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I'm sporting a red bruise high in the middle of my forehead that Mikhail Gorbachev would envy. Friday, after throwing a log on a fire in the middle of the field, I raised up and whacked my head on a low-hanging limb. More about that below.
Wednesday, at Alpha Cottingham's funeral, evangelistic singer (and her husband W.O's cousin) Ronnie Cottingham provided special music and told a story about this wonderful pastor's wife. "Miss Alpha called to ask if I could come and do a full one-hour concert. I told her I could if the preacher invited me. He did and we worked it out. The night of the concert, I came in and got set up and started singing -- but Alpha wasn't in the crowd. I checked and discovered she was keeping the nursery. No one else was available, so she took care of the little ones so others could attend the concert."
A servant heart.
Early in the week, Margaret suggested I ought to go see my Mom for Thanksgiviing. I'd thought about it. I've not been home in several months and it's a 7 hour drive, but at Mom's age (nearing 93), I need to get there when I can. So, Thursday morning, I left the city early and drove to north Alabama. I'd asked the family to save some leftovers for my supper. Leftovers where my Mom and sisters are concerned would be a feast anywhere.
After supper, we did something we've not done in a couple of years: played rummy. (This has been our family's pastime since Dad taught us to play when we were children.) My brother Ron and I played sister Patricia and her husband James. How the game turned out is never the point; the fellowship and camaraderie is. And that's how it came about that we received the best laugh of the week from our Mom.
I forget what we were talking about. James happened to mention that one of his co-workers for the phone company, many years ago, was a part-time preacher. They were working out of town and one night, James walked into the man's hotel room and found two Playboy magazines laying on the bed. The man recovered quickly and said, "James, look what was laying on the floor when I checked into this room today!" Um hummm. Sure.
I had my own contribution to the story. "When our younger son Marty was four years old, we were living in an apartment complex in Jackson, Mississippi. One day, he found a Playboy out behind the building. When Margaret tried to take it from him, he wouldn't let her have it. 'It's my magazine,' he kept insisting."
They all smiled. Then from the kitchen, Mom said, "Why? He was only four. He couldn't read."
A pure heart.
(Everyone around the table agreed that Mom has probably never even seen that magazine.)
Now, about that tree burning.
"When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on earth?" (Luke 18:8)
What Jesus is looking for -- was when He walked the dusty roads of Galilee and is today -- is faith. Nothing touches His heart like encountering someone who believes in Him and accepts that He is the living Son of God. "Without faith it is impossible to please God," we read in Hebrews 11:6. That's the point.
Four men heard Jesus was in the little house down the road and sprang into action. For days, they had been waiting on this moment. They hurried down to their friend's house and loaded him onto a pallet. (A pallet could have been something as simple as a quilt.) Each grabbed a corner and they hoisted up their paralyzed colleague and proceeded out the door and down the road. Today, their friend would meet Jesus the Healer.
At the house, they ran into a problem. The place was packed out. People were stuffed into the doorways and hanging out the windows. No one made any move toward opening a way into the house for them.
No problem.
"Pastor, I'm sorry, but I can't just walk up to strangers at church and introduce myself and welcome them the way you're asking us to. That's just not my nature. I'm sorry."
We all know the feeling. You walk into your church on Sunday morning, thinking about your Sunday School lesson or a hundred unrelated things. You greet a couple of friends on the way in, see some elderly member who needs a hug, get stopped by someone with a question about tonight's fellowship, and you rush along. You did happen to notice that unfamiliar family looking lost in the entranceway, but you were in a hurry. Hopefully, someone will step up and assist them.
You hope someone will. You hope.
Now to be honest here, not every visitor to church looks as though they would welcome a greeting. Some wear frowns that signal their distaste for any social contact. Some may as well wear signs around their necks shouting, "Stand back!"
And, being respectful people, we don't want to intrude. If they don't want to be greeted, we can accommodate them. So, we look away and walk on.
Not all unfriendly churches are made up of cold people. Most are composed of salt-of-the-earth church members who want to do the right thing, but are a little shy and do not want to come across as pushy. They don't want to intrude.
I have a word -- two, actually -- to shy Christians.
First: Get over it.
Pastor Lawrence Armour of Epiphany Baptist Mission went to Heaven on Thursday of this week after a lengthy hospitalization at Ochsners and Tulane Hospitals. Over the years, Lawrence had had to deal with a series of on-going strokes which limited his life in important ways. We'll post the funeral details here when we learn them.I don't know Lawrence's age, but estimate that he was around 50. Our hearts and prayers go out to his family.
Lawrence's sister, Winniefred, is married to another of our fine pastors, Johnny Jones of Free Mission Church.
Alpha Cottingham, wife of Pastor W. O. Cottingham, of St. Rose went to Heaven last night (Friday). This incredible lady was in her early 80's, I imagine, and was a constant fixture at associational meetings, right beside her husband. She and W. O. started the First Baptist Church of St. Rose in 1959 and they stayed with that ministry until his retirement in 2005.
I dropped by the FBC of St. Rose one weekday just after becoming director of missions. W. O. and I had known one another since my seminary days (mid-60s) when we pastored in the same parish (I was just across the river in Paradis). He and I had a nice visit that day as he filled me in on his ministry (he was police chaplain and associational hospital visitor among other things). Then he asked me to go home with him and see Miss Alpha. This was a church running perhaps 30 on Sunday morning, but that weekday morning Alpha had a dozen women and girls in her living room for a WMU meeting. She was something. A charming and classy lady.
Josh Carter pastors FBC St. Rose now. The services are expected to be at the church on Wednesday afternoon. Muhleisen Funeral Home of Kenner is in charge.
Please pray for these two families. We claim for them the assurance of Hebrews 6:10. "God is not unjust so as to forget your work of faith and the love which you have shown toward His name in having ministered to the saints and in still ministering."
Now, other things....
From NPR.org:
Mike Kilgore's grandmother [and mine, and Lois McKeever's mother] — born Sara Louisa Matilda Elizabeth Nowles — played a large role in his life. From helping Kilgore stay out of trouble with his father to teaching him how to approach life's problems, her lessons have stayed with him long after her death.
Read the article and listen to the audio.
We're making Adam Gillespie "bonafide" tomorrow, Saturday. The ordination council comes at 4 pm, followed by the ordination service 90 minutes later. Obviously, we're fairly confident he'll pass the first easily to have scheduled the second on its heels.
"Bonafide" comes from the Latin meaning "good faith." Fans of the wonderful movie "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" will recall the term being bandied about regarding George Clooney's character. "Mama says you're not bonafide!"
I use the term here tongue-in-cheek to mean that Adam is officially becoming a minister of the gospel with all the rights and privileges and even legal standings pertaining thereto.
Every denomination has its own procedures and qualifications to be ordained. Southern Baptists, easily the most loosely organized religious family on the planet, have our own also.
Even though every one of our thousands of churches is independent, we have a commonly recognized tradition as to who can be ordained. Either you have finished seminary or you are called to a ministerial position with a church, one or the other.
Usually, the church you will be serving sends a request back to your home church saying, "We've called this person to our staff and would like to request that you ordain him to the ministry."
The home church does two things: One, schedules an ordination council in which the candidate (i.e., the minister-to-be) goes before a group of veteran ministers for a time of testimony and questions, and if everything is in order after that, two, arranges for a service of ordination, the official "setting aside" ceremony.
The ordination council has no official standing in the church and is formed by whoever shows up, of all the ones invited by the host pastor, in this case, Pastor Sam Gentry. All the council can do is recommend to the church that the minister be ordained. The congregation actually votes in the service to proceed with the event.
Here's one from Lincoln on humility. The source is Brian Lamb's book, "Abraham Lincoln," in which a chapter from David Herbert Donald contains the story.
Toward the end of the Civil War, Lincoln decided to visit Richmond to see what it had been like. A tugboat was found to carry him and his small party -- including son Tad -- up the river. Soon, they ran into barriers and obstructions placed to impede traffic, so they transferred to a smaller boat. Before long, a message arrived saying the army needed that boat. This time, the presidential party transferred to a rowboat. Lincoln uncomplainingly got into the rowboat and they slowly made their way toward Richmond.
"You know," Lincoln said, "this reminds me of a little story." Everything reminded him of a story; one more reason we adore him. "When I first came into office, there was a man who came to me applying for office from Illinois, I believe it was. He said, 'I want to be secretary of state; won't you appoint me?' And I said, 'I'm sorry, I can't do that, I've already appointed Secretary Seward.' 'Oh,' he said, 'well, can't you appoint me consul general to Paris?' 'No,' I said, 'that post is already filled.' 'Well, could you appoint me collector of customs in Austin?' 'No, that post is already filled.' 'Well,' said the man, 'at least, at least could you give me an old pair of pants?'" Lincoln added, "It pays to be humble, and I'm not upset by coming to Richmond in a rowboat."
President Lincoln must have known our Lord's teaching in Luke 14.
Here's a story that is making the internet circuit, arriving at my desk this morning from longtime friend Ann Allen in Columbus, Mississippi.
"Thank you" may not be the most profound thing you will hear or speak today. The person you direct those words to--let's be honest--will not find them the most rewarding of utterances they receive throughout the day. In our society, they're rather routine.
However, and this is what keeps us coming back to reminding ourselves to give thanks, the absence of those two words creates a deafening silence that may wound good people who have served well.
Thanksgiving can be trite or it can be a treasure. How we give it, the way we speak it, the smile on our countenance, and the sincerity in our voice, these infuse it with authenticity or diminish its worth.
Though I have the gift of eloquence and can move great audiences with the force of my words and have not thanks, I am become a self-righteous prig and an insufferable elitist.
Though I give the gift of great sacrifice and cause institutions to erect buildings in my honor and have not thanks for what others gave to me, I am become a royal pain and a Pharisee of the first order.
Thanks becometh the wearer, charms the receiver, softens the character, and eases the burdens of life. A grateful spirit is better adornment than jewels, a finer treasure than gold, and a greater attainment than all honors.
Thanks is not just words, but is imperfect until put into words. Thanks is more than an attitude, yet it is the best attitude.
Thanks is not godlike, for the God of the universe is beholden to no one and owes gratitude to none. And yet, we become most like our Heavenly Father when we acknowledge our debt to others and confess their contributions to our lives.
Thanks frees others up to do more, encourages them to do better, liberates our spirits to give more, and inspires everyone to his highest ideals.
Thanksgiving builds bridges between the estranged, maintains highways between friends, and erects barriers against pride.
So, go ahead. Give thanks today. It can't hurt, and it might make a lasting difference in someone's day.
I worshiped with two wonderful but vastly different churches Sunday morning and found myself reflecting on the nature of congregations.
Vaughn Forest Baptist Church in South Montgomery, Alabama, is constructing a new sanctuary to accommodate their exploding congregation. I believe they're running three morning services each Sunday. The one I attended was the 9:20 am service with the associate pastor preaching. During the final minutes, I excused myself and slipped out to the parking lot and drove downtown to the First Baptist Church of Montgomery. That church is enjoying a huge new sanctuary and they need two morning services to take care of their congregation.
I had never attended either church. I knew no one in either congregation except my cousin Mike Kilgore and his family in Vaughn Forest, and Pastor Jay Wolf and his family at FBC-M.
These are Southern Baptist churches, so obviously they are alike in a hundred ways. But, frankly, they are different in 75 ways.
Both churches were alive and fresh. The people were involved and friendly. The staffs were sharp and prepared. The messages were outstanding and biblical.
Proverbs 27:17 "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another."
As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. So one woman sharpens another. So one Christian young person sharpens another.
As iron sharpens iron, so one campus minister sharpens another. So one worship leader sharpens another. So one deacon sharpens another. So one missionary sharpens another. And pre-eminently, as iron sharpens iron, so one pastor sharpens another.
I tell you on the authority of Heaven that no matter what level of ministry you are serving in, you need two or three great, close personal friends to keep one another sharp and faithful and working at the highest level.
Over 46 years of ministry, I've known only two pastors who did not like preachers. The first one, it turned out, was a fake. When his last church forced him out of the pulpit, it came to light that he had been spending time at the gambling tables in the casinos, was ordering alcoholic drinks with his meals, and was given to telling dirty stories and sprinkling profanity in his conversation. I believe we would all agree here was a man who had no business in the ministry. His dislike and criticism of other preachers, no doubt, was a diversion to draw attention away from his own misbehavior.
The other pastor, however, seems to have been genuine in his dislike for preachers. I knew him well and saw close up the effects of the isolation he imposed on himself as a result of his contempt for preachers. I'm not a psychiatrist, but only a pastor. However, my opinion is that any preacher in isolation has to contend with two great problems: ego and temptations of the flesh. Now, everyone fights these battles, but the isolated minister does so with one arm behind his back. He has no colleague to confide in or draw strength from.
Ego problems vary from feelings of worthlessness to extreme pride and egotism. The fleshly temptations may involve impure thoughts, unhealthy reading material, and smutty stories, and in time may lead to pornography and adulterous affairs.
Both kinds of temptation ended the ministry of my friend.
Text: Acts 2:42-47
The Jerusalem church had a problem. This congregation of 120 souls held a one-day revival and by nightfall, they had baptized 3,000 people. Talk about overwhelming the system! No church is set up for this kind of growth.
The challenge they faced was how to disciple these new believers, to get them established in the Christian life as quickly as possible.
The task was complicated by several factors. Many were foreigners in Jerusalem for the days of Pentecost, which had just ended. Their friends were ready to head home, but since Jesus Christ had just entered their lives and rearranged their priorities, they planned to remain in town for a while to learn all they could as quickly as possible before heading home.
Since the church had no meeting place, they crowded into homes and any available corner of the Temple for classes taught by the apostles. To further complicate matters, new believers were arriving all the time. By Acts 4:4, the number had risen to 5,000 believers. Clearly, this was not an orderly and well-organized process of discipleship. They were doing the best they could under unprecedented conditions. The image of "herding cats" comes to mind.
In building His fledgling church, the Lord was using three different kinds of stones, so to speak: the Word of God, the Work of God, and the Worship of God.
I've said to my sons they are far better fathers to their little ones than I was to them. I'm a little grateful that they argue the point, but I stand my ground.
For one thing, they're home more than I was. Ask any pastor. The evening meetings at church are bad enough, but add to that the out-of-town trips to speak in other churches, denominational appointments, conventions, mission assignments, and--well, you get the point. I look back to those days 30 years ago with regret that I was not there more than I was.
However, without engaging in an autopsy here--and punishing myself too severely--I will admit I did a few things right.
Every parent makes mistakes. I wouldn't be surprised if even James and Shirley Dobson--the world's greatest authorities on how to raise kids--look back to mistakes they made in raising Ryan and Danae.
If we wanted to grovel in regret and self-pity,we each have done enough wrong to supply plenty of material. But let's not. Let's focus for a moment on things we did right.
The only reason I mention this here is to "put a bug" in the ear of some parents who read this.
In Poplarville, Mississippi, police have arrested a guy for sending threats to African-Americans. According to news reports, he texted targets announcing that he is so angry over the election of Barack Obama as president, he is determined to kill thousands of N----rs. That's terrible.
But here's the scary part: it turns out he was black.
He was trying to stir up further racial tension and dissension. As if we need any more.
Up the road a few miles above New Orleans -- on what we call the "North Shore" -- police have shut down a KKK-type operation and arrested everyone involved. A young Oklahoma woman had joined the group and was going through the initiation when she suddenly decided this was not for her. "You can't leave," they insisted. When she refused to back down, their leader pulled out a pistol and killed her. Everyone is being charged either with her murder or abetting it by covering it up afterwards.
These are whites, of course. But they are a cancer on America today, I'll say as clearly as I know how.
The mayor has erected signs all over New Orleans announcing big plans for future development. Tuesday's Times-Picayune says he did this "hoping to boost public confidence."
The question that occupied much of Monday night's meeting of the City Council, however, was whether such signs inspire the citizens of this city or anger them. Councilwoman Cynthia Hedge-Morrell said, "Instead of signs saying what we're going to do, why not put up signs saying what we've completed?"
Sure would save a lot of money on signs.
In the three years and three months since Hurricane Katrina devastated this city and regions around us, our mayor and his administration have developed incredible skills at announcing plans and program. Numerous press conferences have been called to unveil architects' imaginative plans for developments on this block or in this neighborhood. The paper gives the hoopla front page coverage the next morning, and then nothing happens. Pretty soon, another conference is called, another drawing is unveiled, another front page heralds the news, and then nothing.
The citizens have long since grown skeptical over any announcement emanating from City Hall.
Instead of learning, however, Mayor Nagin and his people want to invest more money in bigger and better signs of their plans.
I'm with Ms. Morrell. Tell us what you've done, not what you're planning.
Not being a pastor any more, I almost have little need for the extensive files loaded with anecdotes and illustrations accumulated over the years. However, with Thanksgiving approaching, I dug out the thick file so labeled and chose a few of the stories and insights on the subject. Just because the paper they're on is beginning to "yellow" does not diminish their value.
In a 1973 sermon titled "Don't Sit on the Thorns," Brian Harbour speaks of a 17th century preacher named Jeremy Taylor who had just seen his home plundered and his family driven out of doors, their worldly possessions gone. Taylor writes,
"What now? Let me look about me. They have left me the sun and the moon, a loving wife and many friends to pity me, and some to relieve me. They have not taken away my merry countenance and my cheerful spirit and a good conscience; they have still left me the providence of God and all the promises of the Gospel, and my religion, and my hopes of heaven, and my charity to them, too; and still I sleep and digest, I eat, and drink. I read and meditate -- and he that hath so many causes of joy and so great, is very much in love with sorrow and peevishness, who leaves all these pleasures and chooses to sit down upon his little handful of thorns."
Taylor (and thus Brian Harbour) says the fellow who chooses to complain instead of giving thanks is like one who intentionally sits on a handful of thorns.
Gloria Steinem (hey, I'll quote anyone if it's worth saying!) once said, "America is an enormous frosted cupcake in the middle of millions of starving people." She was right. For God's people, it's not enough to give thanks for our bounty, but must be looking for ways to share God's blessings with others who have less.
Gwen Williams is a dear sister in Christ who is well-known to many who have lived any time in New Orleans or come here to minister. She has been redeemed through the precious blood of Jesus, she is an African-American who bills herself as "Miss Chocolate," she has ministered to inner city youth for decades, she belongs to Fred Luter’s Franklin Avenue Baptist Church, and she has more common sense in her little finger than I have in my entire body. The following is her newsletter, sent to several hundred friends of all races and persuasions, I’m guessing. I felt our readers would benefit from reading what she has to say about the election of Barack Obama as president as much as I have. Thanks! -- Joe McKeever
Hello;
I am so sorry that so many of you could not rejoice with me and offer praises to God for a long dream that has finally come true. I am also sorry that so many of you believed the political mud slinging during the campaign that choose to destroy the character of a very brilliant man who will also be your president. Several of you sent negative e-mails for reasons I could not understand. I also know that you have never walked in my shoes so you could not understand all the cheers and tears of the many who danced as they watched the presentation of the first African-American president of the United States.
A ruminant is an animal that chews its cud. To ruminate is to sit back and reflect on yesterday's happenings. Here are some I'm chewing on this Monday morning....
"What I Told Billy Graham"
As you doubtless know, they are soliciting birthday greetings for Dr. Billy Graham on the occasion of his 90th birthday which took place last week. How they will sift through a half-million notes and e-mails is anyone's guess. What do you want to bet a book will be produced with the hundred most interesting?
In my note, I reminded Dr. Graham of the time in November of 1987 when he and George Beverly Shea and a couple of other friends sat in my office for an hour and a half, as we waited for the start of the afternoon funeral service of his longtime colleague, Dr. Grady Wilson, who was a member of our congregation (FBC, Charlotte, NC). I told him, "As we sat there, I found myself having a little inner conversation that went like this. I asked myself, 'Do you pray for Billy Graham?' I answered, 'People all over the world pray for this man, but I'm only one person.' I recall laughing at that and thinking, 'Well, hotshot, do you know anyone who is two people? We're all only one.' Ever since, I have prayed for you!"
Incidentally -- this is to our readers now and not what I said to Dr. Graham -- I've been working on a missions sermon this week, and the Lord brought that incident to my mind. When it comes to the Lord's work, many of God's people excuse themselves from doing anything significant because "I'm only one person."
The sermon could be entitled "I'm just one, but...." And it would work out to something like this.
I've been enjoying a book on Abraham Lincoln from the hands of Brian Lamb and the good folks at C-Span. Called simply "Abraham Lincoln," the book is a collection of brief chapters from various authors/historians on the 16th president.
This Friday morning, waiting in my doctor's office for my periodic post-cancer checkup ("You're fine. Come back in 6 months"), I came across insights about two men near Lincoln, both making similar points.
General George McClellan was put in charge of the Union forces early in the Civil War. Allen C. Guelzo writes that McClellan was an outstanding general in many ways. "He built a wonderful army. He was a great organizer, a tremendously talented engineer. If management consultants had existed in 1860, his was the resume that every management consultant in the country would take as an example."
"There was only one problem," Professor Guelzo writes. "(McClellan) didn't like to fight, which is a strange thing for a general."
A fatal flaw, I call it. It's what caused Lincoln to sack him. McClellan did not seem to realize that the whole point of building a great army was to engage the enemy. Guelzo adds, "He might have been a genius, but he was not a genius for achieving victory."
With everything inside me, I detest this kind of conversation, but I'm going to give it a try. I'd like to pour oil on troubled waters. If it turns out I'm just stirring them up worse, I apologize and will drop this.
So, you're upset that Senator McCain lost the election and that Senator Obama won. You cannot believe that any Christian who cares about God's Word and Christ's glory and society's survival would vote for Obama. After all, he's pro-homosexual, pro-abortion, and pro-a lot of stuff which "normal" Christians do not go in for. On top of this, Obama sat under Jeremiah Wright's teaching all those years without a murmur of discontent and only disowned him when the public learned of the poison that pastor was spreading.
You're so upset you're emailing your friends around the country despairing over the foolishness of the American electorate.
You believe people were just voting their pocketbooks and not their convictions in rejecting McCain and choosing Obama. You are upset that Obama is the most untried, green, mysterious president-elect in history. You worry about what this nation is coming to.
Me, too. I voted for McCain.
However, I have several thoughts I'd like to call to your attention.
In our Wednesday morning pastors meeting, I asked the African-American pastors how they were feeling after Barack Obama's win last night. All answered with variations of, "Great!" One told me privately, "I feel the American people got the presidency back." Another said, "I don't just feel great for my people. I feel great for America right now."
I rejoice with these friends and determine to pledge our new chief-executive my faithful prayer support. In fact, these are the most important days to pray for the new leader, when he's making crucial decisions regarding his staff. Those who didn't care much for Bush's staff (Cheney, Rove, etc) will be the first to admit how critical it is that the president choose wisely. So much of the success or failure of his administration will be determined by the quality of the men and women with whom he surrounds himself.
One of the things I admire most about Senator and now President-elect Obama is his unflappability. Throughout this marathon campaign -- far too long and much too costly -- we've seen the candidates in every kind of trying situation. At no time did I see Obama lose his temper and come unglued. With the relentless attacks and unreasonable charges flying in all directions, that's as good a compliment as I know how to give. He was as cool under attack as anyone I've ever seen.
The Wednesday edition of the Times-Picayune carries a feature about Bo Pellini, the first-year football coach at Nebraska. Lately he's been losing his temper on the sidelines and cursing out his coaches and players. The reporter said YouTube has been playing excerpts, to the consternation of Cornhuskers far and wide. Someone in Bo's family who can read lips confronted him with the way he is losing his cool and demeaning his colleagues and players. He admits to being chastened. "I'm working on my temper," he claims.
Coach Pellini did not ask me, but I can tell him how to conquer a temper. I've been there.
I voted at 6:30 this Tuesday morning, at the end of my walk on the levee. An hour earlier, I slipped my driver's license into my jeans and donned my glasses so I'd be able to read the ballot. A classroom at John Curtis Christian (elementary) School is our site. Usually when I walk in, there might be one or two other voters. Today, I stood in line with maybe 30 in front of me.
Our Baptist Center on Lakeshore Drive in New Orleans is the polling place for a number of precincts that were put out of business by Katrina three years ago. Today, our auditorium boasts 24 voting machines. When I arrived at the office at 8:30, several lines stretched outside the building and across the lawn. I estimated 200 people were waiting to vote outside, and perhaps nearly that number inside. Incredibly, down the street a block, the Episcopal Church, also a voting place for several precincts, was just as crowded.
The Times-Picayune this morning ran a couple of pages of photos of citizens, identifying who this one is, what he/she does for a living, where they live, and whether they are voting for Obama or McCain. After glancing at it, I went back and checked. Sure enough, every African-American was voting for Obama and every paleface was voting for McCain.
At my voting place this morning, I was struck by the heavy percentage of African-Americans in line. This part of town -- the community is River Ridge -- is thought of as majority-white, but it certainly did not look like it this morning.
I think it's great. I'm delighted that the voter turnout today may end up being as high as 80 or 90 percent. It's about time, is all I can say.
"So, how are things in New Orleans?" I was asked several times Sunday. I was the guest preacher at the First Baptist Church of Andalusia, Alabama, some five hours from my house. From similar situations in other churches I have learned to come up with a quick answer to that question. Even assuming they have a real interest in the rebuilding of this city, no one has time for an in-depth 30 minute monologue.
"Anything you say about New Orleans right now is true," I tell the questioner. "Parts of the city are lovely and prospering. Parts are being rebuilt, and some of the city looks awful, like a bomb has gone off. We used to have 135 churches. One month after Katrina, we had 35 still operating. Today, we have 100, some of them brand new, some prospering, and some struggling."
The response to that is generally the same. "Oh, well, then you're doing great, sounds like."
I say, "Yeah. We're doing great. Thanks for asking."
Nothing snide about that answer. It's the truth, assuming one also understands that the rebuilding of this city will continue for another quarter-century barring any further hurricanes.
In the days following Hurricane Katrina, when floodwaters were inundating most of this city and St. Bernard Parish, the awful phrase we heard again and again was "toxic soup." It referred to the fears that the liquid under which our city was drowning was not just water, but a stew of water plus oil and sludge and who knows what else. Experts led us to fear about the health of the city after the water receded and we were able to re-enter.
Now, we learn there was no "toxic soup."
In fact, the EPA has said the contamination of the city's soil "did not get any worse from Katrina." Which begs the question, of course. Just how toxic was the soil before the hurricane?
Help me out here, please. This is only the beginning of this message, sort of "off the top of my head." I'd love to have your stories and insights at the end.
I've told here of the wonderful West End Baptist Church in Birmingham that in 1959 befriended this 19 year old sophomore from the local Methodist college (Birmingham-Southern). The youth of that large church, most of whom had known one another since infancy, welcomed me as though I'd always been a member of the group. The adult leaders of the church learned my name and spoke to me like I was somebody. I blossomed like a potted plant moved from the closet into the sunlight.
And you may recall my telling how three or four years later, I watched that same church try to implode. The lay leadership, well, some of them, were in an argument with the pastor over cancelling the Sunday evening radio broadcast. Money was the problem--the lack of it, of course--and the church needed to either give more or cut expenses. Why in the world someone did not go to the congregation and preach a rousing message on "laying up treasure in Heaven" I'll never know. Instead, they took out their pruning shears and began whacking. The question was whether in cancelling the radio broadcast, they were cutting essential services. The pastor said "yes" and the chief laymen seem to have said "no."
So, in the time-honored way of Baptists through the ages, they held a business meeting, which I attended. It was well-attended (a fight will always bring out Baptists) and the tension was hot. The issue had long since grown beyond whether to cancel the one-hour broadcast and had morphed into personalities and methodologies and even theologies.
The tragedy for this kid preacher was watching people I dearly loved and to whom I owed so much verbally abuse and accuse one another for a solid hour. Regardless how the vote turned out (they canceled the program), you knew there would be no winners of this prize-fight except the enemies of all that is good and holy.
Something died in that church that day: the fellowship. That incredible church was never the same thereafter.
Which leads me to blame as a culprit for murdering the fellowship bull-headedness (on everyone's part) and out-of-control egos. Or, to put it another way, when God's people forget how to submit themselves to one another and to work to preserve the peace of Christ in the fellowship, all bets are off.