Is Anybody Listening?

I’m not sure how many sermons I preached before it dawned on me: not everyone was listening.  In the first church I served, I knew Mr. Leighton Bennett was not listening: he went to sleep during every sermon with his mouth open.  No matter how much I increased the volume, he slept right on, waking up when the introduction to the final hymn was played. 

In my second church, one deacon, Mr. E.C. Carrithers, wore hearing aids in both ears.  When he got bored with my sermons, he reached up with both index fingers and cut both hearing aids off.  He would continue to stare straight at me, not reacting to any attempt at humor or any convicting point.  It was unnerving.   

One Sunday, I preached on stewardship.  A woman came out the back door, enthusiastically shook my hand, and said, “Pastor, that was the best sermon on marriage I ever heard.”  It was then I began to learn it’s not what you say; it’s what they hear.   

I had been taught by my preaching professors that I should tackle issues head-on in the pulpit.  So I did.  I would preach convicting truth as plainly as I could.  I remember a sermon I preached on gossip, vividly describing the behavior of three women in the church.  I did everything short of calling them by name.  During the Invitation Hymn, not one of those women came forward to repent.  Instead, one of them shook my hand afterward and said, “Pastor, I sure hope people who gossip heard that message.  So many of them need to hear it.”  I then realized most people think the message is directed at “them (whoever they are),” not “me.”   

It is hard to preach well forty-eight Sundays a year.  By the time I arrived at my third church, I knew when I preached a “stinker.”  Stinkers are sermons you know are awful about halfway through.  You want to quit in the middle and confess to the congregation that the message is awful and promise to try harder next week.  Instead, out of some sense of obligation, you press on, hoping the Holy Spirit will rescue you.  Sometimes the Holy Spirit says, “I am just going to let you drown on this one.”  It is God’s way of keeping you humble.  After preaching a stinker, the people of the church would lie to my face: “Good sermon, Preacher.”  I knew it was a lie, and I think they knew I knew it was a lie.  Christians break the ninth commandment often in the name of being nice.   

I have stood to preach, knowing I had a message people needed to hear, and preached my heart out, only to feel like I was speaking to an empty room.  No one was engaged, no one responded, and people avoided looking me in the eye as they left the worship room.  It can be discouraging.  One preacher friend told his wife, “The only thing you are allowed to say to me about my sermon on Sunday and Monday is, ‘It was terrific darling.  You are an amazing instrument of God.’  On Tuesday, you can tell me the truth.” 

In these turbo-charged political times, I have been confronted about not endorsing politicians, having a secret agenda, and not preaching from the Bible.  When I was first accused of preaching “woke,” my response was, “How do you expect me to preach when I’m asleep?”  People have gotten mad at me for things I did not say and for not saying things they think I should say.  The preacher’s temptation is to say too little or to over-explain and say too much.  I fall into the latter category.  Those closest to me have told me the more I talk, the deeper the hole I dig. 

Jesus, quoting Isaiah, once said, “They have ears but do not hear…”  Apparently, he had the same frustrations about people getting the point of his messages.  He got frustrated with the disciples because he taught them for three years, yet they continued to impose their own fantasies of power and status on his teaching.  He was downright angry with the Pharisees and teachers of the law.  Read Matthew 23; when was the last time you heard a sermon like that?  I wonder if the Pharisees and teachers of the law thought his words were directed at the ‘other’ Pharisees and teachers of the law.  Surely, Jesus didn’t direct his words at them? 

My Aunt Neta used to say she never heard a sermon she didn’t get something out of.  I heard some of those same sermons, and I got nothing from them.  I think Aunt Neta was trying to teach me something: when you are listening to someone who is doing their best to share God’s word, ask God to help them.  Then, and most important, ask God to still your own thoughts and listen.  It might be there is something in the sermon God really does intend for you.

The Heat …

After a surprisingly cool June, the heat showed up last week.  If you live in the American South, you know this heat.  You step out from an air-conditioned building and are bathed in what chefs call “moist heat.”  You not only feel the heat, you can cut it with a knife. 

Growing up in Florida, the heat did not bother me.  We did not have air-conditioning (but loved to visit relatives that did).  Fans and screens on open windows kept the air moving.  But this was not significant since my mother was of the “It’s a nice day, go play outside” school of thought.  You learned to play in the shade or go down to the barn and play on the equipment inside. 

When I became an adolescent, my body changed.  As soon as my nerve-endings felt the heat, sweat poured out from every pore.  I spent most of my teenage and young adult years with soaked shirts.  Staying hydrated was a major task.  In the summers we would set out in the morning with a frozen milk jug of water.  By mid-morning, it would have thawed to cool water.  By lunchtime, it was tepid.  You filled it up, put it in the freezer, and took out another frozen jug for the afternoon.  It melted even faster.    

Most of the classrooms of my elementary and high school years were not air-conditioned.  In high school, you liberally applied cologne not to attract girls, but to keep from running away.  You choose your prom date based on who sweated the least. 

I spent four years of college and two years of seminary living in un-air-conditioned dorm rooms.  These were Baptist institutions, so I can only assume their goal in having these rooms was to make us fear hell.  We found one fan blowing in and another blowing out was the best strategy for surviving the heat of those little sweat boxes. 

In college, I made two mission trips to the Mexican desert.  People told me the heat there was different; it was a “dry heat” they said.  What is the difference between a dry heat and high humidity heat?  A dry heat sears you on the outside and can dry you out, like a hamburger left on the grill too long.  A moist heat means you slowly fall apart, like a roast in a crockpot.  Either way, you are cooked. 

I actually owned the last two cars in America without air-conditioning.  I remember driving one of those cars to church and sweating through not only my shirt, but also my pants.  That wouldn’t have been so bad, except my pants were light brown.  When I was a pastor in rural Kentucky, I owned a little Ford Ranger truck that had no air-conditioning.  It wasn’t too bad except in funeral processions.  Then, it was agony. 

I am told old-time preachers saved sermons on hell for the summer.  In those days before air-conditioning, the heat made hell seem much closer.  When the preacher talked about never-ending torment, our minds instantly translated it to a never-ending summer.   The sermons about hell were always lengthy.  It made you really think about spending eternity burning up.  One older deacon told me preachers stopped preaching about hell when church buildings were air-conditioned.  People were so comfortable, the threat of the fire of hell seemed like a remote possibility.   

Jesus, of course, lived before air-conditioning.  Being God, he could have chosen to be born after the invention of air-conditioning.  But scripture tells us he suffered along with the rest of us.  He felt the oppressive heat of the Palestinian summer.  He tasted the dust of the dry season.  When he talked about the fires of hell, he knew what heat was like. 

Jesus did talk about hell.  He never talked about it as a symbolic place.  For him, it was real, it was a threat, and it was not pleasant.  Why are fire and heat a feature of hell?  Scholars say it is symbolic of judgment.  I am sure that is true, but I also think people could understand a heated hell was a place you did not want to be.  It is summer without hope of fall, misery without an escape.   

I think Dallas Willard is right: God has no desire to send people to hell.  But for people who want to live their lives apart from God, hell is the best God can do.  The reason it is such a place of misery is a person still exists, but their own choices have put them in place of regret.  Someone said, “The refrain of hell is coulda, shoulda, woulda.”   

People today say they do not believe in hell.  If you think about it, that is an odd statement.  It would be like me saying, “I don’t believe Connecticut exists.  I have never been there.  Just because people say it exists, doesn’t mean it exists.”  Part of being human is remembering I do not have the last word on what exists or not.  God does. 

I am not sure all of what hell is like, only that Jesus said it was hot and miserable, and it is not a place you want to be.  I’m not sure all of what heaven is like either; but I am pretty sure it is air-conditioned.  One more reason to follow Jesus.

What I Believe About America…

I believe you should stand for the “Star Spangled Banner,” put your hand over your heart, and sing when our national anthem is played. I believe you should know the words of the Pledge of Allegiance and say them proudly. 

I believe the ideals of freedom, liberty, and self-government still shine. I believe our forefathers saw these ideals as worthy goals, but they had not yet been seen for all people and all races. That would take time and war and protests and tragedies. 

I believe our country is worth fighting for. I salute the bravery of our armed forces who stand in the gap on our behalf. I admire the willingness of policemen who are on the frontline of our laws. Our court system is far from perfect, but I would rather stand trial in these United States than in any other country in the world. I read history, and I respect those who marched for racial justice, and in the words of Martin Luther King, Jr., decreed “that they should be judged by the content of their character, not the color of their skin.” 

I believe the history of our country bears stains we must notice. People of color should never have been sold as property. Native Americans should never have been forced to relocate. My Seminole Indian ancestors should never have been forced to hide in the Everglades. The Civil War should not have been fought. Jim Crow laws should never have been passed. 

I believe our Constitution and our system of government should be celebrated. Our Constitution is not perfect, but what makes it unique is we have lived under its structure for almost 240 years. Our Constitution reminds us we are not a democracy, but a republic, a nation with laws. We do not change course just because the wind changes. We think and deliberate before we change our laws. 

I believe God blessed these United States with amazing leaders. George Washington could have been King but was humble enough to relinquish power. Thomas Jefferson, a man of great intellect and moral blindness, still could see a vision of ideals and embrace a bigger future for America. James Madison and Alexander Hamilton, friends and enemies, could write a Constitution and persuade thousands of the need for change. Abraham Lincoln could see “a house divided against itself cannot long stand,” and with an iron will, preserved the Union. Teddy Roosevelt saw the danger of big business and refused to let business dictate to government. Franklin Roosevelt was willing to try anything to get us out of a Depression that threatened to wipe out our country. Then, he pulled America out of isolation. The list goes on. 

I believe God has a purpose for our country. The great sweep of history is God never blesses a group of people simply for their comfort. God’s blessings are for a reason. Like Abraham of old, we are blessed to be a blessing to the world. America is her best when she serves. 

I believe our nation can rise to the occasion. We have, again and again. When attacked, we fight. When a crisis occurs within our borders, we respond. I have been told that no other people in the world volunteer like Americans. Show us the need, and we say, “What can we do?” 

I believe America is not forever. The great empires of the past – Persian, Egyptian, Roman, Mongolian – all had their day. Why did they not last? Usually, it was pride. There was a belief in each of those empires that they were strong enough that they no longer needed to be on their guard “from all enemies, foreign or domestic.”  It is said, “Pride goeth before the fall.”  When I look around, I am concerned that our pride causes us to forget how fragile a nation is. 

I believe America is divided. I recently heard a speaker say, “Problems are not solved at the extremes. Problems are solved in the middle.”  The Constitution was a compromise document. Most of our laws are compromises. But now, we do not want to compromise. Instead, we listen to media that tells us we are right in our viewpoints and that the people on the other side are evil. As a Christian, this bothers me. First, I believe in the total depravity of man. Everyone is evil, Republicans and Democrats and Socialists and Independents. Second, none of us can govern perfectly or make perfect laws. What if we came together and just admitted this and then tried the best we could to meet in the middle? 

Finally, I believe there is hope for America. How do you change a nation? You change a community. How do you change a community? Change an individual. How do you change an individual? You change their heart. Who can do that? Jesus.   

So how do you change a nation? Jesus.

Fishing Ruined, Again…

My first time fishing was with my Uncle Willard, Aunt Gloria, my brother Steve, and my cousins Kelly and Steve.  We went fishing for speckled perch (called crappie in less sophisticated parts of the world) in the Kissimmee River.  The fish were “on the bed,” as the old-timers used to say, meaning the fish were guarding their eggs, and were hungry.   

We were cane pole fishing with a bobber and minnows.  The fish started biting, and we pulled them in.  Imagine four boys, 12, 8, 6, and 5 throwing out their lines and getting a bite every time.  Poor Uncle Willard was so busy baiting our hooks he couldn’t get his own line in the water.  We ran out of minnows and started using the cheese Aunt Gloria had brought for lunch.  When the cheese ran out, we switched to Vienna Sausage (if you do not know what Vienna Sausage is, you have missed out on a great delicacy).  The fish gobbled it up, and we pulled in even more.  When we ran out of Vienna Sausage, my brother Steve suggested we cut off my toes and use them for bait.  Thankfully, Uncle Willard did not go along with that suggestion.  He did tell us to put our bare hooks in the water and see if the fish would bite them.  They did.  We were pulling in fish with no bait. 

Finally, the fish stopped biting, and Uncle Willard and Aunt Gloria started counting the fish.  We had landed 123 speckled perch.  The old timers would say, “Boy, you caught a mess and a half.”  Do not look up this measurement in any book; only your grandfather can tell you what it means. 

We headed back to the landing and went back home, glowing in our triumph.  Uncle Willard and Aunt Gloria had to clean all those fish while we boys played. 

I, of course, assumed all fishing was like that.  My stepfather Lawrence loved to fish.  He would have us on the lake at sunup and would stay until after dark.  The first time he took me and my mother, I was waiting for the fish to bite like they did when I was with Uncle Willard and Aunt Gloria.  I waited… and waited.  Every time he took me over the next ten years, I waited for that magical moment to happen again, but it never did.  Fishing was ruined for me. 

I had the chance to go fly fishing during a recent trip to the mountains.  Lawrence loved to fly fish, so I thought I would give it a go.  We met our guide at the Nantahala Gorge, ready for a new experience.  Lawson was 16 years old but was on the US Youth Fly Fishing Team (who knew?).  He told us he had gotten to the spot early, fished for thirty minutes, and caught 30 trout.  He got my attention.  Was this to be a repeat of that first experience long ago? 

He instructed us on the basics of casting and watching our leader.  Then he set us in the middle of the Upper Nantahala River to see what we could do.  

On my third cast, I hooked my first fish.  I set the hook, pulled in the line, and got him to the net.  It was a Brookie.  We took pictures, then released the trout, and I cast again.  On my tenth cast, I hooked another fish.  This one was a Brown trout.  Lawson patiently explained the difference between Brookies and Browns, but I really couldn’t tell the difference at all.  Fly fishing was easy. 

There is an ancient Greek saying: “Those the gods would humble, they first make proud.”  For the next hour and a half, I cast and cast and caught nothing.  This was more like fishing with Lawrence than fishing with Uncle Willard.  I shifted positions in the river; Lawson suggested a couple of different techniques, and still, nothing.   

Our time was ending, and I made one more cast.  I hooked a fish, pulled him in, and looked at him.  I caught the rainbow – or I should say a Rainbow trout.  I hit the trifecta on the last cast.  I admired him, pictures were taken, and an enjoyable day on the river concluded. 

Jesus invited his disciples to be fishers of men.  He wanted them to experience the thrill of seeing someone take their next toward Jesus.  I think he also wanted them to learn patience.  You can put out all the reasons why a person should follow Jesus, but ultimately, it is a person’s own decision to have a relationship with Jesus.   

I think the reason fishing was ruined for me is because I lack patience.  Instead of fishing, God gave me other paths that taught me patience.  But if we follow Jesus, our call is not to make excuses but to get out there and fish.  There are people who are spiritually hungry, and they need Jesus.  Pray that God will grow their hunger, and they will start biting.  God does not practice catch and release; everyone who responds is a keeper. 

Taking Care of Yourself?

The people who love me best tell me to take care of myself.  I admit this is not a natural tendency.  I’m sure that tendency is born from several sources.  I grew up among men who were celebrated for being tough.  I remember hearing of a cowboy who was thrown from his horse and heard a loud crack.  He groaned in pain for a few seconds, got back on his horse, and finished the day’s work.  When he got home, his wife insisted he go to the emergency room, where an X-ray revealed he had three broken ribs.  The editorial comment was, “Man, that is one tough cowboy.”   

It did not help that my religious culture celebrated missionaries who heroically died on foreign soil and pastors who died in the midst of preaching a sermon.   More than once, I was told, “It is better to wear yourself out for God than rust yourself out for the devil.”  No one went on to observe whether you wore yourself out or rusted out; either way, you were out. 

I did not know a single preacher who jogged until I went to seminary.  When pastors talked about eating healthy, they meant they would take a smaller piece of pie.  In my culture of fried chicken, rice and gravy, and green bean casserole, eating vegan was unheard of.  This changed, of course.  I have a friend who is stepping down from pastoring his church so he can coach pastors and ministers full-time on how to care for their health.  Pastors used to sneak off to see counselors; now, some pastoral meetings are about the latest thing the pastors learned in therapy. 

As I grow older, I am finding more reasons to live longer.  I want to spend as many days with my wife as possible.  I want to see my grandson graduate from college.  I am hoping for more grandchildren, and I would like them to remember me.  I want to finish well at the church I serve.  I want to see the family ranch thrive. 

I was praying about this the other day, asking the Lord to give me enough days to see these things.  God does not speak to me audibly, but thoughts come to me in prayer.  This thought came: “I want to give you this, but you have a part.” 

This is what God does over and over.  He makes the world, but he lets man name the animals.  He pays for our sins, but we must accept the gift.  He beckons us to follow him, but we must leave our nets and boats.  We have a part. 

We even have a part in taking care of ourselves.  I wish God would let me eat what I want, as much as I want, whenever I want, and still lose weight.  God has not answered that request in forty years; it seems doubtful he will.  I have a part. 

I want to build my stamina without exercise.  Sitting in my recliner does not seem to build strength.  I think I need to actually move to get my heart rate up.  I want to stay mentally sharp while rotting my brain with too much screen time.  Putting down my phone and engaging in the world might save my mental acuity.  I have a part. 

Paul said in Romans 7 that he knew the right things to do, but he struggled to do them.  He finished his thought with the cry, “Oh wretched man that I am!  Who will rescue me from this body of death?” 

Jesus called himself the Good Shepherd.  That means his followers are sheep who need guidance in everyday choices.  Ultimately, I have to confess to Jesus that I am not strong enough to make good choices on my own.  I need his help.  I need his guidance.  Even though God tells me I must do my part, I must turn back to him and confess that I am weak.  I cannot do my part without his help, without his mercy, without his grace.   

And it is the grace of God that he is willing to help me with my part.  This is not an excuse to be passive, but an acknowledgment I need the direction of God at the very root of my being. 

Paul finished his thought in Romans with a thankful hope: “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”  Jesus is the one who rescues me from myself, who teaches me to take care of myself, and who then gives me the strength to do my part.  

So I thank God for taking care of me.  I thank God for making clear my part in taking care of myself.  And I thank God for giving me the strength to do my part because I cannot do it by myself.  He takes care of me… and you.

Fantasy…

When I was growing up, all the boys my age had the same fantasy: we wanted to be Steve Spurrier. Back then, he was the quarterback at the University of Florida. He threw the football like no one we had seen before. 

Of the boys I grew up with – Binky, Mark, Danny, Harold, and Ronnie – none of us became Steve Spurrier. In fact, none of us grew up to play college football. Like the old Everly Brothers song, we were dreaming our life away. 

Fantasies take all many forms. I remember having a crush on Julie Andrews and dreaming of her being my girlfriend. The fact that she was twenty years older than me and married did not dawn on me until I was in middle school. In college, I occasionally fantasized I could pass a test without studying. That fantasy turned into a nightmare.   

I still have fantasies. I believe I can get a shower, get dressed, and get to work in ten minutes, even though it is an eight-minute drive to work. I believe I can eat whatever I want and not gain weight. I believe as long as the ATM spits out money, I must still have money in the bank. My own false beliefs are why I am skeptical when someone says, “I believe…”  Belief doesn’t count for much unless it is tied to reality.   

Some fantasies become addictive escapes. Online gamers experience this. After hours of gaming, re-entry into the real world can be bumpy. The hypnotic trance of an online game gives you the illusion of control. People who have been addicted to porn tell me it is a quick escape from the hard work of a real relationship. In porn, there are no demands except for your credit card number. The power of the quick fix becomes an addiction. 

In my conversations with alcoholics, most admit they liked the way alcohol made them feel. It loosened them up. They felt more relaxed, more able to be the life of the party. But they go on to tell me at the end that the good feeling of alcohol wouldn’t come anymore. They isolated and drank by themselves. Their escape to fantasy became a controlling addiction. 

A man came to see me years ago about his fantasy. It involved leaving his marriage and running away with a co-worker. When I asked him if he was romantically involved with his co-worker, he told me, “No.”   I believed him. It is easier to deal with a fantasy woman than a real one. 

When Satan first tempted Eve, he offered her a fantasy. “God doesn’t want you to eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. If you do, you will be like God!”  Some theologians have said this has been humanity’s fantasy ever since:  we want to be like God. We want to be able to control what is right and wrong. We want pleasure without pain. We want to set the limits for other people. 

Every time humanity tries to make the fantasy of being a god reality, we fail. Every time. When we try to redefine what is right and wrong, we run into consequences we did not foresee. When we seek pleasure, we can become pain adverse. Comfort, not health, becomes our guide. When we impose judgment on other people, we find ourselves more isolated and alone. Just like Eve and Adam ended up facing reality and were thrown out of the garden, our fantasies of being like God crash into the hard reality that we are not like God and do not have the capacity to be like him. 

God does not deal in fantasy. Jesus came to confront the reality of our sin and brokenness. He offers us forgiveness and grace. Sometimes people have a fantasy they can be good enough to earn salvation. A verse in the Bible challenges this: “There is no one righteous, no not one.”  None of us are that good. 

I wonder if Jesus today might be present with the gamer, or the girl glued to her phone, or the guy doing porn, and say to each of them, “It is time to return to reality. It is time for you to realize you need help. I am here to help you, to save you. Step into the light of my grace, and I will carry you.”   

That is no fantasy. Jesus is the reality of grace.

Included?

Everyone knows what it is like to be excluded. You are not welcome at the cool kids’ table. You are picked last for the baseball team at recess. You do not get the promotion to the blowing and going team at work. The love of your life tells you she does not love you anymore. Exclusion hurts. 

Churches should not exclude, but we do. We have a thousand subtle ways of telling you this church is not for you. It can be as simple as a look that says, “That is my seat, not yours.”  Sometimes the message is spoken out loud. A shameful chapter of my own church’s history includes a time when deacons were to meet African-Americans at the door and direct them to the nearest African-American congregation. That was wrong. 

Churches can shame people and chase them away. Church people can judge you if you are divorced, have had an abortion, struggle with sexual sin or identity, have an addiction, or vote for a different political party.   Funny how the very thing Jesus told us not to do (“Judge not, lest ye be judged”) we excel in doing. 

Jesus reached out to people on the fringe. The lepers were excluded; Jesus touched them. The woman with the issue of blood was considered “unclean;” Jesus healed her and told her she was forgiven. The woman caught in the act of adultery (I always wondered where the man was) was about to be stoned; Jesus told her, “I do not condemn you; go and sin no more.”  The blind man was told his sin was the reason he was blind; Jesus healed him. Zacchaeus was excluded because he was a traitor and a collaborator; Jesus went to his house to eat with him. The sinful woman was condemned by Simon; Jesus forgave her.   

Jesus warned us to deal with the logs in our own eyes before we try to point out the specks in other people’s eyes. We are not very good at this. Maybe before we post something on Social Media, we should ask God to show us our own shortcomings. 

My friend George Bullard recently shared his memories of serving as a pastor in a rough section of Louisville, Kentucky. This is what he said:

“When I ponder the people in that church and community, I think of the following things.

·        They robbed our house two weeks before Christmas. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        The police periodically chased people down the alley outside our bedroom window, shooting at them. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        There were drug raids about every two months at the house directly across the street. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        My wife’s jewelry box ended up in the bedroom of the mother of the boys who robbed our house. Just two blocks away. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        We varied our pattern and tricked people who knew someone left our church each Sunday with the offering of mostly cash. Church-offering robberies occurred periodically in the community. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        The teenage boys who robbed our house were the younger brothers of the older teens who stole our church sound system. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        Two teenage girls in the church less than 15 years old had “back alley” abortions. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        A sixteen-year-old girl who was seven months pregnant walked more than a mile in 20-degree weather without a coat to get to our church because she heard we could give her food. The father of her baby had abandoned her. She still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        Vacation Bible School was always in the evenings. A few women who taught in VBS said they would be there to lead their class if their husbands drank enough beer after work to fall asleep on the couch. They still needed the unconditional love of God.”

We might want to only put together “pretty people” to come to our churches. The truth is there are no put-together “pretty people.”  There are simply people who need the grace and unconditional love of God. And the church needs to welcome “All who are weary and burdened.”  Jesus and his church are here to give you rest, to share with you the unconditional love of God, to love you as you are, and to help you find where you need to be.

There is an old hymn l love that says, “Whosoever surely meaneth me…”  When Jesus came to save the world, he had you in mind. Whosoever surely meaneth you – and all the people you judge.

Luck or God at Work?

We are told, “Some people have all the luck.”  The basketball player hits an impossible shot as the buzzer sounds: “What a lucky shot!”  Or maybe lots of practice.  What about all the times when a player shoots the ball at the buzzer, and it bounces off the rim?  Bad luck, or just the odds of making a shot from 60 feet away? 

Luck, we are told, is really just a matter of probability.  A poker player wins four hands in a row.  We say, “He’s on a lucky streak.”  The wise player knows no streak lasts forever, the truth behind the classic country song, “You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em; know when to fold ‘em.”   

On the other hand, the good things that have happened in my life seem to be too specific to be random acts of chance.  When I was a child, riding between my parents in the front seat, a car topped the hill we were climbing, passing another car.  The road was under construction.  In a split-second decision, my stepfather jerked the wheel to guide our car to the one place on the road that seemed to offer an escape.  The other car missed us by less than a foot.  In a cloud of dust, my stepfather put the car back onto the pavement.  It happened so fast; our hearts did not begin to pound until after the danger had passed.  One of my brothers said from the back seat, “We were lucky.”  My mother replied, “No.  We were saved by God.” 

In my seventh decade of life, I see so much good that cannot be luck.  Blessings come I do not deserve.  For starters, my family is better than I deserve.  My career as a pastor has been richer, better, and more challenging than I could have imagined.  I was given a gift for communicating and writing.  Yes, I had to develop those gifts, but standing up in front of people does not frighten me.  During sermons, an insight will come out of my mouth I never thought of before.  “Where did that come from?” my mind inquires.  My only answer is “God.”   

I think about the bigger picture.  I did not deserve to be born an American.  I am blessed to live in a time and in a country where I am free to think, express myself, disagree with political leaders, and not fear retribution.  This is rare in history.  I did nothing to bring about indoor plumbing or air conditioning, or electric lighting, but each of these is a blessing I enjoy every day. 

On my father’s side of the family, the men tend to die young from heart troubles.  I’m still here.  My cardiologist says my heart is strong.  I have some health issues, but I am blessed to live in an age where daily medication helps.   

Could it be that much of what we call “luck” is really God at work?  Could it be that God is better to you than you even notice?  I heard a man say he did not have enough faith to believe in luck.  Probability could not account for the good things that come into his life.   

You may not feel lucky or blessed.  I get that.  If we could sit down and you were to tell me your story, I’m sure I would be amazed that you are able to get through a day.  But if you would let me, I would also ask you to let me tell you stories of people who have gone through horrific pain and loss and, somehow, still saw God at work.   

I might tell you the story of Louie Zamperini, a famous Olympic runner.  His plane went down in the Pacific in World War II; he and one other crewmate survived for 47 days with little food or water.  He was found by the Japanese, tortured, beaten, and mistreated for two years in a POW camp.  Released at the end of the war, he returned to California suffering from PTSD, a condition not well understood at the time.  To cope, he drank heavily.  At the urging of his wife, he attended a Billy Graham Crusade and accepted Christ.  The nightmares of his POW days ceased.  He spent the rest of his life advocating forgiveness and working with disadvantaged youth.   

Hearing his story, there are parts that sound like Louie was unlucky; other parts sound like he was the luckiest man alive.  I don’t think luck was involved; I think God was at work.  To paraphrase the Apostle Paul, God was working good in all things, according to his plan for Louie’s life. 

Pause your life.  Ask God to show you where he is at work.  It might be in the beauty of the day.  It might be in the laugh of your grandson.  It might be the promotion you just received.  It might be in the tragedy that did not crush you.  Open your eyes and see.

Doors, Windows, and Sledgehammers…

People talk about God’s path for life as a series of open and shut doors. The thinking goes that God shuts some doors of opportunity, and we cannot go through them. Other doors are open to us, and that represents God’s will.   

I have seen God open doors of opportunity in my life. Doors opened for me to go to the college that was the right fit for me. Doors opened for me to do graduate work and deepen my understanding of God’s word. Doors opened for our family to buy our first house.   

But God’s will for our lives is not just a matter of open and closed doors. I turned the doorknobs of some doors, and they opened. I went through the door and made myself at home in the new room. Sometimes it didn’t take long for me to realize this room was not a healthy place for me to be. Sometimes I was blind or stubborn and stayed way too long in a toxic environment. Just because a door opens doesn’t mean God wants you to go through that door. 

It is also true that I picked the locks of some closed doors because I had a sense of what was on the other side, and I wanted it more than I wanted to follow God. Having worked so hard to get through the door, I would stay to get what I wanted. Then I wanted more, so I stayed longer. I could hear God’s voice calling me to get out of the room before my soul was misshaped, but I stubbornly stayed. I finally left some of those rooms, but like a coal miner who worked in the mines too long and got black lung disease, I have to live with the soul damage for the rest of my life. I’m also embarrassed to admit in the back corners of my mind, I remember how to pick those locks, just in case I ever want to go back. 

I’ve heard people say when God doesn’t open a door; he gives you a window. I’ve always been a bit puzzled by this. Is the window for escape, or so you can look at something you aren’t supposed to have? No one was ever clear about this. A man once told me, “I never should have divorced my first wife. She was a good woman and a good mother. But I turned forty-six and got a little crazy. I chased a younger woman who loved my money more than me. She got pregnant, I got divorced, and now I’m working like a dog to support her spending addiction.”  His head was hanging down the whole time he was talking, and I could feel his regret. Maybe God does give us a window to say, “This is why that door is closed.” 

A few times in my life, I felt the voice of God calling me from behind a closed door. God was saying, “I want you to come through the door into this new space.”  I tried the doorknob, and the door wouldn’t open. I would say to God, “The door’s locked!”  God would reply, “I know. Look beside the door. I have given you a sledgehammer. Bust through the door.” 

These are not my favorite moments. Beating down a door is not easy, not at all like you see on a home improvement show on TV. It is hard, sweaty work. Sometimes, you have to take a break. Progress can be slow. I think Moses must have felt this way, leading God’s people through the wilderness for forty years. 

When you finally break through the door, you ask God, “Why did you make it so hard? You could have unlocked the door and let me in.”  God smiles and says, “Yes, but you needed to grow your patience and strength, so I wanted you to use the sledgehammer to break the door down.” 

Finding God’s will and doing it is not a formula. God is not limited to doors, windows, or sledgehammers. God reveals his will for our lives in the best way for us to receive it. Maybe that is why Jesus never gave us step-by-step instructions but a simple invitation: “Come, follow me.” 

There is a verse in Isaiah that says, “Seek the LORD while he may be found; Call upon him while he is near.”  If you really want God’s will for your life, get as close to God as you can, and ask him. God will answer you. He may answer you with an open door, or a window, or provide you with a sledgehammer. 

Or God might just grin and say, “Follow me.”

Is the Mike Law Amendment Necessary for the Southern Baptist Convention?

I like steak.  Not surprising, since I grew up on a cattle ranch. I have a few friends, however, who are vegetarians.  When we eat together, I find myself thinking of many jokes I could make, including, “You don’t know what you’re missing.”  But I’ve learned to stop myself.  As my adult children regularly remind me, “Dad, you are not as funny as you think you are.”  I’ve also learned not to make jokes about vegetarians when I preach.  As best I can tell, both vegetarians and steak eaters go to heaven.

What does this have to do with the Mike Law proposed amendment to the Southern Baptist Convention?  Brother Law’s proposal simply reads, “The Convention will only deem a church to be in friendly cooperation with the Convention, and sympathetic with its purposes and work (i.e., a “cooperating” church as that term is used in the Convention’s governing documents) which: Does not affirm, appoint, or employ a woman as a pastor of any kind.”

The Convention has previously amended its Constitution to withdraw fellowship from churches that discriminate based on ethnicity and those that do not follow Convention beliefs about sexual abuse.  Both of these address issues systemic sin in congregational life.

Is it a sin for a church to call a woman staff member a “Children’s Pastor?”  Is it a sin for a church to call a woman worship leader a “Worship Pastor?”

Isn’t there room in the SBC for both those who eat meat and those who abstain from eating meat?  Aren’t there whole chapters in Romans about this?

Set aside for a moment the whole question of whether women should be Lead Pastors.  Brother Law’s amendment, as currently worded, takes a non-essential to salvation interpretation of one issue and elevates to a level of primacy.  What’s next?  Will the Convention dictate what translation you must use in preaching?  Will the Convention tell your church you must have elders? 

I have read Brother Law’s web site explaining his rationale for his amendment.  I respect his arguments, though I do not agree with them.  His interpretation works for the church he pastors, although I notice on his church website they have a woman who serves as a deaconess.  Even though the vast majority of SBC churches do not have deaconesses, I am glad he has the freedom to say, “This works for the flock God has called me to lead.”

Let us respect the autonomy of every church, knowing that God will ultimately judge whether each church is doing what is right in his eyes.  The Law Amendment is not necessary; Baptist Faith and Message 2000 is enough, with the affirming language in Article XIV, Cooperation: “Christ’s people should, as occasion requires, organize such associations and conventions as may best secure cooperation for the great objects of the Kingdom of God. Such organizations have no authority over one another or over the churches. They are voluntary and advisory bodies designed to elicit, combine, and direct the energies of our people in the most effective manner. Members of New Testament churches should cooperate with one another in carrying forward the missionary, educational, and benevolent ministries for the extension of Christ’s Kingdom. Christian unity in the New Testament sense is spiritual harmony and voluntary cooperation for common ends by various groups of Christ’s people.”

This leads me to ask the most important question of all: Will passing the Law amendment bringing anyone to Jesus? 

Let the answer to that question determine God’s will for our convention. 

Possibilities …

Breakfast is my favorite meal. It was my mother’s favorite meal too. Nobody cooks breakfast the way she did anymore. There would be a pot of grits on the back burner, stirred every minute or so. My mother made perfect grits: not too runny, not too lumpy. Her grits were just the right consistency, so if you threw them at the wall, they would stick and slowly run down to the floor. 

Momma would fry bacon, then fry our eggs in bacon grease. She never flipped her eggs, but she would take her spatula and gently flip up some hot grease on top of the eggs. The whites were crispy, and the yolks were firm, with just a touch of yellow liquid spilling out.   

I know there are people who eat their grits and their eggs separately; these are people who were not raised right. Putting a dab of real butter (margarine is of the devil) on our grits, we would slide the fried eggs up on top, then mash them together in a beautiful chaos. Applying salt and pepper, we would mix it all again and have the perfect combination. All that was topped off with homemade biscuits, butter, and guava jelly. After a breakfast like that, you were ready for the day.   

I miss breakfast like that.   

Not too long ago, I went with my children, their spouses, and my grandson out for brunch. To me, brunch is breakfast delayed. There were strange things on the menu, like eggs benedict, vegetarian egg white omelets, and whole wheat pancakes served with turkey bacon. There was even avocado toast. I like avocados, and I like toast, but putting them together was not in my wheelhouse.   

I admit I have eaten eggs benedict. It is pretty good, especially when they go heavy on the hollandaise sauce. I have avoided vegetarian egg white omelets and whole wheat pancakes so far. I have eaten turkey bacon, but I can report it does not taste like turkey or bacon. Turkey is for gravy and sandwiches; bacon is meant to come from pigs. 

Once, when overseas, I was served beef tongue for breakfast. I love beef, but I know where a cow’s tongue has been, so no, thank you. In college, cold pizza was allowed for breakfast in an emergency. Doughnuts do not count as a real breakfast, no protein. Same thing with Pop-tarts.  Pastries are a good breakfast, but only in France, where the pastries not only melt in your mouth, they melt your soul. 

As delicious as my mother’s breakfasts were, there are more possibilities for breakfast in this world than grits, fried eggs, bacon, and biscuits. I have to be wise enough to appreciate what was given to me without judging what other people chose. 

I believe our God is a god of possibilities. He gives us a start with our families, but part of his will for our lives is to take a journey with him, to discover more outside our comfort zones. Growth, especially spiritual growth, is always accompanied by discomfort. When you begin to follow Jesus, you find more beyond your small corner of the world and your small understanding. 

I was once invited to participate in a funeral in Botswana. I was there on a short-term mission trip, and a beloved member of the church had died. No one told me, however, that funerals began in the darkness of the early morning hours, so I had to be up and dressed at 4:30 am. Who ever heard of having a funeral so early? We conducted the service in the pre-dawn darkness, then made our way to the cemetery as the sky began to brighten. When sunrise broke over the horizon, we were standing by the hole in the cemetery, singing songs of praise. I could not help but think, “This is so right. For a follower of Jesus, death is the dawning of eternal life. We should sing songs of praise as the sun comes up.”  My soul opened to new possibilities that day. 

Ephesians 3:20-21 says, “20 Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen.”  Pray for God to open your eyes to possibilities. Pray for God to do more than you can ask or even imagine. Ask this for yourself and for your city. God is the God of possibility. 

God might even open you to the possibility that whole-wheat pancakes are tasty.

Legitimizers…

This is a chapter from my unpublished book, The Cowboy Way of Leadership. I would love to hear your reaction…

Number 57 was a crook horn cow owned by my Aunt Neta.  When we worked her cows, Number 57 always made her way to the front of the line.  She was an old cow who had been to the pens many times; she knew the way and the drill.  With her in the lead, the cowboy’s job was easy.  In fact, we had to play catch up.  More than once, Number 57 had the cows in the pens waiting for us!

One year, Number 57 was bitten by a rattlesnake and died.  The next time we worked cows at Aunt Neta’s, it was a disaster.  There was no one to show the way.

Most groups and most organizations have a “lead cow.”  We call them “Legitimizers.”  These are people who give guidance and permission to go in a specific direction.

John Maxwell tells a about a legitimizer named Claude.  Claude was a member of John’s first church.  He had been there long before John became pastor; he would be there long after John left.  John quickly learned that if he wanted something done, he needed to first suggest it to Claude.  If it was a good idea, Claude would take the lead.  If it was a bad idea (and every leader has some!), Claude would re-shape the idea to make it a good one, or help it die a quiet death.

Every leader depends on the legitmizers.  It may be an executive assistant who has been with the company before you were born but knows where all the bodies are buried.  It may be the “number two” man who has outlasted three “number one” men.  It may be a senior volunteer.  It may be the board member who gives the most money to your organization.  It may be your best customer.  They are out there, and they can make your leadership look brilliant or inept.  One good lead cow is worth about three cowboys!

Discovering Legitimizers

Most legitimizers are never titled that way.  You have to discover them.  Pay attention to who speaks and shuts off debate.  Listen to people talk about who is most admired in your company.  Watch the spheres of influence – who hangs out outside of your work; who gathers in the break room; which class socializes on a monthly basis. 

When I consult with organizations, my initial workshop always includes these questions:

1. “Who are the five most influential people in this organization?”

2. “Who are five people who think they are would be listed as influential, but aren’t on the list?”

I want to know who really influences the way people think.  I want to know who thinks they do, but really is an irritant.  This helps me not listen to the “squeakiest wheel” who turns everyone else off.  I learn to pay attention to people who have real influence.

Relating to Legitimizers

True legitimizers have an allegiance to the organization and its people.  If, as a leader, you have pure motives of wanting to help the organization and its people, you are on the same side as the legitimizers. 

Spend time with legitimizers.  Ask them what they like in the organization.  Ask them what they think needs to be changed.  Ask what they hope to see happen. 

Run ideas by them.  Ask them about positives and negatives.  If you don’t receive much input back, it’s probably a sign they have doubts and are not sure how you will receive the truth.  Mine for the truth!   My goal is to have a face-to-face conversation with every legitimizer in our church at least once a year. 

If a legitimizer has a crisis, I want to be present for them.  This is my way of demonstrating I care about them not just for what they can do for me or the organization; but for them as a person. 

When the Legitimizers say “No”

I’ve seen leaders get in trouble because they assumed anyone who disagreed with an idea was an enemy.  To disagree is not to oppose.

Our staff was trying to fix some issues with our Sunday morning schedule.  We brought our proposal to our legitmizers, who unanimously gave us a “thumbs down.”  Their rationale was it was too much change for too many people.

Some of the staff members had harsh reactions.  Time was needed to let things settle.  About three months later, we got major pushback on another, smaller initiative.  It turned out the church was unsettled and felt like the staff was pushing too hard.  The legitimizers knew what we didn’t. 

If a legitimizer says “no,” assume it is for a good reason.  Find out the reason!

One of the strangest things about legitimizers:  Sometimes they may say “no” but still give permission for you to do what you want.  Legitimizers can be thought of as “gatekeepers;” they may tell you are going in the wrong direction, but they still open the gate for you to go.  They may not support you, but as long as they don’t oppose you, you can make progress.

The Value of a Legitimizer

After I had been pastor for three years, our church voted to re-locate.  A friend told me that the only thing harder on a church than relocation was the discovery that the pastor was having a homosexual affair!  We succeeded, largely because a key legitimizer, Miss Jo, the matriarch of the church, decided relocating was the right decision.  When leaders of an opposition movement approached her about being part of a movement to buy the old building and start a new church.  She replied, “I’ve already paid for this old building once.  I’m not going to pay for it again!”  She persuaded other key legitimizers not to form an opposition movement, but to wait and see how things turned out.  They did wait, we gained momentum, and we gathered the support of almost all of the legitimizers over the next three years.

Before the move was completed, however, Miss Jo was killed in an accident.  It was a terrible blow to me personally – and to the church.  We lost one of our key legitimizers.  There was no one there to say, “I’ve been through this before.  It will be okay.  Just follow me.”

You may walk into an organization that has lost a key legitimizer.  Or your predecessor may have driven out previous legitimizers.  Or your headquarters may have shifted people around so quickly, no legitmizers can be found.  If you can’t find the legitimizer you need, the leaders have to do more careful work.  No one in the herd is helping you. 

In this case, you, as the leader, can draft some temporary people who have the potential to be legitimizers.  Give them a chance to have some influence.  Let them lead a group and get a win under their belt.  See if they can become the person others look to.  If they grow to that level, great.  If they don’t, seek out another person who might be a legitimizer.

I consulted with a church that had experienced rapid growth and had recently purchased a new building.  But the growth was slowing and giving was not keeping up with the need.  When I met with the church leaders, I discovered that two key legitimizers had stepped down because of health.  Another key legitimizer had been transferred.  When church leaders were asked to name the most influential people in the church, they could only name people on the church staff payroll.  There was no one left to help the church find its way and assure people things would be alright.

Jesus and Legitimizers

This worked a little different for Jesus.  He called His legitimizers “disciples.”  Their purpose?  They were witnesses to everything He had done.  They could say, “We saw this.  It happened.  You can trust us.”

When the Jesus movement started, these disciples spent time teaching people about Jesus.  As the movement spread, they were able to make decisions about expanding the movement beyond Jerusalem because Jesus had told them this was His intent.[i]  When conflict arose in the early church about whether non-Jews should follow the same rules as Jews, the disciples again acted as legitimizers and laid out both freedoms and expectations.[ii]

Did Jesus need them?  Probably not.  But He chose to work through human influencers.  They led the way into the pens.  They led the way to the future.

The Final Big thought:  One good lead cow equals three good cowboys.

[i] Acts 11:17-18

[ii] Acts 15:1-29

I Went to Church …

I went to Church last Sunday. 

Not surprising, you might think. After all, one of my jobs is serving as a full-time pastor. I go to church – a lot. I work at the church Monday through Thursday. About once a month, I also have to work on Friday or Saturday. Sunday is game day. I don’t have to be at church as early as some folks on our team, but I do have to preach three services. These are live-streamed out to our campuses and online. But Sunday mornings are also spent in conversations between services. I check in with people: “How’s your son doing with his cancer?”  I pray with people. I hear complaints about how cold the Worship Center is (I do not have access to the thermostat). One Sunday a month, I do a Q&A session for our new member’s class.  One Sunday a month, I have a Deacon’s meeting and a Direction Team meeting. Sundays are full days. 

But last Sunday, I went to Church. 

My wife was out of town for a conference. I didn’t have to preach Sunday. We were working cows at the ranch in Florida. So, I left town on Thursday and didn’t come back until Tuesday. I had unhurried time in my hometown, time enough to visit cousins, to clean out some drawers at the ranch house, and to ride through the pasture without someone saying, “Can we go back now? I’ve seen enough cows.”  For the record, you can never see enough cows. 

When Sunday morning came, I admit I was tempted to stay in bed. But I woke up at my usual time. I left the house to grab breakfast, then came back. Do you know how much time you have on Sunday when you are not preaching at 8:30 and 9:45? I got dressed and made my way to my home church.   

The old oaks still shade the trucks in the church parking lot, though the trucks are much more expensive than they used to be. I walked through the doors right at eleven. Standing in the small lobby (churches in town call them “vestibules”) were the deacons. The faces were different, but ever since I was a boy, the deacons of my home church have stood in the lobby as the service started. Years ago, one deacon confessed to me he served as a deacon so he wouldn’t have to be in the sanctuary for the singing. 

I slipped into the sanctuary and sat on the second-to-the-last pew, right in front of Mr. Wilbur. Wilbur will turn 90 soon; he has been at my home church my whole life. I worried about surprising him; you don’t want to shock 90-year-olds.   

The kids of the church were singing. If you are discouraged by the state of the world, go to a church service when the kids sing. Your soul will be lifted. We sang some new songs, then the old hymns of the faith.   

The preacher, who I have met a few times, preached a good message. He held my attention. Then, they served the Lord’s Supper, or Communion, as some folks call it. It hit me that it had been a long time since I was served the Lord’s Supper instead of officiating during the serving of the supper. Thirty years, in fact. It was good simply to sit and be served. Before we took the bread, the preacher said, “Jesus said, ‘Do this in remembrance.’”  And I remembered. 

I remembered the sacrifice of Jesus. But seated next to the stained-glass window given in memory of my father, I also remembered my brother, my sister, my mother, my stepfather, and my dad, all of them gone from this earth. They had sat in these same pews through the decades. My eyes got misty, and I felt their absence. I miss these people. 

The service ended, and I spoke to Mr. Wilbur. He is still alert, still standing tall. The wife of my cousin came up and talked to me for a while about health and grandchildren, and life. One of the high school girls I know said hi, then rushed up on stage to practice for next week’s youth service. I saw the Music Director and thanked him for a job well done. Before I knew it, I was the last one to leave. That was more like a typical Sunday for me.  

Going to church is a great privilege. Give church folks half a chance, and they will love you. If you listen and don’t criticize, you can get something out of most any sermon. And when the children sing, it will restore your soul.   

Church also gives you time to hear from God. He might remind you, as he reminded me, that I need to be thankful for a rich heritage, for a family that loved me, and for grace, the gentle grace of God that forgives my soul and invites me to follow Jesus.   

Go to church Sunday. It is good for your soul.

Convicted by My Own Sermon …

Like most preachers, I pray about what God wants me to preach. Long ago, I realized I didn’t have to do this on Saturday night before Sunday; I could pray months in advance, and God would lead me to a series of messages that stretched over six months.  

When I was planning my preaching for this spring, I felt oddly led to preach a series on the Biblical wisdom of money management.   Most preachers don’t like to preach on money; they feel awkward since their salaries are paid by the tithes and offerings from the church. God cured me of that when I pastored my third church, which struggled financially. I realized if I wanted to get paid, I better preach on generosity.   

This past Sunday, I taught the Biblical principles of borrowing money. The Bible actually says a great deal about this topic, more than I could cover in a 25 (okay, 35) minute message. But one teaching I wanted to bring out: If you borrow something, return it undamaged. If it is damaged, pay to fix it. Exodus 22:14 says: “If anyone borrows an animal from their neighbor and it is injured or dies while the owner is not present, they must make restitution.” 

I explained this message was drilled into me by my stepfather, Lawrence. I heard him say dozens of times: “If you borrow a man’s truck, fill it up with gas before you return it. If that truck breaks while you have it, you pay to fix it.”   

This made a lasting impression on me. First, it made me very reluctant to borrow anything for fear of tearing it up. Second, anytime I borrow a car, I fill it up before I return it. Third, when I tear up something I borrowed, I pay to have it fixed. 

A friend loaned me his car this week while my truck was being fixed. My morning unrolled so much smoother by having transportation. I was on my way to return the car when there was a whisper in my soul: “Remember your sermon from Sunday? How you always fill up the car when you return it?” 

It is amazing the deluge of thought that can run through your mind in two seconds. My first thought was, “But I have only driven three miles, tops.”  My second thought was, “If I stop and fill up, it will take ten minutes, and I need those ten minutes to get things done.”  My third thought was, “I’m pretty sure my friend didn’t hear that sermon. I can get away with this.” 

The fourth thought did not come from me, I’m sure. It was, “What’s up, Clay? Don’t you believe your own sermons?”  That thought hurt.   

There is an old-fashioned word we do not use much anymore: conviction. I heard it a lot when I was growing up. Preachers would talk about falling under the conviction of the Holy Spirit. It meant you would hear the Spirit speak to your heart about your sin. I’ve experienced this conviction many times in my life, especially when faced with the choice of doing something right or doing something easy.   

Did I mention all this ran through my mind in about two seconds? It was the Holy Spirit, reminding me of my own sermon, that convicted me. I put on my right turn signal, pulled into a gas station, and filled up the tank. It was the right thing to do. 

I deserve no praise for this. I’m embarrassed that this simple act is not yet automatic. I do think if you are a follower of Jesus, the goal is to be so immersed in him that your choices automatically are his choices. I have a long way to go. 

By listening to God, I was spared a day of regret (“I should have filled up that car”), shame (“I am a horrible person. I don’t even live what I preach”), and guilt (“I knew the right thing to do, and I didn’t do it because I was selfish”). Doing right feels better than doing wrong. 

Each of us, in our own way, preach our own sermons. We all have standards of right and wrong. Some of our standards align with God’s standards; others do not. The reason I know I am not good enough to get to heaven on my own is I cannot live up to my own standards of right and wrong. The Apostle Paul wrote a long time ago, “It is by grace you have been saved, and that not of yourselves, lest any man should boast.”   

Salvation is God’s gracious gift. Conviction is God’s gracious gift, too. It is God saying to me, and maybe to you, that listening to him is good for your soul.

Courage...

Politicians often declare themselves to be courageous leaders.  Saying you are courageous and being courageous are two different things.

I define courage as willingness to move toward the mess.  The courageous soldier runs toward the mess of battle; the courageous parent has the conversation with their drunk, underage son or daughter; the courageous business leader rejects profit for principle; and the courageous pastor leads a church to face the messiness of reality.

Courage is not picking an insignificant issue and making it a hill on which to die; courage keeps the main thing the main thing.  Courage is not overcoming fear; courage is moving toward your fear, recognizing a mess that must be confronted.  Courage is not following the cheers of the crowd; courage in action is often greeted with silence.

Courage means speaking the last ten percent.  How often do we stop just short of the plain truth that needs to be heard for fear of hurting people’s feelings?  Yet it is in the last ten percent that truth necessary for change emerges.

Why aren’t more people courageous?  We want people to like us, to approve of us.  To be courageous is to know disapproval will come.  If you lead, you cannot make everyone happy.  Courage means you must be dedicated to the mission.  You will incur losses, or as one leader called them, casualties. In church world, casualties are people who leave your church because they cannot accommodate the change required to fix the messiness.  If you are a leader who cares about people, it hurts to lose people you invest in and have done life with. 

Many leaders fear setting up a group who will fight and oppose them.  They believe if they appease instead of lead, these people will eventually drop their opposition.  This never happens.  Never.  When Churchill was in the darkest days of World War II, he faced opposition from members of his own party.  Churchill courageously stuck to his mission: defeat Nazi Germany in the face of internal opposition. 

Leaders face five common issues that require courage.  The first is the courage to address leaders or volunteers under them who are not performing, who are no longer effective, or who were bad hires.  Many leaders hope poor performers will improve over time.  They do not.  In my years of supervising and developing dozens of leaders, poor performers never get better on their own.  Often an employee is with an organization for years and has a constituency of his or her own.  You may need to build alliances and devise a strategy to help that person find a better setting to serve, but have the courage to move toward the messiness, not away from it.

The second common issue leaders face is to have the courage to define reality.  Many businesses and churches are in denial about their reality.  As Lyle Schaller famously said, many churches are perfectly positioned in the event time reverses and it becomes 1950 again.  I knew of one church that was frustrated by their inability to grow.  When I consulted with the pastor, I pointed out the obvious: They had a worship space for 400 and parking for 250.  Their average attendance was - you guessed it – 250.  Have the courage to define reality.

A third common issue leaders face is the courage to call for change.  Healthy organizations grow and change.  I do not run the family ranch the way my stepfather did.  In the twenty years since he ran things, the world changed.  We can’t just throw fertilizer and oil on the trees.  Now, we have to be much wiser about how to apply nutrients and sprays.  Leaders must have the courage to make the compelling case of why the organization can no longer stay where it is and must relocate to where it should be.

A fourth common issue that calls for courage is admitting your mistakes.  As Craig Groeschel says, “People would rather follow a leader who is always real, than a leader that is always right.”  Nobody gets it right all the time.  Be courageous enough to quickly own your mistakes.  Admit to your leadership you made a wrong hire.  Admit an initiative failed.  Admitting failure increases trust instead of diminishing it.

A final common issue that calls for courage is to hold to your mission, values, and vision when you are pressured to modify or abandon them.  People both inside and outside your organization will want to add to or take away from your mission.  It takes courage to face the opposition and say, “No.  We have agreed this is what we are committed to; this is what we value; this is our preferred vision of the future.”  Rick Warren said, “Never surrender your church to the whiners.”  I would modify that to say, “Never surrender your mission, values, and vision to someone else’s agenda.”

Without the courage of the leader, organizations do not thrive.  Maybe that is why God repeatedly says, “Do not be afraid and do not let your hearts be troubled.  Believe in me.”  Faith feeds courage.

Glad He is Gone …

When I was a pastor in Louisville, I stopped by the hospital to see Tom.  I heard he was not doing well.  I had been Tom’s pastor for three years at that point and knew him as a grumpy older man who had married a younger woman.  Though his children were in their twenties, he was over seventy.   

His youngest daughter was in the room when I entered.  I was told Tom’s health was failing, but it didn’t take a doctor to see Tom was not long for this world.  It was obvious Tom could not communicate, so I asked his daughter how he was.  She told me the nurse said he could die at any time.  I went to the other side of Tom’s bed so I could pray with him and took his hand.  It was already cold.  Tom was taking shallow breaths.  Then he stopped.  Unlike other people I had seen die, there was no space between breaths.  He just stopped breathing.   He had, as we say in the South, passed. 

His daughter on the other side of the bed looked at me, her face a question.  “Is he dead?” she asked.  I told her I thought so.  What shocked me was her response: “Good.”   

If you do what I do, being with grieving families is part of the job.  At the time, I had limited pastoral experience.  Most families weep, or they go into a state of shock when their loved ones pass.  My surprise must have been evident, for Tom’s daughter went on to say, “I am glad he is gone.  He did terrible things to my mother and to me.”  There were no tears for Tom’s daughter, just a hard expression as she looked at her dead father.  She told me in a no-nonsense voice, “You stay here.  I’ll get the nurse.  I do not ever want to be alone with him again.” 

The nurse came in and confirmed Tom had no pulse.  She wrote down the time of death, then asked us to step out of the room so she could clean him up.  Tom’s daughter said, “I will call Mama.  You stay here.”  It was strange to be taking orders from someone my own age, but she had steel in her voice.  Before the nurse finished, she came back and said, “I will tell the nurse which funeral home we will use, but I am not going back in that room with that man.” 

The nurse emerged, and Tom’s daughter gave her the necessary information and then left.  She did not tell me goodbye.  I stood there foolishly for a few minutes, wondering what had just happened, finally realizing I might as well leave too. 

Tom’s funeral was not the strangest funeral I’ve ever done, but it ranks in the top five.  When planning the service, the family shared no sentimental stories, no fond memories.  During the service, Tom’s wife and children shed not one tear.  By the time we got to the cemetery, I was ready to get this over with; apparently, so were they.  I read Psalm 23, spoke a few words about hope, and prayed.  When I said “Amen,” Tom’s family got up and made their way back to their cars, leaving friends and family behind.  Their every action and expression told me they were done with this man.

I stayed at that church for another two and a half years.  I tried to get Tom’s wife and daughter to open up about the pain Tom caused them, but they were not willing to crack that door.  For some folks, feelings are buried at the graveside. 

I thought about Tom off and on for years.  What could he have done that was so horrible?  Did he sexually abuse his daughter?  Did he beat his wife?  Was he condemning and judgmental, tearing down those closest to him?  What makes a man so angry at his own children that he would abuse them?  Why didn’t Tom’s wife leave him and take the children?

 Tom died over thirty years ago.  His funeral would not be the last I did where the family did not cry.  I stood by other caskets and read expressions of relief on the faces of spouses and children.  Their nightmares were over.

 When Tom died, I was the father of one.  Two more children would be born to me.  Tom’s funeral was a lesson for me.  I promised myself that I would do my best to never be the kind of Dad that my kids were happy to see die.

 When you think about it, maybe that was the one good that came from Tom’s death.  How sad.

Many Communicate, Few Connect…

“Many Communicate, Few Connect” is a takeoff from the title of a John Maxwell book.  It is a reminder to every leader that your job is not just to communicate; it is to make sure you connect.

There are two important dynamics to remember.  The first is based on the work of Paul Ricoeur.  In every communication event, there is:

The Communicator -> the Perceived Communicator -> The Perceived or Intended Receiver -> the Receiver. 

The communicator is who you really are.  The perceived communicator is who people perceive you to be.  As a preacher, I must remember every time I get up to speak, people have assumptions about who I am.  People with a limited church background often assume I will be hostile and angry because that is their perception of preachers. 

The perceived or intended receiver is the communicator’s assumption about his audience.  The preacher might assume that everyone in the congregation wants to know the meaning of the Greek.  The real receiver of the message might simply want the pastor or leader to get to the bottom line.

This first dynamic is real to me because communication is part of my role as the Lead Pastor of a church.  But every leader has to deal with this.  A CEO who perceives the employees of the company are eager to view a 15-minute video each week might be surprised that the real employees stop listening after 3 minutes. 

The second dynamic has been known since Aristotle.  Communication involves the head (information), the heart (emotion), and the feet (action).  Many leaders assume the communication problem in their organization is a lack of information.  In fact, people are drowning in information.  We notice that after two announcements in a worship service, people check out.  Information conveyed that is not received is not communication.  Andy Stanley provides a helpful guideline: Go for clarity, not comprehensiveness. 

Communication needs to touch the heart.  A few people are gifted to do this with magisterial language that is half prose and half poetry.  Winston Churchill and John F. Kennedy were masters of this form.  Churchill: “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat…;” JFK: “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.”

The best way to touch the heart is through stories.  Ronald Reagan was perhaps the best presidential communicator after JFK.  He told stories that touched the heart.

One of our staff members regularly challenges me to make sure my sermons have a clear action item: “What are you asking them to do?  Pray? Give? Get involved? Ponder? Repent?”  I’ve sat through sermons that were Biblically sound, inspiring, but lacked a clear call to do something.

The best leaders communicate in a way to touch the head, the heart, and call people to action.  One CEO wrote a weekly email that had three bullet points of information (head), an inspirational story (heart), and a specific call to excellent customer service, such as “Make someone’s day today – smile (feet).”  It was widely read, as opposed to the CEO who wrote five prose paragraphs giving information.   That email often was not opened.

Remember, every leader communicates, but not every leader connects.  Be the leader that connects.

Lament...

It happened again. Just a few weeks ago, it was the school shooting in Nashville. I did not know anyone who was killed, but I knew people who knew people who were killed. That tragedy was mourned, then shelved to make room for the next hot news item. 

This time, the shooting was in Louisville. I lived in Louisville for twelve years. I worked for a time just down the street from where the shooting took place. I was a chaplain one summer in the trauma hospital where the surviving victims were taken. I met the wife of Thomas Elliott, one of those killed, a couple of times during my Louisville sojourn. Mass shootings do not feel distant to me any longer. 

It seems unreal to me that we have come to this. Death by gunfire has been part of American culture since Europeans landed on these shores. Mass killings before the 1920s were larger acts of violence committed by a parent against a family. In 1928, Leung Ying, using a lever action rifle and a hatchet, killed 11 people on a Fairfield, California ranch where he worked. Despite what you have seen in old Westerns, this seems to be the first mass murder against non-family members by an individual. 

A Harvard study found that between 1982 and 2011, a mass shooting occurred every 200 days. Now a mass shooting occurs every 64 days. The United States has more mass shootings than any country in the world. Is this the mark of a Christian nation? 

After every shooting, the needle seems to drop on the same old debate: One side screams, “The answer is to get rid of guns!”; the other side screams back, “We need more guns to protect us from gun violence.”  The truth is most people bent on evil can find the gun they need to make their evil a reality. 

One reason to read the entire Bible is to be reminded the Ancient World was a bloody and violent place. Kings went to war every spring to gain a fraction more territory. At any given moment, a raiding band might swoop in on your village and steal your crops, your gold, and your daughters. The guiding value of the Ancient World was “Might makes Right.” 

The people of God, Israel, experienced this time after time. They would turn away from God, decide in their own hearts what was right, and chase gods of power, prosperity, and sex. God would allow raiding bands to come in to rob them. He allowed foreign kings to oppress his people.   Once, when he had all he could take, God allowed his people to be conquered and put into exile for 70 years. 

It was during these days the people God learned to lament. Laments are prayers of frustration. The classic lament is Psalm 13. The first verse expresses the deep pain of people who feel like there is no answer: “How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?”  David says, “God, the only answer to this problem is you. So where are you?” 

Evangelical Christians struggle with lament. We sing, “Jesus is the answer for the world today…”  I believe that is true, but we forget Jesus will answer in his time, not ours. Sometimes all we can do is lament and cry, “How long, O Lord? How long will violence take our loved ones? How long must we suffer under a threat of gun violence? How long, O Lord, until you intervene?”

 To some, this may not feel like a prayer of faith. I believe this lament is a prayer of great faith. A lament brings all our frustration and anger about unsolvable problems and says, “Only you, Lord, can solve this. I do not know how. I do not know when. I can only trust in you. So I look to you not just for answers and action; I give you my feelings, my hurt, and my hope.”

 Can I say my African American brothers and sisters are better at lament than white evangelicals? Maybe their frustration at the unfairness of life and sinful culture is more recent than ours. Most people do not realize that Stephen Foster’s song, “My Old Kentucky Home,” was a lament of slave families being broken apart: husbands would be sold away from their wives; wives and children would be sold away from their husbands. The slave was helpless to determine his own fate. There is a part of the song that is seldom sung, but you can hear the pain in the words:  

A few more days for to tote the weary load,

No matter, ’twill never be light;

A few more days till we totter on the road,

Then my old Kentucky home, goodnight. 

I cannot change the law; I cannot intervene in mass shootings; I cannot force people to stop politicizing every issue. I cannot mandate the peace of Jesus to live in every heart. I can lament. I can go to God and cry, “How long, O Lord, how long?”  I can know he hears me. I can believe that one day, “Justice will roll down like the waters, and righteousness, like a mighty stream.”

One day.

The Day After the Big Day

Two of the organizations I am involved with recently had “Big Days,” even though the big days were very different.

At church the big day was Easter.  For most churches – the one I serve included – Easter is the highest attended Sunday of the year.  For that reason alone, it is a big day.  On Easter we do our best to bring our “A” game.  This Easter, to be honest, I think we did.  The worship music was great, the message seemed to connect, and we had many people show up after the service asking for prayer and seeking spiritual conversations.

I bet your organization has “Big Days” that are calendar events.  I recently consulted with an organization that derives 40% of its revenue from a week-long festival it sponsors.  That is not a “Big Day;” that’s a “Big Week!”  In processing this with them, they confessed that after their “Big Week” they were all exhausted.

I get that.  I take a nap every Easter afternoon.  But unlikely some churches I know, we do not give the whole staff the day off after Easter.  If you are in retail, don’t close the store the day after the big sale.  The Day after the “Big Day” is the day to follow up, evaluate, and plan for the next “Big Day.”

Maybe you can’t do all three the day after the “Big Day.”  But above all else, do the follow up. If you are a church, call every first-time guest who came Easter.  Write the thank you notes the day after the “Big Day” to the people who made it happen.  Celebrate with your team the wins.  Gather the stories that made the “Big Day” sparkle.

Don’t put off the evaluation.  Did you meet your goals?  Why or why not?  It surprises me that so many businesses rush head long into the next thing, they never evaluate.  Evaluation has a rapid expiration date.  The little details that make a difference fade quickly.  Be sure to write the details down. 

The best time to plan next year’s “Big Day” is within two weeks of this year’s “Big Day.”  The plan doesn’t have to be comprehensive but start while memories of what worked and what didn’t are fresh.  Don’t assume because something was good this year, it will be just as good next year.  Add value to the good things; kill what didn’t work.

The other organization that I serve is our family ranch.  We had a very different type of “Big Day.”  Ironically, on Easter week we got the report on our late oranges.  They were picked and we got paid.  I saw the data on how many boxes of fruit we picked, the sugar levels, and the price we got.  Thanks to a freeze last year and a hurricane, the crop was dismal.  This “Big Day” was a bitter disappointment.  I thought we would pick more fruit than last year, even with the natural disasters. 

When you face this kind of “Big Day” news, you have to ask, “What am I supposed to learn from this?”  What I learned was rehabilitating the ranch’s orange groves has not yet taken hold.  I learned other ranch enterprises will need to support the citrus operation for another year or two.  I learned the grove that looks terrible actually produces as much fruit as the grove that looks the best – go figure. 

Some “Big Days” are like that:  It is the day you learn where you are and where you need to go.

The “Big Day” really isn’t over until you have followed up.  Otherwise you miss half the value of the “Big Day.”

The Stonecutter...

It was a job that required a good eye, a strong back, and a firm grip. He was a stonecutter, one of about a hundred in and around Jerusalem. He learned the trade from his father, who learned the trade from his father before him. 

Being a stonecutter in Jerusalem meant steady work. There was a constant demand for tombs carved out of the hillsides. Being a devout Jew, the Stonecutter understood why Jews from all over the Roman Empire wanted to be buried in Jerusalem: it was their spiritual home. It was the promised place where the Messiah would return. If a Jew did not live to see the promise fulfilled, at least they could be close in death. 

The tombs were all pretty much alike. First, the Stonecutter would chisel a large opening, gradually opening it up into a small room. He would fashion a stone shelf a little longer than a man is tall. The shelf was for the recently deceased. The body would lay there until only the bones and the cloth were left. Beyond this small room, the Stonecutter would chisel another opening and clear out another room. This room would hold the ossuaries, the small boxes that held the bones of those who had decomposed. Their names would be inscribed on the boxes, a reminder of those who lived and died. 

The Stonecutter’s last work was to chisel out a channel for the doorway stone. Then he would bring in a large limestone slab, a tougher stone than the chalk of the hills, but still not too difficult to work with. He formed a flat stone, then with the help of his assistants, he placed it in the channel, made sure it fit snug, and rolled back and forth. Finished, he then demanded his final payment. 

He was almost finished with a tomb he was working on for Joseph, a wealthy Jew from out of town. It was Friday, just before the Passover Sabbath. He was hurrying to get done so he could get paid, pay his assistants, and get home before the Sabbath began. It had been a strange day. In the morning, between the blows of his hammer, he could hear a commotion in the city. About noon, the sky darkened, like a thousand thunderstorms were about to attack. He had just put the entrance stone in place when there was an earthquake. “A riot, darkness, and an earthquake all in one day,” he thought. “What’s going on?” 

He was sweeping out some of the pebbles when Joseph came up, almost out of breath. The Stonecutter smiled and said, “Hold on there, Joseph! You will be using this tomb too soon, running like that.”  Joseph didn’t smile, which was unusual. Instead, he said, “Is it ready?”  The Stonecutter shrugged, wondering at Joseph’s urgency. “It’s close,” he replied. “Good,” said Joseph, “I need it this afternoon. I’m going to bury Jesus, the rabbi, in it. They crucified him this afternoon.” 

The Stonecutter was shocked. He had heard of Jesus, of course, but he had never heard him. He had never even seen him. He knew Jesus had caused a commotion at the Temple Sunday past, but he didn’t pay much attention to such things. Some people said Jesus was the Messiah, but the Stonecutter dismissed that idea. Everyone knew the Messiah would come with an army, and the Stonecutter had seen no army. 

What surprised the Stonecutter most was Joseph using his new tomb for a crucified man. Usually, those crucified were peeled off their crosses and hauled to the dump. Their bodies were burned and left. Some rabbis taught if a crucified man lay in a tomb, it was unclean and thus unable to be used by anyone else. If that were true, Joseph would never use his brand-new tomb. 

He quickly snapped back to reality when Joseph pulled out his money bag. “Get it ready in an hour. I’ll pay you extra,” Joseph said. Joseph counted the agreed amount, then added enough extra to make it worth the Stonecutter to push himself and his assistants. 

The Stonecutter, finished with time to spare, paid off his crew. Then, his curiosity getting the best of him, he waited. Before long, Joseph and a member of the Jewish elite, Nicodemus, came with some other men carrying the body of Jesus. They gingerly brought his wrapped body through the outer opening and laid it on the shelf the Stonecutter had so recently carved. They came back out, looking bewildered and exhausted, like men who had completed an urgent task but weren’t quite sure what they had done. They beckoned to the Stonecutter, and together they rolled the stone across the entrance. Then each man went his way, making sure they were home by sundown. 

The next day, the Sabbath, was quiet. Then Sunday came, the first day of the week. The Stonecutter picked up his tools and headed back to the hillside to carve another tomb. A couple of men ran past him as he walked in the early dawn. He made his way through the gardens, and he thought he heard a woman crying. Probably someone who recently lost someone. He was halfway past Joseph’s tomb when he realized the stone was rolled back. “That’s strange,” he thought. Normally the tombs stayed closed for a few weeks before they were opened again. Something, he thought, must have come up.   

Not something. Someone. The Stonecutter’s work was where history changed, forever.