Come to the Oldest Church in Town!

It’s been a while since I have written a blog post. It is partly because I have found it increasingly difficult to come up with original content, but also because I have been doing almost all my writing offline. I started writing a novel a few years back and it has taken up most of my free time. Pain from my nerve disease makes it hard to sleep some nights, so I began making up a fantasy story to distract my mind. The story quickly grew and developed, and I decided I would start putting pen to paper. (It was actually fingers to keyboard, but it’s the same idea.)

Two years and 1000 pages later, I finished the first draft, and immediately turned my attention to editing. Rewriting is much harder than writing, and very humbling. It is amazing how bad things seem to be when you go back and review them! I ended up dividing the manuscript into two parts, and have completed about three drafts of the first half, but I feel like it has a long way to go. I have a sense it may take me another two years before it is ready to send to an agent.

One thing that slows my progress is accepting invitations to teach the Bible. I have not yet mastered the art of working on two writing projects simultaneously and end up setting the novel aside every time I begin working on a lesson or sermon. I recently set the book down for several weeks in response to an invitation to take over for a retiring pastor at the oldest church building in Huntington Beach. The deacon who called wanted me to consider becoming the full-time pastor, which was both honoring and terrifying. I would have to preach on top of practicing medicine, as the church had dwindled to less than 20 people on a Sunday and could not pay me a salary.

I agreed to a three month trial period, during which time the church and I could get an idea of how well we could work together us before we made a lasting commitment. I was determined to do a good job, so I set the novel aside and dove into sermon preparation. I was scheduled to begin preaching on July 7th, and I surprised myself by managing to outline 9 sermons in just 4 weeks. The spurt of productivity made me think that maybe I could handle both jobs. Excited to be serving God and with my mind swirling with possibilities, I started sharing some of my ideas for the future of the church with the deacon, and asked whether they could support my vision.

The result was the shortest pastoral tenure in history. Two weeks ago I received an email telling me that the church had decided I was not “a good fit.” I would be allowed to preach on July 7th, but that was all. They did not want me to become their pastor. I received the news with a mixture of disappointment and relief. Disappointment, because I truly felt that God was prepared to do wonderful things in the 118-year-old church, and relief, because I was going to be giving the church what would have been the first decade of my retirement years.

This Sunday will be my only preaching opportunity, but I think God has a message the church needs to hear. I believe God wants the deacons to see what it is like to have a church filled with people. To that end, I would like to ask those of you who live in the Huntington Beach area to join me at the church this weekend. If enough people show up, maybe the deacons will expand their vision for the future.

The Church is located at 401 6th Street, at the corner of Orange and 6th in downtown HB. Parking is available on the city streets, or in the nearby garage at 411 Orange Avenue. Service time is 9:30 AM.

I hope to see you Sunday!

Bart

The Truth About 2023

I am sitting and watching “New Year’s Live” from Nashville on television, and someone I do not recognize just did a quick thirty second interview with singer Lainey Wilson. She was asked the standard New Year’s Eve question, “What will you remember about 2023?” and gave a brief recitation of the tours, songs, and awards she experienced over the last year. Nothing about what she said was memorable, but the question got me thinking, and I asked myself a different question. “How would I describe 2023?”

To me, the past twelve months were unlike any year in recent memory, and not because of anything that happened to me. I think 2023 may end up being the most significant year of my lifetime for a single, profound reason. It presented the world with the clearest and starkest choices between good and evil since World War II. Sadly for all of us, the current generation appears to be nothing like “The Greatest Generation” that conquered Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan. Unlike them, we seem to be blind to realities we face, as the clarity of the contrasts before us is being missed by many Americans.

When Hitler’s army swept through Europe, the western world did not hesitate to choose a side. Yet, in the year after the Russian Army stormed across the border of its democratic neighbor Ukraine in 2022, February, many in the west are increasingly reluctant to do anything to stop it. When we do act, we give only enough money and firepower for Ukraine to fight to a draw. The world that once united to declare “Never Again!” has ignored the tens of thousands of Ukrainian citizens taken to Russia against their will and the kidnapping of thousands of children and turned a blond eye to the mass graves containing the bodies of hundreds of Ukrainian women and children who were raped and murdered.

As bad as the response to Russian atrocities has been, even more shocking has been the response of so many Americans to the crimes of Hamas. The response to Russia has been willful silence, but in the case of the terrorist acts of Hamas on October 7 and in its aftermath, tens of thousands of Americans and even some members of congress have vocally supported the side of evil. The staggering ignorance of those who repeat the genocidal chant, “From the earth to the sea, Palestine will be free,” is mindboggling and infuriating. Those who try to justify the acts of Hamas by saying the Palestinians “live in occupied territory” are either willfully uninformed or intentionally evil. (A google search for “History of Palestine” led me to a Wikipedia article that has this as its second sentence- “Palestine is the birthplace of Judaism and Christianity.” Two paragraphs later it states- “During the Iron Age, two related Israelite kingdoms, Israel and Judah, controlled” the land.)

As widespread as the vocal support of the terrorists is, the silence of those who should know better is almost as bad. Just yesterday, the salesman in the Verizon store shared his thoughts on the conflict, saying, “there are always two sides to every story,” implying it was hard to take a stand. There are indeed two sides, but one side wants its people to live in peace and has warned Palestinian civilians about pending strikes so they could move to safety while the other murders Israeli civilians and uses rape as a weapon of terror. The choice could not be clearer.

There is a different battle raging on the home front, one in which the difference between right and wrong could not be more clear. For reasons that are hard for me to understand, the medical establishment has abandoned science and sided with those who proclaim the lie that boys and be girls and girls can be boys. I have written before about the evidence against this lie, which is extensive, but that has not kept schools from keeping a child’s gender confusion from her parents, girls from being forced to compete against and change clothes in the presence of biological males, and parents being pressured to block the normal biological development of their children.

2023 has been a year when the battle between good and evil exploded into the public consciousness, a year in which people were forced to take a side. I wish I could say that the collective soul of the American people was healthy and that we would confidently, powerfully, and consistently side with the truth, but I can’t. I fear we may have lost our way.

What then can we do? For me, the choice is simple. I need to do as the Apostle Paul instructed the church at Ephesus, whom he told to “Speak the truth in love.” I will not pick fights or seek out conflict but when topics like these do come up in conversation, I will not shy away from speaking the truth. I know this is the right path because Paul made it clear that doing so is consistent with a life of love. In his letter to the Corinthian church he declared that love “does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.”Bart

Happy New Year to all of you. May we all choose truth in 2024.

• Bart

Politics Don't Apply

I don’t like to write about politics, for a number of reasons. Many arguments are nuanced, and nuance is often difficult to communicate in written form, particularly within the confines of a brief blog post. On the few occasions when I feel could comment with clarity, in our deeply polarized society there remains the possibility readers could mistake a causal opinion for a deeply held belief and misjudge me accordingly. The simplest reason is that I rarely think I have anything to say that hasn’t already been said by someone else and said better.

That being said, I don’t see current events in Israel as political. I am not unaware of differing opinions regarding Palestinian autonomy, control of the Temple Mount, Israeli settlements, the viability of a two-state solution, or the myriad other issues that have been debated for the 75 years since Israel became a nation, and I am confident these topics will be debated ad nauseum in the years ahead. I just do not think any of them matter right now.

Right now, the world needs to confront the reality of evil. Unjustifiable, indefensible, horrific, evil. There is nothing, nothing, the nation of Israel has ever done or could ever do to justify the actions taken by Hamas against innocent Israeli civilians.

What is hard for me to comprehend, and what motivates this post, is that the words of the preceding paragraph would be questioned by anyone. Yet the Democratic Socialists of America praised Hamas’ attack, thousands of students on elite university campuses have been marching against Israel, and Anti-Israel propaganda is being repeated by members of the US House of Representatives. How can this be?

The answer to the question can be found in the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus educated his audience about the heart attitudes that open the door for murderous acts. “You have been taught… You shall not murder… but whoever calls his brother worthless shall be guilty before the court, and anyone who says to his brother, “You fool!” (a term implying a godless reprobate) will be in danger of hell.” (Paraphrased) His point was clear- the road that leads to murder begins with someone devaluing the dignity and humanity of another person or people.

The actions of Hamas, like those of the Nazis in the holocaust, are the deeds of a people of depraved mind who deny the essential value of every human life. If we cannot agree on that, we have lost our way as a nation, and I fear for a future, regardless of which political party is in control.

Bart

A loser finally wins

Unlike my identical twin, I was not popular in high school. Bret earned his varsity letter in track as a sophomore, was Vice President of the sophomore class and then President as a junior, and hung out with cheerleaders. I was nothing.

When talking about high school I often ask people, “What’s the only think less cool than being president of the chess club?” Folks are uniformly stumped until I give the answer- Running for president of the chess club, and LOSING.

I can laugh about it now, but it wasn’t funny back then. I also lost in my runs for sophomore president and junior vice president. I decided not to run for ASB office, thinking I had suffered enough humiliation for one lifetime, only to be pressured into running at the last minute when one of the offices had only one candidate on the ballot. It was a disaster. I got La La Landed 43 years before the movie was released. The teacher responsible for announcing results read my name by mistake. For one brief, shining millisecond I thought I was popular after all.

My track record as an adult has not been much better. Sixteen years ago I finished second to another man when I put my name in to be the senior pastor of a church in Laguna Hills. Fifteen years ago I was voted off the board of directors of my HMO medical group. In the aftermath of that defeat I decided to focus my efforts on my own practice and leave the governing of the group to others. 

I was isolated and happy for fourteen years, until I was asked to run for an open board seat last year. I reluctantly agreed, only to be voted in. After twenty-eight years, it seemed I had finally found the respect of my pears.

As is my wont, I committed myself to being the best board member I could be. I am a much better listener that I was before, and much less bothered when people disagree with my point of view. It took me over sixty years, but I have learned how to be a grown up. Apparently others noticed my hard gained maturity, as last week the impossible happened. The Board of Directors elected me to be the group’s president.

The victory has my head spinning. I have asked myself, many times, “How did this happen?”

I think it really is the result of growing up. I have worked hard these last fifteen years at controlling my temper, respecting the opinions of others, accepting defeat with grace, allowing people time to digest my proposals, and being kind.

To my amazement, people noticed. 

These events have taught me something. I need to remember who I was and how long it took me to become who I am. I need to view other people as works in progress and not pass permanent sentences on them, to treat them with the grace that God and others treated me. There is a very good chance that some of the losers or today may be winners tomorrow.

Bart

A BIG DECISION

I didn’t know I was poor until 1976. At the end of that school year students in the “California Scholarship Federation,” a club for students with GPA’s of 3.6 or higher, were treated to a day at Magic Mountain. I rode in a carpool with a friend who was a senior, and on the way home we stopped at a Denny’s with other students. While the others ate burgers or breakfast and sipped Coca Cola, I drank water and ate the onions someone didn’t want on their burger as I had no money.

Six months later I made the sophomore basketball team. The coach decided it would be a good idea for us all to wear dress shirts and ties on game days. I was not opposed to the idea, but I had a problem. I did not own a dress shirt or a tie. My typical school attire consisted of a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. The coach was kind enough to give me a solid blue necktie but when it came to the shirt I was on my own. The only collared shirt I owned was a brown Pendleton I had been given for Christmas, and though I wore it with a tie for the first game it didn’t look very good. My mother must have said something to her much older boyfriend, because he took pity on me and the next week gave me a short-sleeved light blue dress shirt, which soon became my favorite.

Things changed when I began working during my junior year. I worked several days a week, sometimes more than thirty hours, but I could finally buy the things I wanted. My clothes and my outlook both improved. I continued working regularly for the next nine years, all through high school, community college, and ultimately the University of California, Irvine. Although I knew I was competing against students who did not work at all I never thought of myself as disadvantaged or viewed life as unfair. Until I decided I wanted to be a doctor.

As a product of an abusive home, I lacked self-esteem, and I wasn’t sure I had what it took to get in to medical school. My sense of self-doubt was so well developed that when I transferred to UCI to major in Biology, I felt compelled to promise my wife I would change majors if I did not have at least a 3.6 GPA at the end of my first year I would change majors. I did better than that, and when I submitted my applications two years later, I was in the top 3% of my class and had scored in the top 2.5% of the nation of the MCAT, the standardized admissions test. I thought I had made it.

I had, and I hadn’t. I had performed well enough to easily obtain admission into private medical schools in California such as USC, but when it came to the dramatically less expensive University of California schools I was found lacking. I was dismissed out of hand by UCSF, denied by UC Davis and UCSD after an interview, and put in the limbo of the “waiting lists” of UCI and UCLA. My deficiencies lie not in my grade average or test scores, but in something over which I had no control whatsoever, the amount of melanin in my skin. What I had overcome did not matter. No one cared that I had come from an abusive home or had worked my way through college. I was forced to sit and wait while much less qualified applicants were given spots ahead of me, forced to consider joining the military to pay for private tuition while the schools of my state granted admission to other people based on the spelling of the last name or the color of their skin. The most egregious example was when UCSF gave a spot to a fair-skinned female of Latin descent with a 3.0 GPA and test scores in the 40th percentile. I waited eight months to learn I did not have to force my wife to be a military bride. I did not receive an offer from UCI until six weeks before the first day of school, for UCLA the offer came five weeks later still.

I don’t think about the anguish of those days much, as everything worked out well for me in the end, but those memories came flooding back this morning when I read the news of the Supreme Court’s decision in Students For Fair Admissions v. Harvard. In clear, uncompromising terms, the majority of the court declared that admissions policies like the ones that nearly held me back thirty-seven years ago are unconstitutional.

Associate Justice Clarence Thomas, a man who happens to be black and who was abandoned by his father as a child and raised by his grandfather, ended his concurring opinion with these words-

“While I am painfully aware of the social and economic ravages which have befallen my race and all who suffer discrimination, I hold out enduring hope that this country will live up to its principles so clearly enunciated in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States: that all men are created equal, are equal citizens, and must be treated equally before the law.”

Bart

PS: I never write about politics, as my politics do not define me, and my political beliefs are not all that important. This post was motivated not by politics but emotion. For the first time in memory the Supreme Court addressed something I had personally experienced. The post is not a comment on racism in America (I know it is still a part of our culture!). It is simply a story of something I experienced and how today’s decision impacted me.