of goodies. Then two small children poked their heads out the door. They were speaking English! I was saved! I explained to them what I was doing—welcoming them to the neighborhood. They all smiled and nodded and seemed genuinely appreciative. They closed the door, and I left. I wasn’t sure if my mission was accomplished but I at least was grateful for the opportunity to try to reach across the cultural divide.

Two days later I arrived home from work and found a plate of flatbread on our kitchen counter on the very same plate I had delivered the cupcakes and bars on. My husband, Drew, explained that an older woman, dressed in black from head to toe had rung the door bell and given him freshly baked flatbread. She spoke in her native tongue. Drew said the bread was still warm and delicious—which explained why half of it was already eaten! It was wonderful and a wonderful affirmation of the power of crossing cultures with something as simple as cupcakes. I felt a deep sense of joy over what might be ahead. I am not much of a textbook learner. I am more of a dive-in-and-see-what-happens learner. I could imagine all that I might learn from getting to know these neighbors, including how to show and express the love of Christ to them respectfully and clearly.

A few days later a younger woman came by with two small children and brought a pan of Baklava. She spoke English. Drew told her that an older woman had come by with bread earlier, she said, “Oh! That was my grandmother. She did find the right house!” The two small children were oo-ing and ahh-ing over our pool, so Drew invited them to come swimming sometime. We will definitely follow up on that soon. I think the swimming pool might cross cultures even more than cupcakes!

A More Visible Church

Today four congregations in Downey California were much more visible. Today congregations from four different denominations worshipped together celebrating the birthday of the Church and the gift of the Holy Spirit. We did this in a city park. And we got to that park by parading down the sidewalks, each congregation joining the parade as we went along. You have heard of progressive dinners? This was a progressive Pentecost parade. It was a beautiful thing to behold. Men and women, boys and girls of all ages carrying banners and balloons, and wearing red walking (some in strollers and one in a wheel chair) through our city on our way to worship in a park. We were much more visible today. We were outside the walls of our respective buildings. That made us quite visible. But we were also together. This also made us much more visible. Racially and denominationally, Sunday morning is said to be the most segregated hour in America. Not for our four congregations today. We were seen together. And we were enjoying being together.
Once at the park we were much more visible. Our worship was done out in the open, in the round around a park pavilion. Children were running around. Some people arrived early and some late (as usual). Our music was much more visible thanks to a trombone ensemble, a vocal ensemble and everyone singing together. We sang in Spanish, we sang in English, and we said the Lord’s Prayer in many different languages all at the same time. What a glorious Pentecost sound! And what a visible Church! Neighbors near the park, cars driving by, walkers and joggers, people coming to the park for recreation—all saw the Church. There was no traditional sign posting this was the Church. The sign was in our being together. The sign was in our uniting around our one faith in Christ sealed by the one Holy Spirit given to us for life together. The true Church, the one that belongs to Christ and knows no geographic, structurally, or denominational boundaries was gathered and very visible. It was a glorious sight! It was a glorious sound! The tongues of fire were not over our heads. The tongues of fire were in our hearts and the result was that we all heard the good news in “our own language”—the language of our hearts. Today the Church was much more visible.

Of course where there is fellowship of the Spirit there is always food! We shared a birthday cake for the Church of Christ and the Spirit that makes it alive. And there was coffee. Always there is coffee. Worship, cake, coffee—together they made a celebration visible for the community. Today the Church was much more visible. I pray that the Spirit of God who gives us life, and that same Spirit that gathered us in the park today, will send us out into the world with the Spirit’s fire in our hearts so that the Church will be much more visible wherever we go!

Blogger Blunder

Blogging begets blundering.  This blogger, in order to post, gets excited about something, feels inspired, or is provoked by some injustice or human foible. In each of these cases it sets me off writing. And I have to strike while the iron is hot, or, I should say, blog while the passion is high. Problem is this creative impulse does not always lend itself to having time to check all the facts and details. 

In my blogging infancy I have been caught blundering. A good friend and colleague and gifted musician has caught me blogging about music beyond my expertise. I am deeply affected by music. But my knowledge of music and musicians is very limited. 

So my blog on the church as global cover stands corrected. Gimme Shelter by Playing For Change features musicians quite famous and instruments quite expensive. Who knew Taj Mahal  was a world class musical veteran or that an old National Steel guitar could look so bad and be priceless? This blogger certainly did not. 

But my friend also graciously suggested the analogy still remains. The diversity of our churches are even richer because of the mix of ordinary and extraordinary players. They may include very gifted (though perhaps not famous) people with gifts that appear common (though really priceless). 

So, I stand corrected. I will continue to blog and continue to blunder. And I will learn thanks to friends who read and respond. 

Church as Global Cover

Who would have ever thought that a sampling of amateur musicians from all over the world mixed by a sound artist could make such beautiful and moving music? And, to top the amazement, the piece is a remake of a beloved Rolling Stones classic. William Goodman and Playing for Change accomplished just such a musical feat. The Rolling Stones classic, Gimme Shelter, performed by a mix of professional and amateur musicians from all over the world by the international music collective has brought tears to the eyes and goose bumps to the flesh of millions of listeners—compliments of You Tube, of course. Check it out at

www.playingforchange.com or www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJtq6OmD-_Y

Listening and watching this video I could not help but think about the church, the kingdom of God. I am not talking about the buildings or the denominations but the incredibly diverse group of people from all over the world who claim the name of Christ and therefore are connected by the Spirit of God. This is the church Jesus inaugurated and spoke about. This is the church that will celebrate almost 2000 years of life on June 12, Pentecost Sunday.

As I watched the Playing for Change video of Gimme Shelter, I was amazed at the variety of people and instruments. The people looked very ordinary and some of the instruments were homemade and some were worn and unimpressive. It reminded me so much of the church I serve. It is full of a great diversity of very extraordinary and ordinary people. And they are from all over the world. We have Filipinos, Mexicans, Guatrmalans, Puerto Ricans, Taiwanese, Venezuelans, and some Swedes and Norwegians as well! None of us are famous for anything or have any notoriety to speak of, we are all very common instruments, some very worn and unimpressive by the world’s standards. But these dear people are making music that is beautiful and moving. They are being led by the Spirit of God to be a church that is very different than most. The older dominantly Anglo members have given full support to the transformation of the congregation so that it is a accurate reflection of the neighborhood. Once a upper middle class professional gathering, it is now filled with single parents, immigrants from many countries, ex-cons, unemployed, and every other common every day walk of life. Together they make beautiful music. They work together to make a safe place for our neighborhood children to have recreation, art and music, and homework support after school. Together they help to repair and rebuild one another’s homes. Together they provide a safe place for someone just out of prison after 30 years of incarceration to find shelter, work, and community. Together they are struggling through very challenging economic times in order to remain faithful to an unusual mission for unusual times. This local congregation is a “global cover” mixed by the Spirit of God. And when combined with the church universal, all across the globe, the music produced cannot be captured on any media no matter how technologically advanced. The global church—ordinary and differently gifted people of every tribe and nation—is the extraordinary symphony directed by God that is marching ever so slowly but certainly toward a new world order. Though Family Radio had the timing wrong. The truth remains. God in Christ is building his kingdom and nothing will prevail against it. And one day, when the Good Lord determines the time is right, all those who claim the name of Christ—the Church—will be gathered singing a global cover song that will ring out for eternity. I, for one, can hardly wait!