Under the Preacher's Roof

"Dispatches from Bitter America" - You MUST Read This Book

2012-01-31T19:29:00.000-08:00

We interrupt this blog to bring you a commercial. Todd Starnes has done more than knock one out of the park. The award-winning journalist and "son-of-a-Baptist" has accomplished a transfusion for the heart of America. His most recent contribution, "Dispatches from Bitter America" is a homily to much that is still good in our country and well worth saving, certainly well worth fighting for. But the book is more than that, much more. Todd captures the outrage and frustration we feel when we see the country we love disappearing before our eyes.

"Dispatches" is well researched, outrageously funny, poignant, and - to use Todd's favorite word - snarky. Each chapter is cleverly long enough to hold your interest and short enough to keep you reading through the next chapter. Todd has also managed in his own unique way to weave the gospel clearly throughout the book. He is a stand-up guy with an out-front testimony for Christ. Maybe outside of Tim Tebow, who knew you could still do that so publicly in America and live to tell about it?

Buy this book. Read it carefully. You will laugh, cry, be outraged and emboldened to take a stand for America - but you will not be bitter. Better, yes, but not bitter. Todd Starnes is not only an excellent writer and story teller. He is a courageous brother in the Lord and I am grateful for his contribution. I rate "Dispatches from Bitter America" five out of five Nutter Butters. Ya'll might not understand, but Todd knows what I mean.

The Coming Election: Now What Do I Do?

2012-01-11T06:37:00.000-08:00

It's January, the primaries have just begun, and already the more conservative candidates are all but knocked out of the race. Now, what do I do? I've been forced to come to some rather uncomfortable realizations ("realisations" for my British friends). None of the remaining candidates are entirely satisfactory to me. None of them are as conservative, as evangelical, or as consistent as I would like. They are all flawed. They are flawed and they spend way too much time focusing on one another's flaws rather than talking about the far more serious danger posed by the prospect of four more years of radical un-Americanism.

So what do I do? How do I decide among so many flawed choices? And let's face it: staying home and not voting - or voting for someone who has no chance - is not really a choice unless I want to re-elect the current President.

I have to come to terms with reality, and reality is this. The most likely nominee, at least currently speaking, is at least light-years more conservative than the current White House occupants and more conservative than the last Republican who ran for the job. Strange how Mitt Romney didn't look all that liberal the last time, but then our comparison was John McCain, not Rick Perry.

Mr. Romney is a Mormon. That bothers me and I'm not in favor of a cult follower as President. But Sen. Orrin Hatch, also a Mormon, ran for President once upon a time, and I don't recall anyone being upset about that. Maybe it's because he had no real chance of being elected. Sen. Harry Reid is also a Mormon. When is the last time you heard about that? He's so liberal, no one notices his Mormonism. And keep this in mind, Mormonism is an American cult. It has a pro-American point of view (Mormons believe the New Jerusalem will be built in America), and a pro-Israel attitude. This presents an interesting choice between philosophies.

Which would I rather have: a Mormon, pro-American, pro-Israel moderately conservative, free -enterprise businessman politician? Or a liberation theology, pro-European, anti-Israel radically liberal devotee of socialist - Marxist economic philosophy?

Duh.

Gone

2011-11-29T15:59:00.000-08:00

This is the column I most dreaded, the one I knew would come. On November 19, 2011, my dad went home to be with the Lord. Weeks before in this blog I noted that I could not hold on to my father. Watching him dissolve into the man he became, watching him shrivel to a hollow shell of the man he was, I realized that holding him in that condition, if somehow possible, would have been worse than cruel.

Dad is gone, but he is not lost. I understand Vance Havner's reply when his wife died and someone said to him, "I'm sorry to hear you lost your wife." Havner answered, "She's not lost. I know exactly where she is."

A friend wrote after Dad's passing and reflected upon her own loss, saying "I still can't believe I've lost Dad forever." My heart goes out to her. As I read her thoughts, I said to my self, "You are more right than you know. But my dad is not lost. I will see him again."

This is the heart and soul of all that is Christian doctrine. It is the hope that sets God's people apart from all else - this sincere and absolute conviction of the reality of heaven, the reality of hope, the assurance of eternal life.

I love my dad and I miss him. His passing is still too fresh to fully comprehend. I don't know how I will do without him, but I know one thing for certain: he is not really dead. "He who lives and believes in me shall never die," Jesus said. "Do you believe this?"

Indeed I do. I have a new reason to go to heaven now. A new reason to live for Christ (not that the first reason isn't enough), a new anticipation for what lies ahead. Jesus lives, Dad lives, and so shall I. Far beyond the next few years, we shall be reunited never to be separated again. "When we've been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun," we will have "no less days to sing God's praise" than when we first begun.

Old Dog, New Tricks

2011-10-27T19:16:00.000-07:00

As the next birthday begins to appear on the horizon, I'm glad to say new ministry opportunities continue to open for me. This is very good news because the last thing I want to do is run out of things to do. Admittedly, the subject of retirement has passed the lips of the wife and my self, but the Lord has ways of saying "You've got to be kidding" to us.

To start, I've been appointed Chaplain of the Perry Township Police Department in Montgomery County, Ohio. Who would have thought such a privilege would come my way at this point in life? (For that matter, I will always wonder why the Lord didn't allow it much earlier but then His timing is always better.) My wife has declared the chaplain ministry my "new toy." I don't know about that, but the police department definitely has lots of "toys" - uh, another column. Anyway, here I am fascinated with the golden opportunity to spread the gospel to an entirely new "congregation." So much for retirement.

Then there was the state conference we attended recently. One of the speakers was at or above eighty years of age and still going strong. I nudged my wife and said, "If I'm doing that well at that age, there's no reason to think about retirement." Suddenly, sixty-one looks awfully young, barely past puberty.

Fresh opportunities and new challenges always give me a charge. Before my latest foray into new ministry, and before I listened to the spunky veteran, I had actually begun to think I might have only a few more good years left. Now I'm thinking decades, at least a couple. After that, we'll just have to wait and see.

Fading, Fading, Fading...

2011-09-03T19:28:00.000-07:00

A World War II general is reputed to have said, "Old soldiers never die, they just fade away." My dad is fading. The old soldier, long forgotten of his medals and citations, is fading like the melting early morning fog. He is but a dim shadow of his former self, and yet the essential life force within him seems bound, restricted by the frail body he inhabits. The soul that is my father is still there, still evident, and yet one cannot help but feel he yearns to be free.

It's hard for me to grasp the enormity of this time or the loss that is about to overtake me. Soon enough, perhaps far sooner than we suspect, there will be another post to say that Dad has passed. Not died, mind you, but passed. "He that liveth and believeth in me shall never die," Jesus promised. Indeed, we do not die. We change location. We exchange one life for another.

It was Jim Elliot who said it best, as I recall: "That man is no fool who gives up what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose."

I cannot keep my Dad. I cannot keep him any more than I can keep forever any other loved one. But at the same time, I cannot lose him either. I am willing to surrender him for a time, if I must, in order to gain him for an eternity. And so it is with all those whom we love, and that is why we yearn so much that they - like our selves - will come to know Christ as Savior; that we may lose them for a season to gain them for an eternity.

What Have We Learned?

2011-07-31T21:18:00.000-07:00

After all the time, money and effort to put on a really good Vacation Bible School - and with really promising attendance to boot - our attendance in church and Sunday School has not been improved in the least. So what did we learn from all our hard work and experience? Here are a few lessons:

1. Our church must have a consistent means of outreach. Otherwise, we are quickly forgotten because a single effort for a brief time is too little to establish regular attendance habits.

2. We must relentlessly go after people. Anything less fails to generate prospects. We must relentlessly witness. Anything less fails to generate disciples.

3. Whether we have an afternoon or evening service doesn't really matter. Whether we have a high quality Sunday morning worship service really matters a lot.

4. Youth ministry will help youth, but it will never by itself grow the church. Witnessing and relationships are the tools that grow the church.

5. After all is said and done, we still have to figure out the most effective and consistent means to reach the public on a daily basis.

So we are not back to square one. In truth, we've never left.

The Dream Fulfilled - They Came!

2011-07-18T09:33:00.000-07:00

"if you build it, they will come" - so goes the line from the movie "Field of Dreams." It's a great line for a movie, but it doesn't work in real life. The world is full of projects built and ignored by the general public. So what were we thinking when our church (with a grand total of four kids in Sunday School) began planning the great-granddaddy blowout of all Vacation Bible Schools?

Suppose we build it and no one comes?

Given that our church had never even tried Vacation Bible School in our history - With four kids what did you expect? - we had no idea what kind of response we would gain.

Enter the highly energized youth group from Alaska Baptist Church. This would be the Alaska Baptist Church that's not in Alaska - not that Alaska. They came down from Caledonia, Michigan (yes, that Michigan, land of "the school from up north" for all Buckeye fans.) to undertake a missions project and we were it. In four days time, they blitzed our town, a city of about 1200 homes and 6000 residents. The result? We had more kids attending Vacation Bible School than we've ever had, up to 18 on two days. They came!

But they didn't come back on Sunday.

Whoa! What do you make of that? Simply that unsaved people well practiced in not attending church are not going to suddenly see the light and change their behavior simply because the children attended four days of Bible school. We are going to have to go after them again. And again. And again. And again.

But if we go, they will come. So we have to keep going until they are finally established securely in our church. "If you build it, they will come" - if you go after them.

Father's Day

2011-06-18T19:47:00.000-07:00

As I write this Father's Day is but a few hours away and I am ready. I've bought my dad the one thing I know he will cherish the most - a six pack of 20 ounce diet Pepsi. I've also bought a card because I know he will enjoy the hilarious photo of the dog on the front. He will chuckle through dim eyes as he strains to make out the image and try to understand what it means. The message inside is silly but that hardly matters. Dad won't understand anyway. I will write a short message inside and sign my name, but both the message and the name will mean little to him. I will sign the message with "love" but I cannot write the message I really feel. He will not understand, and it is too painful for me.

The message I really want to write - the one he cannot understand - is "I love you Dad, and I miss you."

The awful truth, the horror that I witness every day and from which I cannot escape is that my dad is passing away before my eyes. Like so many millions, like other people in my church, he is a victim of dementia and it is slowly, irresistibly robbing him of life. The disease has already taken the personality I once knew and all his power of recognition with it. Except for what feeble life force remains, my dad is all but gone.

You may know someone whose father is hindered by certain physical conditions. Perhaps you are facing an unpleasant Father's Day because your dad cannot do the things you wish, or perhaps he cannot be with you this year. That's understandable. But if your father still knows you, recognizes the sound of your voice, and can have a reasonably intelligent conversation with you, you have a treasure millions of others can no longer enjoy - even if you are miles apart.

Yes, I am grateful that I have my dad at all. Very likely, this is his last Father's Day and I will make it as pleasant for him as possible.

I hope you can do the same. Of all the gifts we can give one another, the power to know, to love and to knowingly give that love is the greatest gift of all.

Of Coaches, Politicians and Other Idols

2011-06-11T19:58:00.000-07:00

The biggest news and greatest shock to Buckeye fans across Ohio (of which I am one) was the resignation of The Ohio State University's football coach, Jim Tressel. Coach Tressel resigned largely because of an NCAA investigation prompted by an article in Sports Illustrated magazine. The article had the effect of taking down the greatest football coach in Ohio State's history.

Ironically, Sports Illustrated ran an ad a couple of decades ago that featured a photo of Alabama coach Bear Bryant with a tag line that read "In Alabama, an atheist is someone who doesn't believe in him."

Tressel had obtained similar status among his myriad fans in Ohio. But unlike the rough and gruff Bryant, Coach Tressel was known for a very public religious orientation. He's been a member of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes for years. Coach Tressel has a reputation as an evangelical believer. For that reason, I couldn't help but react when I read of his comment to a appreciative crowd who came to express their gratitude for his years of service. Thinking about the next Michigan game, Tressel remarked, "Next November 26th, we kick Michigan's _____."

You notice I haven't finished the sentence. The coach used an expression I am not accustomed to hearing from fellow believers.

Lest you think I'm picking on the coach or being overly sensitive, Gov. Sarah Palin is another example of a very public professing believer. I know that because I've followed her rise carefully and read some of her books and various writings. Gov. Palin is a member of an evangelical Bible Church in her hometown, Wasilla, Alaska. She is accepted (or criticized) by the general public as a believer.

Knowing that, I've cringed more than a few times when the governor has written or recalled her own -how shall I say this?- "colorful" language. Recent published emails from her years as governor of Alaska document what I say.

Call me odd if you wish, but I can't help reacting in a couple of ways. First, why in the name of sense (or Scripture) does a believer damage their credibility as a believer by sinking to foul language? And yes, it is foul. Do public people not realize that everyone is watching, everyone is listening?

Second, do they not realize that some things are just not fitting for Christians whether we are public figures or not? Is the Scripture warning against "filthy communication" not plain enough?

Yes, I know I'm picking. But it is out of the abundance of the heart that the mouth speaks according to Jesus, and He should know. You think? So as I've read President Bush's own words in his autobiography, "Decision Points," I've been disappointed in him more than a few times. He is given to the occasional off color remark, and that tendency undermines his testimony greatly.

There are two huge lessons here for us all. First, our tendency to put public Christians on a pedestal is not good for them or for us. They cannot live up to it and we are sure to be disappointed as their faults become obvious to all.

The second lesson is equally simple. Small things matter. An off color remark or inappropriate action can have devastating effects on our testimony, causing people to question the validity of our character. The world is crying for consistency; for someone they can believe in. We need Christian leaders and Christian examples. But most of all we need Christians who are willing to live up to the name.

The End is Coming ...Again

2011-05-20T16:41:00.000-07:00

In 1987, I received an unsolicited book in the mail entitled "88 Reasons Why the Rapture Will Be in 1988" by an unknown preacher named Edgar Whisenart. A year later, I received a second book from Whisenart telling me Jesus would appear in 1989. Between 1989 and the present, we've all endured the Hale-Bopp comet, the Branch Davidians, and a host of other crackpots. Even venerable Jack Van Impe has gotten into the act with the suggestion that the world may end on December 21, 2012 (according to Baptist Bulletin magazine). Maybe he's read one too many Mayan calendars. The latest fool to trot out a date is an until-now unknown named Harold Camping who says the world ends tomorrow. So if you're a little late reading this, you may or may not be in trouble.

The very real problem I have with all these charlatans is that they make the serious message of the Bible trivial and the butt of every joke. You hear them everywhere: "I'm not paying my bills until Sunday." Charles Krauthhammer said "There's an upside to everything. You can eat red meat."

The truth is that the world is going to end some time sooner than later. Christians know it. God certainly know it. The world should know it, but they won't.

Someone has made a joke of it.

Time For a Course Correction

2011-04-25T16:54:00.000-07:00

I lose my focus at times, and when I do, God is faithful to remind me and bring me back into line. Frankly, I've been off course for a while and it's time for correction. I've spent way too much time concerned about how the church is growing and what to do about it. I've concentrated too much on how my wife and I are going to afford life when she finally retires. I've spent way too much time thinking about how things are going to work out.

Doesn't everybody? Perhaps none of the items I've just described surprise anyone. Perhaps others will read these words with the thought "That's what I've been doing. What's wrong with planning for the future?"

Nothing is wrong with planning for the future. The question is whose plans we are following.

The thing I've known, forgotten, and needed to be reminded again is that God is in charge of all plans. It's not my place to be concerned with how things work out. It's my place to follow the Lord first and let Him tell me how He is going to work it out.

But God is not going to tell me everything at once. He will tell me enough for today, and I must take care of today. The most important matter before me is not how life will work out. The most important matter is my relationship with God. "The Lord knows you have need of these things."

May God help me to trust Him first, seek Him first, and let Him tell me where I can follow Him. It's not my plans that matter. It's His.

A Hard Expensive Lesson

2011-04-10T18:21:00.000-07:00

Our epic adventure with the "new people" is over. After an extensive investigation, we learned the recent "converts" had more to be concerned about than "baggage." They are professional thieves.

People of this kind make a living off the generosity of churches. We had taken them in with the intent of truly helping them and seeing their lives turned around. For their part, they intended to take the church for every penny they could get, and frankly, they succeeded fairly well. The combined total in cash, food and merchandise exceeded $1000.00 within one month.

The scam operates the same all over. A couple arrives in town and either shows up at church or calls. Either way, a plea is made for money for a variety of excuses: The car broke down. We're trying to get home to see our dying mother/father/sister/brother. We are out of gas. We are out of food. We need a motel room. We had a fire. etc., etc.

If the couple is successful, they may convince enough churches to have a different church making contributions each week. Once the couple is found out, they simply move to another town and start over.

In the case of the particular couple in our church, they simply became too greedy too quickly and that raised enough suspicion to begin an investigation. Greed is always their undoing. They never know when enough is enough.

This has been a touch and expensive experience for our church, but we simply have to learn when to say "no." This is a fair warning to all churches. Be very careful about how you help people. Have a plan in place for those times when people come calling for a handout. Trust me, they will. Have a plan and follow it faithfully. Don't jeopardize your church by unwise sympathy and careless procedures. Don't give money to strangers no matter how real they may seem to be. Confine your help to your own people, those who belong to your church those who faithfully attend, and those you know personally. In the long run, you'll be glad you did.

Salvation is Messy, Part Deux

2011-02-28T16:46:00.000-08:00

I'm exhausted. I've been dragged from pillar to post while trying to help some new converts in our church. Life would have been lots easier if they had been customized into the Christian subculture already. Nope, these people are as green as they come - no church background whatever.

And baggage? Can you say "fly the friendly skies?"Every day is a new revelation, a continual soap opera of recurring problems from a seedy past. Earlier this month, I wrote "Salvation is messy," and the Lord added His exclamation point.

The intriguing and unknown factor is when "enough" is going to be enough. That is, when are these people going to be capable of standing on their own feet without the pastor (or another church member) coming to rescue them from yet another unforeseen predicament? The answer may only be known in hindsight. Like the experience of rearing our own children, we may not come to an exact point where we can say our job is done - ever.

But as a government official reminded me just a week ago, this experience, and the responsibility that comes with it, is all part of the job. When we ask the Lord for new people in church and souls being saved, He is under no obligation to provide them all shiny and new. New converts are new on the inside but the exterior can remain quite rough.

So what's the preacher to do in cases like this? Do a lot of praying, and then do the best you can. Remember the Lord is keeping watch, and your labor is not in vain.

It only looks that way.

Salvation is Messy

2011-02-13T18:15:00.001-08:00

Two people were saved today following our services. I say that with the understanding that only God really knows their hearts and I am making a statement by faith. Their professions seemed genuine enough and quite emphatic. We'll see. After thirty-five years in the ministry, I've been fooled more often than not. There's not a preacher under the sun that doesn't want every profession of faith in Christ to bear real and lasting fruit. I've come to the point that I almost hold my breath to see what will be the outcome of each profession.

But there is another element with these people in particular. They come will baggage. Tons of it. I find myself always having to undo some emergency, some unforeseen problem their past has dumped on us.

Why is it we always seem to find the really messy sinners? Why can't we convert all the nice "clean" sinners? Why do people always seem to come with baggage? The truth is, we all come with baggage. No one is really clean.

Salvation is messy. Sometimes it's more messy than usual because that's the kind of public we are dealing with these days. We who inhabit the pulpit have to be prepared and committed to getting our hands dirty with the kind of people who need salvation most - the profoundly lost.

Sure, it's a messy proposition. But then again, only the profoundly lost are likely to become the profoundly saved. And when you get right down to it, it is the really bad cases who are our greatest trophies of grace, the ones we really wouldn't regret if we could because they represent our greatest victories.

We really don't need "neat" conversions. We need God's people who are willing to get a little messy. Winning the lost is hard work. Changing lives and habits from a sordid past to a life of grace requires hefty amounts of time, patience and money. And the only way to do it is to jump in.

It's time to get our hands a little dirty.

America Turns

2011-01-29T19:45:00.000-08:00

I've read tonight about a children's play performed in Missoula, Montana in which the children sang about beheading Sarah Palin, and noting "no one would miss her."
There are turning points in a nation: historical moments when you know life can never go back to being the same. The assassination of Abraham Lincoln was such a moment. So too was Pearl Harbor and the dropping of the atomic bomb. Without question, so was the attack on the World Trade Center. Events of this kind are so large they cannot be ignored. Everyone agrees that life changed on those days.
But other events are not so obvious. It's hard to miss something the size of the atomic bomb, but other events are quite small - and yet their effect is every bit as large.
I suppose hardly anyone will notice a children's play in Montana. I hear Missoula is a lovely place and the mountains are breathtaking. But Missoula is so remote, it could go on forever and most of America would never notice. That's unfortunate because America needs to notice.
The play I read about, thanks to a post from Greta Van Susteren, is something we all should take note of. America has taken another turn and it's not for the better.
In the long and not terribly proud history of American politics, there are lots of examples of politicians saying and doing all sorts of sordid things about their opponents. But I can't recall any time when American children were taught and cheered to sing about beheading a former governor. The real problem is that the people doing the teaching and singing are not politicians who are used to saying and doing just about anything during a campaign and then forgetting all about it the day after. This is the general public.
When the general public begins to teach its children to kill Christians, we have turned a new corner. And let's not fool ourselves. The most irritating thing about Sarah Palin to her enemies is not that she is a Republican, or that she is a conservative. She is a Christian.
That's why this new low in America's relentless march toward the depths of depravity is so significant. The public's attitude toward one prominent Christian is sure to work its way toward the rest of us. "The servant is not greater than his Master." The principle still holds.
Can anyone doubt that we are rapidly coming to the end of life as we know it? Can anyone doubt that the Lord's appearing is right around the bend?

Reflections...

2010-12-31T18:26:00.000-08:00

As I sit here on the verge of another year, I cannot help but think of all those we've left behind. At least a couple of times this season, I've had opportunity to remember the notables from American life and culture who passed away in 2010. The thing that really struck was how familiar their faces were to me. They were not players from some another era. They were people I grew up with, people whose names and faces I've known all my life.
And now they are gone.
I've lost a lifetime this past year.
It's times like this that really hit home; times that make a person stop cheering with the clock moves past midnight, and begin to wonder who we will lose in the coming year.
Although none of us wants to admit it - we're too busy celebrating - the thing New Year's really demonstrates is our own mortality. One more new year. One less new year we will live to see.
Yet at the same time, it's also one more year nearer heaven, one more year nearer Christ, one more year nearer His kingdom.
The souls who've gone before us, who surround the rainbow throne of God's immaculate glory, do not have calenders as do we, but they do have events. And the next big one for them, the thing they have to anticipate is the rapture and all that follows. The passing years here mean something altogether different to them than to us. They know life doesn't have to end the way it does here.
Some day there will be no more looking back. It can't come quick enough.

Am I Glad That's Over!

2010-12-30T19:53:00.000-08:00

What a year. I am exhausted just thinking about it. 2010 began with our church in some of the lowest lows we've ever known. We finished the year in the best condition yet. Who'da thunk it?
Apparently, God did.
It's not just that the Lord provided for our heavily damaged building and literally saved our church from complete physical destruction. He provided people. We did something beyond all human thought, possibility or comprehension.
We grew. We grew under the worst circumstances. We grew more than we've ever grown in a year before this year.
What caused all this? Quite frankly, I think it is because in the midst of all our troubles we revisited how we were praying, and we learned to pray much more and much better than we have before. The right prayer was not an issue of technique, but of asking the right thing in the right way, and being certain that we were living right all along. And we learned to ask what God wanted us to ask. We prayed with new boldness, new confidence, and we stopped looking at all the rabble around us. That's not much of a secret, but God heard our effectual, fervent prayer and He answered over and over and over again.
It was the worst of years, it was the best of years, and God brought us through. Unforgettable.

On Review ...

2010-12-30T19:36:00.000-08:00

When I crossed the barrier from middle age to the Big 6-0 and Semi Senior Status, I couldn't help but begin wondering if maybe, just maybe I was beginning to approach retirement age. For a few fleeting moments my wife and I began to consider what retirement would look like. But a funny thing happened on the way to the rest home. We ran across the personification of the energizer bunny: a missionary who is ready for anything but quitting. Never mind that he's up into his eighties.
When this dear brother began to preach at our church, he detailed how the mission board had "retired" him sixteen years ago. That's sixteen years of continual travel, Bible teaching, preaching and assorted other items of ministry past his "retirement" (a dirty word).
Suddenly, I feel like a teenager.
The ministry is that odd occupation where one never really becomes good at it until his hair is white enough, or so it seems. Yes, I know Spurgeon was about eighteen when he began preaching at New Park Street Chapel, and yes, he was a roaring success from the beginning. But even Spurgeon confessed to still learning how to preach well up into the years of his ministry. And he died before age sixty. Maybe Spurgeon was just ahead of his time.
All I know is that notions of retirement have died. Not that I know how long I'm going to pastor our present church. I really don't know how it's going to work out, or how long the work will take. I would like to bring the church to clear stability and let someone else take it forward.
But then, what would I do? All I can say is that I'm definitely going to do something. Preachers have to preach, and this preacher is not about to quit just when I'm beginning to get the hang of it.
After all, I'm only sixty, and "retirement" is a dirty word.

A Death in the Family

2010-12-05T20:42:00.000-08:00

When our dog died last week, I experienced all the feelings of losing a member of the family - because in a very real sense, that is exactly what it was. I still can hardly believe the dog is gone. I find myself yet hearing the tinkle of her collar and looking for her automatically when I come down stairs in the morning. I buried Champ in her collar, wrapped in the pad where she lay when she died. She was the best. I will never own another dog the rest of my life.
Saying goodbye to the family dog after twelve years could not help but generate thoughts about her and bring back questions I've heard from other people who've lost pets. Now, the questions are personal and very close to home. Will we ever see our dog again? Do all dogs go to heaven? I used to answer those questions in the negative and usually I was quite certain. I have a reason now to be a bit more careful and reflective. Maybe I was wrong.
The Bible is very silent about the destiny of animal life in eternity, which, if you think about it, is rather fascinating in itself. I'm sure people in the Bible had pets and that people in the ancient world domesticated animals. I'm sure they had all the same questions when their pets died. So what's the answer?
Frankly, I don't know and I won't know until I get to heaven. The only near answer I have is the one supplied from Romans 8:21: "... the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God." If creation itself is redeemed by the death of Christ, perhaps animals go to heaven when they die. There certainly will be room enough. Any place in eternity that can hold more people than we could number can also hold more animals than we could number.
But I don't know. I can't know. I would like to see Champ again. Being reunited, being able to see her bound up to me again with that perpetual smile would be one of the sincerest delights in the sheer joy I will have of being reunited with all my loved ones. I miss them all, and I look forward to seeing them all again.
Why not the dog too?

The Importance of Sticking With It

2010-11-16T05:49:00.000-08:00

A funny thing happened to our church people this past Sunday. They showed up. All of them. At the same time. There was no special event Well, we did have a carry-in dinner, and food does have a way of bringing out even the most obstinate, backslidden Baptist. But aside from food, there were no other enticements. Things like that don't happen to often in the average church of any denomination.
When I looked out upon the congregation the two thoughts immediately occurred to me: first, that we actually have a decent number of people who attend our church. I can't recall the last time I had an opportunity to see all of them at once, so I was impressed with this revelation. Second, I was reminded of the importance of not quitting.
All churches go through slow periods and droughts. Things happen that slow down church life. People become ill, people die, people move, people fall into sin and away from the Lord. All these problems converge to discourage members and pastors alike. I can testify to the fact. Last December 12th, our church roof collapsed and much of our enthusiasm with it. We were stuck in the adult classroom for our church services while the insurance claims adjuster and various contractors sparred, estimated and debated. There was a time when we just didn't know if the building - indeed the whole ministry - could be saved.
But as the saying goes, what a difference a year makes. More to the point, what a difference the Lord makes. We had the largest regular service attendance yet this past Sunday with only one new visitor; someone who, oddly enough, came in part because he has been tracking us through this blog. If he is reading this post, this is my opportunity to tell him how much I appreciate him both as a person and for his returning to church. Christmas came early for me when he walked in.
All of this goes to prove a couple of points. For one, you never can tell what God will use to bring someone to church or to Himself. You just never know. And for another, the Scripture is proven again that in due season we will reap if we just hang in there. Don't quit. At some point, all the work will come together. Somewhere down the road, the people show up and we get to discover that all the effort was not wasted.
So here is some encouragement to anyone reading this who is ready to throw in the towel. Don't. Just hang in there because your Sunday is coming too.

Golden Buckeyes

2010-10-26T17:22:00.000-07:00

In Ohio, "Golden Buckeyes" are not graduates of Ohio State University. For that matter, neither are they national champions - unfortunately.
"Golden Buckeyes" are Ohio's "senior citizens." Allegedly. I think the pivotal age for golden-ation is sixty. I say that because I've been informed already that I am about to receive my official "Golden Buckeye" card, the surest indication that the aging process has reached terminal velocity; and that either my home-going or the Rapture is the next major event on my calendar.
Either way, I'm in a peculiar situation. On the one hand, I could have lived a long time happily without receiving a Golden Buckeye card. Come to think of it, I have. And don't get me wrong. I don't have any problem with going to heaven and being with the Lord. It's just that I don't feel the need to hurry along the process any more than absolutely necessary. I still have lots of preaching left in me and plenty of work left to do around the church. I still have grandchildren to watch growing up, and more grandchildren to anticipate. We still have a son left to marry off, and one of my goals in life is to live long enough to reclaim the basement. My wife and I still have a world full of fun stuff to do that we've not yet gotten around to while raising our kids. In other words, I'm too young to be old.
On the other hand, there are some things about receiving the Golden Buckeye card that are, well, cool. In the first place, there are the discounts. Lots of things, especially restaurants, cost less in Ohio with the ol' Buckeye card. Certain tickets to various events cost less. Given that life isn't growing any less expensive, I confess I enjoy getting those discounts. I enjoy them enough that when I am not offered a "senior discount," I feel rather disrespected. Something like I did in high school when the term "Senior" meant rank and superiority. Like when someone would place a sign on a car that read "Contents: 1 Senior or 53 Freshmen." That kind of superiority.
So when I march into the Land of the Golden Arches, I am expecting the lines to part like Moses at the Red Sea the moment I wave my Golden Buckeye card. Then, with the honor accorded someone of my considerable age and accomplishments, I approach the counter while the cashier does obeisance and humbly declares, "Your discount, Sir!"
As you can see, each of these options is attractive, and I'm having difficulty deciding which I like best. You know what my problem is? I'm trying to find a way to be distinguished without being extinguished.

Another Year, Another Decade

2010-10-11T18:38:00.000-07:00

Time for the annual insult. In just a few weeks I will hit the big 6-0. Every year about this time, I receive a free membership offer from AARP - the American Association of Retired Persons. The offers began as soon as I turned almost fifty.
There are lots of reasons for me to take membership in AARP as a personal affront. In the first place, I'm not retired. The way our current president is running (or ruining) the country, I may never be able to retire. So the way I see it, I am permanently disqualified from membership in anything that smacks of retirement. Second, AARP is decidedly liberal and I do not care to be associated with a liberal organization. Not content to be merely liberal, AARP has supported such outrageous radicals as Harry Belafonte, whose rants against our nation and conservative values are legendary. Further, AARP has notoriously supported "Obamacare" in spite of the fact that it seriously threatens the health and welfare of nearly every senior citizen in the country in one way or another. Do I really want to support an organization that favors trillion-dollar national debt? That's why this blog has a link to the American Seniors Association - an alternative to AARP. Check it out, especially if you know someone who needs retirement help.
But perhaps the best reason not to belong to anything "Retired" or "old" is that I'm just hitting my stride. My wife and I are not quite ready to take that ride to the rest home. Aside from the wife's hip replacement, our health is fairly good. We may be older, but we feel the same as we did thirty years ago. The church is growing, I have an growing audience for my writing, and the grandkids are only four hours away. Life is better than golden, it's good.
Next month I will join our church young people in an all-night event, and once again outlast the young ones, just to prove I can. Hey, I may even take them on in laser tag, and I can do something about that better than they can. I can shoot and hit a moving target. A lot. So put the rocker back in mothballs boys. The old man still has life.

The Language of Love...?

2010-09-30T18:21:00.000-07:00

My wife speaks "pronoun." For the uninitiated and unmarried, speaking pronoun is the peculiar ability, attained by wives immediately upon the last "I do," to carry on entire conversations, alone or in the company of other wives, without specifying the identity of any person of thing they are talking about. Everything comes in pronouns. By some clairvoyant means, the other wives present seem to inherently understand the subject of the conversation without having to ask. They are equally adept at picking up and continuing the conversation in the same language. They all speak "pronoun."
Naturally, husbands are genetically indisposed to this ability. The average husband sits by wondrously clueless as his beloved carries on with numerous "he's," "she,s" and "its" to the utter bewilderment of the English language.
My wife's favorite ploy is to step into the middle of a thought she has been keeping to herself until she erupts with a statement, like "Did you see or talk to them today?"
This leaves me to wonder whom among the nine hundred, sixty-four people I've met today that I've chosen to both see and talk to.
"Uh, sure," I answer, not wanting my wife to think I've been neglectful of meeting and speaking to at least someone; and hoping for some hint or clue to know who she is talking about.
No luck. "Well, it's about time, " she answers, "You haven't talked to them in the last two days, and I saw her out in the yard yesterday."
Not only am I clueless, I am also guilty. And I don't even know who the victim is.
But this is only the beginning. My wife has mastered the art of speaking pronoun while switching subjects from one conversation to another, and almost in mid sentence. As a result, "he" and "she" may refer alternately to one of two conversations either coming or going. About the time I have "their" identity figured out, my wife will triumphantly announce, "Oh, I'm not talking about them. I've changed subjects."
Thanks for the warning.
The oddest thing about all this is that after more than thirty-four years of marriage, I find myself beginning to make sense of what my wife is saying. Scary. I think it has something to do with being familiar with our habits, interests and most common subjects for discussion.
This can produce some truly odd conversations for those who care to eavesdrop. For example, suppose the phone rings and I answer. The conversation goes something like this:
"It's her again."
"Have you seen her in the past two days? Oh, and is he up yet?"
"Yep. Talked to her this morning. He was on the loose again. And yes, he's up but he's still in the basement."
The forgoing mythical conversation is about three people in two entirely different situations. I promise, if I showed my wife the dialog, she would know who I am talking about.
What does all this mean? That two people who spend their lives together can develop a kind of unwritten, unspecified communication. They are so close, they do not need a lot of detail - like names and places - to make sense with one another. They can speak in "pronoun" and still understand one another. It comes with long marriages. It comes with intimacy. It's a sure sign they know how to communicate.

Disconnected

2010-09-21T18:56:00.000-07:00

As my church and most of my friends know, I've been employed in a part time job for the past year as a "support staff" worker for a funeral home. I gave up that job yesterday. The combination of trying to keep up with my church duties plus caring for my family finally proved to be too much. I can't do everything. Or as I put it to one of my former fellow employees, "I can do everything poorly."
I was not quite prepared for the hasty exit I was given. No sooner had I submitted my resignation, than the general manager immediately sent through the paperwork for my release. "Well," said the surprised supervisor, "I guess you're through!"
The manager probably did me a favor whether she meant to or not. The fact is, I recognize that my church and my family need my attention much more than a part-time job does. And if the church cannot continue to grow, the part-time job is meaningless anyway.
Pastors of small churches need moments like this. When attendance is down and offerings are low, looking for a quick solution is an easy temptation to give in to. Not that I was looking for a quick answer. I had prayed much before finding and accepting the job. Still, my first and only calling is to be a pastor and preach the gospel. The way to succeed at that is not by means of working another job. I need to pay attention to the real job - the one God gave me first.
So now I'm officially disconnected from the funeral home and better off for it. There will be more time for study, for prayer, for writing, for visiting and for being a pastor. The more attention I pay to this job, the less I will need any other. What could be better than that?

"Just One More Thing"

2010-09-01T20:11:00.000-07:00

Those who are following this blog know my wife is currently recovering from serious surgery. Everyone will be pleased to know my wife is making splendid progress at whipping me into shape even as she makes her way through therapy. I am becoming a first rate nurse. Not the "Nurse Cratchet" variety, mind you. More like the male "gopher" of the species, as in "Honey, could you get -?"
My wife's preferred method for husband training has evolved into a simple request that follows the same pattern with earnest repetition. It's a phrase she has learned to attach to every task and it works with amazing proficiency. Each time I return from fetching or finding, she responds with a smile and "Just one more thing ..."
And there is always "just one more thing." Nothing major, of course, and that is why she has no hesitation to add it.
Being an average guy, I tend to major on efficiency especially when climbing our staircase for yet one more item. The stairs are long - fifteen steps - and steep, much too steep for Mrs. B to try them after only two weeks out of surgery. I call it the "Staircase of Doom," and the nurse quickly killed any notion of my wife climbing it.
That means I have to make the trip, and I'm determined to climb the steps only as often as necessary. I try to assemble of list of things to pick up and bring them all at one time. Trouble is, while I've gone to the mountain, my wife is still thinking. So as soon as I return with an armload, believing the job is done, she says, "Just one more thing."
She's consistent. There will always be at least "one more thing" for everything I do. Now I know why nurses wear those clubby looking athletic shoes on the job. The shoes are good for racing after "just one more thing."
Is there an up side to this? Yes. I'm getting good exercise while running upstairs. I hope to lose a few pounds until my wife fully recovers. I should do well as long as I don't have to go for ice cream too often.

The Fine Print in Marriage

2010-08-22T16:57:00.000-07:00

"In sickness and in health..." Those are the words tucked away neatly somewhere in the middle of familiar wedding vows. They are what we might call the "fine print"; the part that does not draw much attention; the part few people notice until some time later in life.
Just such a time recently came to pass under our roof and the roof of another preacher's family for whom we've been praying. In our case, my wife underwent surgery and I've had any resemblance to a normal life put on hold while I nurse her back to health. As those of you who've been through such a time as this can attest, I've done things for my wife that defy description - at least nothing I care to describe in this blog. It is, after all, a family-friendly blog. After the upteenth episode of emptying (I shall delicately call) "the bucket," my wife declared I had gone "beyond the call of duty."
Wrong. It was exactly the call of duty. It's in the fine print. I've done much more than empty "the bucket," but I'm not going there, and no, you don't want to know. It's the fine print.
The other preacher and his wife read the fine print too. In her case, it meant watching the life slowly ebb from her husband until he went into the presence of the Lord. No one ever marries for the fine print. But it's the fine print that gets to you.
In many respects, those vows in the middle - the fine print - may be the most important of all. Those who have lived through their vows with a loved one to the end know more than anyone else that love is spelled out in the fine print. It's the point where true love shines forth; where love is not displayed in the finery of the ceremony, but shines forth in its deepest beauty.
After all, the fine print is where we live.

Life Is Just Too Busy

2010-08-12T17:57:00.000-07:00

Some readers have probably noticed that posts to this blog have slowed noticeably in the last month. This has been the case for two reasons. First, our modem decided to expire. We went without internet for several days except for those few occasions when I could sneak off to a Tim Horton's restaurant to use their free "wi-fi." Second, life has been flat too busy.
For a preacher with a small congregation, I am on on the go an awfully lot of the time. Like many preachers in small churches, I too am bi-vocational. That's a fancy way of saying I work two full-time jobs with part-time pay and none of the benefits. I work seven days a week. Yes, I know I'm overdoing it, but what other option is there? It's not like I could hand off some work to the associate pastor. There ain't none. I work Monday through Sunday at the church except for those days -or evenings - when I am called to work at my second job. Since I could be called on to work on almost any day of the week, I begin my church work on Mondays so as to work ahead. That way, if I am called in to work later in the week, I'm not caught short for Sunday.
Of course, working all seven days leaves me little time for reading, writing or family. I could take time off, but in most cases that means taking time away from a small church that very much needs to grow. And if I take time from the other job, our family is short of the income we need just to make ends meet. So here I sit, typing away during "a brief lull in the action," as the saying goes.
My lot as a bi-vocational pastor is terrifically common. If you happen to have a bi-vocational pastor, or know one, thank him for his double life. He will probably laugh and tell you he has everything he needs except sleep. Or he may say he will rest when he goes home to be with the Lord. Tell him you understand, but he doesn't have to be in such a hurry to go. He may still laugh, but he will appreciate your thoughtfulness.

"Boogety, Boogety, Let's Go Racing"

2010-07-21T19:25:00.000-07:00

Remember when this preacher was trying to visualize a race car with our church's name emblazoned on the side? Remember when I described the idea as surreal? Well sir, it's real.
Last week was Wayne's birthday. Wayne, you may recall, is a new attender at our church who just happens to race "pro 4" trucks similar to those seen in the Nascar Craftsman Series. It was Wayne who first approached the idea of "Bible Baptist Fellowship" advertised on his truck as he whizzed around Shadybowl Speedway.
Anyway, last weekend our church gathered for our first official "church night at the track" to celebrate Wayne's birthday and cheer him on. As things sometimes work out in racing, the evening did not go as planned. A carburetor problem kept him from racing. No one was more disappointed than Wayne.
"I wanted to surprise you," he said, and then revealed what he had been planning all along. Unknown to me, Wayne had the name of our church stenciled on the back quarter panels of his racing truck. And on the rear gate, the words stood out, "www.underthepreachersroof.blogspot.com." Amazing.
How many churches do you know with their own racing team? How many churches care to try?
One of our church families discussed the significance of the evening as they drove home. "Wayne may not fully understand the significance of tonight," one member said, "But now he knows he has a church that cares for him and will be there to support him, even if he doesn't drive."
Exactly. And that's the way we hope to reach Wayne, his family and all the other families like his with the gospel. Someone has to care. Someone has to try. Someone has to go after a part of the culture no one else is reaching through a local church. That's what it's all about. "So reach up there, pull that belt tight one more time, and let's go racing, boys."

What Do We Do When the Roof Changes?

2010-07-12T20:47:00.000-07:00

Sooner than we ever imagined, some day, our roof is going to change. Retirement will set in and I will no longer be the pastor. Preacher, yes - pastor, no. Retirement may also mean a change in housing. The preacher's roof will change literally. We may be downsizing to a property more in line with what age and physical abilities will allow us to maintain. As the baby boomer generation continues to age, I wouldn't be surprised to see a huge expansion in condominium construction. Condos appear to be the house of choice for the future.
Retirement also means changing churches. I'm not the first preacher to imagine that somehow I could retire quietly to the back row of my church and let some young kid take over "my" church, but honestly, I hope I have better sense. I hope I am wise and considerate enough of the next pastor to get out of his way - far out of his way - and let him do his job without fear that I'm looking over his shoulder. I've had that experience and I don't intend to inflict it or myself on someone else. I can count on two fingers the total number of pastors I know who have successfully remained with their churches in retirement.
Yes, the next man will make mistakes, just as we all have. Yes, he will make changes. He must. He is not the same person as the pastor he follows. Yes, he will take the church in a different direction. But as long as the new direction is still biblically sound, that's his business, not mine. There is only one thing I could hope for as I anticipate retirement some day - that my church lasts longer than I do. After that, my job is done.

Time For a Little Reflection

2010-06-15T21:13:00.000-07:00

This past week, my wife and I marked a couple of significant anniversaries. We celebrated our thirty-fourth wedding anniversary with a romantic riverboat dinner cruise on the Ohio River. Today, I attended a recognition breakfast as Belinda received her certificate for five years with her employer. Occasions such as these cannot help but cause me to reflect on the life God has given us together.
Life under the preacher's roof has been anything but boring. All too often we seemed to be on the "outs" - out of a job, out of a home and out of money. But the one thing we've never been is out of love. My wife's evaluation is that we've had a good life together, and if she is satisfied with that, I am not about to disagree.
Ever so often, I meet and counsel with people who are upset, even angry with the life and circumstances God has given them. They resent the life they've had. They are angry with God and sometimes angry with me because I remind them of God just by being a preacher. When I begin to analyze their complaints, I find frequently they have had a much easier life than we have led. Certainly, they have had more material blessings than we have enjoyed.
This is not to complain on our part. Quite the opposite. We have not had much materially, but the things we have had are the things money can't buy. I've had the best wife I could have every had under any circumstances. We have reared three kids who turned out to be fine adults. They are all in church and serving the Lord. We have never had very large churches, but we've lived long enough to see that most of our ministries were successful. The church we are in now is small and still in its infancy, but we could not ask for better people.
If I lost everything tomorrow, I would still have to say it's been a good life, a successful life and a satisfying life. No one should ever need more than that.

The Trouble With Helping People

2010-06-03T07:49:00.000-07:00

Have you ever noticed that sometimes people just don't know when they're being helped? We have some people in our church who are badly in need of employment, as is the common denominator in a lot of churches these days. Naturally, people have turned to the pastor for whatever help, recommendations or connections I could offer. Of course, I am glad to do whatever I can.
But there is one situation that is frustrating because my attempts to help seem to be getting no where. Several people in church have located numerous job offers for one particular brother, but his every effort to apply appear to be fruitless. His computer always malfunctions with every application. Significantly, none of the available jobs are exactly what the man has in mind for a career. Could that be a factor in his job-hunting difficulty? I don't know. He is sincere, and seems to be depending on the Lord for leading him to a job. Still, none of the jobs around match with what this brother senses as his "calling."
He reminds me of a story my daughter told me recently:
A man was stranded in his home in the midst of a flood. Eventually, a rescue boat arrived, and the captain called out, "Get on the boat and we will take you to safety!"
"No, thanks," the man replied, "God will take care of me."
A second boat arrived some time later with the same offer of help, and the man replied again: "No thanks, the Lord will take care of me."
The flood grew worse. The man went from the first floor to the second. Finally, he went to the roof. A helicopter arrived on the scene.
"Climb on the ladder," the pilot called, "and I will take you to safety."
"No thanks," the man replied again, "The Lord will take care of me."
After the helicopter left, the house was swamped and the man drowned. When he arrived at heaven's door, he said to the Lord, "I don't understand. I thought you would take care of me."
The Lord replied, "I sent you two boats and a helicopter. What more did you want?"

Racing Part II

2010-05-21T18:36:00.000-07:00

Apparently I struck a nerve. I've had more positive response to my last post than anything else I've written in this blog. Most pastors were enthusiastic, even offering their own ideas. One reply to this column suggested "You could have tract night at the track." Almost everyone agreed that we could reach a part of our culture that most churches miss entirely, and that we should "go for it."
But the best response of all came from the guy who attends our church - the one who actually drives the race car. He approached me a few days ago after the morning service to say, "I want to order ten caps." Those would be the caps with the "cross" logo and emblazoned with "Bible Baptist Fellowship Racing."
"Ten caps?" I asked, "What do you want with ten?" I checked and he had only one head.
"I want to hand them out at the race track," he said.
Get this. Here is a new attender to our church, a race car driver, and as far as I know, an unsaved man who is willing to advertise our church at his own expense. At the race track, no less. At eleven dollars a piece, he intends to spend more money on "racing" caps for our church than some people give to missions in a year. As the saying goes, "It doesn't get any better than this."
Actually, it could. I am praying the man receives Christ as his Savior. Our favorite driver needs to realize that the race he really needs to win is the race of life. Perhaps while the man is passing out the hats, he will get the message. Let's all pray that he does.

"Bible Baptist Fellowship Racing"

2010-05-03T19:27:00.000-07:00

This has to go down in the category of being all things to all people. One of our new church attenders drives race cars as a hobby - "pro 4's" to be exact. ("Pro 4" is a category of modified small stock cars.) A few Sundays ago, Wayne mused with me about the idea of our church actually placing either an advertisement or a sponsor's decal on his car. We tried to imagine a car emblazoned with the words "Bible Baptist Fellowship" whizzing around the oval track at Shady Bowl Speedway. "Odd" doesn't begin to describe the image that comes to mind, not that many of our men are too disturbed at the thought. We have some serious racing fans in our midst. (Our church fellowships with the G. A. R. B. C. In our case, the letters could just as well stand for "Grand Army of Redneck Baptists.")
Wayne has gone so far as to bring race schedules to church so we will know when he is driving. He followed that by telling his fellow drivers that his own cheering section was coming to support him at the races.
"You have to go this Saturday, " my wife told me, "He's expecting you."
Does this qualify as visitation?
Our church already has t-shirts and hats that read "Bible Baptist Fellowship, Brookville, Ohio." How would it look, I wondered, if we modified our embroidered hats to read "Bible Baptist Fellowship Racing?" Wierd, funny and maybe -just maybe - effective. I have to admit the idea is so funny and so different that the guys in our church will probably like it. Besides, if Wayne has his own fan club all decked out in our gear, he will be as committed to us as we are to him.
The things I do to get people into church.

Kids' Names and a Cat Named "Freezer Burn"

2010-04-22T19:34:00.000-07:00

"Did I ever tell you about my cat, "Freezer Burn?' my church member asked as he entered my office.
"You have a cat named 'Freezer Burn?' " I tried to ask without sounding as ridiculous as the question obviously sounded.
"We lost the cat one day," the proud owner beamed. "We couldn't find him at all until we went into the garage and heard this faint "meow" coming from the refrigerator. When we opened the freezer door, there he sat, nearly frozen. His hair was stiff and he had this odd streak up his back. So when I took him to the vet, and the vet asked 'What's the cat's name?' I said 'Freezer Burn.' And the name stuck."
This particular church member has a knack for hanging strange names on people and things, so don't let him near your children.
Speaking of children, my wife and I worked hard to give our offspring absolutely normal names. This came as a result of my having to live with a name no one could pronounce or spell in spite of the fact that it is all of one syllable. (After a lifetime of "Lard," "Lord," "Leared" and "Lurid," I threatened to disown our daughter is she named any of her children after me. She did anyway, and the middle child shares my middle name.)
So when our one son came along, I opted for a safe and manly name: Andrew, which means "manly" and that was about as manly as I could get. Andrew is one of my favorite disciples because you always find him talking to people about the Lord and bringing them to Jesus.
Andrew it was until he came home one day with his name spelled D-r-u. I could have lived with "Drew"as a shortened form of "Andrew," but no, "It's D-r-u" he said. One of his friends had spelled it that way. One of his friends who couldn't spell.
What possesses children at any age to mangle a perfectly good name? Andrew (It's still "Andrew" under our roof) has a friend named Steven, another good biblical name. So naturally he calls himself "Spaz" to the utter consternation of his father.
Sure, there are people in the world with names like "Moon Unit" for example. But the parents are responsible for that. And there was a baby I heard about who was named something that sounded like "Pahja May" but is spelled P-a-j-a-m-a. ("From the Sears Roebuck Catalog" said the mother.)
So if you're one of those preacher's kids who is tired of your Bible name and yearning for a change, you might think again. You could have ended up like "Freezer Burn." Or I could just send over my church member to make suggestions. He also has a dog named Happy Killer.

Why Can't I Believe Now?

2010-04-11T19:56:00.000-07:00

By the time I entered seminary I was tired of being alone, but there didn't seem to be any hope of change. Four hundred miles from home and away from almost everyone I knew, what chance was there that I was going to meet the girl of my dreams? One day when I was feeling especially lonely, the thought came to mind that if I didn't know who or where my future wife was, God certainly knew. So I decided right there to pray for her, that God in His providence would take care of her and some day guide her to me in His own time. The result of my prayer was a greater sense of peace and confidence that God would meet my need. Little did I realize that I was standing literally over my wife while I was praying. She lived in the apartment beneath me. We still laugh about the way God was bringing us so close to one another. We celebrate our thirty-fourth anniversary this year.
Looking back on that experience, I'm struck by how much God enabled me to rely on Him in faith. I had complete confidence that I would be married some day and that God was certain to bring my lovely wife into my life. No question about it. Now, however, I am faced with a new challenge, and I am a bit mystified at myself.
These days, my need is not for a wife but for growth in our fledgling church plant. We have a solid core, but we need serious growth in order for our new church to survive and thrive. We pray for growth and work toward that goal constantly. But as I pray and listen to myself, I've noticed something and it troubles me. I pray, but I don't seem to believe as easily that God will provide new church members as much as He could provide a wife.
What's the problem? If I could believe that God would send me a wife, why can't I believe now?
The answer is a lesson about unbelief. When I prayed about my future wife, I was willing to accept God's Word and His promises so completely that I would not allow myself to entertain doubt. There was never a "What if this doesn't work?" in my mind. Why? Because I knew two things: 1. That the situation was totally out of my control, and 2. that I had done all I could do about it. But when I prayed about our church the circumstances were quite different. As pastor, I still felt like there was something I could do, or rather that I had not done, so that I was not really trusting in God.
I've had to come back to the basics and realize afresh that our church is still God's work, not mine, and He is perfectly capable of taking care of it. The real issue is not His ability -much less His faithfulness - but my obedience and complete reliance on Him. If the church is His, He knows where the members are, now and in the future. If I have been completely obedient to Him, I have no reason to doubt that He will hear and answer our prayer and bless His church. I should be able to trust Him to take care of those people where ever they are, and to guide them to us in His own time. Someday I will learn about our church what I learned about meeting my wife: that I did all that worrying for nothing. When I found it so hard to believe, God was still faithful.

Life Goes On, Regardless

2010-03-29T16:12:00.000-07:00

This past week, I learned that one of our young adults in church is about to become engaged. His sister is already engaged and preparing for her wedding later this summer. Two young people from one family preparing for marriage at the same time. I said I was thrilled for them and I am. Sort of.
I can't help feeling a bit wistful as I watch two outstanding young people prepare to move on with their lives. Sure, it's exciting and I am happy to know they've met the right people for their lives. No doubt, God answered prayer and that's a wonderful thing. But I also know that quality people are hard to replace - really, really hard - and these two are going to be missed profoundly.
As happy as I am to see them moving on, I can't help feeling sad that they are indeed moving on. But that's life, and life is always moving. No matter what we do, we can't keep things the way they are. Life is going to move on regardless of how much we try to hold it in place. Kids grow up, get married and move on. Church members come and go. People age. Grand kids have the audacity to arrive and then grow up before you know it. (I've discovered to my chagrin that our grandchildren have found a way to grow up faster than our own kids.)
The simple, stark truth that life is going to go on means there is no such thing as reaching a point where we can just "put it on cruise,"certainly not in church. The surest way to kill a church is to do nothing. It will grow up, grow old, die and disappear all on its own. We who inhabit the pulpit on Sunday morning do not have the luxury of waiting until tomorrow to build the church. The problem is not, as some people think, that tomorrow never comes. The truth is that tomorrow comes too often, too soon and too quickly.
I do not want to reach the end of my ministry and wish I had my tomorrows back.

Faith and Obamacare

2010-03-22T19:23:00.000-07:00

After the U. S. House of Representatives passed the President's health care bill Sunday night, my wife and I had a serious conversation about our future. Certain facts were clear and indisputable. We are growing older and approaching retirement age. Her employment is our only source of health insurance. My pastor's salary is not enough to pay for the health insurance required by the government under the new health bill. Given those circumstances, my wife observed, "I won't be able to retire." She's right. If she retires, we won't have insurance. If either one of us retire, we won't have enough income to live on. Social Security is flat busted broke. If we depend on the government to provide health care, it won't happen because:
(a.) Obamacare takes 500 billion dollars from Medicare in order to finance the new government-run health care. That deficit is shifted to the individual states - a burden they cannot possibly afford. Older citizens are going to have to do with less so that younger citizens can be covered.
(b.) Obamacare is noticeably geared toward younger people. They have a tax-paying future. My wife and I don't. We simply won't be a good investment of the government's time and money. The older we grow, the more we will be a liability to the system.
Add to this the fact that businesses - especially small ones - are going to be forced to hire more and more part-time workers as a way of coping with the outrageous expense of providing health insurance for full-time employees. That's sure to impact congregations, particularly small churches like our own.
So we are facing a future with less and less health care as we grow older combined with less income and ever-shrinking Social Security. What are we to do?
For starters we could trust the Lord. "God knows we have this situation," my wife said. "He always has." Yes, and there's no expiration date on the promise "Seek first the kingdom of God and all these things will be added to you." There is also another observation in the Psalms: "I have been young and now am old; yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his children begging bread."
I couldn't help thinking of one of my favorite people, George Muller of Bristol, England. It was Muller who founded orphanages, built schools, financed missionaries and pastored a church all by prayer and without a cent to his name. Penniless and yet he received from God everything he needed as if he owned every bank in Europe. Muller never claimed to have the gift of faith, but he did acknowledge using the faith he had better than most people.
There is a lesson here for us. Our health care and retirement - once the envy of the world - may be history as we know it. But God isn't. He is still good to His word, and His word tells us we can trust Him to provide when all human programs have utterly failed. I don't know what is going to become of our country, our health care or our lives as Belinda and I face retirement - if it ever comes. I just know that when we get to that point, God will be there. What a comfort.

Racism, Balance and the Current Administration

2010-03-08T17:11:00.000-08:00

I met a very nice gentleman recently who, as it turned out, is quite liberal in his politics. He is a thunderously worshipful supporter of President Obama and the present administration. When I gave a more conservative point of view to him in writing, some people interpreted my remarks as an expression of racism and that is more than a little inaccurate. There aren't many preachers who can put "ordained in and pastored a black church" on their resume'. But I can. Many years later when our family served as home missionaries in Louisiana, we were the minority in a neighborhood that resembled the "rainbow coalition" on steroids. Our kids had no idea what the word "racism" meant. We never taught the meaning of the subject because we didn't need to. It would have been as useless as discussing various brands of poison. Why bring it up? It was no accident that our older daughter requested that two very dear friends - "Americans of African descent" - sing at her wedding.
So when someone takes my differences in politics as a latent form of racism I have reason to be upset. I do not have a problem with the President being an African-American. I do not have a problem with the President being an Anglo-African-American for that matter. I do have a problem with the President being the kind of political person he is regardless of his race.
But I do think the President's race is an issue and here's how. Barack Obama is a reflection of the particular liberal ideology in which he was educated and to which he has exposed himself over the years. How do I know? I had the same education a la Wright State University. It was there that I learned "black liberation" theories of history. That doctrine teaches a twisted form of racially cynical attitude combined with a superiority complex such as one finds in the rantings of Louis Farrenkahn or Jeremiah Wright. If the President buys into thinking of that kind, he will come across to the average American - of any race - as condescending, entitled, and not really one of us. An attitude like that will drive people away because we elected a president - we did not anoint a king. And the last thing we want in the White House is an insufferable snob. What this country needs is exactly what the Scripture demands of a leader: "to do justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with thy God."

The Difference Between Church and Facebook

2010-02-09T19:36:00.000-08:00

I am rapidly becoming a Facebook junkie and I've discovered I have a lot of company. Pastors are popping up all over Facebook. It has become an alternative outlet for ministry, not to mention a great way to advertise books, cd's and - Duh! - blogs. What a natural and fun way to keep up with all kinds of people, especially celebrities we would not otherwise be able to meet, much less talk to.
People seem more inclined to talk with one another on Facebook than any other medium I've witnessed thus far. They are more open about themselves, more willing to reveal details and certainly more willing to talk to total strangers - not always a good thing.
From a pastor's point of view, this quality of openness on Facebook has had a fascinating consequence. I find that people are more willing to be themselves before the whole world on Facebook than they are willing to be before a handful of people in church. I suppose this quality has always been with us. Church is the one place where we really want to put out the best impression for general consumption. We tend to conduct ourselves according to what we think people expect of us. So when someone asks, "How do you do?" we wouldn't really tell him how we are doing, and we don't really expect someone to tell us. It's all a formality, you understand. Not that we are purposefully trying to be deceptive; we are just putting out our public selves for all to see, the same public self that most often goes on display at work or in class.
Facebook is another matter. For some reason, people take off the mask when they sit down to the keyboard. I've learned a lot more about people from watching them on Facebook than I ever learned about them in church. I learn their real likes and dislikes, their tastes in music, clothes, politics and the world in general. I learn their language - the kind they would not dare use in church. I learn who their real friends are, and who they are not; who they love, and who wishes they had someone to love, or to love them.
What fascinates me the most is that people who wouldn't tell a soul these things in church don't mind telling the whole world on the internet. Now, everybody knows. The pastor knows. God knows - not that He needed Facebook, anyway.
All this raises a question in my mind: Why would anyone be one way in the privacy of church and another way before the whole blooming world on Facebook? And as long as we're not keeping secrets, what's the point of behaving one way in church (where only a few people can read us) and another way on the internet, where everybody can see us?
Maybe the answer is just too obvious. After all, if the life I'm living on Facebook is not one I can live in church, why am I living it on Facebook in the first place? Maybe the answer is that I already know this. And maybe, just maybe, I know better but I don't want those people in church to find out. Maybe I can keep my "public" life propped up in church while my real life goes on in the rest of the world. And maybe the people in church won't find out. Maybe they don't read Facebook. Just maybe.

What's a Day Off?

2010-02-01T18:28:00.000-08:00

I'm exhausted. I've arrived home at 8:15 p.m. after a day full of meetings and errands; shuttling my parents to various places, doing their shopping and watching after my dementia-laden dad. Of the dozen or so things I had on my "to do" list, I accomplished most, but not all. I'm just too tired. And today was my day off.
Many pastors have "days off" just like mine. We only work "one day a week," or so we're told. We should be fresh. We don't punch a time card. We have lots of time for an errand or two. Or three. Or a dozen.
Preachers have so much free time, so the legend goes, that they must be instructed in the proper use of it - some people think. I had a deacon once who interrupted my study time, smack in the middle of it, to - get this- instruct me on how to use my time in the study. To facilitate his "lesson" he brought along a dozen pages of photocopied sermons from John Gill on how Gill used his time. Oh yes, I'm sure Gill had the same kind of routine pastors have these days: the phone ringing, the computer developing a glitch, and deacons arriving to waste their time. Well, maybe he had the deacons.
The truth is that the average pastor spends so much time being the pastor and doing pastoral things that he has a hard time finding time to do family things. The average pastor spends about sixty hours a week on the job. That's sixty hours on top of whatever other job he may have if he happens to be bi-vocational. There is a never ending urge to do something else, and there is always something else to do.
There was actually a time when I had a day off. I used to take off Mondays back when I had a church large enough to afford me taking one day a week to tend to my family. That was before we were missionaries, before we were church planters, and before the deacon arrived to complain that I wasn't spending more time in the study.
No, I wasn't. And neither do most pastors. They have to get out of the study because "study" is only a part of the job. Staying in the seclusion of the pastor's office is the surest way to kill the church. There aren't enough prospects in the pastor's study; not enough lost people to witness to, not enough to invite to church; not enough people to pastor.
So the pastor may be out of the study, but he is never out of the job, not even on his "day off." That's why I'm typing out this post on my laptop at home. My wife urged me to buy it so I wouldn't have to travel back to office to work on all the things that have to be done. I'm still tired and now it's 10:15 p.m. on my day off. I still have not finished editing the article I am writing for Regular Baptist Press. It will have to wait until tomorrow along with work on the Sunday morning message that I meant to start today. The job never ends.

"See Me Now or See Me Later"

2010-01-23T20:11:00.000-08:00

I have a part-time job as a support worker in a funeral home. Don't laugh. It's a good job for a pastor. As a matter of fact, I work with several pastors, men who, like me are looking for a way to save for future retirement. So I carry two sets of business cards, one for my church and another for the funeral home, and that has created some interesting (if odd) situations.
A few days ago, I was lurking about in the neighborhood, looking for an opportunity to invite someone to church, when I stopped in to see a friend in a local business. Larry is a sign maker in our town, a very good one who is responsible for creating our church sign and logo. I've been after Larry for the past three years to come to church without any success whatsoever. In spite of that, we have maintained a very good and relaxed friendship. I'd love to see Larry come to Christ.
When I showed up at his business door, I was surprised to see him busy at his desk. He noticed me and immediately waved to have me come in.
As I sat across from Larry at his desk, my mind raced for a way to invite him to church once more. Then, I thought of my business cards. "I have something to show you," I said as I placed two cards, one of each, on the desk. "Here are my business cards," I explained as Larry leaned forward for a better view. "One is for my church. The other is for the funeral home. You can see me now, or see me later."
The startled expression on Larry's face was priceless. He sat back for a moment to collect his thoughts, and replied, "I promise you, I will visit your church within two weeks. I can't come next Sunday - I'm already tied up - but I will be there the next Sunday. I promise."

Believe me, this is an approach I'm going to use again!

Then Larry gave back my business card for the funeral home. "I'll keep your church card," he said, "You can have this one." He seemed relieved just to have the funeral home card out of his hand. Imagine that. I don't know how many customers I will pick up for the funeral home, but if I can use their cards to motivate more people to church, I'll use them all the time with the same explanation: "You can see me now, or see me later."

So Why Are We Here?

2010-01-17T18:00:00.000-08:00

Every church has to have a reason for its own existence. Yes, the Great Commission is the reason in terms of sharing the gospel and reaching the lost. But in a practical sense, church members need to understand why their particular church should exist. Many churches, especially small ones, struggle with this issue. They need a reason for being, and being there just for the sake of the denominational name is not enough. As a result, many small churches cannot and do not survive.
Our own church has had to come to terms with this question now that our roof has caved in. Things were tough enough without the roof falling. We've had all the aches, pains and struggles associated with planting and growing a church. What's more, there are always larger churches where it's easier, more convenient and a lot more attractive for people to attend. How could we ever hope to compete? This has caused some necessary and very useful soul searching. Like every other small church in the world, we have to find a way to meet the spiritual and practical needs of the public we are trying to reach. We need to find our place and establish our identity. When we do that, we will fill our niche. And we will grow.

What Do You Do When the Roof Falls?

2010-01-08T08:30:00.000-08:00

Our roof fell in. Seriously. About three weeks ago, some of our people came to the church for the usual youth ministry when they discovered water dripping, running and pouring into our auditorium. Investigation revealed that two forty-eight foot rafters had snapped and caved under the weight of ice and water on our roof. For reasons known only to the Lord, water failed to run off our formerly flat, slightly angled roof and began to form a pond about twenty-five feet across and about two or more feet deep. When all that water froze, the roof could not stand up to the pressure. So it gave way, puncturing the upstairs ceiling and forever changing our majestic old building.

So what do we do now? Frankly, we don't know. We have insurance and we've had emergency repairs to keep the water out and the building up. But from this point going forward, again only the Lord knows. We have to make a lot of decisions with (hopefully) an understanding insurance company. But we are a small church - a recent church plant -and our resources are quite limited.

If you are interested in helping, knowing more about us, or praying for us I would like to hear from you. The first thing we have to do under the preacher's roof is to figure out a way to keep the roof up.

We will let you know how things develop.

The Fat Man and His Trash

2009-12-21T16:52:00.000-08:00

We never taught our kids to believe in Santa Claus. We just taught them the obvious truth: that Santa Claus was as believable as Bugs Bunny. As a result, our family enjoyed the secular side of the holiday season without taking any of it seriously. The biblical account was serious and we never joked about the birth of Jesus. But Santa was quite another matter.
The result was some comical, unintended consequences - sort of unintended, anyway. Since our kids knew that "Santa Claus" was not to be taken seriously, any time they spotted a man dressed as Santa, they pointed out his presence with their own label. I'm not sure which of our three started it, but they began to refer to every Santa they saw as "the Fat Man." Not very complimentary, but with dead-on accuracy. And since his ever present bag of toys loosely resembled a Hefty bag left at the curb, Santa's load was designated "the trash."
Thereafter, we could never go into a mall, department store, or past a Salvation Army bell ringer without hearing, "There's the Fat Man and his trash!" Our son who's never had a quiet bone in his body would sound the declaration at ear-splitting decibels just to make sure that Santa got the message. Naturally, Santa objected. So did the parents who shifted nervously in line while waiting to take their little ones to pay homage to the Fat Man.
We have no idea how many children saw the light in that moment of revelation (or how many stuck the parents later with the question , "What's the big idea of lying to me all these years?"), but we didn't care. Whereas normally I would have turned crimson with our kids' public exposure of the overweight-department-store-employee-turned-Santa, this time, I smiled and agreed, "That's right!" and kept walking. It wasn't long before our kids became evangelistic and convinced their friends that Santa Claus was indeed "the Fat Man and his trash." Today, our children are ages 32, 30 and 22. They still react to the Fat Man every time they see him. And their evangelism isn't over. We have grandkids now, and I can't wait for their own moment of truth.

"The Fun Part of Christmas"

2009-12-04T19:10:00.000-08:00

I had been pastor only a short time when I made what could have been a fatal error. I blew the whistle on Santa Claus. Actually, I blew the whistle on the parents. It all happened very unintentionally during a Sunday morning message in the midst of Christmas season. Somewhere in the middle of an illustration, I made the passing comment that my wife and I never taught our kids to believe in Santa Claus. Gasps, looks of surprise and dismay quickly informed me that I had committed a major boo-boo. That's when I learned that most of the parents in our church regularly taught their children to look for Santa Claus. Not only did I let the cat out of the bag, I destroyed the "bag" altogether. Parents were faced with having to explain to children whether Santa was indeed a real person or not. I don't know if some parents ever forgave me, and I wisely chose not to ask.
Santa Claus was never a major issue in our family because, early in our marriage, my wife and I decided how we were going to teach our children. We did not go to war against Santa. I did not preach against him, and I did not teach him either. Whenever our children asked about Santa Claus, we gave them the same answer together:
"Santa Claus is the fun part of Christmas."
It occurred to us that children enjoy fantasy and fairy tales every time they turn on the TV to the Saturday morning cartoons. But when is the last time you ever heard a sermon against Bugs Bunny or Elmer Fudd? Or Daffy Duck? Or Mickey Mouse? We don't waste time preaching against those characters because they are such obvious fantasy that we expect our children to know they are make-believe.
Why not treat Santa Claus the same way? Yes, I know Santa Claus hearkens back to St. Nicholas, but kids these days do not know that. They associate Santa with Rudolph, Frosty and Snowman, and Tim Allen ("The Santa Clause" movie). Bugs, Daffy and the Road Runner are for fun, and so is Santa Claus. Don't let him out of that box. Don't deprive the children of having fun with all the make-believe fun things of the season, but do not allow the fun things to take on a greater reality either. Let the kids know "We want you to have fun during Christmas, and Santa is for fun."
Santa is for fun, but the Bible is the truth - and we never confused truth with fantasy. We never taught our children that Santa was real. Jesus is real. Santa is for fun, but the Bible is real. The gospel is real. Our children could enjoy all the cartoons and holiday specials. We could decorate the house and give all the presents. We could laugh at all the Santa Claus movies. But when we opened the Bible or went to church, we left the fantasy behind. As our children grew, the fantasy subsided and reality replaced the make believe.
We never complained to our children about Santa Claus, and we never lied to them about him either. They believed us when we said, "Santa is the fun part of Christmas." And when we taught them the gospel, they believed us then as well. I'm glad we didn't have to apologize for anything we taught them. I'm glad they learned the difference between having fun and having the truth.

'Tis the Season, So Far

2009-12-01T17:23:00.000-08:00

You know. It's the season for some preachers to come out of the woodwork against all things Christmas. Time for the annual message against Santa Claus, "Christ Mass," and my favorite, "Baal Trees." Oh please. Can we just agree for once that 99.99% of the general public has no idea what all the fuss is about? As a matter of fact, probably 99.9% do not know that a fuss exists. They do not know - and don't care - that Christmas was a Catholic mass; that "Santa Claus" is the mispronunciation of "Saint Nicholas;" that Christmas trees probably really were "Yule logs" that descend from Celtic paganism. Who cares?
As a matter of fact, the atheists do - a bunch. If certain preachers and well meaning defenders of the faith can't identify with Christmas, the rest of godless America certainly identifies us with those traditions, every last one of them. As a result, there are wacky, witless public schools in our land who will not allow the colors red and green to be worn during the holiday season. The colors are considered too religious. Pardon my purple rage but exactly what color is Christian? Children can't sing Christmas carols in school anymore. (I remember the entire student body of my very public high school standing at the playing of Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus" during our Christmas assembly before vacation.) And don't even think of putting up a "Baal Tree" on public property; or uttering those sanctified words "Merry Christmas."
Our country is working overtime to rid itself of every last remnant of Christmas tradition so as to avoid any mention of the gospel at all costs. Meanwhile, somewhere in this vast secular landscape, a preacher will rail against Christmas trees, presents, and the ever-evil Santa Claus.
It's time we realized something. The fight isn't over Santa Claus. The secular humanists hate him too. They want to rid this country of every reference to the Christmas holiday and replace it with the "Mother Earth"/global warming cult. By preaching against our cultural traditions, we are playing into the hands of secularists who are trying to destroy our culture and replace it with their own invention. Don't be too quick to preach against Christmas. If we are not careful, we may get what we ask.

In the Preacher's Dog House (Happy Birthday, Daughter)

2009-11-20T18:16:00.000-08:00

I seem to have created a problem for myself. Having noticed my birthday letter to our son, our younger daughter - who shares the same birthday with her brother - wrote to give me permission to publish "amazing stories" about her. Drat. Just as I was about to write something boring. Not that I couldn't come up with something absolutely amazing, even thrilling, about "Lady Talksalot" (See my earlier blogs). Perhaps it is fitting that my birthday greetings come tardily to the one I used to introduce as "the late Jennifer..."Still, I have the sense that I've put myself royally in the dog house, and I must make amends.
Since my first birthday epistle was to honor her aged brother for breaching his thirtieth year, gray roots and all, I must write our daughter a homage to her not-yet-departed youth and remind her of what she has not yet attained: Social Security.
Herewith, Daughter, I submit my list of things you can still enjoy before you reach the big 3-0:

1. The fantasy of thinking you're so much older and wiser that all those silly eighteen year-olds.
2. Children - at an age when you are still young enough to run after them.
3. A face without wrinkles.
4. The prospect of several more years of reasonably good health.
5. The excitement of young love (followed by the satisfaction of mature love).
6. The opportunity to correct your mistakes before it's too late.
7. Time.
8. Ice cream - without fear of calories and middle age spread.
9. Friends as young as you are.
10. The opportunity to hold on to the ones you love.

These things won't disappear when you hit thirty, but when you do, time will seem to accelerate and birthdays will come with awesome regularity. Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, and remember too that your dad loves you - always.

Happy Birthday again, Mrs. M.

Pastors Struggle Too

2009-11-17T18:42:00.000-08:00

This is not "great confession" time, but it could be. As a child, I idolized my pastor. I looked up to him as the most godly of all men - certainly the most godly of all I knew. That's not to put down my own parents because, in fact, we all looked up to our pastor. I thought he was one person who did not share the same spiritual struggles as the rest of us poor mortals. Then, as the fellow says, "I are one," and my attitude has changed considerably.
I discovered along the way that pastors struggle like everyone else, maybe more. We have "issues" that the typical laity do not live with. I'm not talking about "sins that so easily beset." We all have those, and that goes without saying. But pastors have to deal with matters that go beyond the usual "besetting sin." I struggle with watching our church grow v-e-r-y slowly. I wish I had a more rapid answer, but I don't. I have to live with the fact that the church grows and goes at God's speed, not mine. I struggle with not always knowing the best, most effective way to reach the community with the gospel. I wish all our methods worked, but they don't.
I struggle with not being able to visit all our people as often as I would like. I struggle with not always being as available, and thereby not always as close to our members as I want. I struggle with not being able to help them past their personal problems. I struggle with all the things I wish I could do to help, but can't. I watch them suffer needs, go through difficulties and endure pain. I feel utterly helpless at times. Of all people, I should be able to help, But too often, I can't.
In a word, I struggle with my own inadequacy. How often I've thought of Paul's question, "Who is sufficient for these things?" and I've answered, "Not me, that's for sure."
This is one struggle I do not expect to overcome. I'm glad I have a patient and kind church who understands and accepts that they have a most imperfect pastor. I have to keep reminding myself that pastors are always at their best when they are at their weakest. It's at that point that we all have to throw ourselves unreservedly on the Lord - or else we would leave the ministry. But thankfully, Paul said one more thing that keeps us going: "When I am weak, then I am made strong." If Paul had his struggles too, at least I'm in good company.

Happy Birthday, Son

2009-11-07T09:02:00.000-08:00

Today is our son's thirtieth birthday, so I wrote him a personal note. I thought I would pass it along in case there are other families out there with thirty-year-old offspring still under foot and needing a word of encouragement:

Dear Son,
Today you're thirty. Before you begin applying for Social Security (although the way Congress is going, it might be good to get yours while you can), I thought I would encourage you by noting some of the advantages of having reached your plateau:

1. You look more attractive to women who are looking for more mature men.
2. You can stop worrying about whether your clothes are the latest style.
3. You can claim dementia for everything you forget and it begins to make sense.
4. You can trust people over thirty.
5. You can say "When you've lived as long as I have..." and sound like you mean it.
6. Teen aged servers at McDonalds start giving you Senior Discounts.
7. You're one year closer to your Golden Buckeye Card.
8. Car insurance gets cheaper (This is for real).
9. College professors begin treating you like you have brain (This also is for real).
10. You get to laugh at the way teenagers dress.
11. You no longer have to show your I.D. to prove your age.
12. You're old enough to do it, but smart enough not to.

Congrats and have a good day. While you're at it, have a good year. I'm proud of you.
Love,
Dad

While the Preacher Wasn't Looking

2009-11-03T16:14:00.001-08:00

A preacher I know - someone who is not likely ever to read this column - is in real trouble. His church is dissolving into a virtual civil war of infighting and general dissatisfaction. People have left, are leaving, and will leave steadily until there is nothing left but a hollow shell. The pastor has not been capable of addressing the situation or handling it properly. He has not known what to do. Instead, he has made himself absent most of the time, preferring a perpetual vacation to the angst of having to face a disintegrating church. Do not be too quick to judge this man. He did not directly create this mess, and he surely did not intend it to happen. He has been a pastor for many years and he is worn out from the onslaught of competing church members. Retirement is looking better and better. Anything is better that the current debacle.

What caused this situation? One or two church members -underlings; a lay person whose position allowed him (or her?) opportunity to become the unofficial "church boss." This person has succeeded in agitating for the direction he wants the church to go. He works behind the scenes to dictate the church program, music, special events, and anything else that appeals to this person and elevates his power. But you say, "How could a pastor let this happen?" This problem situation happens all the time because pastors are notorious for letting their attention be taken up by other issues - the various needs and burdens of individual church families, Bible study, preparing to preach, visiting the lost, the sick, the afflicted. While the pastor is looking one way, the "church boss," or wanna-be boss, is working in another. Pastors have - and need - deacons to help him keep an eye on all the activity going on around him. Pastors and their families need good vigilant church members who are alert to the plague of bossism in church.

This is a plea to churches and church members to cease and desist from all the church politics, the infighting and backbiting, the petty jealousy and self-serving competition that grows like a cancer, eating a church from the inside. Many a church could have its epitaph written over the door of an empty building: "Here lies the remains of a once thriving church. Death by suicide."

Odds & Ends

2009-10-29T18:38:00.000-07:00

Here are some items that came "under the preacher's roof," but not under a particular category:

When we recently celebrated my dad's ninetieth birthday with a party at church, he was the most surprised person present - at his age. Dad suffers advanced dementia and could not understand why all those people were present, so I explained, "It's a birthday party. Do you know whose birthday it is?"
"No," he answered.
"It's yours. Do you know how old you are?"
He couldn't remember.
"It's yours. Your ninety years old."
He sat back in astonishment: "Ninety? Why - that's old!"
No kidding. "You're no more surprised than we are," I said.

A support worker at a local funeral home told me this story. It actually happened this way, and I offer it to those of you who are looking for something to tell this Halloween:

A couple of support workers at the funeral home suspected their hearse might have a leak in the roof. The only way to test it was to take it through the local car wash. One of the workers volunteered to lay in the back - without a casket - and watch the car's ceiling for any sign of a drip. After the car made its way through the wash cycle, they came to the last stop where an attendant waited to towel dry the car. Just as he made his way to dry the hearse side windows, the man inside raised up, waved out the window to the attendant, and said, "Hi!"

The attendant has not been seen or heard from, since.

I Can't Help Those People

2009-10-21T13:01:00.000-07:00

Every church has some of "those" people - those people who are forever in trouble
- who seem to be overwhelmed constantly with problems, but can never figure out how to deal with them
- who complain about how they are being treated by God, but do not bother to make an appearance in church
- who are offended if anyone suggests they are not right with the Lord, yet never have time for the Word of God or prayer - or simple obedience, for that matter - in any part of their daily lives
- who are easily offended at people in church for not giving them enough attention, but cannot tell you who is actually attending church (because they have not been there in so long).
- who cannot understand why their prayer (or more accurately, prayer requests) are not answered as they wish while their lives are filled with myriad sinful habits and backslidings
- whose families seem to perpetuate their sinful habits and unfaithfulness through succeeding generations.
I have met enough of "those" drifting people through several churches over the last thirty plus years that I cannot be accused of focusing on a particular family for the above description. I have always found myself drawn somehow to trying to help those people because that is my nature. It is my calling. In virtually every case, I have been stymied and frustrated. Not infrequently, my wife and I have found ourselves the objects of scorn after spending ourselves to help. We've cleaned homes, given away stoves, refrigerators and rugs, babysat the children, sat up all night with the sick and bereaved, and made endless runs to the hospital at all hours - all to no avail.
I've had to come face-to - face with the fact that there are people I just can't help. Most of all, I can't help people who don't want to be helped. They enjoy their misery or their sin too much to make changes. And they are not about to be changed by some preacher.
Have you ever known people like "those" people, or am I the only one? I don't think so. At some point, every pastor has to contend with the chronically backslidden. This blog is not about giving you a quick and easy answer. I have none, or else I would have used it long ago. The answer, I think, is to keep trying with them, but not to be obsessed with them. Do not let them drag you down. Go after and focus on other people. Victories in other areas will keep you from the perpetual discouragement that "those" people breed. Even if they fail, we must not. We must keep moving forward for the sake of others.

"At Least Somebody Had Good Sense"

2009-10-19T18:19:00.000-07:00

A retired pastor and I were sharing memories about our families recently when he told this story, explaining "I have a daughter who is a true blond. She doesn't dye her hair. " Really.
It seems his family was together sharing laughs and telling jokes when someone told a "blond" joke that went like this:
A blond owned a car that was badly dented in a hailstorm. She wanted to have the dents removed and asked a friend who he might recommend to do repair on her car.
"Oh, you don't have to spend money repairing the car," her friend advised, "All you have to do is blow on the tailpipe real hard, and the dents will pop out."
The advice sounded reasonable to her. So the next day, the blond got down on her knees and was about to begin blowing into the car tailpipe when another blond friend happened to come by.
"What in the world are you doing?" she asked.
The blond explained, "I'm repairing my car. If I blow hard enough on the tailpipe, the dents will pop out."
Her friend replied, "That won't work if the windows are all rolled down."

The pastor's family were all laughing hysterically at the joke, except for his blond daughter, who looked about with a confused expression. Finally she spoke: "Well, at least somebody had good sense."
It was several minutes before the family could regain their composure, while the daughter never understood what was so funny.
Isn't it comforting to know that God doesn't put all the craziness under one preacher's roof? He spreads it around. Really.

You Have to be Kidding

2009-10-12T16:14:00.000-07:00

There are two women out right now, buying material and preparing a Halloween costume for me. Their project began when our church decided to do something special for the kids in our town on "Beggar's Night," and one of the ladies suggested that we dress as Bible characters. Fair enough, so I "volunteered" to dress as Jonah. Quicker than you could say "Me and my big mouth," the idea was born to dress the preacher as Jonah being swallowed by the fish. I've seen the pattern these crafty ladies have in mind, and I can't begin to describe it to you.
I can tell you that I've been nearly the victim of several plots hatched by church members who were determined to have fun at the preacher's expense. Don't ask me what they were thinking. I haven't a clue. At least the ladies in our church are dressing me all in fun. I'm not too sure about the others.
One church wanted me to ride down the isle on a "stick" pony - during the Sunday morning service - while the pianist and organist played "Circuit Ridin' Preacher."
Another church insisted that my wife and I participate in an egg toss so they could watch me being plastered with raw eggs. When my wife and I won the game, one deacon was so sure we had cheated that he insisted on squeezing the egg to prove it was a fake. The egg exploded and he was covered in yoke.
A third church wanted to "paddle" me for my birthday. I drew the line at that and insisted that the ministry needed to guard its dignity - what I had left of it. I probably offended some people by not going along with their prank - no, I'm sure of it - but what were they thinking? Somehow, I can't visualize D. Martyn-Lloyd Jones going along with being paddled for his birthday. Or Spurgeon. Or John R. Rice, for that matter. Not that I approach any of those men, but then, when does the preacher begin to preserve the esteem due his office if he is constantly treated as the class clown?
The difference between my church now and those of the past is that this church knows where to draw the line. They have not allowed a little fun to desecrate the office of pastor and I appreciate that. For the record, I didn't ride the stick pony either. But I will dress up as Jonah for the kids and have a little fun on Beggar's Night. On Sunday, I'll be back in the pulpit and the people will still look at me as their pastor. No kidding.

Everybody Hits "The Wall"

2009-10-05T16:15:00.000-07:00

Marathon runners call it "hitting the wall" - that moment when the body suddenly decides it has had enough. Everything, every muscle, every organ, every fiber in the runner's body cries out to stop. Please, not another step. Runners know if they can overcome"the wall," their bodies will adjust and get a second wind. Often, they can finish the race stronger than when they began. They just have to get past "the wall."
In the ministry, everybody hits "the wall." It is that moment when the pastor and his family are tempted to think they cannot go on any further; when the burdens have become too much; the stress too great; the heartache more than the heart can bear.
I read a letter like that just yesterday. It came from a young missionary wife and mother in Africa. She and her husband are on the field for the very first time. Being away from home is one thing, but they are thousands of miles from everything familiar to them. The adjustments are astronomical. They are not so alone from people, but they are very alone from ordinary things. Now the husband is sick, very sick and his situation has not improved as of this moment. His wife writes, "I'm having one of those 'I hate Africa' moments." In reality, neither of them hate Africa. In fact, they have been willing to change their entire lives just for Africa, and the opportunity to reach Africans with the gospel. But they have hit the wall.
We all hit the wall. The ministry becomes work, a burden. It's not fun anymore. The headaches are too much. People are too much. The sacrifices mount to the point that all we can see are our problems, and we are tempted - very tempted - to cave. One pastor I knew became so frustrated with his church that he told another pastor, "You want 'em? You can have them" and stomped out of the ministry entirely.
We have to remember that if we refocus on the Lord, we can get past "the wall." Life will go on, not always better, maybe not the same, usually not what we expected, but life will go on. Often, I have found that some unexpected blessing will come if I just do not quit. It is part of that "reaping if we do not faint." There is life beyond "the wall" - a second wind, a harvest ahead, and the finish line. The preacher's life is never a sprint, always a marathon.

"Bathroom Evangelism"

2009-09-28T20:22:00.000-07:00

Several days ago, my brother-in-law and I sat at dinner with our wives, sharing memories of all the ways our kids created to embarrass us when he reminded me of my son's unique contribution to the family. For lack of a better way to define it, my wife and I called it "bathroom evangelism." Any time our family went out to a local restaurant, our son found the need to visit the men's room without fail. Naturally, I attended to my Daddy-duty and took him. As soon as we passed through the door, my one and only son felt a rush of inspiration and broke forth in song. Not just any song, mind you, but "Amazing Grace," all four verses, at the top of his lungs. Why he did this is beyond me. All I can say is that the effects were, well, interesting. Any other five-year-olds present with their dads were totally mystified by the pint-sized soloist. Probably, they were envious that they had not thought of such an ingenious way to embarrass their own fathers. The men did not say anything. Usually they left in a hurry. I rationalized that they were under conviction, but then I'll never know for sure. No one offered a comment, or felt an apparent urge to join in singing, or offered money for voice lessons for my son. Most of all, they did not offer - or threaten - anything to make him stop singing. Surely they must have been under conviction, or maybe they were just music critics. Either way, they got the word, and a testimony was given if under somewhat unorthodox circumstances. But then, God moves in mysterious ways.

Dad's Secret Weapon, Part Two

2009-09-21T07:44:00.000-07:00

Every pastor has had the experience of watching people either freeze up or flee in panic once they hear the preacher is at the door. I remember one occasion when the visiting evangelist and I arrived at home just after the family returned from the grocery store. We watched as they carted their bags into the house, then we knocked on the front door and waited. No one came. After an embarrassing long wait, I went around the house and discovered the family had sneaked out the back door and gone to the neighbors to avoid us.
There are situations I cannot enter and people I cannot reach. When that reality began to sink in, I faced a very real question: How do I gain access to these people? Enter the secret weapon. My kids, two daughters and a son, have gone with me on visitation from the time they could hold a gospel tract. They learned first hand the difficulties and the victories of talking to people about spiritual issues. As a result, they learned to talk to people about the Lord as well, and they became effective at reaching people I could never approach. Kids do not have titles such as "reverend" or "doctor." They also have no fear. They will talk to people that most adults would just as soon leave alone. Kids do not make value judgments that adults use to deprive themselves of opportunities. They look past the things that stop us cold ("His hair is too long;" "He's wearing chains;" "There are things sticking out of his face;" and "What did she do to her hair?"). They invite their friends, and their friends, because they are friends, respond.
Frankly, my kids accomplished more at getting certain people into church than I ever could. Now that our kids are grown and gone on with their lives, I've lost my secret weapon. My wife and I are too old for more kids, and I need help. Maybe I can borrow the grandkids.

Dad's Secret Weapon, Part One

2009-09-21T07:14:00.000-07:00

When it comes to visiting prospects and handling problem situations, I freely confess to being sneaky and underhanded. There have been any number of times when I have found myself in awkward, unintended predicaments, or caught in an ambush. After being burned enough times to finally get the message, I resolved to pull out the one surefire secret weapon I had in my arsenal, and it has never failed - my kids.
As soon as our first daughter was old enough to be carted out of visitation, I asked her to go with me and made it a big deal. She quickly agreed and became "Daddy's little sidekick" - a title she has retained to this day through a husband and three grandchildren. I'd had enough of inadvertently greeting young ladies at the door who were dressed in (ahem) indiscreet ways. I needed cover (Well, they did too), and my daughter fit the bill. No one could claim that I was up to no good with my ever-observant child tagging along. There were other benefits as well. Irate people who would have carried my head on a platter did not want to explode in front of a little girl. Gossips didn't want to talk. People who would have misbehaved or made all sorts of accusations against me did not want to risk having a perfectly believable witness around.
People who were otherwise inaccessible opened their doors. I discovered a very useful truth for the ministry. Kids make the visits much easier. Thereafter, I made it a point to take all our kids with me on visitation (one at a time, of course), or whenever I needed cover. They never failed to be a help. As a byproduct, they also learned how to talk to people about the Lord. I highly recommend to all preachers that they pull out their own secret weapons. It's a great reason to have kids. If your wife has any questions, just tell her this preacher said you needed someone to go with you on visitation.

Preachers Have to be Shared

2009-09-13T19:10:00.000-07:00

There is never enough time for everyone. Even in my postage stamp-sized church, I am amazed at how hard it is to give everyone enough time and attention. There is always someone falling through the cracks of my attention. There is always someone asking for time, asking a question, or tugging me in another direction. Situations like that can be stressful. One of the most difficult facts that a pastor's family - especially the wife - faces is that the preacher has to be shared. There are times when the pastor's wife has to let go. There are times when he is going to be called away. There are going to be plans interrupted. There are going to be awkward situations. There are going to be times when the pastor's wife is left alone, and that can't be helped. It comes with the job.
On the other hand, since most pastors know what we are getting into, we have to do what we can to make time for the family - especially the wife - and make up for the time we miss. That is every bit as hard a lesson to learn as the truth about sharing. I am reminded of a missionary I met several years ago. He and his family were being recalled from the field on account of serious family problems. The largest problem was that this particular missionary had spent so much time with his church that he was virtually estranged from his family. It was a sad situation. The man confessed to me, "I thought if I took care of my church, God would take care of my family." Not that way. God can provide in lots of ways, and He does, but God cannot be a husband to a wife, or a dad to the kids. If it is true that the family must share the preacher with the church, it's equally true that the church must learn to share the preacher with his family. After all, he is their pastor too. It comes with the job.

"Bless the Dog!"

2009-09-08T20:55:00.000-07:00

There we were, house sitting with a bunch of teenagers. That would have been enough of a challenge, but some of them were missionary kids as well, so any thing could happen. All appeared to be going rather smoothly until bedtime rolled around and we gathered in one bedroom for prayer. Since Christian kids and missionary kids in particular are generally used to family prayer, that also seemed to be going normally until we came to our son. Our one and only son was, as I recall about the age of either four or impossible, whichever. At any rate, this was the night he chose to prove he was a preacher's son who, like his dad, could launch into a prayer for just about everything in the known universe when occasion called for it. Being so moved, he began praying when his turn came and determined not to finish until he had tried the patience of everyone, and blessed every living creature. Just about the time he had named everyone - so we thought - he interjected one more request: "Bless the dog -." At this point, his mother had had enough. "Don't bless the dog!" she interrupted, thinking, no doubt that if he started naming the animal kingdom, we might never get to bed. At this, he suddenly began wailing in showers of tears, and at the top of his lungs, "I wanna bless the dog!" Pandemonium reigned. To regain order, my wife quickly caved, "All right, you can bless the dog." Like a switch immediately thrown, and a faucet turned off, our pint-sized thunderstorm abruptly calmed, turned to his mother, and politely asked "What's the dog's name?"
We all did our best to contain the well of hilarity dying to erupt within us. With every ounce of self-control we could muster, we held ourselves until the little prayer warrior finished. Then, one more teenager had the nearly impossible job of closing in prayer without losing her composure. When the last "Amen" sounded, pandemonium returned, and it was a good five minutes before we could catch our breath from laughter. I didn't know whether to be proud of my son for insisting on praying or upset for his obvious tantrum. I suspect it was a little of both. When we ask the little ones to pray, anything can happen. I remember hearing of a little girl who asked the blessing on her food by praying: "God is great, God is good. Let us spank Him for our food." She probably blessed her dog too.

Missionary Kids and Other Strange Species, Part Two

2009-09-08T12:36:00.000-07:00

Our son-in-law's father was a missionary kid who grew up in Brazil. His parents were pioneers with a long and distinguished ministry on the foreign field. To my knowledge, he never made a credible profession of faith in Christ. The man turned from the gospel, never bothered to attend church, and came to a very sad and lonely end. Missionary kids face many unique difficulties and their stories do not necessarily end well. Before there were computers, e-mail and Facebook, missionary kids came home out of touch and out of date. Their clothes and language were behind the times. Fortunately, missionary families do not have to be quite so disconnected these days. Still, missionary kids are a strange species when compared to families in the average church State- side. One missionary couple we know have reared a family of five in Europe. Nearly all the children were born overseas. As a result, the children do not consider themselves Americans (although they are), and they have a distinctly European cultural mindset. They do not fit in with America, and return to the States only on occasion to visit relatives.
The challenge they have faced is the same for missionary kids everywhere. That is, the fact that they were born to missionary parents in a missionary family does not of itself make the kids missionaries. Sometimes they resent being pressed into service and do not understand why they have to live under difficult circumstances while other kids in other places are enjoying a much more pleasant existence.
When we faced the challenge of having to prepare our own kids for the mission field, we tried to anticipate the difficulties by teaching our kids two facts: 1. That being a missionary was a great adventure. They were going to do things and see things most kids only read about.
2. That being a missionary was a great privilege. The greatest thing we can do in the world is lead a soul to Christ. We never let our kids forget these two facts. We never allowed them to feel as if they were being deprived.
If you know a missionary kid who is feeling left out because of the time they had to spend away, let them know they are the ones with the advantages. The shallow culture they left behind cannot compare with the privileges and opportunities they enjoy.

"Nothing's working. Now what?"

2009-09-07T13:34:00.000-07:00

There was a time when our family was not only between ministries, we were between everything else - between an income, a home and a future. For reasons beyond our control, we were without a church and living in borrowed quarters. One evening when things seemed the bleakest, I gathered our children around me and said to them, "You are being given a rare opportunity. You get to see what can happen when all you have to depend on is the Lord." God brought us through that particular period in a most gracious way, and we found ourselves on the mission field for the next six years. Sure enough, God did not fail.
As the years have passed and our children have grown, married and gone into their own ministries, there have been times when that conversation has returned. Usually, it has happened when one of our adult children has called to say, "Dad, nothing's working. Now what?" They have found themselves in some predicament in their ministry or some life situation where every solution they have tried has failed. Most of all, God has not worked, or so it seems, so now they are calling Dad. They are not calling to complain, but to find answers. Dad is still the pastor. It is in those precious situations that this dad has been able to assure the kids once again that they are being given a rare opportunity. God still delights to make a point to us, that when we have nothing else on which to depend, He is sufficient. It's a tough but necessary lesson. Someday our kids will have kids under their own roof, and there will be more phone calls: "Dad, nothing's working. Now what?" That is the moment when our own children can pass on what they have learned in the crucible of their own experience, that when "nothing's working," God is working most of all. He doesn't ask or expect us to make sense of what He is doing. He asks only that we trust Him. I know this may seem like a platitude to some people, but the answer to the question is actually very simple. God is working, whether we see Him or not. And if we know that God is working, we know He will take care of the "Now what?". The answer He provides may not be what we expect - that is usually the case - but we know He will always see us through.

Ten Things a Preacher's Kid Needs to Know

2009-08-31T09:00:00.000-07:00

1. Don't burn your bridges too quickly or too often. Someday you may be invited back to the place you left behind, and you want to return with dignity.
2. Learn to appreciate the sacrifices some people will make for you. They do not owe you special favors; they love you.
3. Get over the hurts and slights. Life is way too short to carry grudges. Some of the people who hurt you now may be your best friends later.
4. Accept the fact that some people do not know how to treat the pastor's kids, or what to expect of them. Be yourself, keep things straight between you and God, and everything will work out. If you mess up, remember that your parents still love you.
5. The best thing you can do for your Dad and his ministry is pray for him.
6. Never measure the success of your family or your Dad's ministry by the size of the church. God doesn't do that and neither should you. Besides, the apostle Paul never pastored a large church and he turned out OK.
7. If you really want to encourage your Dad when he is down, go with him on visitation.
8. Consider being part of a pastor's family a privilege rather than a burden. You probably get to do more things, go more places and meet more friends and experience more life than the average kid anywhere.
9. Take care of your own spiritual life diligently. Being part of the pastor's family does not give you a free pass.
10. Of all the methods and gimmicks you've ever tried, prayer works better than any of them.

Missionary Kids and Other Strange Species, Part One

2009-08-25T20:18:00.000-07:00

Our children had the rarest of opportunities in life - to be both "pk's" and "mk's" at the same time. That's "preacher's kids" and "missionary kids" for the uninformed. Our family served on the mission field for a number of years. It did not matter that we were "home" missionaries. We were in Louisiana, and by all accounts, we were in a foreign land. The weather was foreign (Whoever heard of sunburns in February?), the food was foreign, and most people spoke with a French or Cajun accent. Our daughter, who had looked forward to speaking with a southern drawl, was most disappointed. The rest of us were merely confused. Shortly after we arrived, I noticed a bumper sticker touting the New Orleans Saints football team. The sticker read "Geaux Saints" - a sort of French fried way of saying "Go Saints." But not being familiar with French spellings, I could not translate it. I stared at the bumper sticker for a moment, turned to my wife and asked "Who wants to Gee-ox the Saints, Honey?" There were other things to learn in the state dubbed "America's Banana Republic." We learned that fire ants can build a mound around anything at anytime and spring up over night. We learned that the mosquito is Louisiana's state bird. (Our neighborhood was sprayed regularly every Thursday by a pickup truck armed with a cannon full of bug spray that hung in the humid night air like thick, deadly fog.) We learned that Cajuns will eat anything that moves and can be seasoned with five gallons of pepper. We learned that we had moved into the bug-and-critter capital of the universe. The cockroaches live in the ground before they decide to move into your house and take over. They are humongous, and they fly. The Wright brothers could have saved themselves a lot of money and flown one at Kitty Hawk. Then there were the lizards that moved into the house to eat the mosquitoes and fight a turf battle with the cockroaches. All of this did not faze our kids, who thought it was great fun to be sharing the house with the wild kingdom. Most of our visitors, especially those from up north, were put off by all the roving critters, but our family accepted this as part of the mission field, and delightedly shocked our guests by our not being shocked. When we invited another missionary family to visit us for a week of meetings, the other "mk's" - who had spent lots of time in Brazil - were equally delighted. Rather than being put off, they joined our kids in chasing around the house after all the lizards. Missionary kids can be strange like that. There was one notable exception, however. One night when our older daughter woke up to drink from the glass of ice water by her bed, the night air was suddenly split by her shriek. We dashed into her room to see what had happened, and there, on top of the ice in her water glass, sat a cock roach the size of a battleship. All Angela could say was "IT TOUCHED MY LIPS!" To this day, she cannot bring herself to drink anything in the dark.

Twenty-six Mice Under the Oven

2009-08-19T11:42:00.000-07:00

The first time my wife and I saw the parsonage in our first full-time ministry, it was like viewing the White House. "That," I said proudly, "is going to be our new home." Ahhhhhhh. We were smitten. Then reality set in, right after we moved, and we discovered that our new home came with as many landlords as church members, not to mention rules and expectations. For example, we were expected not to use one of the bedrooms. It was to remain perpetually as a "prophet's chamber" for any visiting preacher or missionary. So, in spite of the fact that we could have really used the room, we dutifully left it untouched except for the rare visitor. We've always had odd experiences with parsonages, and we've learned that our experience is not exceptional. One house we lived in was located so close to the church building that our basement (it was a bi-level house) was used for church offices and Sunday School rooms. This had a number of unintended consequences. First, we did not have privacy, especially on Sunday morning when people began to stream into their "classrooms." Vacation Bible School became a real adventure, as there were people in and out of our house at all hours. Add to that the fact that our church clerk had a key to the house but expected us to keep our home unlocked so she could come and go as she pleased. She had no idea how often we came close to dialing 911 when we heard the "intruder" in the basement. Then there was the parsonage where the previous pastor's wife had used a bedroom to dry fruit from her garden. If that wasn't enough, the house was overrun with mice. I quickly learned that the best place to catch them was -believe it or not- in the stove, especially in the drawer under the oven. I routinely emptied the traps each morning. After I caught twenty-six mice, I quit counting, but I kept catching mice. I have no idea how many traps - or mice - I went through. But that was not the worst place we ever inhabited. That honor probably belongs to the little shack where we lived before moving into the "mouse palace." The shack was owned and leased by a church member and was a temporary residence for us until (get this!) the church could clean out the parsonage for us. (Given the number of mice I caught, I wonder what they cleaned out.) The shack was just that. When the church member/landlord put up a new wood-framed screen door for us, I let him know it wouldn't close properly and needed to be remounted. No problem. He showed up the next day to fix everything - with an axe!! He might have noticed the stunned, speechless expression on my face as he committed atrocities on the door, chopping and flailing until the wounded door surrendered and closed. He asked me if there was anything else to fix. All I could do is look at the axe and declare "No" rather cautiously. If you've never lived in a parsonage, you just don't know what you're missing.

The Things People Say ...!

2009-08-19T08:37:00.000-07:00

I recently received a letter from a college student "PK" ("preacher's kid") whose dad is suffering some serious health problems. Her letter contained the following account that actually happened in their home: "The deacons came over one night to 'pray for and encourage' my dad and started firing questions about his situation instead, even asked if there was sin in his life...It came off as accusing, and my dad had just told them that he had basically lost his will to live, and they start firing questions like that to OVERWHELM A GUY MORE. An assistant pastor told them to stop, to just pray and leave ... but some damage was already done." No kidding. Apparently, there is no end to the really ridiculous things people can say to a pastor and/or his family. There! I've said it. (And all God's preachers said "Amen!") I've said it for all the other pastors who wish they could say it too if they didn't have to deal with all the feathers they would ruffle as a result. But really now, do people think the pastor's job description includes a target for rude, thoughtless remarks? I know this sounds like so many sour grapes, and yes, I really do believe in being long suffering, but then I remember the time one bona fide genius said to me "I don't think, if your wife was disciplined by the church, it would have any effect on your ministry." The truest part of his statement was "I don't think." Of course the crude and outlandish remarks are not always confined to pastors. Other church members get in on the insults as well. When one of our members gave birth to a disabled son, born without a hand, another "believer" observed, "God is punishing you for some sin in your life." Sounds like some of the deacons from the pastor's home, doesn't it? The pastor's daughter had it right - damage is done. The wounds are real, and sometimes they are deep. The first time I became a target for the thoughtless remark, I felt crushed and recovery took a long time. By now, the words still hurt, but I have managed to get over most of them. Some of the people who said the worst have become my best friends and most fervent supporters. Forgiveness has to be part of the regular diet for all the preacher's family. Without it, we would not survive. We would be consumed by self-pity and discouragement. We have to get over being hurt and remember that, at some point, we also may make a careless remark. So forgiveness works both ways. Just consider this a plea to "put brain in gear before setting mouth in motion." Warren Wiersbe once observed to some seminary students (I was one) that a good pastor must have "the heart of an elephant and the hide of a rhino serous." We all said "Amen" to that too.

The Long Goodbyes

2009-08-15T09:15:00.000-07:00

While my son and I were out enjoying the evening together recently, I began to reminisce about some of the places we've lived over the past thirty years of ministry. When we returned home, I discovered on Facebook that a pastor friend of mine was leaving his church for another ministry nearer the east coast. "It been," he wrote, "a very, very hard decision," hard on himself, his wife and children. "But God seemed to be leading that way." My family and I can sympathize with all the difficulties they face. Relocating is one of the problem issues the general public does not seem to grasp about pastors' families. A pastor arrives at his new church with his beaming wife and children, and the announcement "We are all pleased and excited to be here." No doubt there is truth in that statement. Finally arriving at a new ministry is a big relief in many ways. Yet there is so much behind the scenes that people do not realize, for uprooting the family is very hard. The challenge for every pastor is how to communicate to the rest of the family that his calling, his sense of God's leading, must somehow become theirs as well. The preacher senses that his present ministry is closing. He has the urge to move on, but no one told the wife and kids; and believe me, just telling them that "it's the Lord's leading" doesn't satisfy them. I've known pastors and their wives who nearly came to a divorce because he was ready to move and she wasn't. Our children came along with us of course, because they had no choice, but months and sometimes years passed before they forgave me for forcing them to leave friends behind. The truth is that saying "goodbye" takes forever in our hearts, and sometimes it never comes. My family and I have attended two anniversaries of former churches this year, and I could not help but feel like I should have apologized for leaving each of them. Whenever I return, the goodbyes become longer and longer because a part of our heart remains with all those we've left. They remain our good friends. We still pray for them, we still miss them and we still ache for them. My friend will go to a new ministry and do fine, I am sure. His family will adjust - we always do - but like all good pastors, a piece of their heart will be left behind. Being in the ministry means never really saying goodbye.

Offerings and Other Hazards

2009-08-14T08:35:00.000-07:00

I'm not quite sure what this topic has to do with this preacher's family except that somehow my family has found a way to turn what is supposed to be a fairly harmless part of the church service into an adventure. Perhaps it all started with our oldest daughter, a toddler at the time, who became quite offended when the usher forgot to pass the offering plate to her so she could give her dime. When she realized that she had been rudely bypassed, she turned to find the usher - now a couple of rows behind her - reared back as if she were delivering a fastball, and threw the dime like a bullet at the usher. The coin landed dead-center in the offering plate. There was one time when I also found a way to "contribute" to the service. My dad and I were sitting in the midst of a very crowded service in the largest Baptist church in town when the offering began. As the ushers proceeded in our direction, I realized that they did not use plates, but offering baskets instead. I suppose they were expecting lots of money. Anyway, as the basket made its way toward us, I reached for it, and my dad, thinking I was going to drop the now-full basket of money, reached for it as well. He knocked it out of my hand. Money flew in every conceivable direction - lots and lots of money. I never dreamed money could travel so far. Dozens of people were on the floor trying to pick up and account for every coin, every dollar. The pianist, who had meticulously practiced his offertory to the last second, suddenly realized that his wonderfully planned, practiced and precise offertory was now out the window. He scrambled to replay everything and kept glancing in our direction to check on our money-recovery effort, now in full swing. At least once, I thought I saw him look my way with a "If I could hit you with a hymnal right now, I would" sort of stare. This had become the unofficial Longest Offering in the History of the Universe thanks to me and my dad. But there are other hazards in the church service as well. Like baptisms. When I baptized our pint-sized youngest daughter, she was so happy with the experience, she decided to celebrate in her own way. Immediately after I raised up from the water, she flipped over and began doing the dog paddle. As discretely as possible, I leaned over and whispered to her, "You can't swim in the baptistery." She ignored me, swam to the handrail, and got out on her own. It could have been worse. I have baptized impossibly large people in impossibly small baptisteries, all while praying "Lord, I can get him in, but You have to get him out." I baptized one lady outdoors in a pond - February - and it was snowing! My legs were never so cold. I don't see how she survived, but the whole thing was her family's idea. It could have been worse. One of my uncles was baptizing a fellow in a creek when my uncle lost his grip and the man floated downstream, so the family legend goes. At least I never lost one in the baptistery.

A Life of Quiet Sacrifice

2009-08-13T07:07:00.000-07:00

To hear my wife tell it, she was called to be a pastor's wife. Belinda is a pastor's daughter and knows the hardships and challenges of life in the ministry. Her father never had the opportunity to lead a very large congregation. He supported a family of seven children on tomato farming and carpentry while preaching in a variety of small, mostly out-of-the way churches from Texas to South Carolina. One would have thought a talented young lady would have been dying to get away from those struggles to a better life. But not Belinda. She always wanted to be a pastor's wife, and looked forward to it. The thing that impresses me most is that she has never changed her mind. And let's face it, she's had lots of reasons to change her mind. Like countless other pastors and their families, we have gone from one unenviable situation to another. Our ministry income has been small - even minuscule - by comparison with other pastors. That has meant my wife having to be employed outside the home to shore up our income and supply health insurance that most of our churches could not afford. Neither of us wanted her to work outside the home, but the Lord has provided many of our needs that way, so she has carried on without complaint. Thankfully, my wife is not alone in her attitude. Multitudes of pastors' wives go about their business with a similar spirit every day. theirs is a life of quiet sacrifice. They do not gather the public attention so often given to their husbands and prefer instead to stay in the shadows. They make routine sacrifices every day and find ways to make a little go a long way. They willingly accept less that others may have more. But there are other challenges and difficulties unique to the wife of a pastor. Some churches assume the pastor's wife will take on certain church responsibilities just because she is, well, the pastor's wife. One well meaning gentleman reflected that presumption when he asked me "Does your wife pastor the church with you?" I replied, "No, she takes care of me, and that's the way she likes it." He was surprised. My wife has had to sit quietly and endure unjust criticism aimed at her husband. She has remained silent and supported me in prayer when she knew I hurt, and that I, in turn, was hurting for her. She has had to be strong when I was weak. Belinda has been strong for our children when she was not well and I could not be there. She has done it all and yet to this day she still wants to be the pastor's wife. The only complaint I ever heard was when she wished she could spend more time with me at church. Perhaps someone reading this is the pastor of a small congregation and the husband of a wife who goes about her business in much the same way. They take care of both the home and ourselves, and we would be lost without them. The pastor's wife is the unsung hero under the pastor's roof. Right now, I have to hurry and publish this post because my wife is coming to meet me in a few minutes for lunch - one of our few opportunities in the week to be together for lunch - and I shouldn't be late. Do you think?

"Spud"

2009-08-10T18:23:00.000-07:00

Like a lot of dads, I have had nicknames for each of our children, especially the girls. Andrew did not get in on this as much as the others because "Andy" was too available and too obvious. That was not the case with the girls. Angela was always "my little sidekick" who delighted to go with me on visitation. I am not quite sure how it happened, but somewhere along the way I began to refer to Jennifer as "Spud." It was a silly little name for Daddy's precocious little partner who always tagged after me whenever possible. Then one day she happened to ask me, "What is a spud?" Being caught somewhat off my guard, I started to answer simply, "Well, it's a potato -" Little Mount Jennifer erupted. "A potato!" Such indignation from a four-year-old, the world has never seen. "You called me a potato?" I tried a useless explanation. "It's only a name - " She continued fuming, "A potato!!" "I didn't mean to offend you-" (That's right, sound real pastoral!) "You called me a potato! UUUUUHHHHH!" That was always her last and most exasperated expression of total disgust. So "Spud" was tossed into the potato bin of history. I never referred to Jennifer as "Spud" again until the night of her wedding rehearsal dinner. She laughed hard at the name that night. I think she has finally forgiven me. She belongs to another man now, a big strapping fellow who overshadows me, literally. (I commented to my wife, "We're not losing a daughter, we're gaining a body guard."). One thing is certain. I'm not going to refer to his wife as "Spud" if the name offends him. I need him on my side. But there will always be a place in my heart and in my memories for "Spud," and the days when childhood innocence did not take offense. Those were days when it was just me and my little partner heading off somewhere in the pick-up truck. Just "Spud" and me - days I will never forget.

"Lady Talksalot"

2009-08-10T17:46:00.000-07:00

When our small church was in desperate need of someone to be in charge of the vacation Bible school skit, the director hung the job on me because, well, there was no one else and I was the pastor. Pastors always get the jobs no one else wants. So he handed me a file containing the five names of those to be included in the skit. The only problem was that all the skits were written typically for two people. There was nothing else to do but create new characters and new dialogue for each.
One of the five to be included was our younger daughter, Jennifer, the truly born actress of the family; the one sure to be over-the-top dramatic (See her reaction in the post titled "Spud."). I was stuck for how to write for her special talents when a thought occurred to me. Both our daughters had developed an ability to speak at a rapid-fire rate that to this day leaves me replying "Duh" to everything they say. Suppose I wrote a part for a lady who could speak in Jennifer's typical machine gun rhythm? I tossed the idea to her and she lit up at the thought. Since "Sir Lancelot" wouldn't do, I gave her the name "Lady Talksalot."
When the opening night for vacation Bible school arrived, I listened with some trepidation to the skit, wondering what I had done. I had turned loose our daughter with the instructions to talk without a script (It was impossible to write one.). "Just talk until you run out of words, then someone else will step in and pick up the dialogue." Right.
Everything went well and normal until the moment her character was supposed to speak. Enter Lady Talksalot. Jennifer erupted in a blizzard of words. The other actors looked as if they had been beaned with an inside pitch. Jennifer never slowed. I kept waiting for the end, but it never came. The other actor (now totally confused) kept waiting for her to take a breath so he could say his lines, but she didn't seem to breathe. Jennifer just kept talking on and on, effortlessly, and - most amazing - she never repeated herself. When Jennifer finally paused (She did have to breathe after all), the audience fractured. Sensing his one and only opportunity, the other actor stepped in with his lines and the skit continued.
Our program was a hit and audience was hooked. From that night forward, the audience swelled with as many adults as kids, just to see what "Lady Talksalot" would do next.
Jennifer did not disappoint them. She rattled on at mind-numbing speed for the entire week and never missed a line. A legend was born.
"Lady Talksalot" was married this summer to a fine young man, another pastor in the making to bring under our roof. He has been forewarned - not that it will do much good. He seems intelligent enough, and I know he loves Jennifer. I just hope he gets in a word once in a while.

Update - I'm back ...

2009-08-08T11:50:00.000-07:00

Well, I think I'm back. The last few days have been a combination of confusion and mystery for me because I am not a professional blogger. Most upsetting was my experience in trying to find this blog on Google, or anything else for that matter. The blog doesn't exist - not on Google anyway, not at the time I tried to find it. If you "Google" this site, you will find the blog I originally set up on Go Daddy, but it has no heading (Go Daddy would not allow it.), so I decided to construct this blog instead - only I could not find it. To remedy the situation I have submitted the URL address to several search engines. Hopefully and eventually, the situation may be worked out. Meanwhile, share our address with your friends and we will see what kind of following we can create. Check out the links and suggest a few if you like. This blog is for and about you.

And What is Normal?

2009-08-05T08:23:00.000-07:00

I recently ran across a very nice, formal looking sign at the local Cracker Barrel Restaurant that read "Remember, as far as anyone knows, we are a normal family like everyone else." The sign was funny enough by itself, but what really got my attention was the fact that it was being sold in the section where church and religious articles could be found. I could just imagine some pastor and his family buying that sign and reverently placing it in a prominent place in the home, or over a doorway to remind themselves whenever they entered.
Normalcy - what is it? My kids liked to wear shorts while growing up, and they still wear them. That probably bothers some people. My dad thinks the shorts look funny, but then he has dementia. Aren't Christians allowed to wear shorts, or is that normal for Christians? I remember hearing of one family - and they actually exist somewhere - who went swimming in the Gulf of Mexico; but they were a Christian family, so of course they swam a bit differently. The girls went into the water wearing dresses (or something very much like dresses - not pants!), and their dad went swimming in his jeans. Blue jeans. Levi-type jeans. The kind that shrink up enough when wet to raise your voice a full octave. And lest you think somehow modesty was saved that day, think again. Once the girls were sufficiently wet, more showed than they ever imagined, and more than any one's imagination cared to know.
Pardon me for being just a tad worldly right off the bat, but my wife and I allowed our family to dress for the water when we went swimming. Having lived along the gulf coast, we quickly learned how to find our own beach without having to resort to all the touristy locations, so we avoided the danger of gawking at some embarrassingly displayed person.
But we still wore swimwear. Why? It was normal. Pastor's families need the liberty to just be normal. That may mean allowing them to fail at times, or at least not expecting the tribulation when they do. As far as the preacher's family knows, they are normal like everyone else. Don't let them know any differently.

Well now ... What's This?

2009-08-03T19:28:00.000-07:00

After receiving quite a number of comments from frustrated preacher's kids, an idea has begun to take shape. It began when one student wrote "I have no one to talk to. No one understands what I'm going through ..." Those were words of despair from someone who had spent her life in the unique bubble known as the parsonage.

Life in the ministry is a world unto itself. Thirty-two years after ordination, and a lifetime in parsonages later, I began to think that perhaps there might be a place for a blog like this - a place to share my own thoughts and gather the experiences and insights of other pastors and their families. If nothing else, it would serve to give me a little writing experience on the side and keep my mind fresh for further projects. But there is more here than an academic exercise. Perhaps someone will catch an insight, have a laugh, or share an experience. This blog is really not about me. It's about all those who share life under the pastor's roof. Come under my roof for a while. Make yourself at home.