Some Birthdays

We celebrated some birthdays over here.

Ian turned 7 on April 11th, which I still can't believe. Weren't we just bringing him home from the hospital? Geez. Here he is mugging it up before diving into the cake.


We also had an early birthday cake for my Mom just before she went home.

Springtime for London

Spring has sprung.

Birds are singing, flowers are blooming, people are leaving their homes without coats, and the pollen index is virtually unbearable for hay fever sufferers.

What a great time of year.

These flowers are exploding all over our back garden.


For those of us who grew up in Southern California, this worship of spring is a new experience. We wore short sleeves to our Christmas celebration, and I have friends at home who have been going to the beach regularly for most of this year. But it’s not just the temperature, it’s the balance of light and darkness. Los Angeles is much farther south than London, and so the length of days doesn’t vary as much there as here. We’re loving these long days—even the cool ones—as we prepare for the summer season.

The difference between winter and summer here makes springtime worth celebrating. That difference reminds us that something new is happening—that a window of time has opened up during which we can enjoy things that we can’t really do during the rest of the year. Ian and I have been playing baseball and kicking a football around. I’m getting off the bus a few stops early to enjoy a walk in the sunshine. Julie and I have been talking about firing up the grill and eating some dinners outside.

What a great time year.

Springtime is also the Easter season for Christians. As I’ve said in the services in April and May, this is a season when we celebrate a truly miraculous part of our Christian faith. There’s no smoothing over the resurrection with modern language and sophisticated reasoning. This is one of those times of year when we have to acknowledge that our faith has its roots in a dramatically supernatural event—He is risen...He is risen indeed!

When we allow the complete other-ness of Easter to wash over us, we’re a little more attuned to God’s call on our lives to be his disciples. I know that’s hard. This is one of those things that just doesn’t make sense to our modern minds, or put a different way, it’s one of those things that we have to know in way that is completely different from the way we know other things. That’s a challenge. But the blessing of it is that when it happens for us our lives as disciples are warmer, brighter and more productive.

And so I’m enjoying this springtime in a way that I never have. I haven’t experienced the stark difference between winter and spring before, and it’s wonderful. I’m looking forward to summer, and also, in a strange way, to starting the whole cycle over again.

Oops. I just heard that there’s some rain coming. That’s OK—all those flowers in the garden needed some watering.

A Little Trip to Florence

So we took a little trip to Florence with my Mom and my aunt Rose. It wasn’t really planned, but at dinner one night we started talking about a trip, and, well, one thing led to another and the next thing I knew we were buying tickets online. The flight was only two hours, but we might as well have gone to a different world.

I hadn’t been in Florence since I was five years old, and it was wonderful. My Italian came back on the first day—I was having conversations with people, using words I hadn’t even thought of for years. Julie and Ian enjoyed their first visit to Italy, and both learned some of the language.

We walked around for most of the time. It was warm and relaxed, and we saw a lot of the city on foot. It between we ate amazing food, drank some great wine, and enjoyed gelato every chance we could. We saw some of the great works of sculpture in the museums and public areas of the city, and spent a fair amount of time in the Galleria dell’Accademia, where Michaelangelo’s David is housed. None of us are art experts by any stretch, but we were all moved when we were in the presence of David. It was one of those rare things that comes with a lot of hype and buildup, and yet doesn’t disappoint.

Ian continues to be a great little traveler. He got up at 4am with us to catch our cab to the airport, then walked around all day with us when we arrived. He rode buses, looked at great works of art (even if he spent most of the time looking at, er, butts), and ate in restaurants. He even asked for our room key in Italian. As you’ll see in the pictures below, Ian is a trooper, and wants to go back to Florence as soon as we can go.

This is us on the flight to Pisa (no visit to the Tower, alas).

When Ian handed over his passport when we arrived in Italy, the guard asked him if his father was Italian. When we said we were originally from LA, he started telling us about Kobe Bryant's years in Italy. He posed for a snap with us.

That's Ian at the train station in Pisa, right outside the door of the airport, while we were waiting for a train through the Tuscan countryside to Florence.
This is Ian in our hotel room.
The same room from a different angle.
Ian with Grandma Marian and Aunt Rose, hanging out in the hotel.

This is a typical corner in Florence. Some locals, some tourists, and some art.
That's us on a bridge called Ponte Vecchio, which has been the home of Florence's gold and jewelry market since the 1400s. So many narrow streets, so little time...
Ian in front of the main Cathedral and the Duomo (peeking out in the back).
More dramatic art, just laying around the town.
This is Neptune, God of the sea. One of many naked men in Florence.
My sister has been keeping secrets from us... I mentioned to the host here that I had a sister named Gina in the States, and he gave me a menu from the restaurant.
Ian continues to fall afoul of the authorities.

More art...Ian and I taking in some of the sights.
Rose and Ian on top of a sightseeing bus in the village of Fiesole, in the hills above Florence.
He is risen indeed!
Ian carries that bag everywhere we go. He keeps papers, games and a journal of his travels.
He also rides merry-go-rounds...
This is the spot where Savonarola was burned as a punishment for burning the early books of the Renaissance age. My sister Angie was on this site when she was 11 or 12.
Ian really wanted a picture in front, um, I mean in back of the statue of Neptune. So here it is: Ian and Neptune's rear end.

On the train leaving Florence, Ian and I caught a little nap.

Ian was first in line to board our flight back to London. He walked across the runway with the entire passenger group behind him.

A Reminder (to me) about Ministry

Today was one of those ‘kitchen sink’ days--there was a little of everything in it. I’m not preaching this week, so I’m taking care of the sorts of things that pile up when my focus is on preparing a sermon and service. I wrote an email to be sent out to ACL members about an upcoming Bible study, studied the church’s finances for a while, recruited some folks to assist in worship in the coming weeks, and spent some time with the staff in the office—catching up and checking to see how they’re doing. I was making some headway on the small mountain of papers on my desk, feeling very productive and able. And then the phone rang, and the church secretary said that a guy was at the door who wanted to pray with the minister.

Now my first thought was to say ‘sure, call the minister up and see if that works for him.’

Of course, that wouldn’t do at all. He wanted to speak with me, much to my surprise, so we went into the sanctuary and he shared some things with me that were happening in his life. We prayed for a while and chatted, and then he left. The whole thing took about 15 minutes from start to finish, and then I was back at my desk staring at my inbox.

Almost immediately another guy dropped in, this one from our congregation. He’d just passed an exam and wanted to stop by to say thanks for our support and encouragement in his life. It didn’t matter, thankfully, that I had no idea he was taking a test today. He just wanted to come in, sit down and share his relief that this latest step on the path to moving up in his profession was completed.

Now very little of this has to do with me as a person. Folks don’t walk down Tottenham Court Road and think to themselves: ‘I’d really like to talk to John—he’s from California and he went to seminary and that might be interesting.’ The fact is, my name is out on the sign facing the street. I could be a strange guy in a large bunny suit and people would still stop in and ask for a chat (even if they might not stay as long). When folks stop here and ask to talk with the minister, they’re looking for someone in a role—an office—someone who they trust to share with, celebrate with, cry with and pray with. The fact that I rarely feel competent to handle all of these concerns is secondary. In this position—and in a very mysterious way—I represent God to his people. I know that sounds puffed up—I certainly don’t mean it like that—but the fact remains that people want someone they can count on to listen and touch and absolve. The Reformation might have said that each one of us is our own priest, but most people aren’t buying it. Most will want someone else—it rarely matters who, as long as they hold the office—to be their comforter, their prayer warrior, their priest.

I take this part of my job so seriously, because I know how stunted I am at living up to it. Oddly enough, when someone comes to me and wants me to represent them to the Almighty—and the Almighty back to them—that’s when I sense God’s presence most in my own life and ministry. Why? Because I know in that moment that it can’t possibly have anything at all to do with me. I may be a grouch, or stewing over a conflict at home, or feeling homesick, or wallowing in any one of the chronic sins that plague my life. In that moment none of those things matter. Someone is in my office with a need and wants prayer from a minister. I do it without hesitation.

No one really prepares you for this in seminary. Sure we studied counseling and pastoral care and we prayed together a lot. But no one, especially in a Protestant evangelical institution, prepares you for being a priest when the situation calls for it. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe if they tried to tell someone like me that I would speak and touch and even forgive on God’s behalf, it might have gone to my head. Or, more likely, I might have run screaming from the room. It’s the surprise of it—the interruption of it—that remains special to me. Most of my day is spent talking with people in the church, designing the order of the service, choosing music, writing sermons and articles and plans, etc. When someone drops in unannounced with a need, it catches me off my guard and prevents me—and this is the odd part—from putting on my pastor face. Ironically, those days when I have less time to prepare are the days when I’m most likely to act faithfully as a priest, because I have to rely on God’s wisdom and power and comfort. Go figure.

And so while I didn’t get as much of the paper off my desk today as I had planned, I feel more like a minister today than I usually do. This part never gets old.

A little catching up to do...

(There are multiple new posts below. Enjoy.)

OK, so I’ve been pretty lax about posting anything for a few weeks. We’ve had my mother and father-in-law with us for 6 weeks, our daughter and son-in-law for two weeks, and my mom and aunt just arrived for a month (oh yeah, Holy Week happened somewhere in there). The nice thing is that we’re still enjoying having visitors. But the hard part is finding any time for writing for the blogsite. Besides, it was hard topping the post about the visit with the Queen...
So that’s my repentance for now. Below you’ll find some news and pictures from our last few weeks. I’ll try to keep up a little better in the future.

A Visit to the Ambassador's House

The US Ambassador to Great Britain invited Ian to an Easter egg hunt at his official residence, called Winfield House. Happily, we got to go with him. This is the second largest private residence in London, and was built by Barbara Hutton, an American socialite. Ambassador Tuttle and his wife Marie host this event every year, and they invite a lot of the expat community to come and have a meal. It was a lot of fun. I got my Mom, my aunt Rose and my mother-in-law added to the guest list, and we enjoyed an afternoon of amazingly warm weather, entertainment and food. Here are some snaps.

Julie, Ian and I on the grounds of Winfield House.

Don't they look like trouble?
A magician came by to show us some tricks.

Mom and Rose had some wine and ended up with their faces painted...

This was some really good food. There were bite-sized hamburgers with little American flags for the, er, kids, and a bunch of other good stuff.

Ian got to go looking for candy-filled eggs on the enormous grounds of Winfield House.

There he is.

There they go.

That's My Boy

This is Ian checking out the computerized catalog at the British Library. He has his napsack and his favorite snow leopard with him as he peruses the collections. In the new exhibition room for documents, there is a display of original Beatles songs written on notebook paper, napkins and other scraps. There are also headphones where you can listen to recordings of the songs as you read them in manuscript form. When Ian is done reading old documents, he likes to go in and listen to a few tunes to unwind.

Some visits from home...

Ian had fun with his grandparents (Julie's folks) during their visit. There was some great weather for most of the time--London is really beautiful in the spring. We've been playing catch in the backyard, Julie has been planting some new flowers, and Ian chased his grandpa around until Roger couldn't walk anymore.

This is Roger trying to convince Ian that he caught a big trout last year...

Our daughter and son-in-law came for two weeks, and we had a great time with them.

We went to the ancient Roman city of Bath with Ericka and Neil, and this was the view out of our bedroom window.

Portobello Road is a stretch of shops and outdoor markets in London. We spent a day there with Ericka and Neil. After walking out of a restaurant where the service was awful, we stood on the sidewalk and had fresh pizza and chips (fries) with vinegar and salt. It was one of the best meals we had that week.

A Visit with the Queen

A month or so ago I received an invitation which read:

'The Master of the Household has received Her Majesty's command to invite Reverend Dr. John D'Elia to a Reception to be given at Buckingham Palace by the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh for Americans working in the United Kingdom.'

Right.

As with many of the amazing things that have happened since we moved here, I thought this was someone playing a joke on me. I mean c'mon, I'm just a guy from Burbank who has a very cool job in a great city. Anything more than that is a bonus, an extra, some serious icing on the cake. It turned out to be anything but a joke. This was a real event, attended by a cross section of Americans in the UK, including some very interesting people.

The event was yesterday, an absolutely stunning day in London. It was about 68 degrees outside with clear skies and a nice breeze. I arrived at the palace (OK, that's the first time I've ever typed that sentence), and showed my invitation and passport to the guard. He welcomed me through the gate and told me to follow the path to the main part of the residence. As I walked onto the grounds I looked back toward the gate I saw tourists about three deep, squinting in the sunlight and trying to figure out who I was. That moment made me laugh out loud.

I walked into the palace and was directed up one of these movie-set staircases. There were huge portraits covering every wall--the royal version of family vacation photos--and various sculptures and other artifacts by the dozens. I entered a large hall where I received a nametag with everything spelled perfectly (you have to know the D'Elia clan to understand how wonderful it is NOT to have to take a pen out and correct the spelling of your name). A waiter brought me a glass of wine, which was very good, and then there were a series of servers bringing hors d’oeuvres, which were also very tasty. I noticed from the nametags that there were a lot of bankers and financial types, as well as a large group of defense contractors in attendance. I chatted with a prominent chef, a retired USAF colonel, and a woman who runs the Walt Disney Company operations in Europe. (I told her I was from Burbank, a medium-sized walk from her HQ. She wasn’t as impressed as I thought she should be, so I moved on.)

At one point people started getting into a line, and so I joined them. I’d assumed that the Queen would briefly enter the room to greet us, and that we would then resume our wine and nibble consumption, but that’s not what happened. As the line moved toward a doorway I was asked for my entry card and then found myself face to face with the Queen, whose hand was held out for me to shake it, which I did. The next hand held out to me was that of Philip the Duke of Edinburgh (the Queen’s husband for you anarchists out there).



When I moved through into the next room, I saw Don Johnson (he’s in a play over here), the photographer Annie Leibowitz, and Jerry Hall (alas, she was Mick-less). After some chatting and meeting some other folks, one of the royal household staff came up to the people I was with and asked us to stay together and continue our conversation (I was with the head of Sony Pictures in the UK, talking about where to find good Mexican food in London). Next thing I knew, the Duke of Gloucester joined us and we chatted with him for a while.

Logan Dunn (our associate pastor) and I moved into the next room, and after a while another of the handlers asked us to stay put again. A minute later we were face-to-face with the Queen, who asked us all some questions and politely pretended to be interested in the answers. When I said that I was the new minister at the American Church, she said she remembered one of our former ministers being on the radio occasionally, and told me that I should do the same. It was a direct order from the Queen, so I’ll be looking into that immediately.

No need to burden this report with a lot of comment about celebrity or how we’re all the same under the skin.

Meeting the Queen was amazing.

Health, Safety and the Gospel

I’m fed up with rules.

Not entirely, I suppose, I’m not joining the Anarchist Party or even those wacky Libertarians. Rules provide limits and boundaries that help us live together in cities and villages and groups—even churches. Living without rules leads to chaos. But still, sometimes the rules makers get a little out of hand, and when that happens the restrictions keep us from being fully human.

I’ll cite two recent examples from over here. First, over the weekend in the Times of London there was a front page article about Health and Safety regulations in the workplace. The H&S (think OSHA if you’re reading this in the US) is an important organization that, at times, is a little taken with its own importance. The story in the paper was about office workers at the BBC who are no longer allowed to change light bulbs on their own. Seriously. When a bulb goes out at this internationally-acclaimed newsgathering and broadcasting giant, they have to call a special crew to come in and bring light where there once was darkness (OK, that was a little on the purple side). The BBC regularly has men and women dodging mortar shells in some of the most troubled regions in the world, but they can’t get up on a chair and fix their own lights. Fittingly, the department who calls for this assistance is billed £10 for each bulb replaced (about 20 bucks). At the local market you can get two bulbs for £1.

Worse, in Scotland this week a firefighter is facing disciplinary action for—get this—jumping into the river and saving the life of a 20-year-old woman who was trying to commit suicide. Apparently he was supposed to put on some special trousers and harness himself to something firm before jumping in the water. What he was not supposed to do (apparently) was save this young woman’s life. ‘I was supposed to watch that young girl die in front of me’, he said, ‘I couldn’t live with myself if I’d had to do that.’

Thank God.

The firefighter in question is my age, a dad like me, and he responded as all of us hope we would—and as rescue workers are expected to—when faced with an opportunity to help. Firefighters sign on for the work they do with full awareness of the risks, but sometimes the rules get in the way of them doing their jobs. This guy is in danger of being fired—ironically—because he actually did the job he was hired to do.

In these cases the rules, instead of protecting human life, prevented people from being fully human. Office workers are fully capable of changing light bulbs, and certainly a firefighter is trained and willing to save someone’s life. When safety rules prevent us from living as we were made, they stop functioning as safety regulations and become prisons where we stare out through the bars and long for the freedom to act.

How we live is often more important than how we die. The firefighter said that he couldn’t live with himself if he hadn’t tried to save a drowning woman. Think about that. He knew he could be killed in the attempt to save her, but that was preferable to living with the knowledge that he’d done nothing. The lives we lead can never be risk-free, but they can be meaningful and courageous and helpful.

Christians are about to celebrate Holy Week. It’s a good thing there wasn’t a Health and Safety inspector telling Jesus what he could and couldn’t do. The point of his life was to risk it—and give it—on our behalf and for our benefit. If he had lived to be 80 years old and had avoided the sacrifice he was sent to make, just imagine how different the world would be. But we know that that’s not what happened. Jesus acted--he died to cover our own separation from God and rose to demonstrate that he had power over death. He didn’t sit in his house and worry that it might be too risky. He acted decisively, even though it caused him pain and cost him his life. ‘For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.’ That’s the Gospel for us in this season and throughout the year. The Messiah came and jumped into the river when we were doing our best to throw away our lives.

Thank God.

Running on (Almost) Empty

I’m starting to run out of things.

Shampoo, Q-Tips, my favorite soap. The last charge on my beard clippers is finally gone. Last week I wore the last of my shirts that were laundered in Burbank. I found a coupon for a few dollars off of our next bill, and threw it away. In marketing terms, I demonstrate a high degree of product loyalty, something that is being tested as we get settled in this new city. I’ll confess to a little bit of low-grade anxiety as I use up the last of the items that I really like.

It’s such an odd thing to notice, I know, and I don’t want it to be melodramatic at all. But I will say, truthfully, that I got a little sad as my trimmer died in my hand. I remember charging it up for the move. We were at my Mom’s house, which was such a relaxing and nourishing time for us just before we left. We allowed ourselves to be drenched there in good food, happy conversation, visits from friends and family, and a very special Christmas. In the days just before we left I remember trying to make sure that everything got done, and I specifically remember plugging the beard trimmer in so that it would have a full charge when we got to London. Now that last bit of Burbank electricity is gone, and I have to figure out how to charge it here.

That’s not entirely a bad thing.

Part of the transition to living here is learning to sustain our lives here. Some of that came quickly: There are food stores that we found right away where we know we can find what we need. We learned the public transport system almost immediately, because we had to, and now it seems like second nature to us. Some other things took longer, like banking, or having repairs done on the house, or even finding a new place to get my shirts and suits cleaned. The services that we have come to rely on in our daily lives are a big part of anywhere feeling like home. We’re not there yet, but we’re getting closer all the time. And running out of things is helping to move the process along.

In John 6 Jesus says, ‘I am the bread of life. Anyone who comes to me will never go hungry, and anyone who believes in me will never be thirsty.’

That’s pretty clear, but it isn’t easy. I’d love to say that relying on Jesus has made our lives sunny and pleasant, but that’s just not true. It’s not just our stuff that is depleted, it’s also our energy and, at times, our sense of our mission here. The three of us have been huddling in bed every morning for the last week, starting the day with some prayer time together—just for the day, for a sense of purpose, and for a little comfort. What we’re tying to do now, as we run out of the things—and feelings—we brought with us, is to rely on Christ for what we need to truly make a home here. Jesus may promise that we’ll never be truly hungry, but I’ll confess right here that I feel a little peckish.

Race Day

So Ian ran in his first cross country race yesterday. It wasn't as much a race as a chance for the kids to get out of the classroom and into a park for an hour or so. Three Year 2 (1st Grade) classes participated, and they ran two enormous laps around the park at the Paddington Recreation Centre. After the race there were cookies and hot chocolate for the kids.

Here are some snaps from the day.

Ian getting his race face on.

Loosening up before the race.

Coming around the home stretch.

Ian displaying his medal.

News Flash

Jesus is in the news again.

Film director James Cameron and others have been working to identify some remains found that hint at being Jesus and his family. Of course, all of this will be explained in an upcoming movie... Now, setting aside the truth or provability of that claim, it’s curious to me that this would be interesting to a largely secular audience. Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion has been on the New York Times bestseller list for more than six months, and there is a general sense among many that the Christian church has run its course—or at least lost its way, depending on who is doing the talking. Mark Steel, writing in The Independent, pokes fun at Christians for seeing signs and wonders in all manner of things (‘...they get so excited about an aubergine that’s cut in half revealing a pattern that sort of nearly says GOD’). But he also notices the brazen ignorance in Cameron’s belief that Christians would be happy to know that Jesus’ bones could be found. What would that say about the Resurrection? Good theology spoils the fun again.

Not that such gaffes are going unchecked anymore. Peter Steinfels in the New York Times has noticed that some scientists and atheists are coming out with strong critiques of Dawkins and others for their lack of knowledge of the theological concepts they seek to debunk. Terry Eagleton, a Marxist literary scholar, is quoted by Steinfels as saying: ‘Imagine someone holding forth on biology whose only knowledge of the subject is the Book of British Birds, and you have a rough idea of what it feels like to read Richard Dawkins on theology.’ Rough indeed. Cameron, Dawkins and others would do well to understand the development and impact of the Christian faith before they make their contributions to the discussion. Similarly I would expect a Christian commentator to be well prepared before entering into any debate.

Still, I come from a town that is at the center of the entertainment industry, and one thing you learn there is that almost any publicity is good publicity. I don’t want to treat the threat to the foundations of our faith in this new film too flippantly, but I’m happy nonetheless to have another opportunity to tell a different side of Jesus’ story.

The Scriptures teach that God in his love and generosity sought to make himself known to his people. He revealed himself through creation, the prophets, and the writings of the Bible. When humankind continued to ignore the message, God himself came in the form of Jesus of Nazareth, who preached and healed, and was killed for his trouble. On the third day he rose again and showed himself to hundreds of people. This Easter Sunday we’ll celebrate once again the mystery of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ—proof once and for all that God had power even over death, and that he offers that hope to all who believe.

Simple, right?

Well, not really. I understand that this is not just difficult, but also impossible for us to know in the way that we know other things. And yet, in each of our lives, as Christ moves in and transforms us into the people he has called us to be, the truth of the gospel is confirmed in ways that are as unique as each individual person. The church strays when it pretends that it has all the answers, and that its doctrines are airtight artifacts of closed discussions. The ongoing discovery of God in each of our lives is a fluid process, within the boundaries of what has been revealed to us in Scripture. That’s why I welcome any intelligent or authentic challenge to the doctrines of Christianity. Each time we are forced to engage these ideas and learn again how to explain them in our own words, we grow in our faith and maturity as disciples of Jesus Christ.

Cameron’s film and the attending media attention are timed to coincide with our celebration of the resurrection of Jesus. As we move into that time of joy and remembrance, we should renew our understanding of that miracle in our own lives, and be prepared to share that Good News with anyone who wants to hear it. Even the odd film director.

A sign of aging

I suppose there are all sorts of things that make us feel our age. Aches and pains are the most obvious. Having a kid call you 'sir' or ma'am' is a sure winner. The first time you tell someone to turn that $£% music down! I almost cried the first time I said that.

It also comes up in the 'where were you then?' conversations. Our parents all remember where they were when JFK was shot (I was exactly six months old on that day). My generation talks about the Challenger disaster. I suppose younger folks will have Monica Lewinsky, 9/11 and other terror events to think back on.

Television programming can put distance between the generations as quickly as anything. From Sid Caesar to Ernie Kovacs in the 50s, to Hogan’s Heroes and Batman in the 60s, to Welcome Back Kotter and That’s Incredible in the 70s, to Dallas and Hill Street Blues in the 80s, to Seinfeld and Friends in the 90s, and so on (can’t believe I didn’t squeeze NYPD Blue and the Sopranos in there somewhere...).

So I say all this because when we walked into Ian’s classroom back before his first day, here’s what we saw.



Now of course there's nothing at all funny about the names themselves (they're lovely kids), but Julie and I both laughed out loud at seeing them together. We waited for Ian's teacher to get the reference, but instead she looked at us as though we were, well, just another pair of crazy Americans. Of course, she's in her mid-20s, and had never seen Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons.

When we were done laughing, we realized just how old we'd become.