| « February 2006 | MAIN | April 2006 » |
In Greek mythology, Elysian Fields was the final destination of good souls after death. The Fields were a land of song and sunshine where the air was sweet and cool. The good souls existed there in the flowery meadows for eternity.
In New Orleans, Elysian Fields is the name of one of the hundreds of boulevards, this one stretching from the Mississippi River, alongside the back of the French Quarter, all the way north to Lake Pontchartrain. A block from where it begins by the river sits the French Market. A couple of blocks north and one block west on Frenchman Street lies one of our favorite restaurants, the Praline Connection, where you can get a plate of crowder peas and turnip greens, fried chicken or meat loaf or breaded pork chops, then top it off with a slice of sweet potato pie with praline sauce, all for less than ten dollars. It's as New Orleansy as they come.
A block or two further up Elysian Fields sits the Baptist Friendship House, where NAMB missionary Kay Bennett and her staff do an incredible job of ministering to troubled women and needy children of this section of the city. These days, while the neighborhood lies mostly vacant, the Friendship House is hosting volunteer church teams from Oklahoma. Gradually, the homes in the area show signs of returning to life. They have electricity, but the last I heard, no phone service.
As you get closer to Interstate 10, the signs of the floodwaters that followed Katrina are everywhere, the high water marks on the sides of houses and businesses, most still lying vacant. In the area around Interstate 610, and north to the lake, it's a dead zone. The yard plants are dried and dead, businesses untouched, the houses still adorned by their National Guard insignia from the first days when searchers would check the homes for survivors and spray the results on the outsides or roofs.
The traffic lights are still out. It's a gentleman's game at the four-way stop signs with a dozen vehicles lined up behind you and that many staring at you from each direction. Elysian Fields is a wide street, with six lanes in places, and no one is choreographing the movements through these cross streets. You pull up, look around, wait, and go forward, hoping for the best.
Tuesday, Dr. Roger Freeman came by to visit. This outstanding pastor of Clarksville, Tennessee's First Baptist Church formerly shepherded the FBC of New Orleans, leaving in 1993. I have great memories of his kind spirit and gracious manner. While we were catching up on each other's news, his wife Priscilla called on his cell phone. I asked to speak to her and said, "I want to tell you my Sarah story." Sarah is their 16-year-old, but she was about 7 when this happened. I figured they might have forgotten the incident.
That day, little Sarah was feeling sad for a certain lady in the church whose husband had just died. "She's all alone now," she said. Then she brightened up and said, "But she's not alone. Jesus is with her. He's in all fifty states and foreign countries."
Roger laughed and said, "I had forgotten that! It was worth the drive down here to hear that story about my daughter!" I made him promise to tell me other 'Sarah stories' as he thinks of them.
Over the years many of my preacher friends have given me stories from their children which I still tell. Like the one from William Carey College's Larry Kennedy's son Steve, of the time he attended his first big church wedding and watched as the groomsmen filled the front of the church and the maids entered. As the bride glided down the aisle, Steve leaned over and whispered, "Mother, does she already know which one of those men she's going to marry or is she going to decide after she gets there?"
I tell the story of Knoxville's Central Baptist Church-Bearden's Larry Fields whose little son John was asked to be a ringbearer in a wedding. John was notoriously independent and unpredictable, so when he behaved beautifully and never complained once about the tuxedo he wore, mom and dad were baffled. What could the bride have done to get John's cooperation? The riddle was solved at the reception when John stalked up to the new husband and wife and asked loudly, "Where's my fire truck?"
I know stories from Sans Souci's Paul Moore's daughter Rachel, from Vallejo's Bryan Harris' three daughters and son, and an entire encyclopedia-ful from my own children and grandchildren.
Children are precious. Even when they're grown, they're still our children. If you doubt that, ask my mom. Her six children are ages 62, 64, 66, 68, 69, and 70. (I asked her once if having senior-adult children made her feel old. She said, "No. It's not my problem.")
(Let me ask the help of everyone who reads this. Please invite any First Responder--those who helped New Orleans during and just after the hurricane--to our appreciation event scheduled for Saturday, April 8, at the New Orleans Arena from 10 to 4 pm. Call Cherry Blackwell at 504 451-9333 for more information. Last Saturday at Tall Timbers, I met two men who flew helicopters during those critical days in New Orleans, and neither had heard of this event. We want them all to know and to come.)
Sunday morning at Luling's First Baptist Church, a deacon delivered a mini-sermon just before leading in prayer. He said, "We're all excited about LSU getting into the Final Four." A chorus of amen's rose up. "But it bothers me that I am much more excited about my basketball team winning than I am about the Lord Jesus Christ loving me. And that makes me ashamed."
I appreciated what he said, and later handed him the following note: "If the Lord loved us as infrequently as LSU gets into the Final Four (every 20 years or so) on those rare occasions when He did, we'd be plenty excited."
The problem is it's hard to stay excited about a constant. Inherit a million dollars and you are ecstatic for a few weeks. Eventually, you come down to earth. No one who has been a millionaire for years goes around in a state of euphoria. The most beautiful girl in town agrees to marry you, and you're on cloud nine. But a year or ten years into the marriage, you're back to normal. Let a young pastor get called to the biggest church in the state and he is overwhelmed by God's goodness. A year later, he is overworked and overwrought with the expectations placed on him. Life has returned to normal. No one can live on a mountain of excitement.
Fortunately, the Lord has not asked euphoria or even excitement from us. Just faithfulness and steadfastness. Those who measure a worship service by its emotional highs are missing the mark. As the old preacher used to say, "It's not how high you jump that impresses God but how straight you walk after you hit the ground."
Sunday afternoon on C-Span, NBC anchor Brian Williams told a crowd in Boston's JFK Presidential Library, "There are many scars on America. Birmingham, Selma, 9-11, and the latest one--the city I've always considered the most interesting of all American cities--New Orleans, Louisiana."
A sociologist at Houston's Rice University conducted a study and found that 3 out of 4 Houstonians believe the 150,000 evacuees from Louisiana have put a great strain on the city and are responsible for a huge increase in the crime rate. I expect both of those are true. John Culberson, U.S. Congressman from Houston, was quoted in Sunday's paper: "I think the percentage of people unhappy with the deadbeats from New Orleans would be larger but for the big hearts of Houstonians who want these folks to get back on their feet, as I do."
I'm not sure we want to analyze Mr. Culberson's statement too closely. We love you, we want you to do well, you're a bunch of deadbeats.
Another Texas congressman, Jeb Hensarling, came to New Orleans recently with other House members invited by the Women of the Storm, in order to expose leaders to the real situation down here, as opposed to what they hear from other sources. Hensarling did not want to be confused with the facts, so he left a meeting of business and civic leaders before they could present their plans on the recovery of this area. In Congress he lambasted the citizens of this area as being lazy do-nothings who wait around for the federal government to solve all their problems. It was either Hensarling, or perhaps Senator Bob Bennett--want to be careful here and not target the wrong person--who slammed the local citizens for not carrying flood insurance even though they live beneath sea level.
A nationwide study has revealed that 67 percent of the citizens of New Orleans carried flood insurance, a figure higher than any other flood-prone coastal area in America, with the exception of the Coral Gables, Florida, community where the percentage is 68. The politician's putdown was either slander or ignorance. Take your pick.
Local politics down to their usual standard? Last October, the head of a salvage company (K & L Auto Crushers of Tyler, TX) offered to the mayor of New Orleans that he would haul off all the abandoned & flooded vehicles littering the streets, and pay the city $100 per car. At the time, there were 50,000 cars on the streets, in driveways, and under the interstates. A good deal by anyone's standards. You're not going to believe what is happening.
One of the most exciting aspects of post-Katrina ministry in our area will take place Saturday, April 8, at the New Orleans Arena when we honor the first-responders. (First responders: those military/law enforcement/firefighter/medical and other people who served this city during the weeks New Orleans was flooded and locked down.) The Baptists of Greater New Orleans & Louisiana will be heading up an all-day affair in the arena for every First-Responder-and-his/her-family we can locate. From 10 am to 4 pm that day, we will have food and games, giveaways, gift bags with Bibles and other goodies, counseling, massages, you name it. Churches are setting up booths manned by their members doing anything they wish, from face-painting the children to giving food, but mainly being a presence to say a hearty 'thank you' to these to whom we owe so much. And we're giving away cars.
Cherry Blackwell is heading up the entire project. What a choice lady she is. Cherry and Ben are locals, Ben being a schoolteacher and part-time minister of music (FBC Norco, right now), and they are Mission Service Corps volunteers. Which is another way of saying they are missionaries responsible for raising their own support. The state convention believes in them so much that Ben and Cherry have been made state-wide directors of the MSC program. When we needed the right person to lead the First-Responders-Event, someone thought of Cherry and everyone instantly agreed. Tuesday afternoon, Cherry's steering committee met in the conference room of Williams Boulevard Baptist Church in Kenner.
"We have a new car to give away," she told the group. "Ronnie Lamarque is giving us one, and he has given me permission to use his name in urging other car dealers to give one, too." The plan at the moment is to have a drawing at the April 8 event, along about 3:30 pm, and some First-Responder will drive home in a new car. If we have two or more cars, we'll have more drawings earlier.
Anyone wishing to get in on this plan to honor our First-Responders (and all FRers who read this are invited!) may call Cherry at 504 451 9333. Your admission into the Arena that day is by showing your identification badge, whatever identifies you as law enforcement, military, firefighter, or medical emergency worker.
Another missing piece of the post-Katrina puzzle has been found.
The state conference of the United Methodist Church has divided 38 churches in the New Orleans area into seven clusters, most with one or more disabled churches unable to hold services or open on a limited basis. The idea is for the Methodists in those areas to get together and do a self-study, have meetings and forums, then make the tough decisions on the future of their churches.
This will require new strategies, according to Bishop William Hutchinson, and that may require a fresh infusion of new pastors into the area. "We're not declaring any church abandoned...(or) closed," he said. What they're trying to do, he says, is put those key decisions into the hands of the members.
This is a different approach from the Catholic churches in the area, where the Archbishop made the decisions and handed them down. Several churches with long traditions have been shuttered, the congregations merged with others, and a lot of people are unhappy about it. Someone wrote the newspaper the other day demanding that Archbishop Hughes tell people why he did what he did. I'm a Southern Baptist and not in on the doings of the Catholics, but I can answer that question. It's economics. If you have no people living in the neighborhood, you can't afford to keep up all those churches. And anyone who has driven this city knows there are no small Catholic churches here. All seem to be huge and elaborate. My guess is it costs a small fortune to keep them cleaned and staffed and in full operation.
This is also a different approach, some are saying, from the top-down executive type decision which usually characterizes the United Methodist Church. In this case, they're really asking the members what they want to do.
Even with this reasonable, "bottom-up" approach by the United Methodists, a lot of members are feeling insecure right now, afraid their favorite church will be lost. Reverend Lekisha Reed of the Boynton UMC in Gretna said this week, "I'm picking up on the fear of the unknown. You don't know what the future is going to look like."
One resident said, "I've lost everything else. Don't take my church away from me." As palpable as his pain is, all that gentleman has to do is look around and he'll find thousands of neighbors in the same boat with him.
"What's taking so long for the city to rebuild?" everyone wants to know. "We were here months ago and it looks the same."
The short answer is everyone's waiting.
The residents are waiting for their insurance. Waiting for their FEMA trailer. Waiting for it to be hooked up. Waiting for the power to be restored. Waiting for the government to tell them what the requirements for rebuilding will be. Waiting for the other residents to return. Waiting for stores in their area to open. Waiting for employers to hire again. Waiting for volunteers to help gut out their houses and rebuild them.
The governments are waiting for other governments to take the lead. The mayor waits for FEMA and the Corps of Engineers and the governor's office. The mayor and governors' offices are waiting for the check to arrive from Congress. Waiting for congressional leaders to come down and see for themselves. Waiting for the White House to return their calls.
The businesses are waiting for the residents to return. Waiting for the power to be restored. Waiting for their SBA loan to be approved. Waiting for their kids' schools to reopen. Waiting for the neighborhood to return.
The churches are waiting for their insurance checks. Waiting for the neighborhood to be restored. Waiting for the pastors to return. Waiting for a word from Heaven on what they should do.
Everyone is waiting on something or someone.
I'm not sure how many years ago Rob Boyd wrote the following, but it had to have been nearly a decade ago. He was pastoring the First Baptist Church of Clinton, Mississippi, and I clipped his column from their weekly bulletin and kept it in my Bible ever since. Here it is in its entirety.
The front page of the Saturday, March 18, Times-Picayune announces, "The LRA wants to know why FEMA is spending $75,000 on trailers when these cottages cost less than $60,000." Each 23 to 28 foot trailer, small fragile cheap-looking boxes, is costing the Federal Emergency Management Agency $75,000 to deliver and set up in the yards and driveways of damaged homes. But a "Katrina cottage," a 400 to 750 square foot prefab house that sleeps four can be built in days and can be expanded into a permanent home, for only $60,000, according to the Louisiana Recovery Authority. The best selling point for the pre-fab home may be that it is made of concrete and steel. If another hurricane targets our area, it would survive the storm better than these cracker box trailers parked in driveways all over the city.
Poor FEMA. I suppose they're doing the best they can. But nothing they do is ever right or enough.
The best item in Saturday's paper was a discovery made by one of our collegiate groups gutting out a house in St. Bernard Parish. Trista Wright, who attends Armstrong Atlantic State University in Savannah, Georgia, pulled a rake through a dusty pile of moldly sheetrock and noticed an old piece of green paper jutting out. "It looked like play money," she said. It was a hundred dollar bill. Stacks of them.
The college kids called the St. Bernard Parish sheriff's office who sent a cop over, who in turn contacted the lady who owned the house. She verified that the house had been in their family for generations and that her father had never trusted banks. Best they can figure, the money had been stashed in an air-conditioning vent in the 1960s. They estimate the stack contained $30,000. Aaron Arledge, our associate BCM director who was overseeing the group's New Orleans work, was quoted: "I had my suspicions at first, but once I met the family and talked to the woman, I have no doubt she's telling the truth. She said her faither grew up in the Depression and must not have told anyone in the family about it before he died."
(Note to preachers: There's your sermon illustration. A father has a treasure which he hides from his family. He dies and they never benefit from his wealth. Know any dad who believes in Christ but never tells the family?)
The annual bill for our home's flood insurance came Tuesday and I paid it without a thought. This time last year I decided to cancel it. After all, where we live is high ground, outside the official flood zone, so why throw away good money, I reasoned. I said to Margaret, "After all, if we get flooded, New Orleans is gone, and what's the chance of that." That started our little husband-and-wife conversation.
"I would feel bad not having flood insurance," she said. "Honey, it's two hundred and sixty bucks down the drain. It's not a lot of money, granted, but why buy it if we're not ever going to need it." "Just the same," she said, "I'd feel safer with it."
"Tell you what I'll do," I said. "I'll call Bob Swanson down the street. He's an agent for the company that insures our house. Let's see what he's doing." Bob, the nicest guy on the planet and a fine Christian men (is that redundant?), said, "We had the same conversation. Kay wants us to carry flood insurance and I wanted to cancel it. I decided it's worth that little amount for her to have peace of mind." "I'd about decided the same thing myself," I told him and wrote the check. Margaret gave me a hug.
We did not need the flood insurance. The elevation out here in this western suburb of metro New Orleans is--you ready for this?--thirteen. We had the typical wind damage--stripping the shingles off the roof, water leaking into the house, mold, etc.--but no floodwater. We were indeed blessed.
A lot of people in our area of the world had canceled their flood insurance because the authorities told them they were outside the flood zone and safe. They saved that $260 or so. And lost everything. How does that ancient line go--pennywise and pound foolish. But how could they have known.
On the other hand....
Nearly two years ago when I went to work for our association, our administrative assistant told me about the cancer insurance they carry on the employees. "Want it?" she said. And in one of the stupidest, most flippant answers ever, I said, "No. I don't plan to have cancer." Which I did before the year was out. In the words of the noted philosopher Gomer Pyle, "Dumb, dumb, dumb."
Thursday, I was having lunch with IMB Missionary Tom Hearon at "New Orleans Hamburger and Seafood" in Metairie when we noticed my friend Larry just inside the front door, waiting in a crowded line to give his lunch order. Larry is a great guy and I wanted Tom to know him, so I called to him. He's a CPA, our church treasurer, has helped our association with financial matters, and does my personal taxes. He pulled a chair up to our table and told Tom of my leading him to the Lord, baptizing him, and performing his wedding to Peggy. Giving me credit for what the Lord did and what I got in on only at the last. After a bit, our talk turned to taxes.
I said, "Larry, I noticed the government is allowing us in this part of the world to have until August to file our taxes." "Yes," he said, "One of the few blessings to come out of Katrina. But I'm telling my clients to act as if April 15 is still the deadline and get their stuff in." "I'm working on it," I assured him. Which was the truth.
Working on it. But not enjoying it. Filling out tax forms, even the kind I complete only to hand to Larry who does the real work, even that kind is one of my least favorite activities.
For years I thought about admitting to being a procrastinator about taxes, but kept putting it off.
Now, I'm not that way about everything. Ask me to speak at your meeting and I'll show up prepared. Call me about writing an article for your magazine or drawing a cartoon for your book and I'll beat your deadline. Last Spring, I wrote five devotionals for our state mission offering scheduled for September. My deadline was April 1 and I e-mailed the articles on March 23. I don't procrastinate on everything. Just one thing. One big thing. Income taxes.
I don't just dread income tax time. I hate it. Despise, abhor, detest. Loathe, dislike, execrate, scorn. Shrink from, have an aversion to, abominate. (Thanks for the help, Mr. Roget.)
Now, to be honest, it's not all that hard to do my taxes any more. I keep good records and have everything handy. I pay enough throughout the year that I actually get refunds. This was a long time coming, though.
All of the following is gleaned from the Wednesday, March 15, 2006 edition of the Times-Picayune.
1. Front page: they're cleaning out the flooded home of Fats Domino, everyone's favorite rock and roll legend. He lived in a humble home in the tragic Lower 9th Ward that took in 10 feet of water, and lost all kinds of irreplacable treasures from the early days of his music. A team from the Louisiana State Museum combs through his home, trying to salvage anything they can.
2. The state of Louisiana is hiring a contractor to haul away the 350,000 automobiles that were both uninsured and ruined by Katrina's floodwaters. A Georgia company came in with the lowest bid, some $61 million.
3. A headline announces "Suicide rates down after Katrina." As surprising as that is, it could be because so many of our people are now living in other states. Perhaps Texas is experiencing a spike in their suicide numbers. At our Wednesday pastors meeting, someone said the suicide rate on the Mississippi Gulf Coast is up something like 900%.
4. According to the RAND Corporation, the population of New Orleans will not reach 50% of the pre-Katrina level until 2008. Our optimistic mayor had predicted New Orleans will reach 300,000 by the end of this year, a figure which evidently he snatched out of thin air. The RAND study calls for a total population of 272,000 by August 29, 2008.
In our Wednesday pastors gathering, some 45 of us talked about the importance of learning names and remembering them. I have sometimes been accused of being good with names, and if so, it's because I work at it. As pastor I would sit on the platform during the service scanning the congregation, going over the names. At the door, I dared to call the person by name even if I wasn't sure, which meant sometimes I got it wrong. That is the very reason the average person never attempts to learn names or to call people by their names. "What if I get it wrong and embarrass myself?" Answer: anyone wanting to be good with names must run that risk and not let it deter him. You will make mistakes. No matter. Smile, get it right, and go on.
Joe Williams told us his secret. "Linda is great with names. So I stay close to her. She calls out their name and I smile and say it like I knew it all along."
Rana Burt stopped by long enough to tell about their church van's accident on the way to the Billy Graham Crusade. No one was injured, but the van is a mess. Her daughter Katie, age 8, was upset until Rana assured her the Lord was with them and had taken care of them. As they got to safety, there was a Bible lying on the road. ("What are the chances of that?" she asked.) Katie picked it up and the ribbon opened it to a passage beginning, "God protects." Rana is getting up a group of ministers' wives to make the trip to Chattanooga later this month to hear Beth Moore.
Eddie Scott, pastor of Christian Bible Fellowship on Alvar Street in the 9th Ward, joined us for the first time. Volunteers are gutting out their buildings and they're looking toward getting the church up and running to minister to neighbors as they return. Eddie spoke of their evacuation and all the ministry Southern Baptists have given them during their crisis. "I'm so glad to be a Southern Baptist," he said. "Some of the Brothers used to ask me why I'm Southern Baptist. Now they envy me."
John Jeffries, Chalmette FBC, told of the SBA loans available to churches for rebuilding. "No grants are available," he said. "Just loans."
Tom Hearon of the International Mission Board came by. Tom and Bonnie, long-time friends of ours, are veteran SBC missionaries to South America and Italy, now assigned to the personnel department of the IMB working out of Nashville for a couple of years. The IMB has a fascinating program of allowing their people to leave the Richmond office for a week to serve in the hurricane disaster area. Great idea.
Freddie Arnold told of folding chairs being made available by a church in Arkansas. He told of Pastor John Galey (Poydras BC) who last Sunday gave his people two lists they could sign up for. He had 14 to enroll to help with the feeding unit at Riley School and 17 to sign up for a mission trip to Missouri. The Show-Me folks have done so much in St. Bernard Parish, John wants to show their appreciation by traveling there and helping in some needed ministry. Freddie told of a collegiate ministry that called him from out of state with 3500 students coming to work in New Orleans, but needing a place to stay. "Sorry," he told them. "I don't have a clue."
Before opening my mail and letting you read over my shoulder, you will be interested in knowing the attendance at Sunday evening's Billy Graham service has been variously reported in the media as 17,800 and 16,000. Which means no one really knows. A group of pastors met downtown this morning to go through the hundreds of decision cards and sort them, getting ready to assign them to participating churches for followup. One pastor said there were "700 decisions" made on Saturday night. While we rejoice at this, we remind ourselves that all the efforts were worthwhile if they made the difference in one soul's eternal destiny.
Letter one. I've known Mel since the 1980s when I was his mother-in-law's pastor in Mississippi. A few years ago, he and his wife joined our church in Louisiana. Today, he wrote to say that lately he has been uneasy about his relationship with the Lord. "My heart was condemning me," as he put it. So he decided to go back and make certain of his salvation. He took the little Billy Graham booklet "Steps to Peace With God" and read it, then did what it prescribes, namely, praying a prayer in which he repented of his sin and asked Jesus into his life to save him forever. He wanted me to know about it, and wondered if his pastor would mind baptizing an old guy like him.
I wrote back rejoicing over his decision and added: "In my notes of the Billy Graham sermon Sunday night, the very last sentence I jotted down was this: 'If you're not sure, you need to be certain.'" That's what Mel was doing. I told him his pastor would be delighted to baptize him.
One of the songs from Nicole Mullen Sunday afternoon was about assurance of salvation. Those who were present will recall her refrain, "I know that I know that I know that I know...."
Letter two. One of the finest United Methodist churches on the planet is one some good friends of mine belong to in Mississippi. I haven't asked the pastor's permission to tell what he did Sunday, so I'll not mention the location. But he was so courageous, I applaud the man and celebrate the faithfulness of his people.
It's only 8 o'clock as I type this but it feels like midnight. Long day. This morning I worshiped with the exciting, enthusiastic, rocking El Buen Pastor (Good Shepherd) Baptist Church in Metairie where Gonzalo Rodriguez is another el buen pastor. The choir was filled, the platform was crammed with singers and musicians, the walls were lined with extra chairs, the building was packed, and the place was shaking with joy. They were celebrating and dedicating the restoring of their sanctuary and educational buildings following Katrina's damage, and breaking the news of two additional houses adjoining their campus that have just become available to them. I told them I didn't understand a word they said, but I would join their church out of the sheer joy of their praise. And the fact that they love to eat.
To ride the bus to the New Orleans Arena for the 4 o'clock service, we had to meet at the church at 2 pm. I decided the parking and traffic headaches last night were enough to last me for a while, so I boarded the bus with my grandchildren and their parents and a lot of other nice people. "Do you know Billy Graham's three favorite foods?" the lady in front of me asked. "No. I wouldn't have a clue. He's a man. Steak, probably." "No, they all come in cans. Vienna sausage, pork and beans, and canned tomatoes." "Really? That sounds like something men eat in a boat in the middle of the lake." "I heard it somewhere." She also knew his birthday, and picked my brain on the few conversations I've had with the famous evangelist. Who knew Mr. Graham had a groupie.
"Throw your water bottle away," the stern official-looking lady at the arena gate said. "It's the rule. No outside beverages." Inside, water bottles went for three bucks. The concession stands had long lines, and people were carrying hot dogs and cokes inside prior to the service. I understand it, it just seems a little strange.
I ran into old friends and met new ones. Tom Hearon, missionary to Italy, and our "son" whom we adopted when he was a student at Mississippi College 35 years ago, drove down from Picayune, Mississippi, where he and others are working as volunteers this week. He's coming to our Wednesday pastors meeting in LaPlace.
If we had 13,000 in attendance last night, the Times-Picayune's figure, I'm eager to see what it was this evening. The arena was packed, even the bad seats behind the stage where they had to watch it on the small screens, even that was taken. Cliff Barrows said, "Thousands are watching in the overflow area set up." (A friend sent me an editorial from the Winston-Salem newspaper the other day in which the editor was lambasting New Orleans for restoring the Arena when so many thousands of homes are in ruins. It was all for basketball, the writer said. I responded to my friend that the Arena had taken water only in the lower area where the locker rooms are located, and that this is the only place in town big enough to accommodate the Billy Graham meeting, and this criticism was utterly unfair.)
David Crosby announced to the crowd that on August 26 Anne Graham Lotz will be in New Orleans presenting her Bible teaching conference called "Just Give Me Jesus." Everyone was thrilled.
I drove 6 hours to get to "church" Saturday night. It was worth the drive.
On Friday, I had driven to Birmingham to speak at the annual deacons' banquet in the outstanding Green Valley Baptist Church where NOBTS grad Jeff Vanlandingham is pastor. I spent the night with my big brother Ron, veteran pastor in the Gardendale area, and Saturday at 11 am the family gathered at Niki's restaurant on Finley Avenue to celebrate our parents' 72nd wedding anniversary. (Mom got up feeling her age and asked if someone else could sit in for her. Sorry, mom. No one can take your place. She seemed to make it just fine.) I cut out at 12:30 and headed south toward New Orleans, trying to make the 7 pm start for the "Celebration of Hope" in the New Orleans Arena. Franklin Graham would be the preacher.
Our church--the First Baptist Church of Kenner, near the New Orleans airport--lined up five buses to ferry members and friends to the arena, and presumably wanting to make certain everyone got a seat, left two hours before the service for what is about a 20 minute drive. I'm uncertain what the arena's capacity is, but it was filled to the brim, with only a few empty seats here and there, and a larger section behind the stage where anyone sitting would not be able to see anything. Pick a number. I'd say 15,000 were in attendance. We'll see what the Sunday morning paper says. I did arrive on time, finding a space in the Superdome parking lot, and settling in beside son Neil and his family with 10 minutes to spare. Section 309 is on the nosebleed level. Seriously, this building was constructed strictly for basketball (although Placido Domingo did a concert here this week) and the rows of seats seem to be stacked on one another. Stumble on the top row and they'll pick you up downstairs on the court. And probably haul you off to the morgue. It's scary. And the seats are tight, not unlike sitting in the middle seat on an airplane for 3 hours. You gotta wanna do this. And we did.
Music. You like it, they had it. Local choirs did the pre-service praise, then the celebration officially got underway. George Huff of American Idol fame. Guitarist Dennis Agajanian. Point of Grace. One after another. Good music, I'm sure. Not my preference for the most part, but, hey, they weren't aiming at me. Let's just say the place was rocking. That went on for an hour, interspersed with videos on the New Orleans crisis, Franklin Graham's ministries, and a testimony from a football star.
Okay, I'm ready for Franklin Graham. Not yet. Mel Graham was introduced, the son of Billy Graham's recently deceased brother Melvin. He told of growing up on the family dairy farm and getting into real estate. "In my 20s I turned my back on God," he said. "God showed me who was boss, and brought me to my knees." Partying, drinking. "A policeman woke me up in the middle of an intersection." That was the night he spiritually awakened and gave his life to the Lord Jesus Christ and began to get his act together. "He's the One and Only Answer," he said.
Okay, Franklin Graham now. Nope. "Let's put our hands together and welcome Tommy Walker." Say who? "I'm your worship leader," he said. For the next 30 minutes, he led us in hymns and choruses, accompanying himself on the guitar. I was the only person in the building, judging by the wonderful singing and enthusiastic participation, who was ready for the preaching. Maybe it was because I'd just driven 6 hours and was tired.
In Wednesday's Pastors meeting at LaPlace.... Mike Canady came from the state Baptist convention to acquaint everyone with NAMB's Project Noah, involving thousands of volunteers in rebuilding 1,000 homes and 20 churches...Cherry Blackwell talked about the First-Responders-Appreciation-Event set for Saturday April 8 at the New Orleans Arena. All pastors and others interested in helping us honor the thousands of military/law enforcement/medical/firefighting workers who saved our city are invited to meet with Cherry at Williams Boulevard Baptist Church in Kenner on Tuesday, March 21 at 2 pm.
I left early for a funeral of a dear 87-year-old who was a pillar in the First Baptist Church of Kenner for all the years I was there and a long time before. Brentiss "Brenda" Triay--all 80 pounds of her--had worked during the Second World War at the Delta Shipyards in New Orleans, down in the ships' holds, using a welder burner. Her son-in-law David Watts, said, "She was an unsung hero of the war." Brenda and her two sisters, Sybil Boudreaux and Catherine Creel, were mainstays of the church, the kind of members every pastor craves, the low-maintenance/high return kind. I was greeting worshipers one Sunday and came near where the three sat, making my small talk. I said to them, "There's something I don't understand. You are all sisters. You obviously love each other. Why don't you live together?" They reacted in horror, and said almost in unison, "Oh no. We can't get along!" I'm still laughing about that.
I've decided to use our sessions with the pastors on Wednesdays to drop in an occasional pointer on pastoring churches. Since I was leaving early today for a funeral, I took the occasion to share some convictions on Christian funeral services.
1. Make the gospel message clear and plain. Do not equivocate on the promises of the Lord about eternal life. When it comes to death and the afterlife, you have the only message in town.
2. Begin your funeral message with a clear, concise statement from Scripture. "I am the resurrection and the life..." or "Let not your heart be troubled. You believe in God, believe also in me...." I've seen ministers walk to the podium and their opening words of the funeral were something like, "So many times when we come to experiences like this...." I think to myself, "You've spoken only half a sentence and I'm already bored. Speak up, man. Tell what Jesus said. Be positive!"
3. I suggest you memorize many of the texts you will be using in funeral messages. John 11:25 and John 14:1-6, as well as Psalm 23, come to mind. You need to know those texts inside and out. However, one caveat: If you recite a lengthy passage from memory in the service, open your Bible like you're reading it and glance at it occasionally. Otherwise, you will draw attention to yourself and away from the Scripture. The audience will quit listening and start thinking, "Isn't he smart. He has memorized all that." Often in a funeral, I may quote Psalm 23, but no one knows I've memorized it since I have the Bible open. Only by looking over my shoulder would anyone notice it's not open to Psalm 23.
4. In a funeral, do not give the "zip code" for all the Scriptures you will be using. No one cares that you're now reading chapter 11 and verses 5 through 8 and have just read chapter 8, verses 11 and 12. Just read it. At other times when you are actually teaching the text, give every reference. But not at a funeral. Just declare it.
Toward the end of the morning, I talked with the pastors on how to make your public invitations more effective. Two events in my life have forever etched a great lesson on my heart.
In the mid-1970s at the Billy Graham crusade in Birmingham, I attended his school of evangelism held at a downtown church. One of the conferences dealt with making your public invitation more effective. The teacher asked the class, "At what point does Mr. Graham begin his invitation in a crusade sermon?" Someone raised his hand and said, "When he begins to speak." "Exactly," said our teacher. "Notice what he does tonight." That evening at the time of the sermon, Mr. Graham walked to the podium, said some preliminary remarks, then said, "Tonight many of you have come here with burdened hearts. Some have come with broken homes and great questions. I'm going to ask you to commit your life to the Lord Jesus Christ...." and he went on from there, beginning his sermon with an invitation. He repeated it in the middle of the message and then extended it for real at the end. As usual, people filled every aisle going forward.
A few years later, we had taken our youth choir from our Mississippi church to England for two weeks. Our host church's pastor invited me to preach for the church in Tonbridge, Kent, both Sundays. I did everything exactly as I would have back home, including offering a public invitation, to which, incidentally, no one responded. On the second Sunday, a deacon said, "Pastor, may I tell you why no one responded to your altar call?" He explained, "Pastor David extends the invitation only on the Sundays when we have the Lord's Supper. So, we know to expect it then and we're ready for it. But we did not know until you came to the end of your sermon you were going to do that. Had you told us when you first got up, we would have been ready." Great counsel, too late given, but something I should have already known.
I challenged the pastors to begin their messages by announcing to the congregation the nature of the invitation at the start of the sermon, then repeat it in some fashion in the body of the message, and then, of course, at the end. And see what a difference it makes.
Freddie Arnold and I met with a pastor and church leader of a congregation that is in the middle of the dead zone this week. They're trying to decide what to do, as are other churches in the same situation. We will appreciate the prayers of our friends throughout the country.
Freddie finally got inside his FEMA trailer. It's been parked at our associational building for weeks, but without electrical hookups. And the keys were locked inside. "How did you get in?" I asked. He grinned sheepishly and said, "With a wire. I picked it." Ah, those pre-salvation skills do come in handy from time to time. A team from Oklahoma is wiring the trailer this week.
BILLY GRAHAM ARRIVES IN NEW ORLEANS
Thursday's paper tells of Mr. Graham's and Franklin's tour of the devastated areas of the city Wednesday, particularly the Lower 9th Ward. At one point, the senior evangelist got out of the van to gaze around at the scope of the disaster. Having to be helped in and out of the van, he said, "I'm sorry for being so crippled." Double whammy of a broken hip and Parkinson's. Mr. Graham said, "I'd thought I'd read it all, but it doesn't compare to what you see in just a few minutes' tour of this area."
This appeared today in Rick Warren's MinistryToolBox at Pastors.com:
In the middle of another masterpiece, Leonardo da Vinci laid down his brushes and oils to answer the knock at the door. There stood a neighbor who was having trouble with the water line at his house. He wondered if the great Leonardo - a genius who seemed to know something about everything - could take a look at it.The artist walked away from his easel, picked up his tools and followed the distressed man home. We assume the pipes got repaired, but alas, to this day that masterpiece stands unfinished.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge is said to have had gifts rivaling Shakespeare. On one occasion in the summer of 1797, while in poor health, Coleridge awakened from sleep with a lengthy poem filling his mind, the verses already worked out. He merely needed to write it down.
Continue reading this article at Pastors.com
"I'm so glad you came by," my neighbor said. "We're Catholic, but I admire Billy Graham so much. I'm going to try to get my son to go with me."
I was knocking on the doors on my block, delivering invitations to this weekend's "Celebration of Hope," the Billy and Franklin Graham crusade scheduled for Saturday and Sunday in our N.O. Arena.
Mine must be the only house on this block without two dogs. Even though it was the supper hour--from 6:30 to 7:30--darkness had fallen and it seemed that everyone had settled in for the evening, until the doorbell roused dogs and threw every house into commotion. Even so, almost everyone was at home, they were all cordial, and several expressed appreciation for the invite.
The mosquitoes were as big as silver dollars, and everywhere. I apologized a couple of times, until one neighbor said, "These won't bite. In fact, these are the good mosquitoes that eat the little ones." Coulda fooled me. They sure look fearsome enough.
The Catholic lady asked for more invitations so she could invite some of the people at her church this week. I gave her a packet of 25.
The name "Billy Graham" certainly opens doors on my block.
Yesterday I enjoyed preaching at the First Baptist Church of Madison, Mississippi, for their three morning worship services. To my surprise, a number of New Orleans area people were in the audience. Bill and Dorinda Evans said, "We live here now. Moved here after Katrina." As did several other families. It's a story repeated in every town and city across this part of the world, which explains where the missing 300,000 citizens of this metro area have disappeared to. They have infiltrated America.
Kimberly Williamson Butler--remember her? New Orleans' Clerk of Criminal Court who became a criminal herself for disobeying the rulings of her judges--appeared in court today and was sentenced to three days in jail and a fine of $500. In the past she has said voters sympathize with her because she knows what it is to be fired (from the mayor's office), to be the victim of discrimination (because she's a Christian, she says), and to be persecuted. Now, I suppose she'll want the sympathy votes of the jailbirds. And she vows she is qualified to be our next mayor. If we thought Nagin was something....
I hope Jeff didn't take it personally. When the phone rang tonight and Jeff on the other end said he was taking a radio listening survey, I reluctantly told him to go ahead. "What stations have you listened to in the last week?" I said, "WWL." He said, "WW-what?" "WWL." "WWL. Is that AM or FM?" I said, "You're calling about the New Orleans stations and you don't even know what WWL is?" Jeff said, "I don't listen to radio much. I just do this for a living." I said, "It's AM. And I listen to WWNO. That's FM." Jeff said, "FM?" "Right. FM."
Then he said, "Which one do you listen to most?" I said, "WWL." He repeated that and said, "Is that FM or AM?" I am not believing this guy. "I just told you," I said. "I know, but I entered it into the computer and it's gone." "AM." "WWL-AM. Is that right?" Right. "And which one do you listen to second most?" I said, "The other one." "What other one?" "I only gave you two stations. One was WWL." "I have to hear the answers from you, sir. I can't help you." "WWNO-FM."
Jeff fed that into his computer and then said, "May I ask your age?" No. "May I ask your age range?" Nope. "Well, that completes our survey." Thanks, Jeff.
I'm still smiling about that bit of foolishness, probably because it calls to mind the time I came out on the short end of a similar call. A caller claimed he was surveying television viewing in homes and could I give him three minutes. I agreed and the conversation went exactly like this.
"First, could you tell me your age range? Are you between 25 and 35, 35 and 45, 45 and 55, or 55 and up?" I said, "That one." "Which one?" "The last one, 55 and up." "Thank you, sir." Click. He hung up. That was the entire survey. He found out I was in the elderly decrepit group of TV-viewers and demonstrated so eloquently that no one cares what seniors are watching. We already knew that, but this was as much confirmation as one would ever need.
I took out my frustration on Jeff tonight. Poor Jeff, trying to do a difficult job with elderly senile radio listeners.
Speaking of silliness, we now have 20 candidates for the New Orleans mayor's office, with the election coming up April 22. In addition to "Chocolate City's Willy Wonka" Ray Nagin, the incumbent, we have two major contenders, Ron Forman and Mitch Landrieu. Forman heads up the Audubon Institute and has been a visible community go-getter for a couple of decades. Mitch Landrieu's father Moon was the last "White" mayor of New Orleans, and his sister Mary is our senior U.S. Senator. Mitch is the Lieutenant Governor, a weak office in Louisiana devoted primarily to promoting tourism and the movie industry. After these three, the slate goes downhill fast.
IN DEFENSE OF A CITY THAT NEEDS SOME LAUGHTER
I usually don't expend my limited energies--emotional or physical--on responding to media comments, otherwise there would be time for little else. Last week a local professor wrote a long op-ed piece in the Times-Picayune, for example, on "Why they hate us," going to great lengths to expound on why the rest of the world despises New Orleans. One wonders what planet that guy lives on. I didn't respond to him, but plenty of writers did, including one in Thursday's paper from North Hampton, Ohio.
Karen Hayes wrote, "What a surprise it was, while I visited your city this weekend, to read in your headlines that we who are not from New Orleans 'don't get' Mardi Gras and not only that, will always 'hate' you! As one of the chaperones for a high school marching band from the Ohio cornfields, I can assure you that our group of almost 100 would not have come if we didn't love both New Orleans and its people.' She ended with, 'I have no doubt that your city will be better than ever, but already your hospitality and courage have won the hearts of a bunch of Ohio kids and their parents.'"
Said so much better than anything I would have written.
Thursday's Baptist Press releases included a short article from Gary Ledbetter, editor of the Southern Baptist Texan, in which he asked "Is this the New Orleans we want back?" Ledbetter is for New Orleans, he said, and I don't doubt it. He stands for the same gospel we love and opposes the same vices and excesses those of us who live here do. But in railing against this week's Mardi Gras celebration, he said, "It is...a bit unseemly for a city...to quake in terror before a storm, beg for mercy, beg for help, and then, after those prayers are abundantly answered, to run naked through the street yelling, 'Laissez les bon temps rouler!'
I did not read of anyone running through the city naked. Perhaps he did. Thursday's paper reports that arrests were down 60% from last year, and with the exception of one hit-and-run, no major incidents related to Mardi Gras were reported. Of the 282 arrests in the French Quarter's 8th District, the police department indicated that 91 were for public intoxication, 21 for lewd conduct (maybe streaking naked, but more likely exposing themselves for beads), 6 for guns, and 2 for narcotics. A total of 900 arrests city-wide were made in connect with many Mardi Gras parades over several days. And those parades, bear in mind, involved several hundred thousand people. Pretty good, if you ask me.
The pastor said, "We're not the same church we were before Katrina." We were sitting in his office this Wednesday afternoon. He explained, "God has shown me just how introverted we were as a church before the hurricane. All our energies and ministries were directed inward." I said, "A lot of our churches were that way." "But we were slowly dying," he said. "One of the things we are determined to do is minister in the community. A free car wash, giving help door to door, doing what we can to help the people."
I rejoiced inwardly over his being given a clear focus from the Lord for his church. I told him of one of our local pastors who announced to his congregation recently, "We're through having two hour business meetings to vote on spending a few cents on call waiting." I told him that pastor's congregation cheered his decision, and that his will, also. "Have you had any opposition?" I asked. "Not really," he said, adding, "A little grumbling here and there, but nothing serious." I gave him one of the mainstays of my quotes. John Wesley wrote a letter to a pastor, saying to him, in effect, "I hear you are doing a great work in that city. I am amazed Satan has not raised up a champion to oppose it."
FamilyNet Radio is now broadcasting on Sirius, the new pay radio service. This morning at 7:30 am, in their live talk show portion, I was their guest for some 15 minutes as they interviewed me about the New Orleans situation. I didn't say anything new, certainly nothing readers of this website haven't seen fifty times, yet it's good to find new audiences.
At our pastors meeting in LaPlace this morning, I suggested to our guys that they do what I've done, which was to take a leaf out of Chuck Kelley's book. The president of our New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary has to speak before many different groups, often on the same subject, so he feels no need to re-invent the wheel each time. "When we were in the New Horizons fundraising campaign three years ago," I told them, "I attended many gatherings where Chuck spoke, each time saying basically the same thing, but with great gusto and enthusiasm. He was quite effective." Every one of our pastors gets opportunities to speak before groups or be interviewed in the media concerning the New Orleans story. "Get your story," I suggested. "Pick out your favorite quotes, scenes, comments, and insights, and arrange it so you can tell it effectively. Sometimes you'll have a half hour and sometimes two minutes."
Here are some excerpts from today's pastors meeting with around 50 attending...
"Waitin' for the train to come in"
The Times-Picayune's editor Jim Amoss was interviewed by Katie Couric on this morning's "Today" show. "Why is it taking so long to get the rebuilding process started?" she asked. He answered, "The government needs to step up with money and a plan. Then the mayor and the governor have to get on board." She said, "The federal government has already put $87 billion into this area." Amoss said (I'm going from memory here), "Most of that was money paid out to people through the federal flood insurance program." I wanted to add, "And to help people survive these months they've been unable to live at home." "But," Amoss added, "very little money has been put into the rebuilding of the city." That is a point the average U.S. citizen does not seem to get. He pointed out that the city flooded because of the ineptitude of the Corps of Engineers, making it a federal responsibility. Another point most people miss. So we wait.
In the Second World War, Peggy Lee had a hit, done in that soft sultry way of hers, about a girlfriend standing on the station platform, looking for her soldier boy to return. "Waitin' for the train to come in" was a song millions of Americans could identify with.
Tom T. Hall had a song a generation later in which everyone was waiting for something. It ended, "The bee's just waiting for the honey. And honey, I'm just waitin' for you." Everybody's waitin'.
Around here people are waiting for the mayoral election, due for the end of April. If someone other than Ray Nagin is elected, all bets are off, and anything could happen. My guess is Nagin and one of the white guys--Ron Forman or Mitch Landrieu perhaps--will make the run-off. People afraid of radical change will probably vote for the known quantity, Nagin. Amoss said on the "Today" show that there is no real polling going on, since so many voters are displaced and many who are here are living with cell phones, putting them out of the reach of pollsters.
How some of us spent Mardi Gras
This morning Freddie Arnold borrowed Riverside Baptist Church's van and met a group of Georgians at the airport. After checking into the hotel in Metairie, they joined Lonnie Wascom, Larry Badon, and Mike Canady for lunch at the Piccadilly. This cafeteria was the only eating place on the east side of the river we could find open. Everything else was shut down for Mardi Gras--a holiday for most, party time for some. The Georgia group was led by Jim Burton and Richard Harris, executives with our North American Mission Board, come to see the area, and included four men from the oldest Baptist church in Georgia, Kiokee Church of Appling. Pastor Steve Hartman was accompanied by Allen May, Jerry Tiller, and Robert Pollard. All of them--execs, pastor, laymen--were looking for a handle, how to help this area in the way that will mean most. Dr. Jack Allen, NOBTS professor of church planting, joined our group and added considerably to the discussions.
Tomorrow the group will tour the Mississippi Gulf Coast, then Thursday take in the Northshore, from Covington to Hammond.