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In the weeks and months following Katrina--next August 29 will mark the third anniversary of this hurricane--we all said something like the following to one another around here:
"We'd better do all we can while we still have the nation's attention. People are notorious for short attention spans. The next major hurricane will draw the focus and resources in that direction, and we'll be deserted."
The remarkable thing is that two-and-a-half years later, that still has not happened. First and foremost, no hurricane of any size has hit the U.S. mainland during this period, so no great disaster has supplanted New Orleans and the Gulf Coast to siphon away the focus and resources.
Secondly, our nation's leaders--many of them at any rate--are determined to make the federal government keep its promises to this region. And thirdly, the churches of America still have us on their hearts and continue to send teams of volunteers this way to rebuild homes, restore communities, and revive dashed hopes.
We're grateful, make no mistake.
The glamour has gone off by now, however. And that's not all bad.
Saturday, March 1, at 9 am, I'm teaching leadership at Suburban Baptist Church in New Orleans.
Sunday, March 2, at 11 am, preaching for "Home Missions Sunday" at Bethel Baptist Church on Prine Road in Citronelle, Alabama.
Tuesday, March 11, 9 am to noon, speaking twice at the Senior Adult Rally at First Baptist Church of Laurel, Mississippi.
Wednesday, March 12, meeting of the board of New Orleans Baptist Missions, which administers the work of the various SBC mission centers in our city.
Friday night/Saturday morning, attending the New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary Foundation Board meeting.
Sunday night, March 23 at 6 pm, preaching at Emmanuel Baptist Church, Gordo, Alabama.
Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday mornings (March 24-26) speaking at the Senior Adult Revival for the Baptists of Pickens County, Alabama. (Did not make a note of the name of the church where we'll be meeting. My host is Dr. Tommy Winders of Carrollton FBC.)
Tuesday morning, on the interstate heading toward Alexandria, I reached for my glasses to read a line on something and as I was opening them up, the right earpiece broke in two. No stress on it or anything. It was just time, I reckon.
At the Wal-Mart in Opelousas, I bought a pair of reading glasses to get me through the next couple of days, and made a mistake. I chose the cheapest things they had, which turned out to be inadequate. That night, when I got home, I used the reading glasses usually parked beside the computer. I've had them several years and they work just fine.
Russell, my deacon friend who runs the optical shop at Ochsners, has ordered another earpiece for my regular glasses, but it's not in yet.
Then, today, while buying groceries, I glanced at the reading glasses I was holding in my hand, and the right earpiece was missing. While I stood there, the left one fell off. This was not my day.
I drove to Wal-Mart and paid 20 bucks for another pair. That's why I'm able to see what's going on the computer screen at this moment.
Walking around without my glasses feels for all the world like I'm missing my pants or shoes. Undressed.
Hurry up, Russell.
"Philanthropist follows his heart, opens his wallet" read the front-page headline in Wednesday's paper. Leonard Riggio, chairman of Barnes and Noble, announced Tuesday that he is devoting 20 million dollars from his family's charitable foundation to erecting 120 homes in the Gentilly neighborhood. The paper says, "Those involved in Project Home Again believe it is the largest philanthropic project launched in New Orleans since the storm."
A friend and I have been having an internet discussion about preachers. We both love our preachers, and years ago, I was her pastor, so we have a mutual understanding about a lot of things.
The conversation went like this.
She: "One of the things I've enjoyed in our church lately is an enhanced understanding of every phrase of the Lord's prayer. So much so that I was offended recently at a funeral when the minister asked us to stand and 'recite' the Lord's Prayer. I don't think it's something to be recited; it's something to be prayed diligently!"
She added: "Now don't go getting the wrong idea. I think that preacher is a delightful person, and I like him very much."
I said, "Asking someone to 'recite' the Lord's Prayer reminds me of something similar that drives me up the wall. You'll be in a moving worship service, and the leader will say, 'Now, let us have a word of prayer,' or 'I'm going to ask Bill to lead us in a word of prayer.' I don't know why that bothers me so much. I feel like calling out, 'Hey friend, pray! Don't just have a 'word' of prayer. Go to the Heavenly Father and pray!' Somehow, it minimizes the importance of prayer, as though we're all tipping our hats to the Almighty, then going on with the important stuff."
We branched out to discussing how we preachers sometimes say foolish things without a clue as to how it's being received. I told her about a recent internet conversation with a friend in North Carolina.
If anyone on planet Earth needs to pray faithfully and fervently, it's the pastor. For one thing, this job requires more of you than there is and more time than you have. The person accepting the Lord's call into the ministry is agreeing to live in a world of unfinished tasks. You are literally being sentenced to live beyond yourself.
It is by its very nature impossible to live this life and do this work in your own strength. You will develop a strong prayer life or you will not survive. It's as simple as that.
Sunday morning, Thomas Strong, pastor of Metairie Baptist Church, was preaching on Mark 12 in a message he called "Preparing for Easter." He told this story from a writer named Joyce Halliday.
An elementary schoolteacher was asked to go by the burn unit of the local hospital. A child had come through a tragic house fire, and was in critical condition. The instructions were rather odd. "Go by and talk to him about nouns and adverbs." She thought that was bizarre, but someone had decided it would help the child, and anything that would do that, she was in favor of.
A nurse showed her into the PICU. The child was wrapped in bandages with only portions of his face visible. The nurse said he had been unresponsive up to that point. The teacher pulled up a chair and introduced herself, then said, "They asked me to come by and talk with you about nouns and adverbs." So she did, feeling more and more foolish the whole time. After a bit, she wished the child well and left.
The next day, she decided to check on the child. As she approached the intensive care unit, a nurse met her in the hall. "What did you do yesterday?" The teacher stammered and began apologizing. "I know it was silly to talk with him about nouns and adverbs, but those were my instructions. I'm sorry." The nurse said, "No--whatever you did worked wonders. Come and see."
The child was still in bandages, but his face was animated and he was speaking. Why had a little lesson like this changed him so much? The boy said, "I knew they wouldn't ask a teacher to talk to me about nouns and adverbs if they thought there was no hope."
Thomas Strong said, "God would not have sent His Son for a people for whom there was no hope."
Somewhere I read that people can live 6 weeks without food, 2 weeks without water, but not a day without hope.
Some texts that come to my preacher-mind are these....
My son Marty, always on the alert to keep his dad out of trouble, has remarked on the irony of my beginning this series on prayer with the assertion that "there are no experts on prayer." If there are no experts, he asks, am I not presenting myself as one with all these articles laden with instructions on how to pray?
I thanked him for the observation, and have been considering it ever since. (What he calls irony, someone else could call hypocrisy.)
The main response that suggests itself to me is that a third-grader might have some points to share with others in his class, or in the younger rooms, but he always knows he is still the child with so much to learn.
In the middle of his wonderful book on this subject ("The Meaning of Prayer" is a genuine classic), Harry Emerson Fosdick takes up a similar consideration. (I suggest you not buy everything Fosdick peddled over his lengthy ministry; he was admittedly and proudly a theological liberal with all that implies, but he sure could teach most of us a great deal about real prayer. Being a conservative, I'm still wrestling with how to reconcile those two!)
"A critic with discriminating insight has objected to Voltaire's writings on the ground that nothing could possibly be quite so clear as Voltaire makes it. A book on prayer readily runs into danger of the same criticism. For, like every other vital experience, prayer in practice meets obstacles that a theoretical discussion too easily glosses over and forgets."
Fosdick goes on to add, "Even when prayer is defined as communion with God, and our thought of it is thereby freed from many embarrassments, as a kite escapes the trees and bushes when one flies it high, there remain practical difficulties which perplex many who sincerely try to pray."
So, I say to myself and to our longsuffering readers, that once we fill this "features" box with perhaps fifty articles on the subject of prayer, there will still be so much more to be said on this subject. No one has yet written and this one certainly shall not be the definitive last word on prayer.
In the last couple of years, I have become a Pew-Spud. If people who occupy their time sprawled in front of the television are couch-potatoes, it figures that those who spend their Sundays soaking up sermons in church auditoriums are pew-spuds. And after over 40 years of pastoring, I have become one. It's not all bad. In fact, I'm enjoying it, even though I still relish the opportunity to preach.
I keep reminding our pastors that when I drop in on their services, I come as a worshiper and not as a critic or advisor or their mentor. I come as a fellow believer. I consider myself a good audience for a preacher. I want him to do well, I pray for him and work at listening.
But, I'm about to violate that unspoken contract with our pastors. I need to tell you something that weighs heavily on my heart. Pastor, you need to give some thought to what you say from the pulpit. No, I'm not referring to the sermon. You seem to be doing well on that. I'm talking about what you say to the Lord, your prayers in the worship service.
In a typical service, there is the invocation and the benediction. In between will often come a pastoral prayer, an offertory prayer, and occasionally a prayer at the start and/or conclusion of the sermon. Some of those are spoken by staffers or deacons, but most belong to you, the pastor.
What follows is my impression of what the fellow in the pew would like to register with you the pastor. This is not to imply that he sits there thinking these things. In most cases, I fear he has long since abandoned hope that you might invigorate your prayers with fresh thoughts and uplifting praise and strong intercessions. But, if I were a wagering man, I'd betcha that the lay men and women who read this will connect with it in a heartbeat. As always, we invite them to leave their comments at the conclusion, in agreement or disagreement, contributing their own suggestions and anecdotes.
What Joe PewSpud wishes his pastor knew about his public prayers....
1) Remember that you are praying with me and for me.
This is not your private prayer time, pastor. You are voicing a prayer on behalf of the congregation. Therefore, say "We" and "our," and not "I" and "my."
At some point in recent history, some misguided influencer-of-preachers convinced them that no one can voice a prayer for someone else and that when you pray in public, you should use the first person singular pronoun. "I make my prayer in Jesus' name, amen."
My response is that this would be news to Jesus. He taught us to pray, "Our Father...give us...forgive us...lead us...."
So, make your prayers on behalf of the entire congregation. What are they feeling, where are they hurting, what do they need? What has God impressed you to request on behalf of your congregation? Then pray that.
2) We're counting on you to lift us to the Lord's throne in prayer.
"Draw nigh to God and He will draw nigh to you." (James 4:8)
Dwight Munn, a member of the ministerial staff of the great First Baptist Church of West Monroe, Louisiana, pastored a church across the river from New Orleans some years back. He told me this story.
The television network was running a made-for-TV movie on the life of Noah, one covering two hours each night for several evenings. People who know their Bibles flocked to watch it, then grew disillusioned when the story took some strange turns and gave up on it. But on this particular Sunday night, Dwight and Lissa hurried home from church with their two small daughters to catch the story. On the way home, they picked up fast food and ate it in the living room while the movie ran.
Dwight said, "Lissa and I were on the couch, and 6-year-old Marissa was sitting on the floor halfway between us and the television. At one point, as Noah and God are conversing, we became aware that our little girl was sniffing. I said, 'Honey, are you all right?'"
"Marissa turned her face around and I could see the big tears in her eyes. She said, 'How come God never talks to me like that?'"
Dwight told the story, then said, "McKeever, how long has it been since you have shed tears because you've not been hearing from God?"
That must have been 8 or 9 years ago, but the question still haunts me. Why don't I long for the nearness of God the way that child did?
Someone has said, "If God seems far away, guess who moved?"
Likewise, coming back to Him is up to us.
In Doug Munton's excellent book, "Seven Steps to Becoming a Healthy Christian Leader," I was fascinated by an account of Colonel Lucien Greathouse, a Union officer in the Civil War. Munton was speaking in Vandalia, Illinois, and while browsing the old cemeteries there he ran across the tombstone for Col. Greathouse.
That gravestone must have been rather wordy because Munton reports that it says Greathouse "led his command in forty pitched battles," and quotes two generals with strong endorsements of the officer. General William Sherman, under whom Greathouse served on the march into Atlanta, said, "His example was worth a thousand men," and General John Logan called him "The Bravest Man in the Army of Tennessee."
On July 22, 1864, on the outskirts of Atlanta, Greathouse was killed, holding in his hands the American flag. Then, the kicker....
Munton writes, "And when he died in July of 1864, he was two months past his twenty-second birthday."
This week, I shared that story with a couple of young pastors in my office. I said to them, "There's a sermon illustration there. I don't know what it is, but there's one there." We spent the next few minutes analyzing this brief account of the young officer's life and untimely death, and finally figured it out.
What made this man so remarkable, of course, is his youthful age for that high a rank. As uncommon as that seems to us, it appears to be the rule that in wartime, rank advancements can occur at lightning speed. We recall that George Armstrong Custer was made a general in the same Union army at the age of 23. Then, when the war ended, he was dropped back to the permanent rank of captain, a real comedown. When he died at Little Big Horn in 1876, I think he was a lieutenant colonel.
Back to the story of Colonel Greathouse and the point our young pastors came up with: In wartime, the usual rules go out the window and you take drastic steps to accomplish daring purposes.
I asked the pastors if any had heard the news that morning. The FBI Special-Agent-in-Charge of the New Orleans office, Jim Bernazzani, was reporting a new initiative his office is conducting against the drug trade in our city. The night before, in cooperation with the New Orleans Police Department, the Jefferson Parish Sheriff's Office, and ATF, the FBI had arrested some people who were selling the purest of heroin to students at one of our inner city high schools.
A 15-year-old student had died from the heroin, and the men who had sold the drugs were caught and charged with her murder. The FBI agent told his audience that law enforcement officers were horrified to find our teenagers messing with the hardest of drugs. Then, he told what they're doing about it.
"My men are going to see the parents of these schoolkids. We're knocking on their doors and telling them what their teens are up to, and calling on them to get involved in their lives."
"Isn't this unusual?" he was asked. "Absolutely. We've never done anything like this before. But we are in a war on drugs, a war to save our kids, and we'll do whatever it takes."
There it is: in wartime, you take extreme measures to accomplish drastic purposes. Nothing routine applies any more.
I don't know why this offended me. I was standing in the section of the local Lifeway Christian Store that features books on prayer--I must have a hundred and am always looking for the next great one--and picked up one by a Southern Baptist pastor from a nearby state. I scanned the table of contents to see what his book covered, then read the comments on the back.
At the bottom of the back cover was the author's thumb-sized photo and a small bio. "Pastor So-and-So is an expert on prayer," it announced. That stopped me in my tracks. Until that moment, I don't think I had ever actually heard anyone referred to as an expert on prayer. On expository preaching, perhaps, and evangelism, leadership, sermon-building, stewardship, and a dozen other aspects of the ministry. But prayer?
How does one get to be an expert on prayer? At what point does he or she move from apprenticeship in this greatest of all subjects to becoming a master?
I wondered if the pastor wrote that line or if the publisher did it for him. One thing we can be sure of, it was done with the pastor's knowledge and approval. And that makes me wonder if his choosing to leave the line in was an act of hubris and not of humility.
As I say, I'm still trying to figure out why that offended me. Maybe I'm just a tad upset that someone is a better pray-er than I, although that is certainly not news and never has been. I'm under no illusion about the inadequacies of my prayer life, even though I consider myself a person of prayer.
"We do not know how to pray as we should."
Paul said that in Romans 8:26. It appears to me that if anyone could claim status as a prayer expert, it would be this apostle. Not only does he refuse the designation, he basically says there aren't any, that no one qualifies for that august category.
There are no experts on prayer.
This week Freddie Arnold and I are ordaining men as ministers and deacons, it appears. Sunday morning, we helped the Vietnamese Baptist Church ordain a missions pastor and two deacons, then that afternoon participated in a deacon ordination council at Christ Baptist Church in Harvey for three men. Wednesday night of this week, Edgewater Baptist Church on Paris Avenue will be ordaining deacons and we'll be there.
Of course, we'll be part of a team of ministers and deacons performing this function. I'm not the bishop and we don't confer sacerdotal powers upon the candidates. (Look up the word.) We gather as sincere Christian men seeking to ascertain the Lord's will and to bless His church. We try to encourage these men, guide them, and even teach them to the extent we can.
I enjoy participating in these events for several reasons, but mostly because the time to make a good deacon is at the beginning. Get him started off right. Pastors can tell you how important their ordination council was to their subsequent ministry, that they recall many of the questions asked and the counsel given during that rather difficult hour or two. I am not silent at these things. After 45 years in the ministry, you'd have a hard time coming up with a church situation I haven't seen.
I have the scars to prove it.
I often quote some of my favorite deacons to these mostly young men coming on in this service to the Lord and His church. I served with these men years ago, and most are in Heaven now. Since they are no longer able to pass along these nuggets of wisdom, I consider it my duty to stand in for them.
I tell them what Rudy Hough, a horticulturist, always said to incoming deacons. "From now on, people will be coming to you from time to time with criticism for the ministers. I'd like to tell you how to handle that. Tell the person to come with you right then and you'll go see the minister in question and deal with it. If they go with you, fine."
"However," Rudy continued, "if they refuse to go with you, tell them you'll go but you will be using their name. If they agree, fine. But if they refuse to let you use their name, that's the end of it. Tell them you will not take anonymous criticism to the ministers."
Someone has pointed out that in novels, unlike in real life, loose ends must always be tied up.
If you plan to read the latest John Grisham novel, "The Appeal," and haven't yet, and don't want me to ruin the ending for you, you might want to skip this. When you finish the book, come back and leave your own comments at the end of this.
I went to the John Grisham website, www.jgrisham.com, hoping to leave a comment, but there's no place for one. He's now at the point where he no longer cares what his readers think. He's writing for himself. I'm seriously considering letting him buy his own books in the future and ending my financial support for whatever kick he's on.
My family and I are long-time Grisham fans, going all the way back to "The Firm" and "A Time to Kill." We buy the latest book, and pass it around until all the adults have read it. My wife started on "The Appeal" last night and announced ten pages into it that it's vintage Grisham and she's already snared.
I don't have the heart to tell her--and won't--how it ends. In a word: frustratingly. The issues the book deals with are still unresolved. If Grisham begs to differ and says he resolved it, but just in a negative, losing way, I say, "Same difference."
I have enough frustration in my personal life without having to shell out nearly 30 dollars to buy his version.
In the mid-1980s, when I went to pastor the First Baptist Church of Charlotte, I was pleased to discover we were broadcasting our 11 o'clock morning worship service live on the NBC affiliate, the greatest station in the Carolinas. It was costly but gave us a great outreach. I'd not been there a month when a viewer who identified herself as an older widow wrote to complain. The broadcast was ending before I completed my sermon. She said, "It feels like you're having a nice visit with someone and suddenly, in the middle of a conversation, they get up and walk out of the house and leave. It's most frustrating."
Thereafter, I made sure to end the sermon while we were still on the air.
My hunch is that Mr. Grisham has grown bored with writing novels. Either that or cynical. Or maybe just tired.
I cleaned out my fireplace today, confident that we've seen the last of cold weather for this year. My daughter-in-law Julie hates cold weather; I love it and grieve that winter in New Orleans lasts about a week or two. But, each year, by the last of February, Spring arrives and the weather warms. The birds woke me up outside my bedroom window this morning. The high today is about 68, a perfect temperature.
After some early morning errands, I determined that I would do the least pleasant job at my house today: clean the patio furniture. Here's the story on that.
When we moved into this house 14 years ago, we bought metal furniture for the back patio--it's covered but not enclosed--with cushioned seats and backs. When we lived in North Carolina and Mississippi, we loved our back porch and enjoyed late-night sessions out there. However, we discovered something about New Orleans that makes porch-sitting difficult. The air is dirty.
A week after washing the furniture, I'll be able to run a wet cloth across the arms and backs of the furniture and remove a layer of fine dust. Go all season long without washing the patio furniture and you will not want to come anywhere near my back porch. Today, the water was filthy and the washrags were practically ruined, they're so black.
Someone come visit us quickly, while the back porch is still clean.
In the last week, two recent visitors to New Orleans have written letters to the editor of the Times-Picayune saying how much they loved their recent excursions here and that they are trying to rearrange their lives to move here. The Chamber of Commerce loves that sort of thing.
I would assume those visitors got caught up in the parades and music, as well as the meals in the fine restaurants. What I wonder though is whether we should tell them about the dirty air, the noise, the round-the-clock congestion on the interstates, and the crime. New Orleans has incredible architecture and some unique neighborhoods, but it also has weird politics and the hottest summers on the planet. We have wonderful people and some incredible churches, but we also have potholed streets and some neighborhoods where you wouldn't want to walk at night.
When Mike Huckabee won the Louisiana presidential primary last Saturday, 43 percent to John McCain's 42 percent, he rightfully expected to walk away with the lion's share of the state's delegates to the Republican convention. But he got none. Nada. Nothing. For reasons I can only attribute to insanity, our state Republican committee had previously decided that in order to get any of our delegates, a candidate would have to win more than 50 percent of the vote. As it turned out, no one got any.
When advised of this anomaly, Huckabee said, "Well, it's Louisiana."
Some columnists in the paper took exception to that--how dare he!--but everyone I've heard mention it agrees with Huckabee. What a ridiculous rule.
The only consolation I can think of is that we're not the only ones making weird rules and strange exceptions in this presidential election year. When Florida Democrats decided to move up their state's presidential primary to early in January--I forget the date--the National Democratic Committee ruled that their election would not count and forbade any Democratic candidates from campaigning there. The citizens, meanwhile, apparently oblivious to the pettiness of the DNC, voted in huge numbers. Hillary Clinton won, even though no candidate campaigned--it's not like that was necessary; the citizens watch TV and read--and now her people are pushing for her to be granted the delegates from Florida. The DNC has no way out. Give her the delegates and Obama cries foul; give no one any of Florida's delegates and the voters of that state have been disenfranchised.
Someone ought to work out a system for every state in the Union. But they won't. We're Americans; we like the disarray.
The Louisiana-ness of our state must be catching.
Dumb crooks made the local news last night. In Slidell, three young men had cased McDonald's and decided to steal the night's deposits when the manager went to the bank. One of the trio sat inside the fast food eatery and called the other two outside when he left with the bag of money and checks. Outside, they held him up and stole the bag. Alas, it contained chicken mcnuggets. Police caught the three culprits.
What I wonder is how you would like to be rotting away for 20 years in Angola and some con ask you, "What are you in here for?" and you have to answer, "For stealing a bag of chicken mcnuggets."
Well, it's Louisiana.
1. Say 'we' a lot, not I, me, and mine.
2. Look for ways to help your team members do better and feel good about what they're doing.
3. Watch for anyone working in the wrong slot and try to find the right place for them.
4. Ask, 'How's it going?' a lot. Listen to the answers.
5. Give lots of little gifts to your team members. Thoughtful things that show how you value them.
6. Pray for them by name. Learn their family members' names and lift them up, too.
7. Ask 'If you had my job, what would you do?'
8. Find out who the workaholics are and see that they get proper rest and don't burn themselves out.
9. When you give public recognition, think the matter through in advance and make sure you leave out no one who should be mentioned.
10. Try to anticipate problems.
11. Walk the line between 'never let them see you sweat' and being transparent.
12. Pray with your people, even at odd times--at the end of break times, after a fun conference in the hallway, anytime. But not always. Don't be predictable, but do be spontaneous.
13. When you're talking with someone who has a problem, give them your undivided attention and do not let on that you have other places you need to be. Give them eye contact, listen closely, and be totally there for them.
14. Remember the five elements of good pastoral counseling: active listening, silent praying, gentle prodding, timely teaching, and Christlike acceptance. Let nothing shock you.
15. Be careful about too much hugging. Some would say that any is too much. (It was for good reason that the practice of 'holy kissing' died out in the early church.)
This lesson is a companion to a previous on on keeping your focus. To keep your focus, you dedicate yourself to the task at hand and keep renewing that commitment.
The other aspect of staying true to the vision God has given you is to say 'no' a lot. You should plan on turning down requests that either conflict with that vision or detract from it. If it saps your energies from doing your primary work, say no to it.
Say 'no' to certain people.
"This will just take a few moments of your time." "You're the only one who can do this." "The Lord led me to ask you."
If you are strong and wise, you know how to look the speaker in the eye and say, "Thank you, but no. I won't be able to do that. I appreciate your asking."
If you are weak, even though you have neither the time nor the inclination, you will let the other person set your agenda for the next few days, and find yourself doing a job you have no business taking. You'll reproach yourself a hundred times. "Why did I say yes?" The answer is: you were too weak to say no.
However, if like most of us, you are somewhere between weak and strong, you're going to be needing a plan. My recommendation is that you learn to say, "Let me pray and about it and I'll call you back." You're stalling for time, yes, but you are planning to do precisely what you said: pray. And the Lord who values your time and sets your agenda will give you the strength to say no. If He doesn't, your wife will. Mine always does.
Warning: sometimes, the rejected person is going to be unhappy, but that's not your problem.
Eddie Painter has been pastor of Barataria Baptist Church in the little town of Jean Lafitte, Louisiana, for one year now, and the attendance has doubled. Tonight, the church is electing a building committee to plan additional space. I think I saw today how everything is coming together.
Get your map down. Jean Lafitte is hard to find, as the U.S. government and the State of Louisiana discovered in the 1810s. The privateer--first cousin to a pirate--lived down in Barataria Bay with his gang of cutthroats and brigands and their families. I seriously doubt if anyone knows to this day exactly where they made their headquarters since so much of the land mass that made up the wetlands this far south is now underwater. Historians tell us Lafitte had a wealth of supplies which his men had taken off enemy ships, much of which was then slipped into the black market of New Orleans. Initially, Andrew Jackson rejected any thought of involving Lafitte in the defense of New Orleans until he saw the man had what he needed: experienced fighting men with lots of firepower. Jean Lafitte came out of the Battle of New Orleans a hero.
"The school down here is supposed to be one of the best anywhere," Eddie Painter said. He and his wife Lisa have two teenage daughters, Ellie and Angel. "We love this place."
"In the early service this morning, we had 34," Eddie told me at church. The 11 o'clock service which I attended was filled, easily 65 to 70. The music was all hymns--"What a Friend," "In the Garden," and "I Am Thine, O Lord"--but the pianist and organist played them double time and the congregation sang out lustily.
When Eddie rose to welcome everyone, he said, "I have an announcement to make: I have bought a pair of white boots." Everyone laughed. These are the rubber boots which shrimpers and other fishermen wear on the boats to guard against the slippery decks. Status symbols in this part of the world.
"And this week, I got my commercial fishing license!" That did it. Laughter and applause. "I'm on my way to becoming a permanent resident!" Cheering.
When they ask if I attended any of the Mardi Gras parades this year, I just say 'no.' They never ask why not and I never tell. The simple reason is that I'd be out of place.
I don't like feeling out of place. I've been there enough to know it's no fun.
George Gobel used to say, "Have you ever felt like all the world was a tuxedo and you were a pair of brown shoes?"
The lady from the chamber of commerce called to apologize. That night they were honoring a member of my church, one of our leading deacons who was an uppity-up in the finance world, at a lavish banquet in the hotel down the street. I was supposed to have gotten an invitation, she said, but someone failed to send it, and would I please try to come. I knew what had happened, that someone had just thought at the last minute, "We ought to invite his pastor."
I said, "Thank you. If I can, I'll be there." The cocktail hour was scheduled before the banquet, so I figured it would give me time to say my hello to the deacon, then slip out. I walked into the banquet area and was stunned by the scene: a crowd of the city's elite, all decked out in tuxedos and evening dresses, was milling around, cocktails in hand. These were the beautiful people of our city, the ones who run the largest corporations and foundations and whose images adorn the society pages.
Meanwhile, I was wearing the clothes I had left home in that morning, a tan sport-coat and grey slacks, which after eight hours were beginning to look like I had slept in them.
I walked around the room, feeling like that dream we all have had where you are in a crowd with no clothes on. I kept searching for a familiar face, anyone at all whom I knew. I never did see the guest-of-honor, but after five minutes of torture from feeling so out of place, I decided to go home and enjoy a quiet evening with the family.
Home. My place.
One of the ways I know the Father is talking to me is when the same message arrives from several different sources. Take today, for instance.
I'd been thinking a lot about grace. In teaching Romans--I'm about to do that for the sixth time since the first of January--the subject of grace figures prominently into Paul's presentation of the gospel message. In that epistle, he keeps hammering on the fact that if salvation is by grace, then it's not by works, not by law, not by heritage, nor birth nor merit of any kind whatsoever. If salvation is by grace, then no human can take credit for it and no one can boast about receiving it. It's of God from first to last. All we can do is receive it or reject it.
A front-page article in the Times-Picayune for today (Thursday, February 7, 2008) was headlined "N.O. nuns play role in Giants' miracle." Subtitle: "Their medal provides divine intervention."
Sister Kathleen Finnerty, Superintendent of Schools for the Archdiocese of New Orleans, used to head a school in New York City where Giants' owner John Mara's children attended. Since she and the nuns of the Ursuline Convent are big football fans, rooting especially for local boys Payton and Eli Manning, they were praying for the Giants to win the Super Bowl game last Sunday evening. Sister Kathleen told the newspaper, "Some of the sisters down here are 80 to 90 years old, and they are football addicts. So, when the Giants made the Super Bowl, one of them said to me, 'We can't let Eli down. We have to get Our Lady in on this.'"
That's what she said: "We have to get Our Lady in on this."
"What is that smudge on her head?" I wondered, as I carried my cafeteria tray past a woman in a booth. "Oh yeah. Ash Wednesday." It was the largest smudge I'd ever seen a priest leave and looked a little like she had fallen on a coal scuttle. Guess he felt she needed a little extra.
Funny how the Mardi Gras season goes full tilt right up until midnight, then shuts down abruptly at the stroke of 12, and everyone goes home. The street sweepers come out, and by Wednesday morning Canal Street looked as clean as it ever does. Lent has arrived, and with it a full slate of religious observances. Yessir, we can go from the flesh to the spirit at the stroke of the clock!
The text message I received from Greg Hand this morning at 1 am was one for the books. His Vieux Carre' Baptist Church, one block over from Bourbon Street, was hosting friends from around the country who came to bear a witness for Christ during this weekend. The message read: "Four baptized Wednesday a.m. Five total for the holidays."
Tonight, watching the returns from Super Tuesday's presidential primary elections, in which 24 of the 50 states of the Union voted, you find yourself thinking, "Wonder how a foreigner sees all this?"
He would be totally at sea. Absolutely lost.
So, let's see if we can make a little sense of it.
One: the United States of America is a family made up of 50 states. Imagine having a family with 50 children, each different from the others, some not looking like anyone you know, and each one a strong personality and priding itself on its eccentricities.
America is not a monolithic single-entity, but is divided and subdivided into sections and regions. That is, this country is not like an apple--cut it open and it's pretty much the same throughout--but is more like an orange, composed of sections, with each one a little different from the others.
Using the orange analogy, imagine cutting one open and pulling out the sections to find that one slice is a lemon, one a navel orange, one slice a tangerine, another grapefruit, and another a lime. They're all members of the citrus family, but that's where the similarities end.
That is the United States of America. Emphasis on "states." We were states before we were united, and we have retained a lot of the characteristics of our independency.
Okay, now, second point: the political parties run their primaries however they please. The federal government has nothing to do with it. That's completely surprising to outsiders. Here we are the last remaining superpower nation on earth and in choosing the next leader of the free world, our system is in the hands of the political parties in each state which are run by people we don't know. And we meekly go along with it.
That's why in this presidential primary, some states met in caucus to make their selections--remember Iowa in early January--while others asked the entire electorate to traipse to the polls and vote, as in New Hampshire in February. Today, Republicans in West Virginia met in caucus and announced this morning that Mike Huckabee received all 8 delegates for their party's nomination.
Still on point two. States do not have to do things alike. Some states will award all the electoral votes to the person who wins their state's primary, and the runners-up are left out in the cold. Other states will give so many votes to the winner based on the percentage he polled, so many to the runnerup, again based on his or her votes, and so on.
Confused? You're not alone. I daresay the average citizen on the street does not have a clue how all this works. They read the paper and when it says, "Go to the polls Saturday," they go. Well, 50 percent of us do, but that's another story.
Third: then, this summer, after the caucuses and primaries have done their thing, delegates will gather in a large city for the Republican National Convention and in another city for the Democratic National Convention. There, delegates will either decide at that time or ratify the decision the voters have already made as to who their candidate for president will be.
When the second incident from a championship football game appeared on my consciousness, I knew it had to make this lineup.
In last Sunday night's Super Bowl game, the New York Giants beat the New England Patriots, who were being touted as perhaps the greatest team ever to play this game and were undefeated all year, a phenomenal feat. With less than 3 minutes left to play, the Patriots had scored and pulled ahead, 14-10. Now, the Giants would get the ball back. But with the clock winding down, would there be time enough?
On the sidelines, Michael Strahan, leader of the Giants' defensive squad that had harassed Patriots QB Tom Brady all evening long, kept spouting two numbers: "Seventeen" and "fourteen." That would be the final score, he was telling his teammates. He was confident his team's offense could score a touchdown and was doing everything he knew how to convince them of that, too.
When the game ended with the Giants on top by that very score, some who had heard Strahan pumping up his team credited him with a great deal of credit for the victory.
Faith is contagious. Unfortunately, so is doubt.
On Monday, January 7, of this year, the Ohio State Buckeyes played the LSU Tigers in our Superdome for the National Championship of college football. The next evening, after having read all our local sportswriters' raves about the great victory LSU pulled out, I went on the internet to the Columbus Dispatch, the newspaper for the Buckeyes city. I read a few sports columns and then a host of comments from disgruntled fans. That's where I learned something that stunned me, and to my mind at least, contributed to the Buckeyes' loss.
One year earlier, the Buckeyes had played Florida for the BCS championship and lost. Afterwards, sportswriters and columnists jumped on the Ohio State team for being outclassed in every way. "They had no business even going to that game," some said. Okay. Now, here's what happened.
Jerry Clower, the country comedian from Mississippi who kept us in laughter for a generation as no one else could, was once accused of having a big ego. "Sure I have an ego," he would say. "Everyone needs an ego. If you don't have one, go out and get you one! You're going to be needing it!"
He was right, of course, so long as we bear in mind that by "ego" he meant a healthy self-respect. I spent a good deal of time with him and never saw any of the kind of ego we usually associate with "stars."
David N. Meyer wrote the 2007 biography of country musician Gram Parsons he called "Twenty Thousand Roads." It's a sad tale of a lot of talent combined with too much privilege and money topped off by endless drugs and booze. I read it only because I had remembered Emmylou Harris remarking how much she personally owed to Parsons for his contributions to her art.
Toward the end of the book, Meyer is commenting on the difficulty of researching such a story. There's no point in questioning the stars about what conversations and events. "For stars, nothing ever happened if it didn't happen to them. If you want the details of the valence of a recording studio, don't ask the guitar hero, ask the guitar tech."
If you are the pastor of a church or in the ministry in any way, you may not need this reminder. In a perfect world, all ministers would have sweet spirits and servant attitudes and would be generous, faithful, and honest. Alas, it's not a perfect world. Not even close.
When a pastor I know fell into sin--it was revealed that he had been a serial adulterer--and the public disgrace that accompanied that revelation, a former staff-member had an interesting insight into his character. "He let everyone put him on a pedestal. And man, he did love his pedestal."
It's not a good thing to say about our segment of the Christian church, but let a man pastor a great church (translation: congregations of thousands, budgets of millions, with public acclaim) and he will be idolized as more than he is by large numbers of people. If his ego is fragile and requires adulation, he will soon believe he is the greatest thing on the planet.
Some friends of mine moved across the street from Adrian and Joyce Rogers in Memphis. Dr. Adrian Rogers, now in Heaven, served the great Bellevue Baptist Church there for over 30 years and built an incredible record. He was on world-wide television and his books sold in huge numbers. One day, my friend Bob called to his wife, "Wanda, come quick! Dr. Rogers is taking his garbage cans out to the street!"
The news this weekend concerned Starbucks, America's favorite coffee shop over the last decade, the darling of investors, the standard of every startup business. They're closing a hundred shops across the country due to declining sales.
An industry expert analyzed the problem as Starbucks' forgetting their main line of business. He said, "You enter the store for a cup of coffee and you have to walk through the display of music CDs and then negotiate the displays of food. Eventually you get to the counter." Meanwhile, he pointed out, the coffee shop down the street run by some locals does nothing but what Starbucks started out doing and which made them successful. Their following the model which Starbucks established is making the competition successful.
Year ago, I read where someone saw this sign in a store window in Dothan, Alabama: "Going out of business because we forgot what we were in business for."
It's a common problem of churches too.
Even though Paul used the expression as his goal for himself, your church cannot be "all things to all people," no matter how hard it tries. And as its leader, neither can you.
You and your church would do well to analyze the community where the Father has assigned you, along with the special gifts and calling of yourself and your leaders, and out of that come up with the special focus of your ministry and your church.
I sat across the table from a group of senior adults at a local church which was declining in numbers, causing them a great deal of concern. My opinion is that the causes for this were many and their downturn was decades in the making. They wanted my advice and I gave it to them.
I don't think they cared for it.
Friday, Steve and Dianne Gahagan stopped by the associational office to say their goodbyes. Tomorrow their rental truck pulls out from the home next door to Oak Park Baptist Church which the congregation has been providing them for nearly 2 years now. They will be facing an 11-hour drive back to South Carolina.
For 21 months, Steve has been the construction coordinator for NAMB's "Operation NOAH Rebuild," overseeing the reconstruction of hundreds and hundreds of homes in our area, as well as quite a few churches. Dianne has been the office manager, taking the calls and emails from churches around the country interested in bringing teams of volunteers this way to help us and overseeing a hundred related details.
They're leaving and we're grieving.
Nearly two years ago, Jim Burton of the North American Mission Board told me about this couple whom he had just hired. Steve has a background in construction and had been working with Habitat for Humanity in South Carolina. Dianne had a business background and was most recently the chief financial officer for a huge corporation. "We are so blessed to be getting this outstanding couple," he said.
Nothing that has happened since has changed our mind about that assessment.
Our pastors will remember the times when Steve stood at our (then) weekly meetings to report on the work of NOAH and the volunteers coming our way. He always inspired us without fail, and I found myself in awe of the spirit of Christ in this man.
The work of NOAH goes on, under the capable direction of Mickey Caison and, locally, David Maxwell and his wife Wanda. We appreciate them and thank them for their commitment to helping our people and our churches continue the work of restoration.
But, it's not going to be the same. Steve and Dianne won a huge place in the hearts of all our people.
You're not smart enough, strong enough, or godly enough to handle everything life is going to hurl at you. Part of growing up and growing deeper involves learning that lesson. Fortunately for us, however, our Lord knew it from the start and made provisions for our weaknesses.
What He did was to give us our two best friends for the living of these days: the Holy Spirit as our Guide and the Holy Bible as our Light.
Whether you pastor a church, run an office, or till a farm, you will frequently find yourself in situations beyond you, times when you need a wisdom more than yours, direction about choices facing you, and guidance for the labyrinth we call modern living.
The Holy Spirit. The Holy Bible. The Person of the Lord indwelling you and the Word of the Lord instructing you. It's an unbeatable combination.
In his biography of Thomas Wolfe, Andrew Turnbull tells how the famous writer's parents made the decision to marry. During only their second conversation, W. O. Wolfe proposed to Julia Westall. Protesting that she hardly knew the man, Julia suggested that they should open at random the book she was holding in her lap. They would let the book fall open, she said, then choose the middle paragraph on the right page, and let it speak to their situation.
Fortuitously or disastrously, depending on one's viewpoint, the book opened to a wedding ceremony which contained the words, "till death do us part." Three months later they were married.
We've all heard stories of people seeking God's wisdom who tried that approach with the Bible. "I just opened the Bible at random," they exclaim, "and my finger fell on that verse." Almost always the verse has a completely different meaning than the one in which the speaker used it, but, they were convinced God had sent divine guidance for their situation.
There's good news and bad news about such a methodology for finding God's direction. The good news is that a Sovereign God may decide to use it. Throughout Scripture, we find God dispensing His wisdom by a fleece on the ground, the shadow of an apostle, and the casting of lots. My personal objection to this was forever quietened when I found Psalm 115:3. "Our God is in the Heavens; He does whatever He pleases."
If He chooses to use a roll of the dice, whom am I to object?