Team Lausanne

It was an international tournament, with teams from Marseilles, Paris, Thun, Zürich, Geneva, Schaffhausen and Lausanne. The men and women players ranged from 12 to 55 years old. Fans were enthusiastic but polite, often rooting for the underdog.

Yesterday afternoon the Third Annual Churches of Christ Indoor Football (soccer) Tournament ended with a first place finish by Team Paris.

Though we live in Switzerland, we know our French brethren much better than the German-speaking Swiss Christians. Two years ago, the Shaffhouse Church decided to host this tournament to encourage better relations between Christians on either side of the language barrier. Geneva participated that year and the following, and several of their members decided to host this year’s event. 6 players from Geneva made Lausanne’s contingency of 5 complete. Those who stayed the entire weekend slept in the nearby nuclear bomb shelter.

The toughest part of the tournament was when Lausanne, with Son 2 (goalie) and Daughter, played Marseilles and Son 1 (goalie). Wife and I cheered for both goalies and for Daughter whenever she dribbled the ball.

A church sports’ league may sound commonplace to you, but for Europeans it is a unique experience providing opportunity for cross-language communion and worship.

Middle Ages

The lawyer on Swiss TV said that publishing the names of companies that broke hiring laws would be a step back to the Middle Ages. I saw the documentary on King Arthur and Lancelot produced by Monty Python, and I can assure you I don’t want to go back to the Middle Ages.

But that period is looking pretty good compared to the Roman period some are stuck in now. A Parisian friend reminisced about his frequent trips with his boys to see PSG play football (soccer) at the city’s stadium. Impossible now. Too dangerous. Even with over 2,500 policemen at the French Cup final on Saturday when PSG meets Marseilles.

The World Cup starts on June 9 in Munich. For the month-long event, Germany is importing 40,000 migrant workers. Prostitutes, that is. It seems that the local girls won’t be able to appease the appetites of dedicated sports fans.

In general, the press does not call the violence and lust “barbaric” or “uncivilized”. They are rather sad realities we moderns must learn to deal with, giving weight to the argument that we can resemble the Romans but should never adopt the morals of those poor souls from the Middle Ages.

Chocolate Problems

Philippe and Dolores Dauner were here singing last week and, just for you, my dear Pepperdine Lectureship friends, I handed over almost 2.5 pounds of bite-sized, individually wrapped pieces of Swiss Chocolate, bought on sale at my third favorite store in the whole-wide-world.

Problem #1: How do I find Philippe and Dolores?

• You could go hear him speak at Firestone Field house on Thursday morning (11:00), but I know many of you are not out of bed yet. And if you wait till then, the chocolate might be gone.
• You could go to their class (Vision for a Generation: A Strategy for the European Mission Field Based on the Work in Marseilles, France) on Friday afternoon at 3:15. Some of you may be up by then, but I know the chocolate will be long gone.

Problem #2: How do I make them think I’m just happy to meet them rather than only interested in Swiss chocolate?

• For the preachers and elders among you, this is no problem. You are good at making people think you care about them (even if you only want their chocolate).

Problem #3: All the chocolate is in one bag.

• This really is a problem. Should the one who gets the bag share? (YES.) Will he share? (It depends on if an elder or a preacher gets it first.)

Youth retreat

I hope you got a look at Saturday’s post. The three racers did well, though times were slower than last year. It was the hottest day of the year (so far), about 78 degrees. The runners were not used to that kind of heat so they slowed the pace. But Wife placed 10th out of the 130 in her category, and 19th out of the broader category.

Those of us who went to the near-Paris retreat enjoyed the weekend. Well, the kids loved it. Not much sleep, but lots of food and beautiful weather. New songs and times of fellowship with Bible study gave us opportunities to grow. The youth wore themselves out on the soccer field.


Here’s the place we spent the weekend. There was a 200 year old Giant Sequoia at the end of the drive and a beautiful rose garden near the entrance. An old chapel was off in one corner as well as living quarters for those who come regularly for spiritual retreat.

Ever had a youth activity in a place like that?

After the Race

Here are Wife, Son 2 and K after their 10k race in Lausanne.

La Chorale Harmonie

The local parish loaned us their building and the “Chorale Harmonie” from Marseille did a wonderful job communicating the gospel through song and words of encouragement. About a 100 people were present and the a cappella presentation of spirituals and hymns in French, English and Latin was powerful.

It was extra special because Son 1 was singing in the group. The vocal blend was excellent and the music chosen, from “Down to the River to Pray” to “God’s Gonna Trouble the Water” was right in their range and brought the best out of them.

But what was clearly communicated was their trust in God through Christ. The group is made up of singers from age 12 to 55 and they are on a mission to share the Message through song. I’m grateful they came back to Lausanne this year.
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I’m off to a weekend youth retreat near Paris tomorrow. (Near there. Not there. Like Fresno is near Yosemite, but it’s NOT Yosemite). Daughter plus 15 kids from Geneva are traveling with a couple and me to the activity. Always interesting and reminds me of youth ministry days. (Eye twitch.)

Wife and Son 2 are doing a 10 K race through Lausanne. Lucky rascals.

LST recruiting

We started our recruiting for Let’s Start Talking (LST) last week by writing to all the old participants and to those who showed interest in past years.

Almost all the “new” people in church here have come through this ministry. Though none were converted from non-belief to belief, they all were searching for deeper faith and ended up growing in communion with God through the program.

LST trains USA university students how to give English conversation courses to English learners. They use simple texts that are taken from the Gospel of Luke (or Acts for those who are repeaters). The one-on-one, free lessons are designed to communicate one important spiritual truth, one seed idea, per session. That’s all. Though the USA student does everything possible to guide the conversation to spiritual realities, the learner is free to go there or not.

About 80% of the participants who start the 6 week project survive to the end, which says a lot for LST. Most people keep coming back because the USA students listen and care deeply about them.

Please pray for our recruiting. We’re looking for 30 “readers”, people we can serve, people who are searching.

Easter post

19 of us stayed for an after-church, Sunday meal together. I had taken a chapter out of N. T. Wright’s book Following Jesus and preached on Revelation and Resurrection. We read all of the Gospel accounts of the glorious event before and during worship.

We got Good Friday off. And Monday is off too. That means as many people as possible leave town for a few days of peace and quiet. It’s the last chance for students to rest up for the study marathon that takes them to the end of the school semester. It’s a long grind for them.

Son 2 had 5 friends over for a Star Wars films plus video game all nighter. The goal was not to sleep a wink and drink as much Pepsi as possible. From what I understood, they only watched one Star Wars. Somehow Monty Python & THG, with Spaceballs and the Fantastic Four made it into the night’s viewing. Had I known, I would have voted “NI!!!”
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For you Lincoln buffs out there, J. W. Booth shot the President on Good Friday, April 14, 1865. He died the following morning. Of course, this year, Good Friday fell on April 14.

Good Friday

For today: Matthew 26.47-27.61 and John 18.1-19.42.
For Saturday: Matthew 27.62, Job 14.1-14, Ps 16.5-11, Rm 6.3-11.
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I’ve just finished today’s readings from the Gospels, those stories which describe a day of sorrows for the man of sorrows, and I’m reminded of a chapter from F. Buechner’s book Telling the Truth. It's the one on The Gospel as Tragedy where I seem to remember Buechner asking the question: Why do they call it Good Friday?

There is denial by friends, false accusation, interrogation, slapping, mocking. More questioning, more beating, more mocking…

Hand-washing, cross-bearing, nail-driving. Humiliation, question, abandon.

Disgrace and darkness.

Friday ends with a corpse lowered from a blood-stained cross. It ends with 70 pounds of burial spices smeared on a my-God-why-have-you-forsaken-me body. It ends with a wrapped cadaver placed on a bed of hard, cold rock. It ends with the grinding roll of a stone placed solidly before the tomb entrance.

I'm an alien

Today we are reading John 12.37-50, Mark 14.1-11, Matthew 26.1-16.
On Thursday we'll read Mark 14.12-31, John 13.1-17.26, Luke 22.24-38.
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Every 3 years, every member of our family is obligated to renew his/her resident visa. When we first came to Lausanne, I was able to get a renewable one-year work visa because Wife had been here since 1969. After I’d been good enough long enough, I got a three-year permit.

Everybody, Swiss or alien, has to register with the “population police” any time they move, even if it’s within the same city. I’m also supposed to have my permit on me at all times, though no authorities have ever asked for it, except at the bank or the post office.

When we travel, we’ve got to carry our passports to go through border controls in and out of Switzerland. Normally they just wave us through. But if they think we’ve got a carload of groceries, then they’ll stop us and ask if we’ve got anything to declare. That’s when I share my faith with them…

I hear in America there is much talk about immigration these days. Here, there are the same discussions, similar problems, but different arguments. But you never hear anyone saying we’ve got to let people stay because Switzerland is a land of immigrants.

Palm Sunday

Our reading for Monday is Mark 11.12-18 and John 12.20-36. Tuesday’s is Matthew 21.28-25.46 and Mark 12.41-13.37.
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I cheated and didn’t preach about the triumphal entry yesterday, even though it was Palm Sunday. I guess I wasn’t in the mood because it’s become so, what’s the word, commercial.

Ash Wednesday was barely over and the stores were already playing Hosanna music. Chocolate palm fronds take up half the aisles in the grocery stores. The neighbor’s dancing palm tree display with neon lights makes it hard to sleep at night. It’s impossible to find a good donkey around because local pastors reserved them a year in advance for triumphal entry reenactments.

What is it with those “talking (plastic) rocks” that sing out “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord” every time you walk by? Do people really buy those things?

It’s time we stopped this blatant and irreverent “capitalization” of this important event. We should emphasized the REAL meaning of the day:

• God who keeps his promise;
• The humbleness of the King;
• The joy of the people;
• The blindness of the religious leaders;
• Impending doom on an unbelieving city.

Then maybe, we’ll get back to the true meaning of Palm Sunday.

Confirmation

Today, several of us from the Lausanne church are starting the Passion reading with John 11.55-12.11.

For Palm Sunday we will read Luke 19.29-44.

One of Wife’s best friends and a wonderful neighbor is celebrating the confirmation of her oldest daughter at the local Reformed Protestant Evangelical Church, Canton of Vaud (our State church). Wife helped her with the shopping and transport and heard all about the plans. The neighbor’s family is taking this seriously, but I’m not so sure about the State church.

Confirmation is deeply rooted in Swiss Protestant tradition. It originally confirmed infant baptism. Today it is a Palm Sunday ceremony where the candidate stands up and expresses his/her convictions, doubts, beliefs or lack of beliefs in front of the congregation.

The change was made recently because less and less youth were confirming. The process was seen as archaic at best, hypocritical at worst. Supposedly, adolescents were confirming for cash and presents. Integrity was being sacrificed for material benefit.

Many in the clergy were against the confirmation celebration because it made a distinction between believer and unbeliever and, for them, no distinction should be made. (Go figure.)

I haven’t asked neighbor’s daughter what she’s confirming… doubt or belief. I’m praying it’s belief.

Big Mac Index

Some people think that just because you live in Switzerland, you are their source for unlimited amounts of chocolate, that the streets are paved in black chocolate, the walls are mortared in white chocolate, and that pralines are for the taking at each crosswalk.

Of course, Europeans know that Americans are the world’s source for unlimited numbers of hamburgers. And they ARE right. You drive by a busy street corner in Centerville, USA and there’s a BK on one corner, a McDonald’s on another, a Wendy’s just across the street and 12 Starbucks within spitting distance. (I know… They don’t sell burgers.)

I bring this up because of the Economist’s Big Mac Index, a faulty tool that measures currency parity between different countries. FYI, you pay $4.93 for a Big Mac in Switzerland verses $3.15 for the same tasty burger in the USA. This year, we took the lead for the most expensive fast food in the solar system (though Iceland and Norway are not on this year’s list, but I’m not sure they count as part of our solar system).

I love Lausanne, but it is expensive. We deeply appreciate our partners in ministry who generously help us out. Thanks.

Two encounters

C. and I ran across a lady I hadn’t seen in years. She’d got fed up with our church and had moved on after 15 years of on-and-off investment. There were reasons. Her life was falling apart and we couldn’t fix it or even make it better.

She’s ok now. Separated from her husband, working seven days a week, feeling needed by those she works for. She’s honestly happier. She’s got life by the tail.

Since I don’t feel threatened anymore, I asked her where she “worships”. She said she’d just left a church after 5 years and was now attending an English-speaking church near her place.

She doesn’t speak English. Well, not much. But since she’s so solidly grounded in faith, who needs the teaching? She’s got it all down. (Her words.)

I think she’s grown. I remember her despising all of our English activities.

No lie, 5 minutes later we ran across another old friend whose son used to be a member (and good friend). She hardly recognized me. Said I’d aged. She asked where my hair had gone. “I really wouldn’t have recognized you had it not been for C.”

Tomorrow I’ll stay indoors and work on my sermon and wrinkles.

A Baseball Story

Hi: Breaking tradition, here's a 450-word story about a kid who loves baseball. Thanks for stopping by.
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The kid grew up on baseball. He played it, watched it, listened to it, had even been betrayed by it. He’d collected the cards and memorized the box stats. He always took his fielder’s glove to the games. Always.

The sport united the kid to his dad. Giants’ fans forever, both lived and died (mostly died) through June swoons and play-off autumns.

The kid respected the game and the players. But he had never tried to approach one. It wasn’t that he was afraid of them. It was more like he was in awe. Talk about the players? Sure. Talk to them? Never.

For his 16th birthday, he asked for, and miraculously received, not a car, but a ticket to Row 6, Seat 15 in the right-center field bleachers, a Friday-night game against the Diamondbacks at AT&T Park. And dad was going too.

The late-April game day arrived and they found their seats. The kid was ready with hat, glove, wind-breaker, sunflower seeds, and a secret weapon, just-in-case. For Number 25 was already at #713.

In his first at bat with one man on, Number 25 slapped a pitch by an Arizona ace into McCovey Cove. The crowd exploded. The big-screen score board flashed “714” and showed the soaked and lucky ball holder being escorted to safety by stadium security.

Number 25 walked in the fifth.

He came up to bat again in the seventh and drilled an outside pitch into the bleachers, four rows up and over the kid’s head. As he and his dad turned to see who would catch #715, the wave of hands and gloves broke too soon and slapped the ball back at the kid, right into his glove.

He fell to his knees, his dad protecting him. Security materialized to escort them out. The kid didn’t rise. He huddled over the ball, secret weapon in hand, doing what he had practiced many times in the last week.

Finally pulled to his feet, the kid and his dad were guided toward a lower exit. Number 25 came out for a second bow. The crowd roared. The big screen then switched cameras to show the kid on the steps as he reached into his glove, grabbed #715 and, with all his might, launched it back onto the field in the direction of the slugger. The crowd gasped, then thunderously applauded the kid’s generosity.

A single camera followed the ball as it slowly rolled toward the infield on the thick green grass, then stopped. Number 25 jogged over, bent down to pick it up. But he didn’t. The huge smile left his face. For the camera image on the big screen showed a white ball with red seams and in large, black, permanent ink, two asterisks: the kid’s unmistakable commentary on the hero’s achievement.