Joe McKeever

Reigning on our Parade

Jazzfest last weekend was not rained out, but anything else would have been. In the downpour, people stood in puddles to their ankles to soak up Billy Joel and other musical offerings. Joel looked heavenward and said to the Lord, "Is that all you've got? Bring it on!"

Seems like we heard our president say something similar just before Iraq became its own kind of quagmire.

The people who run our convention center--the official name for which is the Ernest N. Morial Convention Center--have decided that does not communicate and they want to tweak it to become the New Orleans Morial Convention Center. Not any shorter, but clearer, they say. That sounded great to almost everyone except the Morial family. Ernest "Dutch" Morial was our city's first African-American mayor and the father of our most recent mayor, Marc Morial, who wrote the letter for the family protesting the change.

Officials insist they're not formally changing the name, but will refer to the convention center in this "new" way for marketing purposes. That's not good enough for the family and their supporters. Some are threatening that they will encourage Essence and other festivals/conventions of African-Americans to go elsewhere if this is not reversed.

A name is just a symbol? Symbols can be mighty important to some folks and to all of us at one time or another, we should never forget.

These are good days for the New Orleans Hornets, our NBA franchise. For the first time ever, the New Orleans teams advances to the second round in the playoffs, after beating the Dallas Mavericks 4 games to 1 in a best-of-seven series. Next, we will face the San Antonio Spurs, as I get it. Fans are ecstatic, packing out the New Orleans Arena. Last night--Tuesday--coach Byron Scott was named the NBA Coach of the Year.

Some fan said it's just like Mardi Gras all over again, all the enthusiasm.

We're having a "New Orleans Summit" at the North American Mission Board in Alpharetta, Georgia, this Thursday and Friday, May 1 and 2. Last Monday night in our annual Spring meeting, our association voted to adopt a lengthy list of adjustments and changes being recommended by a strategy team which has been working for a year. Now, some of us will be sitting down with leadership of the Louisiana Baptist Convention and NAMB to work out a possible partnership for the next 10 years or more. Representing BAGNO will be pastors Fred Luter, David Crosby, John Faull, and Dennis Watson. Mike Flores and I will go along to carry their bags. David Hankins and Mike Canady from LBC will be at the table.

In asking for continuing help from LBC and NAMB, New Orleans is not unaware of our massive debt to Southern Baptists through these (and other) agencies. We have been the grateful recipient of many millions of dollars of the Lord's money and untold thousands of man-hours from Baptists who have flowed our way to help rebuild the city and restore our churches. In the process, thousands of our residents have heard the message of God--after seeing it in action--and have prayed with their visitors and benefactors to receive Christ as Savior.

The Taming of the Disciple

The question I ask about the preacher in the news--he shall remain nameless here; this is not about politics--but after watching him at the National Press Club and other forums this week, my question is: Where is the man's humility? Where is the Christlikeness? The world saw plenty of the flesh, loads of meanspiritedness, an abundance of conviction and even eloquence and cleverness, together with a surplus of pandering to his audience. But where was the meekness and humility?

"Thy gentleness has made me great." (Psalm 18:35)

The Lord God is The Awesome Force in this universe. In order to deal with puny humans like us, His power had to be gentled, otherwise we could not have withstood it.

The sun which lights our solar system radiates its mighty power with temperatures in the thousands of degrees. And yet, by the time its rays reach your back yard, they gently ripen grapes and warm picnickers and melt butter. For the sun's light to bless this world, its strength has to be softened and slowed. The gentling elements include the 93 million miles of distance, our earth's atmospherere, and the rotation of the globe.

Thousands of volts of electricity surge through the power lines up and down your street. Were those lines run straight into your house, the energy would burn up every appliance and probably set your house afire. Transformers are installed on light poles up and down the street to gentle the power. Consequently, only 110 volts enters your home, enough to run the appliances, light your home, and operate the computer.

So, how was our great God so gentled that we might be able to know Him? "The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us." God came to earth in human form, as a baby born in Bethlehem, laid in a manger. "We beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth." (John 1) Jesus said, "He who has seen me has seen the Father." (John 14)

Jesus Christ is God the Father gentled.

Jesus said, "I am gentle and humble in heart." (Matthew 11:29) Not bombastic, not belligerent, not meanspirited, but gentle. Not cruel, not harsh and unloving, not power-mad or unkind. Gracious. Loving. Humble.

"The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness...." (Galatians 5:22) Whom the Holy Spirit controls, He tames, and He produces in that one such character as can only be described as like Jesus Christ of Nazareth Himself.

Christians get off course at times and want to argue that the manifestation of the Holy Spirit's presence is this or that spiritual gift. Not so. The infallible manifestation of the Spirit and proof of His indwelling rule is the Christlikeness He produces in that individual.

The Original Morning Sickness: Anxiety

The best time to get run over in interstate traffic, I have decided, is the morning rush hour. Five mornings a week, I'm crossing town between 7:45 and 8:45 am and risking my life in the process. This morning, I was headed out of town for a meeting in Alexandria and noticed the same phenomenon in traffic headed the opposite direction. People are dying to get where they are going. I've come to a conclusion as to the root cause.

It's anxiety.

Some drivers are late to work or to class, some of afraid of being late, and the others are early and trying to stay that way. So they rush. They tailgate the motorist in front of them, they cut in front of the fellow to one side or the other who dares to leave a gap between him and the next car, and they dart in and out incessantly. A couple of miles up the road you notice they're stuck in traffic in the lane to your right or left, all their frantic lane-jumping having done them absolutely no good.

The problem is not their car's motor; it's their own inner motor. Something inside them is racing, dying to get to their destination, and they either do not know how to control it or turn it off or, what's just as probable, do not know that it's even there. They rush out of habit.

Yesterday morning the car that was bullying everyone on the freeway pulled onto a side street in the direction I happened to be going, and one block later turned off into a driveway. They were just going home. I felt like stopping and asking, "What was all the rush about?"

I think I know the answer. Their answer to my question would be, "Huh? What rush?" They are not even aware what they're doing. It's a pattern, a really bad habit, they've fallen into. They get in their car and the anxiety kicks in and they have to beat everyone else on the highway.

It's destructive, self-defeating, harmful to one's health, even suicidal. It's murder on their car, terrible on their tires, and a burden on their billfold. It endangers their families and the people in the other cars.

Let the city or parish install cameras at intersections to catch redlight-runners and they holler to high heaven, as though a sacred right of theirs has been taken away. They foolishly blame the rear end collisions on the officials who installed the cameras. Blame-placing, denial, anger---highway sports in America today.

Anxiety is a a problem we all deal with and a killer in a hundred ways. The highway is just one of locales.

Everyone deals with anxiety in its various manifestations. You start a new job and can't sleep the night before. You have to leave town early tomorrow and afraid of oversleeping, you toss and turn tonight. You have an important painful confrontation tomorrow, so tonight's rest is a total loss. Some would call it worry. It's likewise a form of fear. One thing it is not is faith.

Anxiety is worry and fear on steroids. And whatsoever is not of faith is sin. (Romans 14:23)

Meeting with a group of pastors, I threw this out to them: "Give me your best counsel. What do you do to fight anxiety?" Here are some of their answers.

My Preaching Schedule (and other stuff)

April 27 -- 10:30 am - Highland Baptist Church, Metairie
6:00 pm - Parkview, Metairie

May 1-2 "New Orleans Summit" at NAMB, Alpharetta, GA (planning the details of a partnership between NAMB, our state convention, and our association for the future)

May 3 -- My high school class' 50th reunion. Double Springs, Alabama. Lordy!

May 9 -- 10:00 am - Senior Revival, First Baptist, Franklinton, LA

May 16-17 -- DOM Retreat at Vidalia, LA

May 25 -- 10:30 am New Prospect Baptist Church, Jasper, AL

June 7-11 Southern Baptist Convention, Indianapolis (and DOM annual meeting)

June 13-14 Deacons retreat, Five Points Bap Ch, Northport, AL

And then, after a quiet summer (I hope!), toward the fall of the year....

September 7-10, Revival, First Baptist Church, Fulton, MS

September 21-23 -- "Senior Bible Study/Revival" FBC of Long Beach, MS (One of the Lord's great post-Katrina churches)

November 17 -- Alabama Directors of Missions, Montgomery, AL

November 18 -- speak twice at the Alabama Baptist Convention, Montgomery

November 24 -- "M Night," Muskogee, Oklahoma (You didn't know they were still doing M Night, did you?)

Only in N'Awlins

This weekend and next are Jazzfest, the annual blowout at the Fairgrounds Racetrack that brings hundreds of thousands of visitors to the city every year at this time. Almost any one of the headliners would fill the New Orleans Arena at big prices, but for 50 bucks you can see every one of them. It's the bargain of the year---if you don't mind wading through a hundred thousand of your closest friends. (Last year's festival drew 350,000 paying customers over the two weekends.)

Today, Friday, for example, Robert Plant and Alison Krauss entertain from 3:30 until 4:50. At the same time, acts are taking place on ten other stages throughout the Fairgrounds area. Sheryl Crow will follow Plant and Krauss. Stevie Wonder will be in town. Billy Joel, Tim McGraw, Jimmy Buffett, Frankie Beverly, Al Green, Randy Newman, Widespread Panic, you name it. (I have no idea who that last group is, but you've gotta love their name.) Hundreds and hundreds of bands and acts and choirs and programs. Like drinking from a fire hydrant.

Go to www.nojazzfest.com for complete information. Next weekend, the program begins on Thursday and goes through Sunday. If you are coming, pay close attention to details on how to ride public transportation to the fairgrounds. You won't find a parking place anywhere near there and police patrol it full-time writing tickets.

Church choirs get into the act, too. Franklin Avenue Baptist Church's choir does that incredible thing they do from the AIG Gospel Tent today at 5:55 pm.

"We want to bring a whole year's worth of music here in a week," said organizer and promoter Quint Davis. "We have a great national lineup." He says this festival is different from all the others, including Austin City Limits. "We're a festival for grownups."

Whatever that means.

Interestingly, most of the groups on the programs are from in-state.

The front page of Friday's paper tells the story of Rosalie 'Lady Tambourine' Washington. "She's one of those only-in-New Orleans institutions. To some, she's a star; to others, a nuisance. Either way, she has been a constant presence for more than a decade to those crowded under the Gospel Tent at The New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival presented by Shell."

Anecdotes a Preacher Would Kill For

I think of an anecdote as a short, catchy story, the kind pastors love to insert in just-the-right-spot to pep up a sermon. The word comes from the Greek and literally means "things not given out," or in other words, "unpublished."

Winston Churchill called them "the gleaming toys of history." They are hard to define, but we all know a good one when we find one. Here are some of my favorites, for what they are worth.

During the 1957 World Series between the Milwaukee Braves and the New York Yankees, slugger Hank Aaron came up to bat. Yogi Berra, the Yankee catcher, noticed he was holding the bat wrong. "Turn it around," he told Aaron. "So you can read the trademark." Hank never looked back, but said, "Didn't come up here to read. Came up here to hit."

And brother, did he hit.

A patient afflicted with chronic depression called on the famous British physician John Abernethy. After examining him, Dr. Abernethy said, "You need amusement. Go down to the playhouse and hear the comedian Grimaldi. He will make you laugh and that will be better for you than any drugs." The patient said, "I am Grimaldi."

Great comedy is said to emanate from great suffering.

Franklin Adams belonged to a poker club that counted among its members an actor by the name of Herbert Ransom. It was said that whenever Ransom was dealt a good hand, you could tell it in his face. In light of that, Adams proposed a new club rule: "Anyone who loks at Randsom's face is cheating."

What does your face reveal about you?

For the first half of the 20th century, George Ade was a popular humorist and playwright. Once, after delivering an after-dinner speech that went over well, a famous lawyer followed him on the program. He thrust his hands deep in the pockets and said, "Doesn't it strike you as a little unusual that a professional humorist should actually be funny?" When the laughter subsided, George Ade said, "Doesn't it strike you as a little unusual that a lawyer should actually have his hands in his own pockets?"

And what are your hands doing these days?

I've told this one to whatever doctor was examining me at the moment. Konrad Adenauer, chancellor of West Germany when he was in his 90s, was being examined by his doctor. "I'm not a magician," the medical man said. "I cannot make you younger." "I haven't asked you to," said the chancellor. "All I want is to go on getting older."

The Greek general and politician Alcibiades was telling Pericles, who was 40 years older than he, how to govern Athens effectively. Pericles was not amused. "Alcibiades," he said, "when I was your age, I talked just as you do now." The younger man said, "How I should like to have known you when you were at your best."

When are you at your best?

Smilin' with These Three

First, a gentleman from Raceland.

You know how you drive through sections of Orleans, St. Bernard, and Plaquemines Parishes and see house after house that appear to have been abandoned? There will be lovely homes newly rebuilt, some houses in the process of rebuilding, and then here and there a residence with high weeds and shuttered windows and you wonder about them, who owns them and what their plans are. But one thing you know--that's someone's house.

Jesse Bryant did not know that.

This resident of Raceland, a small town forty miles west of New Orleans on U.S.90, picked out two such seemingly abandoned properties on the east side of our city and drove home-made signs into the yard announcing: "I, Jesse Bryant, do take possession of this abandon (sic) property." As though that were all it took.

Then, he broke into the houses and had the locks changed. A deputy sheriff noticed the sign in one yard and stopped to check on it. He was informed by Mr. Bryant that he had assumed ownership of the houses since they had been abandoned. The deputy called the owner who came out and was not real pleased.

They arrested Mr. Bryant for burglary and criminal trespassing. He admitted he had been planning to take possession of other abandoned properties in the area.

One of the houses is owned by the Road Home Corporation, and the other is being renovated by its present owner, a local resident.

Mr. Bryant has been reading too many western novels in which people stake out claims on available land, or possibly watching too many infomercials offering great riches by claiming repossessed houses and reselling them.

My guess is the judge will not throw the book at him, but give him probation. After all, he was not malicious. Just dumb. Really really dumb.

(Update a few days later. The Times-Picayune reports that the Lafourche Parish officials, after reading in the New Orleans paper about Bryant's doings, decided to check him out locally, since he's from Raceland. They discovered he had pulled the same shenanigans there, and in fact, had taken possession of a house across the street from his 87-year-old mother. His brother has been living in that house. When asked about her sons, the mother replied that she has enough troubles of her own without meddling in theirs.)

Second, Elizabeth Luter, the extreme opposite of the first fellow. One smart lady.

Listen to the Holy Spirit

My friend Rudy sat in my office today and told me the definitive story that drives his witness.

"I was living in a northern state and driving an hour and a half each way to work inside Canada. On the way, I drove through this Indian reserve, a real poor place with lots of ramshackle houses. This particular morning, going past the reserve I noticed a fellow working on a car and lying half-way under it. At that moment, the Holy Spirit told me to stop and witness to him. I didn't do it."

"All the time I drove on to work, I kept thinking, 'I should have done it.' But I knew I would have been late for work if I had. All day, it ate at me. I should have stopped."

"That evening on my way home, I decided I would stop by his house and find the man I'd seen under the car that morning. To my surprise, there were cars everywhere and a crowd had gathered. I got out of my car and said to them, 'I want to see the man who was working on his car here this morning.' Somebody said, 'He's dead. He got killed in a traffic accident today.'"

"That was one lesson I had to learn the hard way," Rudy said, "and one I will never forget. When the Lord says to do something, do it."

Rudy may be the most consistent soulwinner I know. He told me of the time he went fishing with a friend and some fellows he had never met. "My friend is a Christian," he said, "but he sort of compartmentalizes his Christianity. He introduced me to these guys and said, 'Watch yourself today. Rudy is a preacher.'"

"That did it. They clammed up and hardly said two words to me. I knew I was going to have to loosen them up or we'd never get to know one another. I have a favorite little joke that I decided to tell them. I said, 'Say, do either of you know how to sell a duck to somebody who is hard of hearing?' They looked at each other, and one said, 'What was that?' The other said, 'Do we know how to sell a duck to somebody who is hard of hearing?' They looked at me and said, 'I reckon not.'"

Rudy said, "WANNA BUY A DUCK??!!" at the top of his lungs.

The men burst out laughing and kept laughing for the next five minutes. (Rudy's wife Rose said, "That's a guy joke. I think it's stupid.") Rudy said, "But that loosened them up and we had a great time that day, and yes, I did tell them about the Lord."

What They Didn't Say About Long Life

Paul Harvey News this week reported that the four greatest factors for longevity are these: quit smoking, drink only moderately, eat plenty of fruits and vegetables, and exercise. In that case, I said to myself, I'm here for the duration.

But not so fast. There are more factors than these four, surely. I'm not a social scientist--or any other kind of scientist for that matter--but I can name several. Readers, drop your contributions to this list at the end.

Here are my additional top five ways for long life....

1) Obey and honor your parents.

I'll bet that one doesn't make any scientific list, but it made God's. "Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the earth." (Exodus 20:12) In Ephesians 6:2, Paul called it "the first commandment with a promise" attached to it.

It's tempting to be cute here and say that if I had not obeyed my dad, he would have killed me--thus fulfilling this promise. But, this was no joking matter to God's people in Scriptures.

This is about quality of family life, a key aspect to the fullest enjoyment of life.

When God's Word lists the most despicable sins the Lord can think of, "disobedience to parents" makes the list. (Romans 1:30)

2) Don't take foolish chances.

Dead Cows and Living Treasures

When they opened the floodgates to allow the overflow from the Mississippi River to cross the Bonnet Carre' Spillway into Lake Pontchartrain, one thing no one figured on was what might come in alongwith the water. Now, we hear that people are finding dead cows floating in the lake. Logs and trees are always coasting down the river, and now they are posing a hazard for boaters on the lake. The water from the river is very muddy and contains who knows what, whereas the Lake Pontchartrain Basin Foundation has been at work for a generation trying to clean up our lake. So, now, here we go again.

Some readers can recall when you would take the family out to Pontchartrain Beach amusement park and go for a swim. When the park was closed, swimming was forbidden due to the pollution. Lately, the water has been approved for swimming, although there's no good place to go in. Now, the authorities are warning citizens to be careful even getting around those waters. We've mentioned here about the snakes and alligators flowing into the lake--and thus into the city.

Old-timers (that would be my age and better) frequently tell me they see no need to own a computer, that they have done very well all this time without it. I never argue the point, but sometimes wonder how they would feel if they knew what they were missing. For instance....

Friday, while driving north to Alexandria, I was going over the sermon to be preached Sunday morning and found myself missing a tiny bit of information. I phoned my son Marty and left a message for him. "I'd like to know who began the 'adopt-a-highway' program. Who started it and when? I need this for my sermon."

The next evening, when I arrived home and checked e-mail, Marty had sent me a couple of links providing everything I needed to know on the subject. He said, "Wikipedia has the information, and they provide some links for details." That's how I found that the man behind this adopt-a-highway program is James R. "Bobby" Evans, an employee of the Texas Department of Transportation, Tyler District. One day as he drove through Tyler, he noticed trash blowing off the truck in front of him, and started wondering if there was not some way to mobilize citizens to clean up the highways. He thought of encouraging people to adopt-a-highway and tried to get people interested. No group or civic club caught the vision, but a public information officer for the DOT named Billy Black did. He took that ball and ran with it, lining up groups, churches, clubs, and individuals to take responsibility for sections of roads. He designed the safety training and even the neat little reflective vests they wear.

I went to the link for the Texas Department of Transportation to find the dates. Evans had the brainstorm in 1984; Black got organized in 1985. Think of that. A program that is now in countries all over the world and has changed the quality of life everywhere considerably---and it is less than a quarter-century old.

One man can make a difference.

To make a difference, he needs a clear vision of what needs to be done, some solid counsel on all aspects of the matter, and a strong conviction in order to stay with the program until he pulls it off.

And, as Bobby Evans clearly demonstrates, he may end up needing a helper, someone with skills he doesn't have. Someone like Billy Black.

I've Been to Shiloh

There was an Israeli town named Shiloh. For a while, after Israel was settled in the Promised Land, the tabernacle was headquartered there. But the real significance of the name for us today hails back to a promise in Genesis 49:10. Old man Jacob was dying and (mostly) blessing his sons. He says, "The scepter shall not depart from Judah until Shiloh comes." Your Bible has a footnote in the margin, I'm guessing, that reads, "Shiloh means 'he whose right it is.'" Ezekiel 21:27 is the other place that mentions the word in this context.

It's talking about the Messiah. The scepter--that would be "the rule," "the leading position"--and "He whose right it is" can only mean the One who is worthy of picking up the scepter and reigning. Worthy is the Lamb.

When Jesus was born in Nazareth, only one of the 12 tribes still had a spot of ground with their name on it. Judea. Judah, get it? Then, in A.D. 70, when the Romans beseiged Jerusalem, they demolished the city and erased Judea from the map. Present-day Israel came into being only in 1948.

Anyway.

Shiloh Christian Fellowship is back. This wonderful little congregation filled up their newly rebuilt sanctuary at 2441 North Claiborne Street in New Orleans Sunday afternoon at 2 p.m. Pastor Michael Raymond was all aglow, and we were for him. There must have been 200-300 people filling the building with joy and love. Freddie Arnold was there, returned from two weeks of house-building at his place in Walker, Louisiana. We both agreed we have been to quite a number of these first-time-back-since-Katrina worship services, but this one was unique in one respect: Pastor Michael baptized eight people. Great beginning!

In the printed bulletin, the pastor is thanking Operation NOAH Rebuild, Baptist Builders, the Baptist General Convention of Oklahoma, two Oklahoma churches in particular--the FBC of Watonga and FBC of Pryor, and Franklin Avenue Baptist Church of our city.

My guess is that the street on which Shiloh is situated--North Claiborne--wins the prize as the longest traffic artery in metro New Orleans. It begins down in Lower St. Bernard Parish as Judge Perez Boulevard, continues into Orleans Parish as North Claiborne. Crosses Canal Street downtown and becomes South Claiborne. When it arrives in Jefferson Parish it becomes the historic Jefferson Highway. In River Ridge, it runs one block from where I live. As it enters Kenner, it becomes Third Street, don't ask me why. In St. Charles Parish, it's now River Road. It ends at the Bonnet Carre' Spillway. That must be forty miles or more of winding, snaking, twisting, following-the-bends-of-the-river pavement.

The portion of the city where Shiloh Christian Fellowship is located took lots of floodwaters and is still in the rebuilding mode. But they are coming back. The area desperately needs the active ministry of this congregation. (Someone asks, "If they are Southern Baptist, why don't they call themselves Baptist?" Answer: I have no idea why they chose this name, but we have Celebration Church that is one of our strongest SBC churches in the state, but the name 'Baptist' is nowhere to be found in its title. Suits me. Whatever works for them.)

I preached Sunday morning at Calvary Baptist Church of New Orleans for their annual "missions fair" day. Sunday School was dismissed so people could visit the various mission-work displays in the fellowship hall, then have lunch. I walked into the room, saw an 8-year-old sitting by herself, pulled out my sketch pad and drew her. That was about 11 o'clock. When I got to the car, the time was 12:25 pm, and I must have drawn 25 or 30 children and adults. If you get the impression no one has to ask me to do this, that I love it and would rather do this than eat, you would be right.

Calvary is one of our finest churches in many respects. They've been pastorless since Keith Manuel joined the evangelism staff of the Louisiana Baptist Convention a year ago. Norris Grubbs, professor at NOBTS, served as their interim pastor until recently. Last Sunday, their remaining three staff members--Doug, Matt, and Mike--all announced their resignations as they move to other churches (Baton Rouge, Haughton, LA, and Savannah, GA). We wish these guys (and their families) well and thank them for their faithful work here.

What a Thing is Worth

"Here's what the publisher of this book does." The speaker was John Van Diest. The setting was the meeting hall of the Louisiana Baptist Convention in Alexandria, where a roomful of authors and would-be-writers had gathered to sop up the creative drippings from the mind of this "Publisher of the Year," so named by his peers in that industry. He was speaking of the first book from the pen of one of our most popular Christian pastor-writers.

"He has put out many books since this first one, each a best-seller," Van Diest said. "But the publisher who has the rights to the first book keeps on reprinting it. Each time he does, he redesigns the cover, re-formats the book, and raises the price."

"Aha," I thought. "So that's why I have multiple copies of the same book by this guy."

One smart publisher. One dumb reader. One successful author.

Van Diest was speaking of current trends in Christian publishing. "The Christian bookstore is dying. They're being put out of business by the internet and megastores such as Barnes and Noble." He called our attention to the cover story in Christianity Today (April 2008) titled, "How to Save the Christian Bookstore." The subtitle reads "(Hint: Stop making it so religious.)"

Let's see now. The Christian bookstore is dying. And here we are, meeting for two days trying to figure out how to get our Christian books published. What's wrong with this picture?

"My books sell for fifteen dollars." The conference speakers had displayed a sampling of their books, some self-published and thus necessarily self-promoted. The plan, as I understand it, calls for the writer to engage a printer who might charge five dollars per book. The writer, then, makes ten bucks for each one he sells. If he sells them. "It's up to you," the author told a class. "You have to get out there and call on libraries and churches, speak to civic organizations and senior adult groups, and promote yourself."

Readers of this blog have picked up my stories of Rudy and Rose French over the past two years. They came from Canada not long after Katrina and invested the next two years of their lives with us. When they relocated to Paris, Tennessee, some months ago, I encouraged Rudy to "write a book." He did. It's being published even as we speak.

We had a little hand in Rudy's book. I gave him the names of a couple of publishers, he asked me to draw the cover, and I wrote the foreword. Lynn Gehrmann, our office's administrative assistant, took the photo of Rudy and Rose that appears on the back. And we are determined to help them get the book in circulation. Whe it comes out, I'll tell our readers how to order one.

Promoting and selling your book is the hardest part, everyone agrees. That's why so many self-published writers end up with boxes of their creation cluttering the garage. It's why some such printers are referred to as "vanity" publishers: they're catering to the ego of someone who would never see his book in print otherwise.

"But there's another aspect to this," our speaker noted. Go the traditional route and have a well-known Christian publisher take your book, and two years will elapse before it hits the bookstores. Even then, you might receive 10 percent from the sales. "If you publish it and sell it yourself, all the profits are yours. You could make as much as 10 dollars per copy." Good thing, because you will have a substantial bill from the printer to come due shortly.

How much is a thing worth? A book to read, a gallon of gas, a bottle of water, a house to live in? These days, the answers are uncertain, ever-changing, eye-popping.

Small Town, Big City?

Here are the opening words of the obituary for Mr. Jamal El Dine Abyad who was buried today, Saturday, in Alexandria, Louisiana from the Cen-La Church of Christ....

"Biblical Plan for Man's Salvation
Hear God's Word...Romans 10:17, Mt. 7:24-27
Believe that Jesus is the Christ...Jn 8:24, Mrk 16:15=16, Heb 11:6
Repent of your sins...Acts 2:38, 17:30, Lk 13:3-5
Confess your faith in Christ...Mt 10:32-33, Rom 10:9-10
Be baptized for the remission of sins...Mark 16:15=16, Acts 2:38
Remain Faithful...Rev 2:10, Mt 7:21, Heb 5:8-9"

The article said about Mr. Abyad, age 57, "He wanted only to be recognized and remembered as a humble servant of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ."

That's what it said.

You don't get those kind of obituaries in the city paper. Or almost anywhere else, I suppose. I just thought it was fascinating that the family would do that. I suppose it was Mr. Abyad's idea.

Bible students will recognize that the last two points of that "plan of salvation" incorporate the understanding of the Church of Christ denomination into the message. Most Christians--certainly the ones I know--say that being baptized and remaining faithful are the results of salvation, not the means to it.

I was in Alexandria Friday and Saturday for the annual writers conference our state denominational paper, the Baptist Message, conducts. The lineup of teachers was outstanding, and included Art Toalston, the editor of the Baptist Press, our national communications office (and a longtime friend; Art used to be religion editor for the Jackson, Mississippi, Daily News and as early as 1980 started running my cartoons on the Saturday religion page; now he runs them at www.bpnews.net), and John Van Diest, the now retired but longtime publisher of great (read: bestselling) Christian books such as "The Prayer of Jabez" and the "Left Behind" series.

I took along the first three chapters of my intended-book on the "Leadership Lessons" we've posted on this website, then had a quarter-hour conference with Van Diest while he looked it over and told me what he thought. He thinks I need to aim for a wider audience than just "pastors and church leaders." I told him I don't care to water it down, that "this is my group and I intend to write something that will help them."

"Did I discourage you?" he asked. I said, "Twenty years ago, you might have. But I've gone into this figuring I'd end up self-publishing." He took the partial manuscript along and asked for some samples of my cartoons. I delivered three colored ones to him this morning.

My approach in situations like this is to lower my expectations. Curt Iles, who self-publishes his books and was one of our teachers, showed on the screen a display of some of the rejection slips he has received over the years. Not a pretty sight nor pleasant thought.

One way to keep from being rejected is not to attempt anything, I'm well aware of that. At this point, since I'm exactly one year away from retirement, my plans for that time are to intensify my writing and begin publishing my stuff in a serious way.

Curt Iles showed a photo of him at work writing. He was out in the woods, sitting before a blazing fire, typing away on his laptop. I said, "Who took the picture--a bear?" He said, "I took it myself. Sat the camera down on a stump and ran back to my chair."

Going On in New Orleans

The levees are breaking--and it's not even flooding down here!

News reports are flooding the airwaves (hope that's the only thing that's flooding) telling that the Corps of Engineers is finding leaks in various levees around the area. It's the lead headline in Thursday morning's Times-Picayune, but we've been hearing it for days. How can this be happening? The Corps wants to know.

The line that comes to mind from Scripture is this from Jeremiah 12:5, "If you have run with the footmen and they have tired you, how will you run with the horses?" If you can't protect us in the sunshine, then we're in big trouble when the storm comes.

They've moved the murder trial of local celebrity Vince Marinello to Lafayette. It gets underway in May.

Marinello, you may recall, is the former sports announcer for several stations who--according to the Jefferson Parish Sheriff's Office--waited outside the office of his wife's therapist and, wearing a disguise, shot her to death and tried to make it look like a random mugger. He escaped on a bicycle. However, it came to light that witnesses saw him place the bike in his car trunk, and other witnesses saw him buying the disguise. The smoking gun, so to speak, was the "grocery list" of items he had to do in killing his wife that was found in his home. Not the smartest knife in the drawer if all of this is proven to be true.

The publicity--much of it just like what I've written above--has been so widespread Vince's attorney's have convinced a judge he could not get a fair trial here, so it was moved 100 miles west to Lafayette.

The Mississippi River is at flood stage for hundreds of miles. Locally, the authorities opened the Bonnet Carre' Spillway upriver a few miles (between Norco and LaPlace) to siphon off some of the river water into Lake Pontchartrain. From there it can move into the Gulf easily.

Hundreds of residents gathered at the Spillway to watch the gates open. The last time this was done was in 1997, and I was among the sightseers. Not a lot to see. Water pouring through the few gates that are unlocked into the dry land where just days before people were picnicking.

The paper says people walking along the lakefront are finding lots of snakes and alligators that washed into Pontchartrain from the river when they opened the gates. Just what New Orleans needs--some dangerous residents!

Another of our churches is reopening this Sunday, April 20. Shiloh Christian Fellowship, located at 2441 North Claiborne in New Orleans, will have a dedication at 2 pm Sunday. Before Katrina, Edward Scott pastored this congregation. He relocated, and Michael Raymond--who lost his church in the Lower 9th Ward--was called as their shepherd. You're invited.

The two candidates for the Democratic nomination for president are falling all over themselves in committing blunders. Will someone please give me credit for not mentioning anything about it here?

I told my sister Carolyn--that's her little note at the end of this article--that commenting on the gaffes of today's politicians is like clubbing baby seals: it's easy to do, but afterwards you're ashamed of yourself!

Do you know those little brass vases people buy and station at graves to hold flowers for their loved ones? Some bad guys in metro New Orleans have been driving through the cemeteries in trucks gathering them in like they were picking peaches. They cost $600 each, we're told, and the thieves sell them for scrap metal, getting a few bucks each. Anyway, local police have been catching them and finding hundreds of the vases. These extremely foolish thieves will have time in prison to reflect on what they have done.

LEADERSHIP LESSON NO. 54--"Avoid the Disconnect Trap"

If you are foolish--and you do not want to be--you will see your spiritual leadership as one thing and the way you live your life in private as something entirely unrelated. In doing so, you will make a grievous mistake.

In his book, "See You at the Finish Line," Don Wilton, now pastor of Spartanburg's First Baptist Church, tells of an incident when he was a professor of preaching at our New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. The class was Preaching 101. Don would lecture about preaching, assign books to read and sermons to write, and at some point in the semester, the students each brought a short sermon to the class. Professor Don sat on the back row, listening to each one, making notes, trying to think of ways to correct, stimulate, and motivate these young prophets without overwhelming or devastating them. Not any easy task.

When Henry stood to preach to the class that day, no one had reason to expect they were going to hear anything other than the usual nervous stutterings of a 22-year-old trying to get his ministerial bearings. To the surprise of the class, Henry was eloquent. Don Wilton calls him "probably the most gifted young preacher I had ever heard." Soon the class was caught up in his message and was responding enthusiastically. When Henry sat down, his classmates erupted in verbal approval and encouragement.

Two days later, Henry came by the professor's office. He was concerned about the grade Don had awarded him for that sermon. "I got the impression in the class you thought I did a good job on the sermon," he said. "That's right. I did," said Don. "Well," Henry said, "I'm not asking for a high grade, but an F? And you gave me an F on the entire course. I don't understand that. I thought I might have made an A even."

Don said, "That's right. You have flunked this course and will have to take it over. You might not even graduate this May."

"But why?" the student insisted.

Don said, "Because you failed the most important part of the course. To explain, I'll need to tell you a story."

LEADERSHIP LESSON NO. 53--"Someone Has to Ride Drag"

I had started out the door of the church office headed for the parking lot. This was my day for making the rounds of hospitals in New Orleans, calling on church members who were patients. The kindergartners were just coming back from the playground and all fifteen stretched out along the sidewalk to the classroom door which their teacher was holding open. I recognized the very last child in line and spoke to her.

"Hi, Lauren." The five-year-old looked up at me in all seriousness and said, "I'm the leader."

I laughed. "But you're at the end of the line."

She said, "But I'm still the leader."

The teacher who was overhearing this called out, "We put a leader at each end."

I said, "Yeah, I've pastored churches like that. I'm trying to lead one way and someone at the rear is pulling them another way."

Driving toward the hospital, I re-thought that little conversation and realized the Lord had just sent me an important lesson about leadership: We need someone at the rear to help us lead from the front.

In cowboy lingo, someone has to ride drag. When the ranch hands were moving a herd to the railhead--I'm very current on all my old western movies--someone was designated to bring up the rear and make sure the herd moved along and that no stragglers were lost. It was a hot, dusty job, one no one wanted, and thus it usually went to the newest hand or the youngest.

A television program on the Grand Canyon spoke of the tours provided for visitors to this scenic wonder. The tourists ride mules down the trail, trusting their welfare into the hands of two guides. Ahead of them, one guide leads the way, while another brings up the rear. The job of the "rear guide" is to make sure no one is in trouble and that no one is left behind.

Watch the elongated, double-jointed fire truck make its way through the city on an emergency call. A driver in front steers the engine around corners and down streets. Because the truck is so long, with its ladder and equipment, the rear section of the vehicle also has a driver to maneuver around those same corners and through traffic.

In the church, no group fulfills this function better than the deacons. The pastor leads from the front, while the church's helpers, the diakonoi, lead from the rear.

Dropping the Other Shoe: There's Usually a Reason

In the previous article, part two of "Two Things for Pastors," in which we tried to affirm pastors by saying that "they don't understand and cannot know what it's like to be you," we left the matter there. However, one way the Holy Spirit teaches me is through the things I read. I am frequently amazed at how pertinent the next thing I read turns out to be.

If you recall, we spoke of the lordly women working at the POW centre in Calcutta and one in particular who so misunderstood the patients and were urging them, now that they were out of prison, to return to England and "do your bit for the country." Eric Lomax, whose story we were relating, was dumbfounded by such profound ignorance. And we said, "They didn't understand."

Now I may have found out why.

The next book I picked up for my bedtime reading is a diary of the Second World War years. "To War With Whitaker: The Wartime Diaries of the Countess of Ranfurly 1939-45" gives the story of Hermione Ranfurly whose husband Dan was a British Count and who led an incredibly busy six years while the world tried to self-destruct. She tells of hobnobbing with the likes of Churchill, Eisenhower, and other notables. (Note to Ginger: a British count is at the opposite end of the social spectrum from an Alabama no-count. In case you were wondering.)

Dan Ranfurly was a member of a British fighting group called the Sherwood Rangers. He was captured and held in an Italian prison camp for a couple of years. Lady Ranfurly's diary gives us snippets from letters he wrote to her from the POW camp. As you read the two samples below, remember what Eric Lomax was being subjected to at the very same moment in a Japanese camp on the other side of the world. The contrast is stunning.

Two Things for Pastors

1) What's a Pastor to Do When Those Anonymous Letters Start Arriving

Don Wilton, pastor of Spartanburg's First Baptist Church, tells how he handled the anonymous letters in his book, "See You at the Finish Line"(Thomas Nelson, 2006).

From Wilton's description, these hostile, anonymous letters were not like any I've ever received. The writer went to a great deal of trouble to make them, cutting out every letter from magazines and pasting them into words and sentences on a page torn from a religious publication. At first, the letters came to the church, then they started showing up in the mailbox at the Wilton home. As time went on, their tone became more and more critical, more and more hostile.

Early on, the Wiltons decided to tell no one and to do nothing but pray for the writer of the letters. One day, as Karyn returned from the mailbox, she was laughing. They had received another hate letter, but this one was different. "You will not believe what our friend has done," she said to Don. "He forgot to take the mailing label off the magazine before he sent it!" There it was--the writer's name and address on the back page.

The Wiltons knew this man. He was a veteran member of the church, a family man, and a deacon. From that moment, they began to pray for him by name, asking the Lord to show them how to handle this.

One day, Don called the deacon and asked him to come by his office for a few minutes. When he arrived, the pastor told him that someone had been sending critical letters to his home, making ridiculous and untruthful accusations. The man's face reddened, and his fists clenched as though for a fight. He said, "Pastor, are you accusing me of sending those letters?"

"Oh no," Don said, gently. "I'm not accusing you at all. But I do think you need to know that the writer sent the letters on a page torn from a religious publication. The last one he sent still had the mailing label on the back. And it had your name on it."

As that soaked in, Don continued. "This person must have taken your magazine. Maybe someone is trying to set you up."

"I asked you to come here today," he said, "so we can pray for this person. We need the Lord's direction on how to handle this."

The man was shaken. He stood up and said, "I'll find out who's doing this, pastor. I'll not have someone using my name like that!"

The letters stopped. For several months, that deacon was absent from church. The Wiltons continued to pray for him and his wife. Then one day he showed up at the church office.

"Pastor," he said, "I wanted to let you know I found out who was sending those letters to you. I've dealt with him and he has left the church. I'd rather not tell you who it is. He wants you to know he's deeply sorry that he caused you pain."

With that, the man turned and walked out of the office. The matter was never mentioned again and the letters ceased. Don writes, "That man was a faithful and loving member in my church for many years to come. I love him, and to this day I know he loves me."

The enemy would have the pastor retaliate in anger and vindictiveness. God is glorified when we seek His guidance through prayer, then wait for His leadership.

Nothing tells the story on us better than how we handle criticism. Nothing says maturity like praying and waiting on the Lord.

2) When You Feel No One Understands, Pastor...

I was reading Eric Lomax' account of his World War II experiences in "The Railway Man: A POW's searing account of war, brutality and forgiveness." Born and raised in Scotland, Lomax joined the British Army's "Royal Corps of Signals" just ahead of the draft in 1939. Before long, he was in Singapore, helping to protect this anchor of the British Empire in the Far East. A few weeks after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, they took Singapore. On February 16, 1942, Eric Lomax became one of the thousands and thousands of British soldiers imprisoned by the Japanese for the duration of the Second World War.

From that day in 1942 until the POWs were liberated in August of 1945, Lomax was tortured and beaten, subjected to every kind of imprisonment and psychological torment, starved, isolated, grilled for days on end while deprived of sleep, and nearly killed on several occasions. He weighed just over 100 pounds when the Allies entered the prison.

Now, here's what I wanted to tell you....

As they were being returned to their homeland, the transports stopped off in Calcutta at a huge residence that had been converted into a reception center for returning POWs. The center (Lomax calls it a "centre") was run by a group of women volunteers whom he describes as "brisk self-confident women used to servants and to getting their own way." One afternoon, as Lomax and a friend were resting on the veranda with their tea, one of these take-charge dowagers approached. "Well, gentlemen," she said, "I am certain that since you were prisoners-of-war during most of the fighting, you surely will be eager to get back into it and do your bit for the country now."

Lomax says, "There wasn't a trace of irony in her voice." No doubt she was picturing these men as laying up in camps bored and restless with nothing to do. The ignorance of the woman was overwhelming. Lomax writes, "We held the sides of our chairs tightly and said nothing."

There was nothing to say. Such ignorance defies an appropriate rejoinder. The woman just didn't understand.

Now, the Apostle Paul. The text is Second Corinthians chapter 11. The almost inconceivable is happening. This church in Corinth, Greece, which he personally began and whose leaders he selected and trained, this congregation that has been so dear to his heart, is rejecting him in favor of a group of flashy, shallow, smooth-talking pretty-boys who have arrived on the scene in Greece ready to "put this church on the map."

Letter to an Angry, Hurting Pastor

Dear James,

I'm sorry for what you've been through. I suppose I'm the right one to unload on, having fought a few of these church battles over the years and with the scars to prove it.

Once a small group was meeting in the foyer of my church every Sunday to pool their hostilities and plan their attacks against me. Finally, I decided to call the attention of the congregation to what they were doing. In the sermon I said, "I want you who are doing this to know two things: God is using this in my life to make me stronger. And two, you will have to stand before Him and give account for what you are doing to His servant. When that time comes, I wouldn't be in your shoes for all the money in the world."

The good news in my case is that I outlived my opponents. Either they gave up or moved away or it could have been a couple of funerals, but the opposition died out and the last few years in that church were a dream. It was worth going through the storm to enjoy the sunshine on the other side.

Anyway, I want you to know I'm hurting for you. And I want to mention a couple of specific areas in which I am praying for you.

First, I pray that the day will come when you will look back at this as the best thing that has ever happened to you. Well, one of the best things.

I'm thinking of Eli, a preacher I knew from the time he was a college student. When he became a pastor, he was a holy terror. He packed the crowds in and reported huge numbers to the denomination, but he seemed to be angry all the time. I ran into him ten years later and he was a different person. His wife had divorced him and the church had fired him. He became a broken man. But then the Lord put him back together. At the time, he was serving on the staff of a church in a different state and having a significant ministry to people who had been chewed up and spit out by life.

I said to Eli, "Looking back at your previous ministry, you probably see a different quality in the work you're doing now." He laughed. "I'm doing the greatest work of my life. Everything I did before God broke me was in the flesh for my own glory."

I heard an old preacher say once, "Sometimes the Lord has to get us flat of our back so we will look up."

Anyway, James, I pray the Lord will use this in your life.

I remember something my Dad used to say about his six children. "I wouldn't take a million dollars for one of them, and I wouldn't give you a dime for another." One day, that's how you will feel about what you're going through right now.

The other thing I pray is that you will get past the hurt and the pain and the Lord will heal you. And, I have some specific suggestions on how to do that.

Let me tell you a story.

CONVERSATION WITH THE DIRECTOR OF MISSIONS: "That preacher!"

"You have a complaint, is that right?"

"I hate to sound negative. I'm sure the pastor is a good man."

"But."

"But there's one thing he does that drives me up the wall and is probably going to drive me out of the church."

"That's a lot of driving."

"He talks about money all the time. And I've had it up to here. And it's not just me--a lot of people feel the same way."

"A lot of people? Be specific."

"Well, actually, it's my brother-in-law and his wife, but we're all agreed that if he doesn't change his ways, we're going to change our church."

"That's a lot of changing."

"I don't think you're taking me seriously."

"I am. It's not like I've not heard this song before. I pastored for 42 years before becoming your director of missions."

"So, what are you going to do about him?"

"Not a thing. He's not the problem. You are."

"Oh great. I knew I was making a mistake coming here."

"No, you did the right thing. Because I'm not going to fool around and spare your feelings. I don't know you and you don't know me. You don't need a thing from me and as far as I know, I'll never see you again. So, there's no reason in the world for me not to give it to you straight."

"It sounds like you're about to beat up on me."

"That depends on your relationship with the Lord. If you love Him and want to grow in Him, then you will welcome someone who shows you your hypocrisies. But if you are in rebellion against God and living in sin, you will resent everything I say and will probably storm out of this office in the next three minutes."

"I like a challenge. Go ahead. Give it your best shot."

"Okay. Buckle your seat belt, friend. Here goes....

When To Close a Church

Today, Wednesday, the archdiocese of New Orleans will make an announcement guaranteed to frustrate and even anger a lot of Catholics: which churches (they call them parishes) will be boarded up and shut down. Everyone is on edge, worrying that their beloved parish might be among the doomed.

Yesterday, pickets were out in force parading in front of favorite and vulnerable church buildings. Some people came to pray. This morning at 9:30 am Archbishop Alfred Hughes has summoned 300 active and retired priests to a meeting at Notre Dame Seminary where they will learn the full details of his decision. A news conference will follow.

Few know what will happen. Everyone fears the worst. Some say they are determined to fight for their church. Letter-writing campaigns are already in the works.

Several culprits have brought this about, sources say: the high cost of rebuilding all the hurricane-damaged churches, the weakened population figures for St. Bernard and Orleans parishes, the decreased income from these areas, and the departure of a lot of priests for other cities. This last, the loss of clergy, is called "a slower-moving disaster."

Interestingly, it's not only the churches afflicted by smaller numbers of parishioners and weakened income that will be closed, we are told. Some of the affluent churches in the population centers will be combined with other strong churches. As I say, no one but the archbishop knows and everyone waits.

Tuesday, I received a note from a cousin in Virginia. She grew up Methodist and now belongs to an Episcopal church which she loves dearly. However, the pastor has announced that since their tiny congregation has failed to grow during his five years there and since the income from their mother church in the city is ending due to its own financial pressures, he's thinking of leaving. Mary Beth worries about their little church. She said, "I know personally every person who comes to our church."

"We've tried everything," she said, mentioning visitation, calling, publicity. "Nothing seems to work."

As though answering the question in my mind, she said, "I don't want to leave. I love this little church."

I responded something like this.

Mark Chapter 10--New Perspective

(We suggest you read the entire chapter before laying this little bit of creative writing alongside it.)

The mind rebels at so much to give up
in coming to the Savior---
plans, rights, possessions, in exchange
for wholeness, eternity, the unimaginable.

Our Lord spoke of divorce
And the conditions for its granting.
Did someone say,
"I have my rights"?
They were the first to go, friend--
You dead men and slaves.

Become as children, He said,
And sat one before them.
Little people without pride,
Embarrassment or self-consciousness.
Blessed children.

A wealthy youth stood still,
Shocked by the Master's words:
"Give it all up."
So much for so little.
He walked away, unwilling to become--
A beggar.

Simon Peter volunteered,"Lord,
We've left it all
To follow You."
You did well, Pete, and will
Receive a hundredfold in return.
Would you call that a sacrifice--
Investor?

The Mint-Flavored Oasis

It gets pretty crowded around the oasis this time of year. People from all over are here drinking of this wonderful water. There's nothing like it in all the desert.

We just had some bad news. Abdul just brought word of a neighbor seen a few hundred yards out there, dying of thirst. His description made cold chills run over me. It's tough to think about it. That Abdul is great with words. He can make you think it's you that's dying. He's getting up a power-point presentation to go with his talks.

We've formed a kind of club. We call it 'Desert Dwellers Who Have Found the Water.' Meet every week, officers, the whole bit. We talk about how we came to the water, and we drink.

Right now there's a discussion--argument, actually--as to whether the water in well A or well B is better. Some prefer A because they say the water is purer. The others say B is cooler. I don't really know. Seems to me the water is the same since the wells are only twenty feet apart.

One time our club sent out a scout to find and rescue the thirsty. He did all right for a while, but carrying delirious and dying people to the water of life was hard, lonely and thankless work. When the old-timers criticized his methods, he quit. Now there are times when the water goes to waste, actually overflowing the well, because there aren't enough people to drink it. It's a shame to see it going to waste like that. Some speak of forming rescue and search parties, but a person has to have a gift for that kind of work.

The children? Oh, you noticed that there are very few of them here. We believe they ought to find the well for themselves. So we don't try to influence them. It's funny though--some of them have known very well where their mom and dad quenched their thirsts, but they still act like they're lost. That's young folks for you!

We're having some excitement in the group right now. Seems somebody claims to have a new mint-flavored oasis over the next dune.

"We're Back, Y'all!"

Franklin Avenue Baptist Church returned to its home today, and you may have felt the vibrations where you live, wherever you live. Pastor Fred Luter had the day that pastors dream of and few ever experience.

"Standing room only" doesn't quite tell the story. When I arrived for the 7:30 am service--a second one would follow at 10:30--the foyer was filled and the crowd was spilling out the front door onto Franklin Avenue. Inside, I learned that overflow rooms had been set up with closed-circuit television. Apparently, they too were filled.

So, my first problem was how to get inside. Having sat on the platform or near it for nearly 50 years of worship services, I am aware that often the vacant seats are down front. The problem is getting there. Then, a woman solved it for me. I don't know who she was and it had nothing to do with me, but she had that official air about her. "Excuse me," she called to the standees in front of her. They opened up like the Red Sea to let her through, so I just followed. I'm sure it appeared that she was opening a path for me, and that suited me just fine.

Inside, every seat seemed to be taken, although I was well-prepared to sit on the floor down front or to one side. I ended up at the very first row beside Karen Willoughby of the (LA) Baptist Message and David Crosby, pastor of the First Baptist Church of New Orleans. The sign on their row said "reserved," and the row was comfortably filled, but everyone moved over and made room. I now had a ringside seat for the event of the year, or any year, in these wonderful people's lives.

The choir loft was filled--that might have been a hundred or more--and the musicians were earning their pay. The people sang, they rocked, they swayed, they clapped, they laughed and hugged and shouted. Quite a few tears were shed. The joy was so thick you could have cut it with a knife.

Pastor Luter said, "Franklin Avenue! We're back!" The place erupted in cheers and shouts. "We're back, y'all!" "Welcome home!"

I wish you could have heard Elizabeth Luter's welcome. This pastor's wife took the microphone on the floor level and said, "I fell in love with a young man over 30 years ago. I never imagined what a ride it would be."

She looked up at her beaming husband behind the pulpit and said, "To my mate for life, you are my hero. You persevered like a true champion and I love you more today than ever. I salute you for staying the course in troubled times!"

Then she welcomed the visitors.

Faithful Women: a Church's Strength

Friday and Saturday, the women's ministry department of the Louisiana Baptist Convention held its annual meeting, this year at the First Baptist Church of Baton Rouge. They invited all the Directors of Missions in the state to come as their guests, so we all showed up--and even wore coats and ties. Anything for these wonderful ladies, who are also known by their more familiar name: the Woman's Missionary Union. Janie Wise is the state director and she's absolutely terrific.

Going into B.R, I had a blowout, the second in two weeks, and this after going 15 years without a flat tire. The earlier one occurred when I was driving to North Alabama and the tire blew apart on the interstate just below Meridian. Friday, I was entering Baton Rouge on Interstate 10. Traffic was heavy and fast when a woman leaned out of a window on my left to say my tire was flat. Thankfully--and I give the Lord praise for this--there were wide safe shoulders on the side of the highway both times. I pulled off and turned on my blinkers. The tire was three-fourths flat. I called AAA and waited.

I suggested to the mechanic that he inflate the tire and I'd drive to Wal-Mart and get it fixed. He's stooping beside the car with the traffic zooming by, filling the tire with air. He fills it...and fills it...and fills it...and suddenly, it explodes. Talk about a shock. Neither of us had ever seen that happen.

Once again, twice in two weeks, we put my spare down--the one I had bought at Wal-Mart in Meridian--and I drove to another Wal-Mart and repeated the earlier process. Then went on my way.

First thing Monday morning, I plan to have the other two tires--part of a foursome I bought a couple of years back--replaced, even though they have plenty of tread. Those tires are apparently separating on the inside, and too dangerous to continue in use.

The skies were overcast as we arrived at the church Friday evening, but storm warnings were out. By 9 o'clock when we exited, the heavens had opened up, lightning was striking, and the parking lot was a shallow river.

One of the things I learned to do a long time ago is not to judge the effectiveness of an organization by the number of people who attend its annual meeting. In fact, I have three observations about this women's ministry.

The Thing About Prophets

The April 7, 2008, issue of TIME devotes a full page to Martin Luther King with an article titled "The Burdens of Martyrdom." Georgetown University professor Michael Eric Dyson points out how the years have transformed Dr. King from the three-dimensional man that he was into some kind of card-board saint. The change has not been complimentary to the man nor good for the country.

In his prime--that would be the 1950s and 1960s; he was assassinated in 1968--Dr. King was the most controversial figure in America. Dyson says that in the years just prior to his death, King was left off the Gallup-poll list of the 10 most admired Americans, financial support for his work dried up, editors across America vilified him for his position on the Vietnam war, universities withdrew speaking invitations, and publishers shied away from printing his books.

Now, fast forward four decades. These days, if one didn't know better, he would think that Martin Luther King was continually loved and revered, that he was always thought of as another Mother Teresa, and that he was, in Dyson's phrase, "a toothless tiger." People have forgotten "just how much heat and hate the thought of King could whip up."

Today, Dyson says, "many whites want him clawless; many blacks want him flawless." He concludes, "We must keep him fully human, warts and all."

As I read that, I kept thinking of something the New Testament says about the nature of prophethood. One of the first deacons, Stephen--who is generally accorded the position as the very first Christian martyr--was on trial for his life before the Jewish council and was invited to defend himself.

When the Work Flourishes, Problems Arise

Case in point: Philip Vandercook and Global Maritime Ministries. Today, Wednesday, at our pastors meeting, Philip put out a call for volunteers to help man the port ministry center from 6 to 10 pm each night. "We don't have enough workers to keep it open," he said, "and we're having crews get off their ships and walk over to our place and finding it locked."

Definitely not what you want to happen after constructing a million dollar center one block from the Mississippi River so you can minister to the thousands of port workers and crew members who arrive in our city every day of the year.

Freddie Arnold ran by the ministry center the other evening for something. A couple of crew members from a ship that had just arrived were standing outside the building, wanting it unlocked so they could go inside. Unfortunately, he was on a mission and did not have time to let them in and to stay with them.

Inside the front door, the center presents a huge living area, a large television, a library, videos, computers, bathrooms, and a kitchen. With volunteers on duty, we can welcome these strangers to our shores, most of them foreigners who spend 6 months a year or more on the open seas and rarely get a chance to come ashore or to e-mail their families. Volunteers serve as hosts in the building with all the opportunity to do "foreign missions" they could ever ask for. New Testaments and "Jesus" videos in many, many languages are plentiful for our guests to take home with them.

Several of the cruise lines have welcomed our chaplains, Philip said, and we're able to come and go as we wish when they are in port. He mentioned one line with a large number of believers among its crew. They hold a Bible study on board from something like midnight to 1 am, after their duties have ended. When they dock in New Orleans, forty or more will descend on our port ministry on Tchoupitoulas Street all at the same time.

Thanksgiving week, Philip is getting up a ministry cruise on one of the liners. The cost for team members will be no more than $100 per day, for a 7 day trip. Once we get underway, our people will be able to counsel with crew members, hold Bible studies, and anything else our hearts desire. Philip said, "Hey, we're on the open sea--they can't put us off." Truth is, they don't want to. They welcome the ministry of Global Maritime. It's a quality outfit in every way. All this ministry does is give, and asks nothing in return.

Global Maritime's website is currently in transition: www.portministry.com. Some limited information is available there. If you want to contact them via e-mail, send it to me (joe@joemckeever.com) and I'll forward it.

"We need two vans to run back and forth to pick up crews from the ships," Philip said. Problem is, they're expensive.

No money is available in the Global Maritime budget for transportation. The board is still trying to pay off the remaining $400,000 on the building, while work continues intermittently on finishing the second floor so they will be able to host church volunteer teams in their center.

A half hour later, Philip interrupts our pastors meeting to say he had just gotten off the phone. Someone had just called to say they're donating a van to the center.

Things God Will Have to Sort Out

When Elvis Presley died, someone asked Pastor Adrian Rogers of Memphis' Bellevue Baptist Church if he thought "the king" had gone to Heaven. He answered, "Even if I thought he did, I wouldn't say it. I don't want people thinking you can live the way he did and still go to Heaven."

A local priest had no compunction against that this week.

Al Copeland was laid to rest Monday. He was, in the words of one of his neighbors, our very own Elvis. If New Orleans has ever had a character, it was Mr. Copeland.

I'll try to make this as brief as possible. Copeland started out in life poor, then became a millionaire with the Popeye's fried chicken franchises, got into financial trouble when he bought Church's Fried Chicken and had to sell out. But he kept a lesser known company, one selling spices for his chicken--and that is what has kept him rich. The paper says he was pulling down 9 million a year and was worth a fair piece of change. He raced speedboats and drove Rolls Royces and Bentleys and married the prettiest girl in the land--four times to be exact.

Each of his weddings was more lavish than the one before. The last two are still being talked about. The third took place in the Museum of Art in City Park, and the fourth in St. Louis Cathedral. When criticized for allowing this oft-married and gaudily-divorced man to hold his wedding in the Cathedral, the spokesman for the church pointed out that only his first marriage had the blessing of the church and that wife had died, so in the eyes of God this was only his second wedding.

Cosmetic surgery kept the 64 year old looking as youthful as his women. Cancer of the salivary glands killed him a week ago. He died in Germany where he had gone seeking a cure.

His divorce from the third wife ended up with the judge being thrown in jail for taking a bribe from Copeland's attorney, although Al himself was never implicated.

The Christmas display at his Metairie home was one you loved if you lived elsewhere and drove in with your kids, or hated if you lived anywhere nearby due to the lights and the traffic. Newspaper columnists lauded him for lighting up his house after Katrina as a symbol that everything was going to be all right.

I never met the man. I have no first-hand knowledge of his eternal destiny. I am not his judge and wouldn't want to be.

But I wanted to tell you about the funeral. It took place at the ritziest of Catholic churches in town, the Holy Name of Jesus Church on St. Charles Avenue, next door to Tulane University.

The priest, Monsignor Christopher Nalty, said during the funeral mass, "Most people knew Al Copeland as someone who lived in the fast lane. They didn't realize that he knew that the Catholic Church was the one road to heaven."

That's what he said. (**CORRECTION. wEDNESDAY MORNING'S TIMES-PICAYUNE RUNS A CORRECTION ON THE FRONT PAGE. APPARENTLY, THAT IS NOT WHAT THE PRIEST SAID. SEE NOTE AT THE BOTTOM OF ARTICLE.)

Expectancy

The sweetest thing I've seen in a while happened last week when I was preaching in Pickens County, Alabama. Some mornings, I would meet host pastor Tommy Winders and another preacher or two down at the diner for breakfast. The first time Tommy told me about it and how to find it, I said, "What is the name of the cafe?" He looked puzzled. "I don't know. It's just the cafe." Translation: it's the only one in downtown Carrollton, Alabama. I found it without any trouble. Its name is "The Diner."

The first morning as we exited the diner, two large dogs met us on the sidewalk. Now, where I live, dogs don't run loose and my first reaction was to step back inside. But Pastor Tommy knew these animals. He said, "Hey, you guys are supposed to be around back." And off they went, just like that, their tails wagging.

The second morning, I had parked at the bank's lot on the side of the cafe and as I was leaving the car, I noticed those same two dogs with a buddy standing guard at the rear of the cafe, their tails swinging. While the other two held back, the leader of the bunch walked up to the back door and looked up expectantly. After a moment, he said, "Woof!" That's all. Just "Woof!" One time, nothing more.

In a minute, the door opened and the cook tossed out some breakfast leftovers. I thought, "Boy, these dogs sure have the humans trained."

I have not been able to erase that image from my mind---the dogs at the back door, tails a-wagging, and one of them calling to the kitchen to announce their presence.

Here's the cartoon of that scene with my comment. Feel free to post it or reprint it.