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Ed was emphasizing to his church leadership why having a pastor's residence next door to the church is not necessarily the best thing. They had always enjoyed the luxury of having the minister on the premises, they told him and would hate to relinquish that blessing. That's why, when the hurricane destroyed the pastorium and the congregation had to make a decision about rebuilding, Pastor Ed thought this would be a good time to move the pastor's residence.
"Let me ask you something," Ed said to the five men and women seated around the table. "How many of you have ever taken a vacation and stayed at home?" Every hand went up.
"Well," he said, "that's something a pastor can never do. If he's at home, and everyone in town can see he's at home, he's always on call."
The good folk seated at the table admitted they had never thought of that before.
"And it's not just the church," Ed emphasized. "The community comes knocking, too. And I love that -- don't get me wrong. It's just that sometimes it gets wearisome."
As his director of missions, I complimented Pastor Ed on explaining that to them. When lay leaders understand the uniqueness of the pastor's burdens, often they can be counted on to do the right thing and help to ease them.
As a result of hearing Pastor Ed's account of this meeting, I began to reflect on other things a pastor cannot do as a result of his unique position in the church and community, things "normal" people do without a thought.
Frank Roderus was not satisfied just to write western novels. He had to put unusual spins on the stories, probably for his own satisfaction, but sometimes to the consternation of his readers.
"Hell Creek Cabin" is the account of some people stranded in a tiny cabin by a winter blizzard. As they try to make the best of the bad situation, two robbers appear out of the frozen tundra and move in. Soon, the two, named Jimbo and BoJim, are terrorizing the others. The good guy, a guy named Veach, is not a fighter and carries no gun, but keeps looking for a way to deal with these two who are both bank robbers and murderers.
In the final chapter of the book, Veach has escaped the cabin and is working his way through the snow, looking for a gold mine in order to keep from freezing. Inside the cabin, the two robbers have a falling out and BoJim kills Jimbo. Then, while BoJim takes the bucket down to the stream to get some water, the husband and wife inside the cabin dig out their old rifle, load it, and aim it at the front door. They have no other recourse but to kill BoJim before he kills them.
The door opens and a man walks in.
Now, three minutes earlier, Veach had lain in wait for BoJim at the creek with a pick-axe he had located in the mine. He planted it in the bad guy's back, killing him. Now, all he has to do is take care of Jimbo in the cabin, not knowing he is already dead.
That's Veach walking in the cabin door as it opens.
And that's where the book ends.
I felt bad for the preacher that evening. As he walked to the pulpit to do "that thing he does so well," I had the strong sensation that here is a man of God who is not taking care of his body. Gravity was winning the battle and even though he was some years younger than me, I could not escape the sense that his health was going to decline much too rapidly in the years just ahead unless he took action soon.
Two weeks ago at a funeral in Columbus, Mississippi, I had a brief chat with Stephanie, Stacy, and Sharon, granddaughters of Deacon Paul Cockrell, whose life and homegoing we were celebrating. Both the father and mother of these young adult women -- Dr. Jimmy Sams and Helen Cockrell Sams Parker -- are in Heaven now, and we spoke of them. I told one of the girls something their father had done for me over 30 years ago.
"In 1975, Jimmy made arrangements for me to fly to Dallas and go through the Cooper Aerobics Clinic for a full checkup. He set up the appointment and paid the entire cost. It was a life-altering experience."
The clinic did not find anything seriously wrong with me, but much wrong with my sedentary lifestyle. They prescribed a jogging and exercise program and left an indelible mark upon my psyche, a strong impression that "I have to take care of this body!"
With the exception of brief lapses, I've tried to do so ever since.
I've written here previously about my walking three miles on the levee beside the Mississippi River several mornings a week before sunup. I've done it for many years and find it to be wonderful for a lot of reasons. The reason I bring it up now is....
I stopped walking last winter.
When I'm upset, the last thing I need is someone to disagree with me. Yet, it may be precisely what I need -- someone to call me down when I'm out of line, let me know what I'm doing wrong, point me to the right way.
"There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother," says Proverbs 18:24. That's the kind of friend I need. And so do you, particularly if you are in the Lord's work.
We've said here that the epidemic afflicting the ministry today -- at least, one of them---is the isolation of the minister. In my opinion, 95 percent of Southern Baptist pastors go it alone with their work of sermon-building, problem-solving, and ego-control.
Now, think of the foolishness and pure waste of that. Here we have 40,000 men (mostly) in our denomination laboring to do the same thing week in and week out -- tasks like construct the sermons and Bible studies they will be bringing the following Sunday, plan business meetings and leadership summits to solve issues facing their churches, and the like. And instead of helping each other, they shut themselves inside their offices and studies to hammer out these matters in isolation.
If these were matters that can only be done alone, that would be one thing. But the fact is God has made His children so that we work great together and learn His Word at a greatly accelerated pace when we open the Bible with a good friend and share thoughts with one another. This does not replace the need for solitude to think through issues and matters and points and to commune with the Father about everything, but supplements it as nothing else can.
Every child of God needs a circumference of silence and solitude to think about his situation and to commune with the Father. In my experience, no one has ever doubted or disputed that.
But, can we assert just as positively that each believer needs one or two or three close friends with whom to share the matters of the Spirit?
I can hear the typical pastor (hey, I pastored for 42 years; I know typical pastors and was probably one myself) protesting, "I have the Holy Spirit within me, my wife alongside me, my staff helping me, and we're all surrounded and upheld by our church members."
No problem there. The problem is, it's not enough.
You need one thing more.
Monday night at our annual Fall meeting of the Baptist Association of Greater New Orleans, Mike Canady was the featured preacher. At one point, he gave a confession.
"Many years ago, after growing up in the town of Sulphur, Louisiana, and while attending seminary in Fort Worth, I told the Lord, 'I'll go anywhere in the world you want me to go. I'll do anything you tell me to do. Anything at all, Lord. Just don't send me to Africa or back to Louisiana!'"
Mike paused and smiled. "For the past 42 years, I have served the Lord in Africa and Louisiana." (Mike and Linda are former missionaries to the East African country of Malawi. Then, he was a director of missions in Houma, LA, and now directs the department of missions and ministries for the Louisiana Baptist Convention.)
Mark Joslin was sitting just to my left. I heard him mutter, "I know. I know."
I leaned over and whispered, "What did you tell the Lord?"
This pastor of New Vision Baptist Church in the New Orleans suburb of St. Rose said, "I told him I'd go anywhere but not to send me back home." Mark is -- as you would guess by now -- a local boy.
I did something similar. Now, I grew up in the coal fields of West Virginia and the rural countryside of north Alabama. When we left Birmingham to come to seminary in New Orleans in the summer of 1964, I prayed, "Lord, I'll go anywhere. Just don't send me to Mississippi."
We put in 19 years in Mississippi, and loved every day of it.
Makes me wish I'd said, "Don't send me to Honolulu."
Some live to eat and some eat to live. Being a Baptist, we eat to fellowship and fellowship to eat.
I'm not sure why some people in the Lord's work are conflicted on the subject of eating at church. Looks to me like, from reading my Bible, it's one of the most natural and, at the same time, spiritual activities available to us.
One of my favorite teeny-tiny Scriptures is found in Luke 24. Now, most of that chapter is given to the account of the two discouraged disciples leaving Jerusalem on the first day of the week (not the Sabbath, remember) and the newly-risen Lord Jesus joining them. As they walk along, He begins to open their minds about Old Testament prophecies concerning Himself, His life, death, and resurrection. Reaching the small town of Emmaus, they invited him to stay in their home.
"And He went in to stay with them. Now it came to pass, as He sat at the table with them, that He took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them." Notice, He's the Guest who became the Host. "Then their eyes were opened and they knew Him; and He vanished from their sight."
A short while later, Jesus appears inside the locked upper room where the other disciples have gathered. Well, the disciples are so excited they almost lose it. "They were terrified and frightened, and supposed they had seen a spirit." Jesus calms them down, shows them the scars on His hands and feet, and waits for them to digest this overwhelming evidence of His bodily resurrection. Once again, they almost overdosed on joy.
Now, here's the verse, one of my favorites.
"But while they still did not believe for joy, and marveled, He said to them, 'Anybody got anything to eat?'" (Luke 24:41) (Okay, I phrased it a tad different from the NKJV Bible in my lap, which has Him saying, "Have you any food here?" I prefer my way. It doesn't sound so religious, but normal, the way real people talk.)
Now, in choosing this as one of my favorite verses I'm being serious and not trying to be cute. (If you know me, you know I sometimes have to point that out.)
This week, two good friends have told me (on separate occasions; they don't know each other) about the incredible experience they are having in their new jobs. One works for the International Mission Board of our denomination and the other for Samaritan's Purse, the Franklin Graham ministry.
The IMB friend said, "I've been there for six months now and everyone is so super nice. There's no backbiting, no gossiping, just kindness and graciousness." She thinks she has died and gone to heaven.
The Samaritan's Purse friend said, "The co-workers are such godly people who are in this work because of the call of the Lord. I feel I have found a new family."
Music to my ears.
Sometimes when we offer jobs to people, we make the mistake of thinking that salary and benefits are all that matter. Not so, particularly for those with the call of God upon their lives. Working relationships with colleagues can be the most crucial factor of all.
It has long been noted that longevity in staff relationships is directly proportionate to the relationships between team members. I've known a few churches where the pastor and ministers of education and worship served together as a team for 25 years or more.
Conversely, I've known some churches where the staff positions rotate every year or two, with no one staying any longer than it takes to find a new position in another town.
What accounts for such turnover? There are people and institutes that study such things and they have solid answers. What I have is anecdotal evidence based on my observations and experience.
Here are my candidates for the top ten reasons people in the Lord's work change jobs often.
Recently in the message I wrote concerning the bottom-dwelling U.S. economy, I told the story of Randy and Charlene McCall, our neighbors in Columbus, Mississippi, who, after he lost his job managing factories some years back, bought a ServiceMaster franchise and did well. I did not ask their permission to tell that, but knew Randy had shared his story at the national meeting of the franchisees of that company, and felt confident he wouldn't mind my using them as illustrations. Well, I found out a little more today....
In the early 1990s, the McCall's franchise grew to be the largest in the USA, and that's out of a total of 4500! These days, my buddy Randy putters around the house, the way self-respecting retirees should, and their son Chris--my son Neil's best friend from childhood onward--runs the company and is maintaining that exalted ranking.
Randy reminded me of something I had forgotten but should not have. He writes, "Do you remember me making a copy of the first major account proposal I bid on in Columbus (it was Weyerhaeuser) on the church copier? You and I prayed before I presented the proposal. Well, for some reason I was more confident in that proposal than I had a right to be and got the account. The rest is history. Thank you."
Then, true to form, this friend uses up the good will he had just established. Commenting on plans for me to preach at the First Baptist Church of Columbus next Sunday, he writes, "Charlene and I are scheduled to keep the nursery, so I sent out an e-mail to all church members asking if anyone would rather sub for us that Sunday than hear your preaching. We had 436 volunteers."
Tuesday morning I was telling my 92-year-old mom in our daily phone call about my flight to Virginia the day before. I said, "Mom, the flight from New Orleans to Atlanta took one hour and 5 minutes. The flight from Atlanta to Newport News took one hour and 10 minutes." She said, "Goodness. Why do they go so fast?"
I laughed, "That's the whole point of airplanes--to get us where we're going as quickly as they can." She said, "It sounds scary." I said, "You try not to think about it."
Sunday, my son Neil and I logged 625 miles round trip for a quick visit to Columbus, Mississippi, for the funeral of our dear friend Paul Cockrell. The church was packed for the celebration of this dear brother's life. One man said, "If ever there was a saint in this church, it was Paul."
"I never saw Paul Cockrell without a smile on his face," someone said. I thought, "But it would be a serious error to think of that as untested faith or shallow optimism." This man had walked through the fires of suffering. Over 30 years ago, I preached the funeral for his wife Helen. Then, some 15 years ago, preached the funeral for their daughter, also named Helen, who died after a long illness. The family had known as much difficulty and grief as any I know.
Paul knew about broken hearts and shattered lives, yet he chose to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ who said, "Let not your hearts be troubled.....Believe in me."
The fellow at the funeral home told me Paul had planned his funeral service himself. He wanted the present pastor Shawn Parker, previous pastor Bobby Douglas, former staff member Ed Nix, and me (pastor before Dr. Douglas). I said, "I'm confident that if Dr. Woodson and Dr. Franks were still alive (the pastors before me, going back to 1921), he'd have put them in the service too."
What that reveals is that this was a man who always loved his pastors. And, frankly, to me that says more about him than it does us preachers.
1) Saying No.
Edmund Wilson was a well-known writer and literary critic of a generation ago. When he grew tired of people constantly asking his advice or input, he composed a postcard which he mailed to everyone seeking his counsel. "Edmund Wilson regrets that it is impossible for him to: read manuscripts, write articles or books to order, write forewords or introductions, make statements for publicity purposes, do any kind of editorial work, judge literary contests, give interviews, take part in writers' conferences, answer questionnaires, contribute to or take part in symposiums or ‘panels' of any kind, contribute manuscripts for sales, donate copies of his books to libraries, autograph works for strangers, allow his name to be used on letterheads, supply personal information about himself, supply opinions on literary or other subjects." Thereafter, he was pestered by people writing for a copy of that postcard.
2) Taking my place.
These days, something new is in the ecclesiastical air: pastors are insisting that "I have the right to be political from my pulpit." It's a freedom of speech thing, they say.
The IRS responds that you certainly do have that freedom, so long as you dont mind giving up this little thing called Tax Exemption.
Methinks some pastors are about to find the cost for exercising this freedom is more than they want to pay.
My father has been in Heaven for almost a year now, but he had a perspective on this issue that some of our pastors could benefit from.
One Sunday, Dad drove 50 miles and attended the church my brother Ron pastored in Graysville, Alabama, just north of Birmingham. This was some 10 or 12 years ago, during the Clinton presidency. Ron had a well-known guest evangelist in that day and Dad wanted to hear him.
Later he told me what happened.
"The preacher got in the pulpit and spent half his time slamming the liberal Democrats and cracking jokes about President Clinton."
Now, my dad was a lifelong coal miner--he worked in the deep pits of Alabama and West Virginia until forced to retire at the age of 49--and a confirmed union member. That almost automatically made him a Democrat, too, at that time. But anyone who thought Carl McKeever was a liberal needs to find some new definitions for his political lexicon! Dad was anything but liberal, and had a low tolerance for fools, whether in politics or any other part of life.
After letting his report on the visiting evangelist's folly sink in, Dad said to me, "What if there were unsaved people sitting in that church that morning and they happened to be Democrats? How would they have reacted to what that preacher said? They won't listen to a thing he said about Jesus because they were so upset at what he said about their politics."
He added, "That's why a preacher has no business bringing politics into the pulpit.
I've mentioned that once May 1 rolls around and I find myself unemployed (aka, "retired"), I plan to finish writing three books I've been working on the last year or two. One of them has to do with Christian fellowship.
Or to be more exact, the lack of it in our churches, the need for it, and how to get it.
On the home page for this website, you can click on a long series of articles on prayer and leadership and Romans, but so far we've not collected the numerous writings that are scattered throughout on the subject of Christian fellowship. As with so much of what I write, it's rather random and unorganized and happened to be what was on my mind at the moment.
To turn it into a book, that'll have to change, and it will. Recently, however, I've actually gone back over the last several years and looked at each article to pick out the ones dealing with fellowship in the church. I might have missed some, but here is what I found:
July 27, 2004 -- "What Every Pastor Needs: A Good Buddy"
May 23, 2008 -- "Why We Came Today"
May 27, 2008 -- "Where Everybody Knows Your Name"
May 31, 2008 -- "The Greatest Church Growth Principle"
June 20, 2008 -- "What Fellowship Looks Like"
June 20, 2008 -- "The Most Basic Element is ‘Hanging Out Together'"
June 21, 2008 -- "So Easily Corrupted"
June 24, 2008 -- "Is It Possible to have Fellowshp in the Worship Service?"
June 25, 2008 -- "Learning to Support Our Leaders"
June 26, 2008 -- "What to do About Shy People"
July 2, 2008 -- "Case Study in Shy People"
October, 2008 -- "Number One Failure of 90 Percent of Pastors"
Two things are obvious here.
Wednesday morning, October 15
FBC Zachary, LA Senior Adult Revival
Monday-Tuesday, October 20-21
FBC Newport News, VA
(Associational meeting, speak 3 times)
Sunday morning, October 26
FBC Columbus, MS
100th anniversary of the Sanctuary
Monday night, October 27
Suburban Baptist Church, New Orleans
Fall associational meeting
Sunday morning, November 2
FBC, Andalusia, Alabama "Homecoming"
Sunday morning, November 9
Seminary Baptist Church,
Seminary, Mississippi
(Senior Adult emphasis)
Monday, November 17
Montgomery, Alabama
Speak to statewide Directors of Missions
Tuesday, November 18
FBC Montgomery - Speak twice to
Alabama Baptist Convention
Monday night, November 24
Muskogee, Oklahoma "M Night"
Tuesday night, December 9
"Pastor & Wives Christmas Banquet"
Crowley, Louisiana
Mary Hazel was a longtime member of one of my churches and a retired school-teacher. As her pastor, I was always glad she was retired because she was easily the most negative person I ever met and it gave me a tiny bit of comfort to know she was no longer afflicting her pessimism upon the next generation.
In the hospital or nursing home, her food was terrible. Mary Hazel's daughter was mean to her and her nurses were rude and uncaring. She was in pain all the time and the doctors didn't have a clue how to help her. Her friends would not come to see her. Nothing was right in her life.
On and on it went.
One day, I decided to bite the bullet and try something with Mary Hazel. I pulled the chair up to her hospital bed and said, "I want to say something. I've been your pastor for eight years and you know I truly care for you."
I had her undivided attention, although her guard was up as though she was expecting the worst news possible. I said, "Mary Hazel, there is a reason no one comes to see you. You are one of the most negative people I have ever met. Nothing pleases you. You complain all the time. People don't like to be around complainers."
There. I said it, then sat back waiting for the explosion.
All she said was, "Doctor McKeever!!"
I thought of giving her that wonderful line from Proverbs 27:6, "Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but deceitful are the kisses of an enemy." But I didn't.
Mary Hazel did not want to hear anything further I had to say. And in case you're wondering, she went right on with her critical spirit and negative words.
Mary Hazel is in Heaven now, and knows all the reasons she had for giving thanks and rejoicing in the Lord during her earthly days. But she can help us to get it right.
Here's how.
Inside each of us, there is a Mary Hazel calling attention to all the reasons why we should be feeling bad. The economy is in terrible shape. The war in the Middle East shows no sign of ending. I'm getting older; I'll never be as good looking as I once was; as I age, my body will grow weaker and sicklier. The presidential race is bitter and I don't prefer either candidate. My church is having trouble; I don't know where that pastor is leading us; my next door neighbors make too much noise. I'm not sure about my grandchildren. They've taken prayer out of the schools and now they're trying to take Him off our currency.
You get the idea. (Note to my pastor and grandchildren and neighbors: I'm not talking about you. You're wonderful. I'm just trying to make a point here.)
If you're looking for reasons to complain, you can always find them. As Rosanne Rosannadanna used to say, "It's always something."
However.
My lawyer friend Devona Able tells of her daughter instructing her little brother on the way to school one morning. For some reason, they got onto the subject of hunting season. "You cannot kill baby ducks," big sister explained. "Or mama ducks either. But you can kill daddy ducks."
She went on to expound her understanding of the Louisiana game laws. "The baby ducks are still growing up, and the mama ducks are taking care of the baby ducks. The daddy ducks...well, they're just extra."
Devona writes, "Too often, we treat our husbands and fathers as unnecessary, and they're sometimes quite willing to settle into the role of an extra." She adds that in actuality, they have been given the "leading role" in the family by the One who wrote the script.
"I have a funny story for you," Tom Hearon said over the phone. He was prepping for tomorrow's oral exam for his doctorate at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Fort Worth and took time out to put in a phone call to "my old dad." (Explanation: Margaret and I "adopted" four Mississippi College students in the early 1970's: Mary Baronowski, Gary Pearce, Bill Garrett, and Tom Hearon. We love them like they were our own and pray for them often. It's a great arrangement--they never write for money and we never send them any!)
Tom's father died last summer in Jackson, Mississippi, and his mother just passed away last week. I hugged him over the phone, then listened to his story.
"Dad died on a Tuesday. My brother Doug flew into Jackson and the next morning we went by the funeral home. The man wanted to know, ‘Did you bring your father's clothes?' We had to say, ‘No, we didn't think of that. We'll bring them by later.'"
One is losing a pastor, one is about to gain a pastor, and a third is adjusting to a new pastor.
Sunday morning, John Faull resigned as pastor of Kenner's Williams Boulevard Baptist Church to accept the invitation of the FBC of Norcross, Georgia, to become their shepherd. He has given some five years to leading Williams Boulevard, and if you have kept up with events, you know these have been some of the most momentuous in our history.
Brother John took upon himself a difficult assignment some five years ago: following Buford Easley, who led that church over 30 years. There's an old preacher saying that you should never follow a pastor who either died or went to the mission field; in the minds of many, you'll never measure up. But Brother John's desire has always been to go where the Lord sends him. He grew up in metro New Orleans and moved here from Atlanta, and did a superior job in trying circumstances.
Now, he's moving back. We're grateful for Brother John's ministry among us and wish him and his family the very best.
Sunday morning, I worshiped with Lakeside Baptist Church in Metairie. Located a block off Veterans Boulevard deep inside Metairie, this church has struggled for as long as I have known them, nearly 2 decades. But good things are about to happen to them.
Sunday, they are voting to call Adam Gillespie as their new pastor.
An absolutely fool-proof way to stress yourself out is by staying glued to the television newscasts about the economy. "Wall Street dropped another 700 points today!" "Here is our panel of experts to tell you why the news is just going to get worse!" "Big Plants, Inc., is laying off another 4,000 employees!"
Oh great. Just what I needed to hear.
That'll send your blood pressure through the ceiling, no matter your situation, but particularly if you are a heavy investor in stocks.
You're not? Don't be too sure, friend. If you have a retirement account with some agency somewhere, you might be one of those (like me!) who is being severely affected by the free-falling stock market. The headline on the front of Friday's Times-Picayune asked, "How Low Can It Go?"
Frankly, I don't want to know.
Twenty years ago, when the market did a sort of "correction"--we'll be generous and call it that--I recall someone asking either Ted Turner or Donald Trump, one of those big boys, "You lost a billion dollars. What do you have to say?"
He answered, "It was a paper loss. I'm not selling anything today. I'll still be here tomorrow and first thing you know, I'll have it all back."
And that's precisely what happened.
My neighbors, Bill and Sandra, are both retired from long careers in the commercial world, and this is scaring the daylights out of them.
A news report this week indicated that 80 percent of Americans admit the economy is stressing them out.
The funny thing--did I say "funny"?--about this craziness in the economy is that we're told the actual businesses of America are just fine. What is driving the roller-coasterness of Wall Street is a little thing called fear.
The primary failure of 9 pastors out of 10 in the Southern Baptist Convention--I have little knowledge of any other denomination; I have no figures to back this up, but I believe it with all my soul--is the lone ranger syndrome. Their ministry is a solo act.
They're trying to do the work of the Lord alone.
Now, they have their staffs and they have their family and church members. But it's not the same as having two or three or four preacher buddies.
What most pastors do not have is a few good friends in the ministry whom they meet with regularly for fellowship, prayer, study, confidential talk, accountability, a round of golf, a good meal, and rest.
A preacher needs a friend with whom he can hang out.
That omission has seriously limited the ministry of almost minister I know. It surely weakened my service for the Lord.
I think of two critical times in my own ministry when I needed a few good buddies in the worst way.
My heart was so full during the 90 minute service in the Leavell Chapel of our New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary Tuesday morning, I couldn't decide whether I needed to get alone and have a good cry or move off by myself for a prayer time. I did neither, but followed the service by greeting members of the Leavell family and friends old and new who had come to honor this esteemed friend.
"Dr. Leavell was a hundred-percenter who gave all he had to the Lord and the people around him," said Dr. Chuck Kelley, successor to Landrum Leavell in the president's office at NOBTS.
The memorial service contained several surprises for me. I was thrilled to see Larry Black leading the hymns. This veteran minister of music--over 30 years at the FBC of Jackson, Mississippi, and a dear friend--is clearly the best we have at leading a congregation in worship and praise. Don't let the white hair fool you; he's younger now than at any time in his life and keeps getting younger. These days he serves as the interim minister of music at the FBC of Richland, MS. Over several decades, when Dr. Leavell preached revivals, Larry often led the worship music.
Clay Corvin, long-time vice-president for business affairs at NOBTS, did what Clay does best: read a poem of tribute which he had composed. The last part of "One Man" read....
"He was our preacher, teacher, leader and friend
Strong guts, no quit
He hated dirt, debt, and the devil
One man--Landrum Leavell II
We love him."
Monday night, the North American Mission Board held an appointment service in our city, the first time in anyone's memory and perhaps the last for a generation. I wish all our people had been there. It was beyond inspiring.
I worried a little about whether enough of our people would attend to keep the building from appearing too empty, but shouldn't have given it a thought. When you commission 108 missionaries and count their families in the audience, then add to that the trustees and staff of the NAMB who are present, you don't need too many locals to pack out the place. The lovely First Baptist Church of New Orleans was filled--with people, with joy, and with love.
I wondered what this appointment service would be like. Three decades ago, while serving as a trustee of the old Foreign Mission Board (now, International Mission Board), I attended many such services in which our new missionaries gave testimonies and were commissioned. It was much the same, and every bit as great a blessing.
There are differences in IMB and NAMB missionaries. For one thing, in the case of an international missionary, the person(s) being commissioned has almost always never been to the country which is about to become their home. The NAMB missionary, however, has usually been laboring in their particular ministry for several years and only recently came under the auspices of the NAMB. A NAMB missionary, too, may receive only part of his/her financial support from this national missionary organization, and some from other sources--a local church, the association, the state convention, or even their friends and supporters. Each entity rightfully claims him/her as their missionary.
The Barataria Baptist Church is located in the town of Jean Lafitte, named for the infamous pirate whose headquarters were hidden in those wetlands and who assisted General Andrew Jackson in defeating the British at New Orleans early in 1815. The pastor at Barataria is Eddie Painter, a down-home son of Mississippi who has brought his wife and teenage daughter to live among the people down there in the swamps.
I've told on these pages how Eddie wasted no time in connecting with the people of this fishing village: he bought himself a boat and some crab traps and went into business for himself! He moved into the pastor's residence next door to the church and commuted to the seminary, perhaps 25 or 30 miles upriver and across town. Eddie is 40 years old and sports a salt-and-pepper beard.
Under Eddie's leadership, the church has been prospering. A few months ago, they went to two morning worship services--the first time I recall that happening at Barataria. And then Hurricane Gustav hit.
Most of us in and around New Orleans had little damage from that hurricane and from Ike which followed on its heels.(I've mentioned how two of our churches--Williams Boulevard in Kenner and Memorial in Metairie-- lost roofs and had interior damage to parts of their facilities.) But the town of Jean Lafitte was completely underwater.
The church is built up somewhat, so they had no flooding of the building, but lost portions of the roof and had some water damage inside. Next door, however, the pastor's residence was drowned and suffered total loss of furniture and appliances.
Eddie tells me they managed to get his family's clothing out before it was ruined. The minister of youth--Matthew--suffered lots of water damage and total loss.
Sunday, I drove down to Barataria Baptist Church to worship with this congregation. They were holding only an 11 a.m. service, which was filled. (Eddie says the bathrooms are out of commission and will have to be rebuilt, so they're unwilling to ask the congregation to stay beyond the time for one worship service.)
How to describe this congregation....
If you love all things Cajun or most things Louisiana, you will enjoy "Poor Man's Provence," the new book by Rheta Grimsley Johnson.
First, a little about Rheta.
We met nearly 30 years ago when I was visiting with her (then) husband, Jimmy Johnson, the editorial cartoonist at the Jackson (MS) Daily News. Jimmy was in the process of leaving the paper to begin his own comic strip, a fantasy of everyone who ever picked up a pen and doodled. At his home, he showed me the new strip, "Arlo and Janis." (Some of our readers see this strip in your local paper; alas, it does not run in the Times-Picayune.) That's when I met Rheta.
Rheta Grimsley Johnson was a features writer for the Memphis Commercial Appeal. She traveled over the South interviewing characters. Really. Sounds like a dream job for a writer. And that's how she came to interview me in Tupelo in the Spring of '82 when I was preaching a revival at Calvary Baptist Church there. (Not that I'm a character, you understand.) Somewhere around here, I have a clipping of that article. Being written about by Rheta Grimsley Johnson is akin to being mentioned in a sermon by Billy Graham.
In the late 1980s Rheta wrote the authorized biography of Charles Schulz, the cartoonist, called "Good Grief." I own a copy and have it dog-eared from all the great stories it contains. (www.alibris.com can find you a copy cheap.)
And now, Rheta has written "Poor Man's Provence," the subtitle for which is: "Finding Myself in Cajun Louisiana."
The most bizarre thing is happening: my 92 year old mother has become intensely interested in the presidential campaign this year for the first time in anyone's memory. Is it because her husband of nearly 74 years died last November and this is the first election she's endured without him? Dad watched it all and had convictions on everything and everyone. (I still recall sitting by the radio with him listening as Harry Truman campaigned against Thomas Dewey in '48.)
Dad was the dyed-in-the-wool labor Democrat and Mom the Republican-because-that's-how-I-was-raised. Now, without Pop to interpret the debates and comment on the political shenanigans, she keeps up with them and wants to discuss them with her children. She thinks women are jealous of Sarah Palin and that's why they're not supporting her.
As I say, it's totally strange and unlike anything we've seen from her all these years. And, we think it's absolutely wonderful.
How many 92-year-olds do you know who don't have a clue which century they're living in? We're more than blessed and know it.
Watch yourself, Governor Sarah and Senator Biden; Lois is watching.
I love to find a story in an old book that stops me in my tracks and provides a great illustration of some spiritual truth. The book may be old, but the story is a fresh insight and any congregation appreciates that.
First, a tiny bit of history which pertains to both stories that follow. At the end, I'll give the sources for the stories.
In June of 1940, when the Nazis took over France, they sealed off the northernmost two-thirds of the country and left the southern one-third to the administration of the French government which was headquartered in the small town of Vichy. Thereafter, Vichy France, while imperfect in a hundred ways, became known as Free France and the longed-for destination of countrymen suffering under Nazi control. The Germans did everything they could to prevent citizens from crossing the borders and escaping.
First story.