Saturday in the Park

A new condo high rise is going up a block from my apartment on the corner of 33rd and 2nd Ave. A big banner stretches across the building announcing that it is “Murray Hill’s First Green Condo”. I am not sure what makes a condo “green”, but I know what the phrase is intended to communicate. The builders care about the environment.

Being “green” is important these days. This past Wednesday was Earth Day. Since 1970 it has served as a day to focus on the well-being of this planet we inhabit. Across the country and around the globe people have awakened to the importance of taking care of planet Earth. But caring for the environment is not a new idea. In the creation account in Genesis, after each day of work, God comments on his own handiwork with these words: “and it was good”. And his first words to the human race had to do with caring for what he had created. I believe God thinks that “going green”, while not really a new idea, is a good idea nevertheless.

I have to confess that most of my life I cared little for matters of the environment. It’s not that I was pro-pollution. I simply didn’t think that in the long run what we did with planet Earth mattered much since my theology- my interpretation of the Bible- indicated that eventually God was going to destroy all that he had created and start all over again. Saving planet earth was like trying to save a sinking ship that had no chance of staying afloat.

I don’t think that way any more. I see the future differently…a future where God takes what he once made as very good and restores it to its original beauty. In the meantime, the original mandate stands- to be caretakers of God’s “green” earth.

With that in mind, Communitas joined 4985 other volunteers this past Saturday who spread across New York City’s 5 boroughs to clean up parks. Our group of 15 was assigned to Cunningham Park in Queens. Armed with rakes, shovels and plastic bags we did not change the world. But we did enjoy being outside on a very warm spring day. We enjoyed being together, working (and goofing off some), and in the end, after 109 trash bags full, changing one small part of God’s creation just a little bit.

On a Greyhound Bus

Since moving to NYC last summer, I have had many “first-time” experiences- like riding in a taxi cab, seeing a airliner floating down the Hudson River, and going to the second floor of the County Court house a few weeks ago to file some papers, stumbling onto the set of “Law and Order” as it was being filmed (don’t look for me in an upcoming episode). Now to these illustrious first time events I can add, “taking a long trip on a Greyhound bus”. I don’t recommend it.

I have concluded that the people who work for Greyhound do not like their jobs, and particularly do not like people. I think it may be a requirement to be hired. And the people who take long bus trips- well, since I am now in that company, I better not share my observations. So why the long bus trip?

As I shared in an earlier blog, living away from family creates a certain strain that I have not experienced until this point in my life. One has to be particular about when to return “home”, and how. On Sunday evening, April 5, right after our Communitas gathering, I began to receive a series of texts from family members saying that my dad’s health seemed to be failing quickly. Words like “two or three days to live” came along with “or he could live for months or years.” Over the next 24 hours I continued to get varied updates. I had just been in Michigan less than two weeks ago to help my mom get my dad into a long-term care facility. He was very confused mentally, but his body seemed strong. How did this happen so quickly? Should I jump on a plane (or a bus) and head back to Michigan again…so soon? The rational part of me said that this could be the case for the next several years. Can I rush home every time there is a medical crisis with my dad?

This was my mental dilemma throughout the day on Monday, April 6. I tried to work, but found myself checking airfares throughout the day, hoping they would magically fall dramatically in price. I still didn’t know if I should go, or how I would even know if I should go.

Later that evening, I got another call with more detail. He had pneumonia, had suffered a mild heart attack, and was in full renal failure. My sister was driving from St. Paul. One brother was driving down from Elk Rapids. They were going to bring him home on Tuesday for hospice care. He was not expected to live long.

There was a bus leaving NYC on Tuesday evening at 10:15 PM. It was a 14 hour trip, and would get me in around noon on Wednesday. And the price was right- $48 instead of $848 to fly. I still felt uncertain about leaving New York again, but finally, with the nudging of Chris, decided it was the right thing to do. So Tuesday evening, with my 16 year old son, Caleb, I left Manhattan on our first (and last?) Greyhound trip back to Michigan to see my dad before he died.

The bus was very uncomfortable. I think I finally fell asleep around 2:45 AM. I was awakened by my phone vibrating in my pocket. I glanced at my watch and saw it was nearly 3:30 AM. I knew it could not be good news. Before answering, I looked at the caller ID. It was my mom. “Hi mom, what’s going on”? (I knew). Her first words: “God was merciful. You father went to be with him about an hour ago.” It was a brief conversation that I will always remember- marking the end of my dad’s life here on earth- April 8, 2009. Caleb and I talked for awhile as the dark bus rolled through the hills of Pennsylvania in an April snowstorm that eventually brought the bus to a complete stop. All my 5 siblings had made it home in time. I was the only one not there. I admit to feeling angry- at myself for delaying the decision to leave, and perhaps at God for not helping out a bit and letting me get there on time.

But God was merciful. My last conversation with my dad had occurred just 12 days earlier. I was trying to get him to dinner in the nursing home cafeteria. He wouldn’t come. I told him that I was his son and that I would take him. He hit me and said “you are not my son.” He was suffering and all of us were suffering watching him gradually withdraw into a reality where we could not go. Since that day, I had been asking God to take him home. I never imagined it would come so quickly.

The funeral was on April 11- the day before Easter. The words of Paul had special meaning that weekend:

When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.” “Where, O death, is your victory. Where, O death, is your sting?”

As we grieve the death of my father, and feel the sting of death, we also celebrate his life here on earth and the life that has now just begun and will never end- a life without tears or pain or sorrow, and without death. Jesus overcame all of these- for my dad, who received these by his grace. As Paul wrote elsewhere, we grieve, but not as those who have no hope. Our hope (certainty) is Jesus.

My dad has left behind a great family- pictured below on the day of his funeral. Never has Jesus meant so much, nor my family meant so much to me.




He is Risen. So is my dad!

Estonia???

One of the things I never thought would happen when I left last summer for NYC to plant a church is that I would become an associate member of the Estonian Educational Society. In fact, I am not sure I could have located Estonia on a map. Of course, you have to remember that when I studied geography, the Soviet Union took up a large percentage of the globe, including what is now, or once again, the country of Estonia. But as you can see by my membership card, I am a member.


You might be asking yourself, “what does Estonia have to do with church planting? “ Nothing, except that Communitas’ third meeting place is in what is called The Estonian House. About 2 months ago we saw that we were outgrowing our space at 61 Gramercy Park North. It had served us well since October, but we were getting a little tight with our modest growth over the months. So we began to pray about the next space. After a number of dead ends, costs too high, wrong location, etc. we found this in our back yard- two blocks from where our family lives. To be eligible to rent the space, I had to “join” at the steep rate of $50 annual dues. I may be the only member who does not speak a word of Estonian- is that a language?



There are many buildings like this in our area due to the United Nations, which is just 10 blocks north. It is a kind of community gathering space for Estonians who work and live in the area. It turned out to be totally available every Sunday, at a great price, and is large enough for us to double in size before we hit the road again.

This space not only gives us more room, it also gives us more space to do things like have music and worship. Of course, it helps to do those things if you have musicians and someone to lead worship, which we did not- until a few weeks ago. A couple walked into our Sunday evening gathering in mid-February and after that first visit felt totally drawn to become part of our community. Turns out Neal plays guitar and sings and Val sings and plays the piano. In fact, Val is in New York as a musical theatre grad auditioning for parts on and off Broadway. They are both very gifted, love Jesus, and have years of experience leading worship.

Sunday evening, April 5 was such an encouraging night. As I looked around at our community gathered together in our new space, led in worship of Jesus by our new friends, I saw God’s gracious hand who gave us these gifts when we did not know where or how to find them. I don’t know what is in the future for Communitas, but my suspicion is that God is going to lead and provide.



Well, Nägemiseni for now. (That’s Estonian for “goodbye”.

Counting My Days

This past Monday evening I popped a video tape into the VCR and sat down with my brothers and sisters and watched all the old family movies that had been shot with an 8 mm camera and transferred to video tape some years ago. For you youngsters, 8 mm is what we had before video tape. There was no sound, and you actually had to send the film in to get it developed, then feed it into a projector and show it on a portable movie screen or on the wall. Yeah, I know, stone-age.

We watched birthdays and Christmas mornings and family vacations. We saw our family grow from 2 kids to 6, and our family shrink as grandparents disappeared from family gatherings as the years went by. We laughed at clothes and hairstyles and fads as we moved from the fifties through the sixties and into the seventies.

The setting was the family room of my parent’s house in Michigan. We had come from New York and St. Paul and northern Michigan to be together as a family on the night before my dad, who is suffering horribly from advanced dementia, would leave his home for the last time and move into a facility that would be able to provide adequate care. At the dinner table I think it was one of my sisters who suggested we watch the home movies. At first, I thought it was a horrible idea- it was already painful enough. “Yeah, let’s watch old family movies so we can cry some more!!” But she was right. It was a good thing to do. My dad sat in the chair, pretty much unaware of what was going on or even that all the people in the room were his children. But the man on the screen we watched was another thing. He was a twenty-seven year old walking with his two sons. He was a thirty-two year old teaching his kids how to water ski. He was running along side his son as he showed him how to ride a bike. But most of the time, he was not on the screen at all. The movies revealed what he saw as he held the camera and pointed it at his wife and sons and daughters . He was capturing his family on film. We got to see what he saw through those decades.

It was a bittersweet experience- to contrast that young man with the man he is now. I think that evening will help me to remember him not as the man who forgot my name or that I was his son, but as the man who for most of his years was full of life. Somehow, it helped to bring some joy in the midst of our deep sorrow.

Later in the evening, I found myself thinking about how quickly a life goes by. I found myself thinking about the dozens of video tapes I have of my family- each with three hours of family history, and these actually have sound! I realize how often I live as if life will just go on unchanged, but it won’t. And whether my life is being captured on film to be reviewed on some future day or not, it is nevertheless being lived and spent everyday. While this is not a new thought for me- right now there is a lot more urgency attached to it. I will live one time- and I will leave an imprint on those around me and on my world.



Moses asked God (Psalm 90) to teach him to number his days so that he could gain a heart of wisdom. This week I understand that prayer more than I have in the past, and finding myself asking God for the same thing.

Joyful Community

Last Summer twenty of us moved from Michigan to NYC to start a new church. There were actually forty who had been together for the better part of a year getting ready, but some had to stay behind to sell houses and find jobs in New York before they could come. Some are still waiting on God.

In the first few months following our move it was not uncommon for me to receive e-mails and phone calls asking the question "when does Communitas start?" And my reply from the beginning was that the church started as soon as we arrived. We were a community of people committed to Jesus and representing him through our words and actions in New York. We were striving to love God and to love each other and to engage with the people of our new city in friendship and loving service. People on our team were immediately building new friendships and exercising their gifts and their passions on behalf of Jesus, expanding his Kingdom. Sounded like church to me.

Over the past 8 months our community has deepened in our love for each other and we are, I hope, learning to be what our name "Communitas" represents...a community that forms around mission, around a shared ordeal and a common purpose. The ordeal for many has been unemployment, struggling with the cost of living, loneliness as we have adjusted to a new world, noise, masses of people and crowds. But in the middle of it all, a sense of purpose and mission and the joy in doing this together. I cannot now imagine doing this without the amazing people God has brought together, including many I did not know a year ago. We have now become a group of 40+.

This weekend 35 of us "retreated" together about 70 miles out of the city to a quiet place called Mt. Bethel, just across the Pennsylvania border. I just read in Luke this morning that Jesus often went to a lonely place to get some rest. This was definitely a lonely place compared to NYC. "Bethel" is a Hebrew word that means "house of God". The acres of open land, the sounds of birds, grass under our feet- we liked God's house after the concrete and noise of the city. It was an awesome couple of days of relaxing, laughter, late night games, spiritual renewal, worship, and a little ultimate frisbee thrown in. We didn;t get much sleep, but I think we got rest.

As we headed back into the city Sunday evening, I was never more aware of the value of community and friendship in following Jesus and serving him. I honestly felt like the richest man on the planet. I don't know all that God has in mind for Communitas, but I am glad to be able to share the journey with the amazing group of people God has already brought together.

Does God Need Our Help?

This week at a conference I was attending the presenter at one of the sessions was talking about avoiding burnout in ministry by making sure that we stay connected to God in an intimate relationship. The idea was that before we do anything for God we need to know him and be in a relationship so that we minister out of his strength that flows in and through us. Then she said that we all needed to remember that God doesn’t’ need us. He can do a good job of running the world without us.

I turned to my wife Chris and said "Oh yeah? Look at the world? It’s a mess!” I said it out loud, but not loud enough for others to hear. That’s the kind of statement that can get you thrown out of a Christian conference. But before you conclude that my statement was sacrilegious, hear me out.

A couple of questions. First, is God “running the world?” This morning I looked through the newspaper delivered to my hotel room, and a casual scan of the entries showed things like a 7 year old with cancer, a murder, a rape, terrorism, drought in various places creating famine, aids spreading through parts of Africa like wildfire, etc. And that was just in the comic section! (just kidding). Consider now the words of an old hymn composed in 1901:

This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears

All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.

This is my Father’s world: I rest me in the thought

Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;

His hand the wonders wrought.

While I do delight in the wonders of God’s creation, what do I do with the world brought to me every day in the news? Is God “running” this world? It seems that if there is a power behind the suffering and evil we see everyday in every corner of the planet earth, it cannot be God. John wrote that… We know that we are children of God, and that the whole world is under the control of the evil one. (1 Jn 1:19). What would a world look like where Satan was having his way? The one we live in.

Maltbie Babcock wrote the hymn cited above. Here is the third verse:

This is my Father’s world. O let me ne’er forget

That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.

This is my Father’s world: the battle is not done:

Jesus Who died shall be satisfied,

And earth and Heav’n be one.

I would say that not only does the wrong often seem so strong- it is strong. And while I agree that God is the ruler of the universe, he has not chosen to meticulously control events on earth. So freedom expressed by human beings and evil spirits creates a world Babcock decided not to describe in his hymn. But notice he goes on to write that the battle is not done.

Here is my second question. How has God chosen to do battle in this world against all that is wrong and evil? Answer...through us! Consider this sampling of Scripture in light of the statement that “God does not need our help.”

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. 11Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.

Ephesian 6:10-13

The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.

2 Corinthians 10:4-5

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

Matthew 25:35-36

Jesus taught us that we should pray that his kingdom would come and that his will would be done on earth as it is in heaven. I have to tell you, a great deal of New York City does not look like heaven. As I look around the city, I think I hear God telling me that he does need my help- that is why he called Communitas to New York.

Let me be clear. That God needs our help is not a reflection of any weakness or imperfection in God. It is simply how he has designed things. We are his hands, his means, his plan to come against the wrong in this world. He could have done it differently. But as it stands, he is dependent upon us. If we don't, it won't get done.

By the way- I did get the point the teacher at the conference was trying to make, and I agree. No sense trying to be the hands and feet of Jesus in New York City if I am not connected to him. As Jesus put it, without me you can do nothing.

Learning About Compassion

I’ve been thinking about the meaning of “compassion” this past week. It’s a word that shows up a lot in the gospels, describing something Jesus felt or experienced. A passage I read in Mark a few days ago is a great example. Jesus had sent the 12 out to heal and preach and cast out demons. They came back some time later with a report of all that had happened. They must have been pretty tired because after hearing their description, Jesus invited them to a retreat- to get away to a quiet place to get some rest. Mark adds the detail in this account that they had so much going on that they couldn’t even break for lunch. So Jesus leads them to a boat to escape the hectic pace of life and recover. They push off shore heading to a remote destination away from people so they can get refreshed. But things didn’t work out as planned. When they hit the shore, this is the scene that Mark describes:

When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So he began teaching them many things.


Instead of a break from people, the crowd had figured out where he was heading, and they ran ahead and were there waiting for him. Notice what Jesus experienced when he saw the crowd. I know myself well enough to know that I would have been ticked off, frustrated, and would have shoved off shore again looking for a place to anchor out in the lake away from all the needy people. I would have seen the people as a barrier, separating me from my plans. Jesus saw them differently. As much as they all experienced hunger pangs and the need for rest, there was something they, (well at least Jesus,) experienced that was more powerful and compelling…Compassion

I once heard compassion defined as feeling someone else’s pain in my heart. It is perhaps similar to the experience of empathy- the capacity to know at a deep level, an experiential level, what another is going through. Rather than responding to someone’s misery or suffering with the attitude (acknowledged or not) “I am glad I am not you”, I feel as though I am that person.

I am coming to see that compassion is simply another word, actually a really good word, for love. Love is not love unless it encompasses compassion. Jesus taught us that we should love our neighbor as ourselves. When we are hungry, tired, thirsty…whatever we experience, we naturally and automatically take action to meet our needs. To love our neighbor as ourselves, then, means that we do the same when we are not the one in need, but we encounter someone who is. We relate to their need, their suffering, and we embrace it as if it were our own, and take action. Love, as defined and exemplified by Jesus, is an identification with the suffering of others, embracing it to an extent that we are compelled to act. Without compassion, it seems love is a lofty ideal with no power.

This week New York City experienced some uncharacteristic winter weather, especially for March. After 12 inches of snow fell, the temperatures dropped into single digits at night. In a place like New York, you really experience the weather. I no longer own a car. I get around using subways and busses. This means walking a lot (about 5 miles a day) and waiting for busses and trains in the cold. I was glad for my winter coat and gloves and hat and a warm apartment and a hot meal, and the prospect of a good night sleep in my warm bed. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be a homeless person in weather like this. But I should. I should try to imagine. It should matter. It should bother me. What if that was my mom, my son or daughter, hungry and out in the cold. What if that was me? Can I push such thoughts out of my mind, or, as the boat hits the shore, will I look at the crowds and feel compassion?

On Tuesday night, 10 of us put together meals and placed them in plastic bags. This was our second Tuesday evening venture to Penn Station this winter. With the bitter cold we figured there would be more homeless men and women wandering the halls of the train station, thankful at least for a break from the biting wind.



Our experience was identical to what I reported in a previous blog- in minutes the fifty meals we had prepared were given out. As I walked the corridors carrying my last bag looking for someone who might be hiding from the cold, Dave, who was with me, spotted a woman tucked away in a corner. She was dark-skinned wearing dark clothing, hiding in the dark shadows. As we approached her, she became fearful. I do not think that she understood much English and I know she did not understand what we wanted with her. When she understood we meant no harm but were offering her food, she received it. She told us her name was Yvonne. I know nothing about her except that unlike me, she has no warm apartment to go to, no warm bed or warm supper waiting for her.

A few minutes later as we stood in the cold on 34th Street waiting for the bus, I kept picturing Yvonne. What if that was my mom, or my daughter? What would I feel? What would I do? I had to admit that what I had felt was much less that what I would have if the woman had turned to be my mom or daughter. She would be waiting for the bus with me heading for the warmth of my apartment.

I don’t honestly know if I have much of a clue yet about true compassion. In the account in Mark 6 cited above, at the end of the day when they all would have been even more tired and more hungry than they were when they got in the boat to take a break that never came, there was still more compassion needed. Jesus knew the people were hungry and he was concerned about them. Rather than sending the people away to get supper (I would have been the one of the 12 making that suggestion to Jesus), he asked the 12 to bring them their food to feed the thousands. As the disciples did what Jesus asked, taking inventory of their few loaves of bread and fish, and bringing it to him, I am sure they imagined that they were not going to get anything. Instead, they became a part of a miracle.

It seems against the tremendous need in this city, what we did Tuesday was not enough. But I have to trust that Jesus can still do something with a few loaves of bread offered to him.