Live Generously

Well, the title pretty much says it all I guess.  My wonderful wife and I are going on a short vacation up to Yosemite and San Luis Obispo.  Even though our anniversary is still a couple of months away, we’re taking a vacation now because Christie’s gym is closed for the whole week of the 4th of July.  It should be a great time of rest, refreshment, and quality time with each other.  We’ll miss you all, and we’ll be back on Saturday.

I realize I’m probably about the zillionth person to post this video on their blog, but I just couldn’t resist. Anglican bishop and New Testament super scholar N.T. Wright was recently interviewed on the Colbert Report about his new book Surprised By Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church. I thought he did a pretty darn good job, and he actually managed to be pretty funny. Rumor has it Cookie Monster made an appearance earlier in the show, so this was quite a star-studded episode.

So, the expression is “Monday morning quarterback”, but I’m running a few days behind schedule.  I want to make a semi-regular habit out of blogging about whatever I talk about at Seven24, more for the purpose of reflecting further on the topic than anything else.

This last Sunday we finally got our “10 Big Questions” series off the ground.  Truth be told there is a big part of me that is relieved to have it finally started.  The weeks leading up to the series were a somewhat tenuous time of uncertainty, as it was unclear for a while whether or not the series was even going to go on. Thankfully, people turned in some good questions, we were able to select ten (or so), and will be spending the rest of the summer answering said questions.  The name of the series is a bit of a misnomer, as “10 Weeks of Big Questions” would be more accurate.  There are two topics that will be given two weeks each, while some weeks will tackle multiple questions within the same topic.

We started off the series with the question, “How do I connect with God?”

I like that question because it is practical.  We were made for intimacy with our creator, yet said intimacy is some what of a learned skill. It doesn’t just happen.  It’s not the natural by-product of church attendance, nor does it result from clapping along to worship songs. We must learn the tools to connect ourselves to God, and then use these tools to develop that connection.

I also don’t like this question.  It’s not that it’s a bad question (it most certainly isn’t) nor is it a terribly difficult question to answer (fairly easy, in fact).  I don’t like this question because it tempts me to employ virtually every tired church cliche in the book in my efforts to answer it.  It tempts me to present connecting with God as something as simple as turning on the TV or poking a facebook friend.  It tempts me to present connecting with God as something entirely divorced from character formation.

It is, of course, none of those things.

That being said, one could easily make the argument that the gospel of suburban American  individualistic Christianity has led us to believe that it is all of those things.  I’ll spare you the unnecessary rant, but suffice to say that the more I considered this question last week the more taken aback by it I was.

We are, after all, talking about God here. A God who is at once infinitely greater than we are and incalculably humble. A God who holds our breath in his hands and yet desires that we would use that breath to develop a relationship with him. The fact that we can even ask questions about connecting with God is truly remarkable, if we stop for long enough to think about it.

So this last Sunday night I spoke primarily about what “connecting with God” really is, and what it isn’t.  I talked about the ways that Jesus defies our efforts to reduce spirituality to reading our Bible and attending church.  I talked about how such practices are never the point, but are a means to an end.  The end is the imitation of Christ.  If we lose sight of the end, the means lose their significance.

I played a lot of sports as a kid, and for the most part, I enjoyed going to practice.  However, on those rare weeks when, for one reason or another, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to play in that weekend’s game, the practice lost much of its significance.  It is its relevance for the game that makes practice make sense.  When such relevance is lost, the practices become bland, boring, and frustrating.

That is the problem with practice-based Christianity.  A version of Christianity that says the definition of a healthy spiritual life is consistent Bible reading and church attendance.  Or, said differently, the ends of Christianity are practices of that sort.  I myself have bought into that lie, having characterized my spiritual life by how many “quiet times” I’ve had in a given week one too many times.

Having said all that, let me seemingly contradict myself (”seemingly” being the operative word), by saying that “practices”, or “spiritual disciplines” are still hugely important to connecting with God.  Spiritual disciplines are of immeasurable benefit in helping us to further our relationship with the God of the Bible (rather than some vague notion of god that is simply a glorified version of ourselves). It is, however, their usefulness in the game that gives these practices their vitality.

That was essentially the message I tried to get across on Sunday, and it is one I believe in deeply. Without spiritual disciplines–study, prayer, meditation, worship, accountability, confession, etc.–our faith can easily descend into Prozac for the soul. However, the practice of spiritual disciplines that do not transform us and tangibly effect our lives can lead to tired religion.  Both of these not-so-good alternatives distract of from imitating Christ, and leave us looking just like the world.

I sincerely hope that this Sunday night was a hopeful time for our group.  The reality that God wants to connect with us is very good news, as is the fact that there are concrete practices that can aid us in establishing that connection.  Perhaps the best news of all is that these practices are not to be done for their own sake, but rather they are to be done because they have the capacity to form us into the image of our Creator.

This is a continuation of my previous post reflecting on the experience I had last week attending the 2008 United States Open. I’m writing it more for posterity’s sake than anything else…

With my ticket to Monday’s action in hand my dad and I headed home. Upon returning to our car we both had a number of text messages from people expressing their amazement/exasperation/jealousy. We made a quick stop at home before heading over to church and found out that Tiger and Rocco were teeing off at 9:00 the next morning. Dad had to pick up Mom at the airport in Irvine at noon, but they didn’t have to be at the port in Long Beach for their cruise until 5:00 pm.

That meant Dad could go.

We briefly searched for tickets available on the internet. We’d found out from Christie that there weren’t any tickets being made available to the general public, and only those who had bought four-day passes to the whole tournament were given tickets to the playoff. Later that night when we got home from church we found some tickets for sale on craigslist, and made contact with one guy who was selling tickets, but the next morning when we called him he didn’t pick up. We drove down to La Jolla and parked the car in a lot close to the golf course a little before 9:00 am. We walked towards the course, looking for anyone who might be selling tickets. No luck. We walked by the entrance and still couldn’t find anyone. We continued walking for about a hundred yards. By this point it was past 9:00. Dad suggested that I just head in to the tournament. They’d already teed off, and it didn’t make sense for me to miss it. He’d keep looking for a while, and if he found a ticket he’d meet me inside, and if not he’d just head up to Irvine. I reluctantly agreed. I turned and headed towards the entrance to the course, praying in my head the kind of prayer where I knew there were a million other more important issues in the world that needed prayer, but nonetheless telling God that it would be really cool if somehow Dad was able to find a ticket. Silly, I know.

While walking through the area between the entrance to the course and the place where they checked tickets I encountered a elderly, wealthy looking woman. Here is the conversation we had to the best of my memory. Her words are in italics:

“Do you need a ticket?” Looks and sees my tickets attached to my belt loop. “Oh, no you don’t, you’ve already got one.”

“Well actually how much are you selling them for?”

“I own the pro shop here and I’m giving them away for free.”

“Oh my gosh, well my dad is out there trying to find a ticket, I’d love to be able to give him one, can I have one?”

She opened her wallet, revealing about 20 tickets, and pulled one out. “Just tell your Dad that I own the pro shop here and we’ll be open tomorrow. And don’t sell it!”

“Ma’am, you have my word that I won’t sell this ticket, thank you so much.”

With ticket in hand I sprinted out the gates towards the direction my dad had walked. I wasn’t entirely sure he had continued that way, since before we parted ways he had talked about going to the other entrance to look for tickets, so I figured I’d run as fast as I could for two minutes in this direction, and if I didn’t see him I’d turn around and sprint back to where we’d parked and hope to catch him before he left. After running for about 30 seconds I looked up and saw him running towards me!

Me: Hey, I got a ticket!

Dad: What? Where’d you get it from?

Me: A lady I ran into gave it to me for free, she said she owned the pro shop.

Dad: I just bought a ticket for $60!

We were both a little bit bummed that money had to be spent unnecessarily, but were nonetheless very happy that we both had tickets, and we headed into the tournament. On our way in we found a group of guys looking for tickets, and we were able to give them our extra ticket. We walked through the gates, had our tickets scanned, and we were in. We high fived each other. “We made it!” I said as we walked towards the course. I’m sure I would have had a good time watching Tiger and Rocco by myself, but I can hardly express how glad I was that my dad was able to make it in there with me. It made the whole experience so much better.

So there we were, on the grounds for this historic 18-hole match up. There was Tiger Woods, an athlete who has dominated his sport like none other of this generation. He can’t be called the Michael Jordan of golf. Not even MJ dominated like Tiger. On the other hand there was Rocco, the jovial Pennsylvania-born Italian. He was 45, and was vying to become the oldest U.S. Open champ in history. But he was ranked 157th in the world. He didn’t have a prayer, he was going to be totally over matched. This was going to be Tiger’s victory lap around Torrey Pines, and I was excited simply to be there to witness it. It would have been silly to even hope for a close match. Here is Rick Reilly’s video-essay preview:

We jogged down the first fairway in an attempt to catch up to the Hurricane and the June Bug who were on the second hole. We saw on a scoreboard that Tiger was already up by one, having parred the first hole (something he was unable to do during the four days of the tournament). Unlike Sunday, the morning June gloom had lifted somewhat, so jogging down the first hole we were able to look out over the cliffs and see the ocean. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day.

We caught up to Tiger and Rocco in the second fairway and saw them both hit their approach shots, both of which led to pars. We knew that there was no way we’d be able to get a decent view of the par 3 3rd hole, so we went from the second hole to try and find a good place to watch the fourth. As we walked we heard the crowd roar. We found a woman who had a small TV-type thing that some spectators had and saw a replay of Rocco’s tee shot on 3 that came to rest about six inches from the hole. Had it gone in I would have been really sorry that we missed it. Rocco birdied the hole and Tiger bogeyed, so just like that Rocco had a one shot lead. We watched the par 4 4th from the side of the rough and then the green, and watched both players make par. The crowd was loud and enthusiastic. “If Rocco can keep this thing close,” I said to my dad. “He’s going to be the crowd favorite by the end of the day.” Crowds love underdogs.

The biggest difference between Sunday and Monday was that we brought little folding chairs with us to stand on. That enabled us to be several rows deep in the gallery and still see perfectly well. On Sunday we had to strain to see just about anything, but on Monday we were able to set up our little chairs behind the crowd and get far better views than we had on Sunday. The fifth hole ran parallel to the fourth, so we were easily able to watch their tee shots. It was really amazing getting to watch these two players do battle. Tiger, the best player of all time, and Rocco, the oft injured journeyman pro who was fast becoming the crowd favorite. History was happening right in front of us. On the later half of the front nine Tiger picked up some ground. Rocco bogeyed 5, then Tiger birdied 6 and 7 to take a two shot lead. They made the turn with the same score, Tiger posting an even par 35 with Rocco at a 2 over 37.

As we were walking across the 5th hole, my dad and I talked about who we were rooting for. One thing I enjoy about golf is that you really, in a way, root for everyone. You applaud good shots, regardless of who hits them. I said that I was approaching this event like I’d approached the most recent Super Bowl. In that game I didn’t have a strong rooting interest, but I was rooting for the Giants simply because I wanted to see a good game and I had more faith in the Patriots’ ability to come back in the end. In the same way, I was rooting for Rocco early on, because I knew that Tiger could make up ground easily. If Tiger got ahead on the other hand, things could get ugly quick. Dad said he was rooting for Tiger, because the great players of each generation are remembered for the majors that they win, and it would be neat to say that we were there when Tiger one one of his. A good point. Like I said, by the ninth hole Tiger was up two, and it was looking like he was going to put Rocco away.

At this point my dad said that if Tiger started to pull away he would have to consider leaving early. Mom was going to be waiting at the airport, and he didn’t want to make her wait too long, seeing as how they were getting ready to go on their anniversary trip. Him leaving would of course leave a decision for me, since he was my ride home, and he had my cell phone in his car (they weren’t allowed in the tournament). I respected my dad’s desire to honor my mom, but you wouldn’t have known it by my response: “Dad, this is the U.S. Open.” I knew they’d make the boat on time, and that she would understand.

By the back nine the crowds were absolutely enormous, and we knew we were going to have to pick and choose what holes we watched. We hustled around to try to get a good view of 10, where Rocco made bogey to fall three shots back. It was going to be Tiger in a rout. Then on the par 3 11th Tiger gave one back. We didn’t watch it because we were getting in position to watch the 12th hole. It was a 500 yard par 4 that was a pretty long walk from the 11th. We figured a lot of people wouldn’t walk all the way out there, and we were right. We were actually able to enjoy a few moments walking on the left side of 12 without a bunch of people around us. We stood by the fairway, but then eventually decided to head up to the green and take our place in the grandstand to ensure that we had a seat. From the grandstand we of course had a perfect view of their approach shots. Rocco crushed his approach 240 yards, placing it on the green and easily two putting for par. Tiger, on the other hand, made bogey. All of a sudden it was a one shot match. We had ourselves a ball game. We had positioned ourselves right next to the aisle in the grandstand, so as soon as they made their puts we quickly ran over to 13 and watched them tee off.

It bears mentioning that watching golf live is a lot of work. I’d say that my dad and I ran at least a mile or two during the course of the day in our pursuit of the best views. Often times when we were standing waiting for Tiger and Rocco to play through we were discussing our next move. I appreciate the fact that my dad is 53 years old and can quite easily keep up with me running around the golf course. Truth be told I was often the one having trouble keeping up with him! Running around the course allowed us to see a lot more, and it allowed us to have much better views that we otherwise would have. In a sense, just running through the course like that, looking at the course map, and plotting out our moves was somewhat of a bonding experience. As I sit here typing it reminds me in a small way of our family’s vacation to Europe in 2005. My dad and I spent a lot of time reading maps and planning train trips for the family, and for me just working with him on that was one of the coolest parts of the whole trip. Ok, back to the golf.

13 was a mammoth 614 yard (!) par 5 (this was the longest course in U.S. Open history) and we were able to position ourselves directly behind Rocco and Tiger to watch their tee shots. Getting that sort of view of a tee shot was pretty rare, so it was neat to see. Both players made birdie on 13, so it was still a one stroke match. Then Rocco birdied 14, it was all tied up with four holes to play.

I turned to my dad. “Dad, you’re not leaving.”

“I know, I can’t.”

There is no way you leave a U.S. Open playoff with four holes to play. No way.

15 was one of the most amazing holes we saw all day. It was a 478 yard par 4. Dad and I positioned ourselves to the right hand side of the green where we had a great view of their approach shots. We saw Rocco split the fairway with his drive. Then, judging by the reaction of the gallery in the fairway, we were able to figure out that Tiger had pushed his drive way right. Thanks to some people around us who had the little TV things we were able to find out that Tiger had hit his drive into the fairway bunker on the 9th hole. He’d pushed it that far to the right. We joked about how it was nice to see that pros did that too sometimes. Rocco had the clear advantage, playing from the middle of the fairway. He landed his ball about 20 feet past the hole, giving him a difficult downhill, heavily breaking birdie putt. Then came Tiger’s shot from the 9th hole fairway bunker. He had to hit it out of the sand, over the trees, and toward the green. There was no way he was going to put this thing anywhere close to the green. We weren’t able see him hit the ball (on account of the massive trees between us and him), but we did see the ball come in, land on the green, and spin back to land ten feet from the hole. That is why he is the best in the world. It was unbelievable. The gallery went nuts as both men approached the green. Italian-esque shouts of “‘Ey Rocco!” mixed with “You the man Tiger!” I think most of us were in disbelief at the shot that Tiger had just hit. What was even more unbelievable was that Rocco hit a beautiful putt to make birdie (by the way…watching someone make a great golf shot while standing in a huge gallery is very cool…people go nuts), while Tiger missed his. 15 holes in Rocco was in the lead. The 158th ranked player in the world had the number 1 player on the ropes. They both made par on 16, and then we were able to position ourselves right next to the green on 17. As we waited, my dad said, “You know, it’s funny how it just seems like Tiger is going to pull this thing out. I just have a feeling.” I agreed. Even though he was behind, I couldn’t imagine him not coming back and winning. It’s Tiger. That’s just what he does. Both players made par on 17, so it went to the final hole with Tiger down one. And of course, 18 was a par 5, the site of Tiger’s eagle on Saturday and his enormous birdie putt on Sunday that forced the playoff.

“It doesn’t get any better than this,” I said as we ran around to the right hand side of 18 in an attempt to find a place to watch what we thought was the final hole. Tiger, gimpy knee and all, was able to will one more drive down the fairway. He followed that up with a tremendous second shot that put him on the green in two, 45 feet from the left of the hole. We knew that walking any closer to the green would make it nearly impossible to see, so we watched from about 200 yards out as Rocco was able to get himself onto the green in three, himself about 15 fee to the left of the hole. “I sure hope they finish this thing here,” my dad said. “Because there is no way I can stay for a playoff.” I looked at my watch. He was right. I respect that about my dad. We were watching one of the greatest sporting events of all time, and he was still considering my mom and her needs. He’s a stand up guy. I hoped they’d finish it on that hole too…the last thing I wanted was for Dad to come to Sunday and Monday of the U.S. Open and not get to see a champion crowned.

As Tiger and Rocco walked to the green the place went absolutely nuts. It had been a battle for the ages. These two men had provided the 20,000+ spectators with an unbelievable day of golf. Rocco, the 45-year old with the creaking back had matched the greatest of all time shot for shot, and now strode to the 18th green with a one shot lead. Even though I knew it was foolish I had hoped for a close match. Boy, did we ever get it. Standing on our chairs we watched as Tiger hit his put. He pushed it by the hole by about three feet. That meant Rocco had a putt to win it all. 15 feet, downhill, breaking right to left. And he hit it just a little bit high. Tiger knocked in his three footer, and that meant playoff time.

Ever since my dad’s pronouncement about needing to leave if it went to a playoff I’d been debating with myself what I should do. He was, after all, my ride…and he had my cell phone. Getting home without him would certainly be a challenge. Plus, this was something that we’d done together. The last two days had been an incredible father/son experience, and in a sense I kind of wanted it to end at the same time for both of us. On the other hand, this was going to be a sudden death playoff. Dad started walking towards the exit and I walked with him as I contemplated my decision. He offered to give me $20 to help offset the cost of getting home on public transportation, which I gratefully accepted. Ultimately, the decision came down to the fact that it was difficult to imagine a scenario in which I would later be kicking myself for staying at the tournament, whereas it was easy to imagine being upset at myself for leaving and missing a great finish. So I gave my dad a hug, and we exchanged thank yous. One cool thing about the tournament stretching out to Monday was that I was able to buy tickets for one of the days, and he bought them for the other (and he bought food and t-shirts on Sunday)…we were both able to be thankful towards each other. I walked back down the 18th hole, sad that my time with my dad was over, but so grateful for what an amazing time it was.

I didn’t even know what hole they were starting on. I’d heard 17, I’d heard 18, I’d heard 7. It was difficult to tell, because people had crowded about three different grandstands, hoping that the playoff would eventually reach that grandstand’s hole. I eventually was able to figure out that they were starting on 7, and made my way over. I thought about stopping and grabbing a bite to eat, because I was famished. We’d each eaten a couple of granola bars in the morning, but we hadn’t eaten anything since arriving at the course. We were too busy running around watching golf to discuss the possibility of stopping for food. I thought I had time, but then I heard the roar of the crowd indicating that tee shots had already been hit.

I scurried over and found a place on the left side of 7. Thankful, once again, for the presence of my folding chair, I was able to get a great view of the fairway and the green. Tiger was in the fairway, Rocco was in the fairway bunker. That was not good for Rocco. Then, Rocco yanked his second shot way left, hitting the grandstand that my dad and I had sat in on the previous day. Tiger put his second shot on the green, but he still had a substantial putt in front of him. Rocco was able to take a drop, giving him a difficult third shot (though he was much better off playing from the drop area than playing from in front of the grandstand. He landed the 40 yard shot near the front of the green and proceeded to roll past the hole about 15 feet. I’d managed to position myself right behind a rather opinionated fan with a pronounced surfer’s accent who was apparently quite upset that Rocco had been able to drop his ball where he did. I decided I would be wasting my breath if I attempted to explain the drop rule to him. Tiger hit a beautiful putt on his birdie attempt that stopped just inches shy of the cup. He dropped to his knees in exasperation, in disbelief that the putt had come up short. He tapped in for par. Rocco had one last chance.

It was a tough putt, especially with the U.S. Open on the line. He looked at it from every angle, took a few practice strokes and then struck the ball. Here’s the video of Tiger’s putt followed by Rocco’s.

He hit it just a touch high, and it rolled by the hole, coming to rest less than two feet away from it. The crowd groaned, and then erupted in applause for the new U.S. Open champion, and for the nobody that gave him the fight of his life. The two men embraced on the green, and the crowd continued to show their appreciation. I could hardly believe it was over. The feeling that my dad, and I’m sure countless others, had, that Tiger was going to come back and win this thing, proved to be right. We most certainly were going to have the privilege of being able to say that we were there for one of the greatest ever’s major championship victories.

I walked over to the concession stand, finally got some overpriced food, and made my way over to the 18th green for the trophy presentation. Unfortunately the P.A. system wasn’t working very well, so I wasn’t able to hear much of Tiger’s interview. I did hear him say that this was his greatest win ever.

His greatest win ever?

This man won the 1997 Masters by 12 shots. He lapped the field at the U.S. Open in 2000, winning by an unheard of 15 shots. He has won a total of 14 major championships. And he called this one his greatest. What an honor to be there to see it. And then, two days later, to learn that Tiger had played the entire week with a torn ACL and two stress fractures on his left leg just added to the mystique. It was one of the greatest, toughest, gutsiest performances in sports history. The crowd cheered him wildly, while also cheering his challenger. During a brief silent moment someone in the grandstand shouted, “Thanks for the memories, Rocco!”, and the crowd applauded. Thanks for the memories, indeed.

And with that, the 2008 U.S. Open came to a close. Some random USGA official came to the microphone and began thanking different people, and I decided it was time to figure out how I was going to get home. Tiger and Rocco had put on an epic show, the golf course was stunning, the weather was perfect, and for all but one of those holes, I had great company. It was truly one of the most memorable experiences of my life. I’ve written it all down here in hopes that years from now I can return to this and relive this amazing time, from Tiger’s putt on 18 on Sunday, to his ridiculous sand shot on 15 on Monday, to Rocco and his never-say-die spirit, to the smell of the grass, to the look of the course, to the hours of conversation with my dad, there was much that took place on Sunday and Monday that I don’t ever want to forget. In closing, I’ll post three more videos…one an interview with both Tiger and Rocco after their match, the second ESPN’s highlights of the playoff round, and the final video another wonderful video essay from Rick Reilly that appropriately toasts Rocco and his amazing, improbable performance in the United States Open Championship.

First, an apology for the lack of writing in the last couples of weeks. I’ve been somewhat overwhelmed with work and school, and just haven’t made time for it. Then, this week I’ve spent all of my blogging time on this post.

Second, a preface to this post and its sequel: they are posts that are really more for posterity than anything else. This isn’t a commentary on church or ministry or theology or some great book I just finished reading. Rather, this is a reflection on the experience that my dad and I had as spectators at the 108th United States Open Golf Championship this last Sunday and Monday. I wanted to write some things down while the memories are still fresh. This is all for posterity, since in the days since the Open ended my mind has been consumed by the magnitude of what I witnessed on Sunday and Monday. I say all this only because if you’re more interested in the topics that are standard fare on my blog you might find this post pretty boring and perhaps you should wait until my next post to resume reading (especially once you see how insanely long this post is). If, however, you want to read sports, golf, greatness, and the memorable experience it was taking it all in with my dad, I invite you to read on…

Unbelievable. Amazing. Epic. The 2008 United States Open is officially in the history books, and several days later I am still struggling to find words to describe what I witnessed during the two days that I spent at Torrey Pines. RIck Reilly, in my opinion the greatest sportswriter alive today, called it the greatest post-war Open. It was one for the ages, and I doubt I’ll ever see another sporting event quite like it. I want to tell the story of my experience, but to do that I have to start about 12 months ago…

I remember watching the final day of the 2007 U.S. Open. I was house sitting at the time, and in between our morning and evening church services I managed to sneak home and watch the final round. An Argentine by the name of Angels Cabrera won the tournament at a whopping +5, giving testimony to the difficulty of the golf course. I remember sitting on the couch thinking how amazing it would be to be there for the 2008 U.S. Open, when it was played at Torrey Pines Golf Course, located a mere 20 miles away from Oceanside, in La Jolla, CA. I checked the dates of the tournament. The final round was going to be played on a Sunday, as always. Father’s Day. I thought about how incredible it would be to be able to go to the tournament on Father’s Day, with my dad. I logged on to the United States Golf Association website, and found that beginning that the earliest I could apply for tickets was the following day, so on Monday I filled out my application, requesting two tickets for Sunday. I knew that Sunday would be the day that everyone wanted tickets for, and that I would have been more likely to actually get tickets for the most important golf tournament in the world if I registered for an earlier day. But it had to be Sunday.

Fast forward to November of 2007. I arrived at church one day to begin work, and before heading up to my office I checked my mailbox. There was a letter from the USGA. Maybe this was silly, but I was nervous. I didn’t really expect to get the tickets, but I really wanted them. I tore open the envelope. “Congratulations! You have been selected to receive two tickets for Sunday, June 15, 2008, at the 2008 United States Open Championships.” I shouted for joy. It was neither the first nor the last time that the nice ladies who work in our downstairs office thought I was crazy because of some sort of sports induced shriek. Later that day I called my dad and extended to him the invitation to attend the tournament with me on Father’s Day. Needless to say, he accepted.

Then Sunday finally came. We woke up early, made a quick stop at church so that I could take care of some house keeping to make sure things were ready for the Sunday services, and then we drove to Qualcomm Stadium where we caught a shuttle over to Torrey Pines Golf Course. We arrived around 10, and with a think layer of June gloom overhead we entered the grounds of the tournament. Now you’ve got to understand something about me. First of all, I’m a sucker for history. Whether I am walking through St. Peter’s Basilica in ancient Rome or I am gazing upon the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. I am utterly fascinated by great landmarks, great people, great achievements, and great traditions. Secondly, I am a sucker for sports. I am captivated by competition. Seeing the best athletes in the world compete at the highest level is awe inspiring. So then, in those rare moments where history and sport collide, when I am able to visit historic venues or historic events, I am in a state of euphoria. It was with a sense of reverence that I entered Fenway Park a couple of years ago during a visit to Boston, and it was with that same reverence that I visited Wrigley Field in Chicago. Walking onto Torrey Pines Golf Course on Sunday I felt the same way. Not so much because of the greatness of the golf course, though Torrey Pines is amazing, but more because I had entered the sight of the 108th U.S. Open, the crown jewel of golf tournaments. The tournament whose past champions include a who’s who of all-time great golfers: Jones, Sarazan, Hogan, Palmer, Nicklaus, Trevino, Irwin, Strange, Janzen, Woods, just to name a few. We were there. It was almost surreal.

We’d made it to the course at around 10:30 a.m., and the leaders weren’t even scheduled to tee off until 1:30 p.m., so we had some time to make our way around the course and simply take it all in. I was struck by the simplicity of the place. Sure, there were structures built: concession stands, clusters of port-a-potties, a merchandise tent that was the size of a football field (at least), but it was all nothing compared to the dizzying array of monitors, electronic scoreboards, and vendors tents that had littered these very same premises back in January at the Buick Invitational. They were even using the old fashioned scoreboards, that had to be changed manually. There is something to be said for tradition.

So there we were, with 50,000 other people, walking around this jewel of a golf course, over looking the ocean. We saw Phil, we saw Justin Leonard, we saw a few other players as we walked around the course and got our bearings. Even this early in the day it was difficult to see much with all of the crowds. We eventually made it over to the tee by noon to watch Jim Furyk, the world’s number three ranked golfer tee off. I don’t know how he plays golf with that swing, but you can’t argue with success. After that we made our way forward on the course. We stopped by the third hole, Torrey Pines’ signature hole. It’s a pristine par 3 that overlooks the ocean from the tee box. It plays 142 yards for the general public. On this day it played 195. The grandstand was packed, so we moved on, eventually making our way to the 7th hole. We decided to wait in line to enter the grandstand, hoping to watch the last seven or so groups play through. We stood in line, and one by one people were allowed up onto the grandstand as people left. We made it up just as Ernie Els’ group was playing the hole. Strangely enough, we ended up seated next to a guy that my dad knew from Mercy Folsom Hospital who was there with his three young children. Dad and I sat and watched as each group played the hole, seeing golfers like Els, Mike Weir, Miguel Jimenez, Sergio Garcia, Stuart Allenby, Rocco Mediate, Lee Westwood, and some guy name Eldrick Woods, who apparently goes by the name “Tiger”. It was great getting to see all of these guys up close, especially on such a remarkably challenging hole. We probably saw 16 players play the hole, and I think we only saw one birdie. It was really a lot of fun, and it was the best view of the action that we had all day. It was funny how quickly the grandstand emptied once the final pairing of Westwood and Woods finished the hole. The seats that were once so heavily in demand were now worthless. The show had moved on to the next hole.

We left our seats and decided to go grab some t-shirts and a quick bite to eat. I loved what my dad said as we left the grandstand. I don’t remember his exact words, but it was something to the effect of “let’s go grab a bite to eat, and then go watch the back nine of the U.S. Open.” Yes, it was Sunday of the U.S. Open. And we were going to go watch the back nine. Live.

We grabbed some t-shirts, scarfed down lunch, and quickly made our way out to the course, closely watching the primitive scoreboards. We knew we were going to have to pick and choose what we wanted to see, as the crowds made it very difficult to really see much of anything. Even though we sacrificed viewing quality, I am very glad that throughout the two days we decided to move around as much as we could in order to see as much golf as we could, rather than simply picking a hole and waiting until the players came through. We had a lot more fun moving around. Woods, Westwood, and Mediate were still in contention as the leaders played the 12th and 13th holes. ‘Rocco Mediate’. I remembered him as one of the golfers featured on a golf computer game that I played when I was about seven years old. ‘He’s still around?’ was my first thought. Boy, was he ever.

We fought our way through the crowds, standing on our tip toes trying to see as much as we could. We watched Mediate’s group, and we watched Tiger. We saw Tiger save par on 13 after yanking his approach left. We made our way up to the 17th green and managed to find a spot to the right of the green with a relatively good view. Mediate was 1-under, and he made par before continuing to 18. We saw Woods come through, and as he and Westwood made their way to the green, both at even par, we heard from someone in the gallery that Mediate had parred 18 to finish at 1-under. Tiger parred 17 as well, so we quickly made our way over to 18, a majestic 573 yard par 5 with a trio of fairway bunkers and a substantial water hazard guarding the front left side of the green. Just the day before, it had been the site of this spectacular eagle putt by Woods that gave him the lead going into the final round:

So now Tiger Woods was going into the 72nd hole of a major championship and we were there to see it on an absolutely beautiful Sunday afternoon. For a couple of guys who love sports, and especially love the drama of major sporting events, it doesn’t get much better. The throng of spectators made getting a good view difficult, but we made our way up the left side of the fairway as quickly as we could to try and get a glimpse of the action. Watching golf on TV is certainly quite a bit easier than watching it live. That thought went through my head a lot on Sunday. Tiger put his drive into the sand, continuing the struggles driving the ball he’d had all tournament long. His surgically repaired left knee had caused him visible pain all week, and had clearly effected his accuracy off the tee. He put his second shot into the rough on the right side, and was left with a 101 yard shot into the flag. He needed to stick it close and then make the put to force a playoff. Dad and I had found a small hill to stand on about 100 yards behind Woods where we could see what was going on. Woods hit his 60 degree wedge and it landed about 25 feet from the hole, and spun back before coming to rest a mere 13 feet away. We applauded along with 50,000 other fans as Westwood and Woods made their way to the green. Westwood had a birdie putt as well, and he missed it to the right. It started out left of the hole and broke hard right at the end (it bears mentioning that I know this from watching the ESPN highlights later on…all I knew at the moment was that he missed the putt). Next it was Tiger’s turn.

The greatest player in the history of the game had one putt to force an 18-hole playoff with Rocco Mediate. He lined it up, he took a few practice strokes. And here’s what happened:

Dad and I were 250 yards away from the action. We saw him swing, we heard the shouts of “get in the hole!”, and we heard groans. We thought he’d missed it. But then the groan was followed by a murmur that culminated in an outburst of applause as the putt dropped in. Despite being so far away, I nonetheless have the image of Tiger celebrating tattooed in my memory. We high-fived strangers. We high-fived each other. It was a great moment. We’d just watched the greatest golfer to ever live sink a 13 foot putt to force an 18-hole U.S. Open playoff. Phenomenal. While I’ve never been the world’s biggest Tiger Woods fan, one thing I have always loved about him is his competitive passion. The man is richer than God and has won every tournament known to man, and yet when he sunk that putt he went crazy. He wasn’t the only one.

We began jogging back to meet the buses, amazed at what we had just witnessed, and perhaps a little bit bummed out that we were going to have to go home and watch the highlights on the internet to really get a good look at what happened. Dad thanked me for the ticket. I apologized to him that we weren’t able to get a winner for him. We jogged back, jabbering as we ran about what we had just seen, and about how many shots we thought Tiger would beat Rocco by the following day. I felt a slight twinge of disappointment that we hadn’t seen a winner crowned, but it was awfully tough to really complain about the finish that we saw. The best golfer in the world made a clutch putt, and the place went crazy. It was pretty cool.

As we ran back to the buses, I was debating with myself whether or not I wanted to try and find a ticket to the playoff. On the one hand, getting to see Tiger play 18 would be amazing. On the other hand, I’d found out today that watching golf live is pretty difficult, and maybe I’d just enjoy relaxing at home and watching on TV. Also, at that point I had no idea how to get tickets, or if they were even available. My dad and I discussed some of these pros and cons on the bus, and he offered to buy me a ticket for Monday if we could find one (and the time we assumed that it started too late in the day for him to come). I said that sounded pretty good. I’d be witnessing history, and history is so much better live than on TV. Also, there will be plenty of Opens that I can watch on TV, but not many that I can walk the course watching the greatest ever for 18 holes. As we walked off the bus at Qualcomm Stadium we saw an older gentlemen casually advertising that he was selling a ticket for half price. We walked right by him, thinking we’d find a ticket on eBay, StubHub, or some place like that.

“You want it?” Dad asked.

“Oh I don’t know, I’m sure we’ll be able to find one later.” I replied.

“That’s a pretty good price.”

“Yeah, it is, let’s do it.”

So we turned around and bought the ticket for $50. I tried to contribute $10 to the cause (because at first it didn’t look like he had change for $60), but my dad wouldn’t allow it. That’s my dad for you. The guy handed us the ticket, we thanked him, I thanked my dad, and we returned to the car. I was coming back to watch Tiger and Rocco duel in an 18-hole playoff for the U.S. Open championship.

The blogosphere is a funny place. Not that such a statement needs proving, but allow me to submit to you this little piece of evidence:

About a month and a half ago I spent a few days in Tijuana, Mexico, with my church doing a house build with Amor ministries. Before leaving for the trip, I wrote this post and called it “House Building for Dummies”. In the post I talked about the trip a little, but I mainly, in a very tongue-in-cheek way, talked about how I was a bit skeptical of my own ability to actually positively contribute to the building of an actual house that would be safe for actual humans.

Six weeks after the trip, I can tell you that, on average, about ten people get directed to my blog each week after doing a Google search for “house building for dummies”, or something close to that. To those who have ended up on my blog as a result of such a search (and there will probably be more of you now that I’ve referenced it again), I apologize that I’m not more helpful. I must admit, however, that the fact that there are human beings looking for a “for dummies” guide to BUILDING A FREAKING HOUSE is mildly concerning. But it makes me laugh, so that’s ok.

For those of you that are a part of the New Song family, you’ve heard about our Frontline Ministry and all of the great stuff that they do.  For those of you that aren’t, our Frontline Ministry is essentially a community service, evangelism, social justice, and a million other things ministry all rolled into one.  Rarely does a day go by when folks from New Song aren’t out somewhere in North County serving people under the banner of Frontline.

Recently Edwin and Amy, the leaders of Frontline started a great blog that shares stories from the front lines and provides information about the ministry.  I encourage all of you to check it out, link to it, and visit it frequently!  The blog can be found here, and on my blog roll to the right.

Even though it happened more than seven years ago, it remains tattooed on my brain.

It was my senior year in high school, and I was a member of my high school’s student newspaper staff. At the time, I was still in my they-will-know-we-are-Christians-by-all-of-the-Christian-junk-we-show-off stage, so I took pleasure in advertising my Christian faith through t-shirts, jewelry, as well as stickers and drawings on notebooks, backpacks, and other personal items (even though, lets be honest, adherence to the radical way of Jesus was the furthest thing from my mind). To a lesser degree, I advertised it on my journalism computer’s desktop background as well.

For most of my senior year I was seated in my journalism class next to a gentleman who was somewhat hostile towards Christianity. I certainly don’t mean to say he was a bad guy, I only mean to say that he often spoke pejoratively about Christians, church, etc. He was very intelligent, and was, as I remember, an excellent writer. He and I had actually been good friends when we were kids, but had long since had a falling out, and by this point we had no relationships to speak of, excepting the proximity of our journalism computers.

At the time I was a big fan of the now disbanded (moment of silence) Christian ska band Five Iron Frenzy. I had found a cool collage of various Five Iron photos, fliers, cd covers and what not, and had set said collage as my desktop background. One of the concert fliers in the collage advertised Five Iron Frenzy as one of the bands performing at an event (or maybe it was a tour) called “Ska Against Racism”.

This deeply troubled the guy sitting next to me. He refused to believe, and in fact vehemently denied, that Five Iron Frenzy was a part of “Ska Against Racism”, something he was somewhat familiar with given his affinity for punk/ska etc. music (out of shear curiosity I googled “Ska Against Racism”, and the tour happened in 1998 and yes, Five Iron Frenzy was in fact a part of it). Now, the next couple of sentences are speculation, but I’m fairly certain my speculation is correct. This guy refused to believe that a Christian band would be involved with a project seeking to combat racism. That simply did not fit with the picture of Christianity he had been given. Christians are socially conservative, white bigots, who do nothing but sit on their ivory tower of superstition and look down upon others who don’t share their views while saying absurd things like “the reason God allowed 9/11 to happen was because there were homosexuals in the building”. They dress alike, they talk alike, and they have no tolerance for anyone who is different from them.

In other words, Christians don’t fight racism. Christians don’t stand up for the marginalized. Christians are self-righteous. Christians are closed-minded and anti-intellectual. Christians are homophobic. I could go on, but you get the idea.

On one level, this guy’s comments reflect obvious ignorance of Christianity, something that was expressed through a number of comments he made throughout the year (including saying that he wanted to go to the mega-church I attended dressed in all black goth-ish clothing and “see what people would do”….”I’m guessing nothing”, was what I wanted to tell him…not sure why I didn’t). His understanding of Christianity was shaped largely by the Jerry Falwells and Pat Robertsons of the world, and as such his understanding was sorely misguided.

That being said, he clearly had seen nothing, or at least little, in his lived experience to conclude that the oft judgmental, oft hateful, oft intolerant version of Christianity that he had seen presented by folks like those listed above was inaccurate. I remember the Five Iron Frenzy conversation (and many others), and I think about movies like Saved! (which every Christian should see), and always think, “that is what the world thinks we are.” And this is to our shame. In other words, I don’t hold this guy completely responsible for believing what he did about Christians. The indiscretions of Christians had instilled this understanding of Christianity in him, and that is an indictment against all of us who claim the name of Christ. There are many people in the world like the guy from my journalism class…I meet them every once in a while. It is up to us to demonstrate a Christianity that is different than what they have come to understand, and more important a Jesus who is different than what they have come to understand. I often wonder, what if people in the world, Christian or not, had such a radically different experience of what Christians were like that all of the caricatures that find their way into pop culture simply wouldn’t work anymore because they were so obviously inaccurate?

Jim Wallis likes to talk about changing the wind. He says that politicians are licking their fingers and putting their fingers up to determine which direction the ‘wind’ is blowing so that they can act accordingly. He uses this to encourage people, particularly people of faith, to organize to promote truly biblical values like the eradication of poverty, peacemaking, fair wages for working people, environmentalism, a consistent ethic of life, and a more socially conscious national budget. Not exactly your typical fair of issues that are important to conservatives, but then again, Wallis isn’t exactly a conservative (incidentally, neither is Jesus).

I often wonder what it would take for Christians to change the wind. What would need to happen so that future generations of people in journalism classes would expect that Christian bands would be involved in a concert tour promoting racial equality? What would need to happen to come to a place where people in the world may disagree with our spiritual beliefs but they respect and affirm our contributions to society?

Our task is to change the wind. In our work lives, in our families, in the seemingly meaningless interactions we have throughout the day. In our finances, in our time management, in the way that we show love to our friend and our enemy. In the way that we rise above theological squabbling and agree on the reality of Christ’s body broken and blood shed for the healing of the world.

May we be a people who change the wind.

Here are a few thoughts from the weekend…

* I got back yesterday afternoon from a quick weekend in Vegas. I was there for a friend from high school’s bachelor party, and it was the first time I’d been to Vegas since I was 12 years old. It was great getting to hang out with a bunch of old friends that I hadn’t seen in far too long. Las Vegas is a very odd place. On the one hand, it’s pretty spectacular. While there I had the opportunity to stuff my face with crab legs, sing at the top of my lungs in a piano bar surrounded by as many people as the place could hold, take in an amazing Cirque du Soleil show, play War (yes, War) for money at the Monte Carlo, and otherwise enjoy the many sites and sounds of the Las Vegas strip. In that respect, being in Vegas was a lot of fun. On the other hand, the Las Vegas strip was a stark reminder to me of the extreme level of brokenness that exists in our world. As I looked around at all of the glitz, glamor, and excess I was reminded of the banner that Shane Claiborne once displayed in front of the New York Stock Exchange: “There is Enough for Everyone’s Need, but not Enough for Everyone’s Greed”. That’s not the exact quote, but you get the idea. In Vegas there is so much excess, while at the same time half the world is starving to death. On the other hand, there are signs everywhere of a different, but still very real, form of poverty that exists in that city. Whether it was inebriated people stumbling down the street yelling at each other, or middle-aged Hispanic men and women wearing ill-fitting t-shirts that advertised prostitutes, the signs were everyone. From a relational standpoint, it seemed that those few city blocks were deeply, deeply impoverished. Kinda funny to say that about a place that is literally worth billions of dollars. All things considered, it was a great trip and I’m really glad I had the opportunity to be there and celebrate Lou as he prepares to enter married life. On a different level, as you can probably tell, being in Vegas raised all sorts of other thoughts that I am still processing.

One thing I did want to point out, however, is that it is really easy for me to sit here in my apartment at my computer and pass judgment on all of the wealth and excess that exists in Las Vegas. There are people and companies in that city that have more money then I can even comprehend. The danger is doing that, however, is that it can become a means of excusing myself from action. If I can point the finger at someone else (even the very vague entity of “Las Vegas”) I can ignore the fact that I myself am among the richest people in the world, and as such I myself have a deep responsibility to care for the least of these. On that level, being in Vegas got me thinking a lot about Christie and I’s finances and how we allocate our money. The reality is, we all lead lives of excess, rather than pointing the finger at those who are more excessive than we, our call is to use the resources we have to be a blessing to others. That is a reminder that I need frequently.

* On a different note, during my drive to Vegas and back I listened to the book Freakonomics: A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything. I’d heard all sorts of good things about this book at had been meaning to read it for a long time. To put it mildly, I was disappointed. The book was very well researched and well written, and it is clear that the other is a brilliant thinker. With that being said, I just did not find the subject matter to be all that interesting. He certainly made some provocative claims and backed them up with research, but for each claim he made there was (it seemed) a half hour’s worth of dry, superfluous information. The book is still in the top 200 on Amazon, and has received a ton of favorable reviews, so maybe the problem is with me and not with the book.

*We had another good night at church last night. There were a bunch of angles I could have taken on the passage we were studying (Mark 11:27-12:12), but I decided to focus in on fear and how it impacted the actions of the Pharisees and how it can control our lives. I think a basic reality of life is that we all live in fear on some level, and too often that fear can be absolutely paralyzing. We fear failure so we do nothing. To illustrate this point I was able to share the amusing, yet pathetic, story of the night that Christie and I officially started dating (and how I almost blew it because of, of courses, fear). What I tried to do last night was distinguish between unhealthy fear of things in the world and healthy, reverent fear of God and the hope that comes with that. I know that I need to be reminded not to fear on a fairly regular basis, so it is my hope and prayer that last night was helpful to our group.  The reality is that we worship the things that we fear (think about it, it’s true), and that makes it all the more important that we have a healthy fear of our God who loves us rather than an unhealthy fear of worldly things. It was weird being at Seven24 without being at Overdrive earlier in the day (I was driving back from Vegas). I’m fairly certain that was the first time that had happened, and the result was that when Seven24 started I didn’t even feel like it was evening yet. All and all it was a good night though…during the closing worship set I was thinking about how I really love being at New Song and how it is such a blessing getting to be a part of Seven24. Christie and I are really lucky to be here for this season of our lives.

Ok, that’s all for now…gotta get to work, finals are looming

Recently I was given a copy of the book Do Hard Things: A Teenage Rebellion Against Low Expectations by Alex and Brett Harris. I read it in a couple of days, and can confidently say it should be read by anyone who works with teenagers, and then given to teenagers to read. I don’t have time for a comprehensive book review, but I did want to talk briefly about the book and its message. I, as a 25 year old, was inspired reading it (so much so that I bought a copy for my 18 year old brother), and I believe this book has the potential to make a tremendous impact on youth culture.

The basic thesis that Alex and Brett Harris, founders of the website www.therebelution.com, is that teenagers today are largely conditioned to accept mediocrity, and because of that they rarely live up to their fullest potential. Teens, particularly gifted teens, are rarely fully challenged, and thus can quite easily skate through their adolescence doing just enough to get by. Rarely are they ever truly asked to “do hard things”. This, according to the authors, is a tragic waste of the gifts that God has given young people.

Throughout the book Alex and Brett, both 19 year olds, share stories of some of the “hard things” they have been able to do in their lives (organize a grassroots political campaign, start up a phenomenally popular blog, write a book, etc.), and they share a bunch of other stories of teens who refused to settle for merely getting good grades, doing their chores, and holding down a part time job. The stories of teenagers who accomplished incredible things were simply mind blowing (and made me question how effectively I’ve used the gifts God has given me!).

They focus on five particular types of “hard things”. 1) Things that are outside your comfort zone. 2) Things that go beyond what is expected or required. 3) Things that are too big to accomplish alone. 4) Things that don’t earn an immediate payoff. 5) Things that challenge the cultural norm. Those are all certainly ‘hard things’, and they are things that are unattractive to many of us, particularly teenagers, in our microwave, myspace, instant download, I-want-it-now culture, but ultimately tasks that challenge us in one of the above ways are the ones that are most fulfilling. The Harrises walk through how it is that teenagers, and really all of us, can go about pursuing those hard things while avoiding the more menial tasks of life that often distract many of us from being effective for the kingdom of God.

It is true that we live in a culture of low expectations, and it is also true that gifted students can easily ‘get by’ without fully engaging themselves in their education, their spiritual life, or their other extra-curricular activities. I’ve found that to be true even in my own life, as I’ve often relied on my own intelligence to save me from having to fully apply myself to various tasks. I found this book to be a much needed wake up call for a generation that is slowly being lulled to sleep by our culture of apathy and low expectations.

I highly recommend this book to virtually anyone under the age of 25, and I particularly recommend it to those of you who are involved in youth ministry as either a staff member of a volunteer. It is a very quick read, and time reading it will be time well spent.