Good Baptisms Gone Bad

I grew up in church and witnessed many water baptisms; you know, the good dunking kinds of baptism. We were Baptists, so, of course we believed it took a good head-to-toe-put-you-all-the-way-under-soaking-kind of immersion. You would think that just from witnessing so many baptisms, including my own about age 12, it would be a pretty simple thing to conduct a baptism. I suppose it seemed so simple that no one ever really thought to teach us in Bible College just how to go about such a service.

Then came my first opportunity to perform a baptism. Many questions suddenly presented. Does the candidate just duck under the water or should he be lowered backward and then lifted again? How do you grab the candidate as he is lowered into the water in an adequate manner to prevent losing him or drowning him or seeing his feet float to the top as he begins to do the backstroke? If the candidate is a female, how do you hold on without being inappropriately friendly? What happens if she needs to hold her nose to prevent gurgling and choking? Should we provide those little swimmie nose clips, or does such a humorous sight diminish the sacred propriety of the moment, and what about those robes we gave to all the celebrants - How do you keep it from floating up over the head as he comes into the baptismal pool? What do you do if the very top part of the head did not go all the way under? What exactly were the words I was required to say? Should I pronounce, "...in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit," before the dunking, as it takes place or as the candidate is being raised out of the water? How do you keep from squealing aloud at the coldness of the water because someone forgot to turn on the water heater, if it even had one, or if you were in the local river? How do you deal with the flailing of the candidate who has a fear of water, and what about the handicapped candidate in the wheelchair or on crutches? There were so many questions for which I needed answers.

Some of my favorite baptism stories follow. I heard the story from an older minister who was officiating a baptism in a river. They took a couple of steps too far into the river and found themselves in over their heads. The current began to wash them away and they both got baptized again.

Then there were friends of ours who grew up in a non-immersion church and were not sure how to "perform" when they entered the baptistry. As soon as the husband and wife stepped in and before the minister could really say anything, they just bent their knees and ducked under the water. The minister frantically splashed around in the water trying to "lay hands on" the couple as he sputtered the correct pronouncement, "...in the name of...".

My father-in-law decided it would be a good idea to wear fishing waders so he would not get his clothes wet. He failed to account for the level of water displacement that would occur when the candidate came into the pool with him. Water rushed into the waders and not only did he get his clothes wet, but he was now unable to move because of the weight of water in his waders. He also learned the hard way it is not a good idea to tap on the microphone set up just outside the pool while standing in the baptismal water.

My own personal worst nightmare regarding baptism occurred about 12 hours before the service. On this particular Saturday night, I had turned on the water to fill the tank. It usually took about 35 minutes to fill and was always a boring responsibility to have to wait on it to get full. I watched a few minutes till the water was above the mark at which it was safe to turn on the heaters. I decided to do a little more study in the office while I waited. I became deeply absorbed in my study, but finally finished and headed to my house for much needed sleep. I went to bed, then sat bolt upright about midnight with a nightmarish thought. Did I turn off that water? I could not remember doing so and felt it prudent that I rush back to check on it. You see, the baptistry we had did not have an automatic shutoff to cut the water flow when it reached the full mark. It had now been at least 3 hours, probably longer, since I had begun the 35 minute process. As I ran into the sanctuary, water was freely flowing over the sides onto the stage floor, running just as freely off the stage and all the way to the back of the 500 seat auditorium. I cut the water, but the damage had been done. I called one of the men in our church who had a carpet cleaning business to tell him what had happened, hoping he would volunteer to load his wet vacs and come assist me in the cleanup. However, he graciously offered me the use of his equipment if I would just drive to his house and pick it up, a 30 minute drive each way. I know it was my responsibility, but I was sure counting on a "servant-hearted member" to come help me in this pinch. He didn't. As I spent the next several hours wet-vaccing the sanctuary, putting down all the towels we owned and setting up drying fans, I can't say I was appreciating the ministry.

I almost decided that night to become a Methodist. They believed in "Sprinkling Baptisms".

They never told me I would have to act in the Christmas Play...

Though some may think differently, I am not much of an actor. It is hard for me to pretend to be someone I'm not. If I were trying to be serious right now, I could say that I don't act because the Greek word for an actor was 'hypocrite'. That word today has a bad connotation, so none of us want to be hypocrites. When I try to do any serious acting, I just get tickled at myself and start laughing. That does not mean I can't put on a show. I can perform, and I definitely love being the center of attention, especially if I have a chance to tell my "fork joke" (Don't ask now. I'll save that for another time.)

When I was a kid, the only Christian TV we had was Oral Roberts and Gospel Quartets. I was really touched and moved by those Gospel Quartets, so much so, that I decided I would become a Gospel Singer. Alas, my downfall was the lack of any semblance of timing and an even worse ear for the right notes. Dallise says I'm the only person she knows who can change keys three times in one verse and never know I did so. Now they didn't tell me in Bible College that I would ever have to sing. Imagine my horror when I was told extra Christmas Choir members were needed. Imagine the horror of the choir director when he discovered the colossal mistake of inviting me to be part of the Christmas Choir. I must say that in time I did develop some ability to sing whatever "part" the choir member beside whom I was standing sang. I can now boast that I sing Soprano, Alto, Bass and Tenor.

Oh, back to being a hypocrite...I mean, actor. One Christmas, a man in our church wrote a brilliant Christmas play titled, "Inside The Inn". He even wrote the lyrics and music for the songs. We had wonderful carpenters, artists and wardrobe specialists who built and painted the sets and designed the clothing. The story centered around the Innkeeper who was trying to find someone willing to give up his room at the Inn for Joseph and Mary. Everyone he asked refused. The message of the play questioned us all as to whether we would make room in our hearts for Jesus.

One of the characters in the play who refused to give up his room was a wealthy merchant. On the night we were performing at the local prison, the merchant was sick and I was quickly conscripted as his understudy. When I made my appearance on the set dressed in the elaborate flowing silk robes of a wealthy merchant and extravagantly, recklessly decked out in jewelry and makeup, I heard one of the inmates, seated no more than ten feet from me, say to his buddy beside him, "Now there's a 'fag' if I've ever seen one!" I don't mean to be politically incorrect in using this terminology. It's just the way it happened at the time.

I was actually scarred and scared all at the same time. My pride was injured and my emotions were wounded that I might appear to be someone I am not. I feared my body might also be injured as there was no barrier inside the ten feet that separated me from them. Somehow, I stumbled through the few minutes I had to be onstage and swore I would never act again.

If I had wanted to be an actor, I would have gone to acting school. Instead, I wanted to be a Pastor, and we all know there are no hypocrites...I mean actors, standing in our pulpits today.

My First Funeral, A Last Minute Funeral and a Midnight Funeral

They never told me in Bible College just how to conduct a funeral. In hindsight, it seems conducting funerals should have been a major subject. The statistics are that about 100 people around the world die every minute. That's 6000 deaths per hour, 144000 per day, more than 52 million per year. Every Pastor is guaranteed that he will have to conduct the funerals of at least a couple of those 52M people each year.

The very first funeral I ever officiated was that of a dear old lady to whom I often gave a ride to church. Even after spending time in the car with her on so many Sunday mornings, about the only thing I knew about her was that she raised rabbits. When she passed away, the Senior Pastor had to be away and assigned me the task of conducting the funeral. Her family lived elsewhere and I had never met them. I spent a few minutes with them at their hotel room planning the service. They did not want it to be too long, but also they did not want it to be too short. They wanted it to be personal, but not too personal. They wanted some Scripture, but not too much Scripture. They wanted this, but not that. It was clear they did not really trust me, but they had no other option. I wasn't even sure what was considered too short or too long. As I began to speak on the day of the funeral, I realized I had covered everything I had to say in the first three minutes, and was acutely aware this was definitely too short. I filled a couple more minutes talking about the fact that she raised rabbits, but I knew nothing about rabbits, so that ended rather quickly and awkwardly. It was at that moment I realized I really knew nothing about this family or the deceased. It was a disaster and the Honorarium I was secretly excited about receiving never materialized.

One Sunday morning, a member stood to ask the church to pray for the family of a lady who had been ill. I asked publicly about her current status, and to my surprise, was told the paper said I was officiating the funeral the next morning at 10:00am. I was speechless and quite rattled by this news. I didn't even know she had died, and again was not that well acquainted with her or the family. As you can imagine, I rushed straight to the funeral home after church to find out what was going on. The long story short is that the family thought the Funeral Home Director had spoken to me and the Director thought the family had contacted me. I spent a few minutes with the family and with God's Grace, we pulled it off the next morning. Thank God for "Prayer Request" time!

My most unusual funeral was a midnight funeral. This story is about Nancy, a Single Mom at that time, with whom we are still friends. This is my memory of that night. About midnight I received a frantic phone call from Nancy saying that her dog had just been hit by a car and killed. "Could you please come over and help me bury the dog right now so my boys will not have to see him dead tomorrow morning." I rousted one of my sons from bed and we went to Nancy's house. She was grieving over the loss of the dog and, I'm sure, grieving over the loss her boys would experience. We took him into the woods behind her house, I with the dog, my son with the shovel and Nancy with the flashlight. Amidst Nancy's tears, I dug the hole, placed the dog in the hole and threw in the first shovelful of dirt. When the dirt landed on his chest, the dog moaned, and Nancy lost it. "Oh no, He's alive! We can't bury him!" She wasn't sure whether to be glad he was alive or terrified that we were about to bury him alive. It took me a few tense moments to convince Nancy that the shoveful of dirt had simply compressed his lifeless lungs forcing the moan from his dead body. Finally she consented for us to continue the "burial service". After a few moments spent consoling Nancy and letting her know I would be available to talk to her sons the next day, the midnight funeral service concluded and my son and I headed back to our warm beds.

So that no one thinks I am being unkind to my wonderful Professors in college, I have to admit that even had there been a course on conducting funerals, no one could have thought to include Midnight Dog Funerals as part of the curriculum.

I now spend time with the families of the loved one who has passed away. I jot down notes from the stories they tell me and that they recount to one another as they remember. I then weave those stories into the comments I have planned for the service. Families love that personal touch and always feel that I have captured the essence of who they are as a family. As one friend said, "People will not remember many of your sermons, but they will remember that you were there during the death of loved ones."

Eating Peacock, Laying Tile and Getting Peed On

They never told me about all the odd jobs, both paid and volunteer, that ministry offers, or seems at times, demands. At various times in my 33 years, there have been seasons that necessitated my working a little part-time job to make ends meet.

I spent one summer working on the ranch of a church member putting in fence. He paid me, even though I cut his expensive tape measure into two pieces with the post hole diggers. It was also there that I first tried a peacock sandwich. He kept peacocks on his ranch running wild. Early one morning he heard a fuss and went out to find one had just been killed by a predator. It was still fresh, so he dressed it and we baked it and ate it for lunch. What did it taste like? You guessed it... Chicken! He was also pretty big on Mountain Oysters, but I passed on those. If you're not sure about Mountain Oysters, ask your friends; someone will know.

Another summer, I worked with a local Pastor and friend who had a construction remodeling business on the side. He left me on the job in a hot, closed-in space with a jackhammer tearing out a concrete floor. I have never been so tired at the end of a day.

Then there were all the odd things you just help people do out of the goodness of your heart, right? Our Worship Pastor, Gary, had promised my son, who was President of the high school Christian Club, that he would lead a couple of songs at See-You-At-The-Pole. The night before the event, he called begging off since he lived some distance away. I sort of put my foot down about it and suggested strongly that it would be wrong of him to back out at such late notice and that it was important for him to keep his word. To his credit and my gratitude, he honored me and made his appearance.

Sometime later, he asked me if I would come to his house and show him how to lay ceramic tile in his bathroom. Since I had learned to lay tile for myself, I offered to assist him one Saturday. On the appointed day, the last thing in the world I wanted to do was lay tile, but I remembered my speech to him about keeping one's word. I realized that instead of putting my foot down, I had put it in my mouth. There was nothing I could do but go. After watching Gary for a while, I realized he was doing a great job on his own. It was a small room that would not accommodate both of us working at once, but I certainly could not suggest that I was unnecessary and should go home. After sometime, Gary said, "Pastor, I think I have it under control now, so why don't you go home. Besides, I know the only reason you came is because you had to honor your word after making me honor mine." I did not realize it was so obvious. As we sat talking a few minutes before I left, his new puppy came running over to me, hiked his leg and peed on my foot. Gary was so embarrassed and with repeated apologies got the puppy under control. I was definitely ready to go home. Gary, however, in the next Sunday morning service was not so embarrassed. He told the whole church about how I had made him follow through with his promise and how funny it was that I then had to eat my own words and be there to help him. On top of everything else, he then announced to the entire morning congregation that his dog had peed on the preacher's foot. Of course, everyone thought it was hilarious.

They never told me in Bible College that I would get peed on, sometimes literally as in the story above, and other times figuratively. I think we'll save the figurative stories for another time (or maybe never).

Breaking the Color Barrier

Even though the Civil Rights Movement had survived its turbulent first days of expression in Selma, Montgomery and Birmingham by the time I was off to Bible College in 1972, I really still had no preparation for dealing with racial issues in our fine Southern churches.

So, what does a Pastor do back in the mid-seventies, when standing on the stage as the worship begins, he looks up to see a new family come in the sanctuary doors of our southern, all-white church congregation. The family consists of the African American Dad (at that time it was appropriate to say that he was Black), a Caucasion Mom (called a white woman) and two beautiful children. I remember thinking that we were going to very quickly find out what we were made of as a church family. They joined in the worship and, I'm sure in hindsight, felt rather uncomfortable being there, yet determined to find a place.

At the end of the service as I was making my way toward them to get acquainted, I saw one of our members making a bee line for the couple. I was just close enough to hear the conversation. "I want you to know right now that I don't think it is right for you two to be married. I think it's wrong and I don't like it at all." I was beginning to shudder with the realization that any hopes I had for a gracious reception of this family into our church was nigh impossible, when to my absolute shock and awe, this member went on to say, "But, I'm gonna tell you one thing right now. If you want to come to our church, you're going to be welcome here!" Wow, I almost passed out with gratitude.

Another man probably did more Bible study in the next couple of weeks than he had his whole life, looking for a scripture to condemn this inter-racial marriage. He caught me one Sunday morning right after the service with a scripture reference, Ezra 10:10. He said, "Pastor, I found a scripture that proves they shouldn't be married. Look at it this afternoon and tell me tonight what you think of it." That afternoon I looked up Ezra 10:10, which reads, "And Ezra the priest stood up, and said unto them, Ye have transgressed, and have taken strange wives, to increase the trespass of Israel." Of course, he was referring to the phrase , "strange wives", which Ezra meant as a reference to Israel marrying the women of the ungodly nations among whom the Israelites lived and adopting their idolatrous customs. This member wanted to twist the scripture to imply that inter-racial marriage was an abomination to God. As soon as I saw this man that evening, he came running up to me, "Did you read that scripture? What do you think about that verse?" I said, "You know, it says that the Israelite men were not to take 'strange wives' unto themselves. Is that what you wanted me to read?" "Yes," he said excitedly, "What do you think?" I said, "Well, I'm not sure exactly what you're getting at. There is nothing strange about her. She's as white as any of us!" My friend muttered something under his breath and walked away.

I am happy to report this family did find a welcome in our church, even from these two men. It turns out our new member was a talented musician who had actually performed with some pretty famous people, such as Bob Hope. He took an active role in our music ministry, leading some pretty impressive Easter Cantatas and Dramas in his tenure with us. They eventually moved on, but we were grateful to have had them as part of our church family for the time they were with us.

Now we have elected an African American President. I suspect we can all say, "We've come a long way, baby!" The experience I noted above was not the only racial battle I have fought within church settings, but I'm grateful for each one that has strengthened my resolve to embrace all people with the message of God's love.

Sermons Remembered

I somehow left Bible College believing that my congregants would deeply admire my oratory skills, my passion, my intellect and Bible knowledge. I believed my sermons would always be life changing and impacting. They never told me in Bible College that I would preach some really bad sermons and they never told me that my parishioners would actually be brutally honest about just how bad they were at times.

I have never been one to always preach the church calendar or even necessarily to preach a sermon appropriate to a given holiday. However, my worst mistake missing a holiday was the Mother's Day sermon that was not about Mother's Day. I was working my way through a particular series and it just happened that the subject for that Day was Hell. Well, you can guess what I caught from the Moms of the church after that sermon.

Another time, I knew while I was preaching that it was just not working. I should have quit and sent everyone home, but instead foolishly pressed on. Dallise's brother and his family were visiting for the weekend, and I still vividly remember the lunch-time conversation at home afterward. Of course, Dallise, my lovely and wonderful wife and personal critic, was the first to comment about how bad the sermon had been. Then, my brother-in-law, Dallis, whom I love and respect, chimed in his views of just how bad it had been. In fact, before lunch was over, it was plain this must have been the worst sermon in all of history. To top it off, the next day, Ronnie, one of our Elders and a great personal friend, came by the church just to ask me what had gone so wrong the day before. Even his wife, Linda, always a supportive friend and encourager, got in on the act, agreeing they had never heard me preach such a bad sermon.

And then, there are good sermons gone bad. Steady Freddy will live in infamy at Liberty Church in Birmingham. When I look back over 33 years of preaching, it is the one sermon most remembered. I was preaching about the need to remain steadfast in our walk with The Lord. I wanted to emphasize the need to bounce back from adversities. I borrowed from Jeff and Pam's kids their inflatable Fred Flintstone punching bag. You know the toy, right? It is weighted in the bottom with sand. When you punch it, it falls over, but bounces right back up. Well, my intention was to punch Fred, whom I had nicknamed Steady Freddy for my sermon, explaining that when the storms of life knock us down, we have to bounce back like Steady Freddy. Well, I hit Freddy a little too hard. My punch drove him head first right under the kneeling bench at the altar, and there he stuck, not bouncing back at all. The crowd exploded in laughter, Dallise crying above the din, "I begged him not to do this. I begged him not to embarrass and humiliate the family!" As the noise began to settle, I thought I might still be able to salvage the message. I pulled Freddy from under the kneeling bench to set him upright and hit him again with a little less force. However, my previous blow had burst the sand compartment in the bottom and now Freddy would not even stand upright. I thought the sermon was lost and the message would never have its intended impact. Yet, I discover as we have occasionally heard from friends over the years, this was perhaps the most well remembered sermon I ever preached. My hope and prayer is that all who still mercilessly tease me are always bouncing back from life's adversities.

If any of you remember any other sermons I ever preached, I would love to hear about it. I guess I just want to know that my life has some meaning beyond Steady Freddy.

Monkeys, Crocodiles and Donkeys

Although there are many animals mentioned in the Bible, nobody ever told me just how involved they would be in ministry. In our Christian school, we once hosted trainers of chimpanzees. They were our guests and brought several chimps to interact with the students. Our family still has a photo with one of those primates. We have laughed often that we could not distinguish the chimp in the photo from our three boys.

We also had a member who worked for the guy who developed and manufactured Nautilus Weight Training equipment. The owner was rather eccentric who kept 12-ft crocodiles and rare poisonous snakes. We were invited to the facility to view these reptiles and were able to witness firsthand the feeding frenzy of crocodiles when live chickens were thrown into the pit. It was a major incredible experience.

On another occasion, our school hosted a Donkey Baseball fund raising event. The object of the game is the same as any baseball game, outscore the opposing team in the number of runs scored. Of course all the players are on donkey back running the bases and in the field on defense. It was quite an entertaining and frustrating experience. The donkeys, of course, were trained to be even more obstinate than normal, so they would run the wrong direction, stop and stand stubbornly, or just throw it's rider onto the ground.

However, I was least prepared for my own experience as a mule. Yes, you read that correctly, my own experience as a mule. My father-in-law, whom I served as Assistant Pastor, was an avid gardener. He was not content to cultivate an average plot of ground or grow average vegetables. Noooo, he was outstanding in his field. (Now that's funny if you know the joke.) He grew 100-lb watermelons and 20-lb cantaloupes. He was not satisfied with a small garden-size garden that could be managed with a tiller. He had a garden plot that required the services of a mule. Problem was, he did not have a mule to pull his bottom plow. He did have a plow, however, so he came up with the brilliant idea (and I use the term, brilliant, rather loosely), that he and I would take turns pulling the plow. Yes, you read that correctly also. He would take up the harness to the plow, I would take up the plow and he would pull the plow about 150 feet to the other end of the garden. We would then switch places and I would pull the plow back to the beginning point. I still vividly remember how conspicuos I felt to anyone driving by on the road in front of the church. I remember even then thinking that no one had ever told me this was what it meant to submit to spiritual leaders. I suppose I could have stood my ground and told my Father-In-Law I was not going to humiliate myself thus, but then he was also my Pastor and boss and I felt a certain duty to go along with his wishes. Besides, I was almost as proud of those watermelons as he was.

They just never told me in Bible College that I would ever perform the duties of a dumb animal. It does however, clarify I Corinthians 1:27, "...But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise..." I still wonder how God gets glory from that ministerial experience!

Bubbas, Bubbettes and Other Amazing and Wonderful People

They never told me just how many different kinds of people we would be privileged to meet in the ministry. Keep in mind I grew up in Georgia. When I mention Georgia, most people who have never been there think of Atlanta, a great southern metropolitan city. Most have not heard of Moultrie, a small farming town in the southwestern region of Georgia. I grew up on a 75-acre farm that was then, and still is, a half mile off the main dirt road. As you might imagine, we lived a pretty sheltered life. Sunday mornings, Sunday nights and Wednesday nights were church times and our family was always there. We never argued that fact; it was just accepted. Although we often heard about drugs and such in high school, I never witnessed much of anything firsthand. We worked hard some seasons of the year, but others were laid back and fun. I had a pretty good childhood and a pretty good life since then as well.

It was after I entered the ministry that I began to value the wide variety of church members with whom we have crossed paths. For example, on one of our church picnics at a state park, one of our members came dressed in a "toga-like-outfit-like-you-would-imagine-Jesus-would-wear-in-his-sojourn-on-earth" kind of outfit. With his full beard, he did look a lot like Jesus as he walked among the crowd in this public park "ministering" to church members and "heathen" alike. It was a little unnerving to me as Pastor. Then there was the young couple who showed up believing he was a modern day Elijah prophesying there would be no rain in the continental USA the month of June that year. Sadly for him, it rained on our little town June 1st. He was genuinely disappointed and confused. Believe it or not, we think he truly was convinced of his proclamation. He submitted himself to our counsel and remained in our church for some time to come. We think he even grew spiritually.

Oh, back to growing up in Georgia. I understand I'm as much a Bubba as the next good old southern boy, so trust me, I know a Bubba when I see one. Once an otherwise nameless Bubba was introduced one day when our church staff was having breakfast at Cracker Barrel. As I walked up to the table upon my arrival, Bruce greeted me, "BUBBA!". The waiter walking by stopped and said, "Yes, may I help you?" Surprised, we read his name stitched on the front of his shirt, "Bubba".

It has been my privilege through the years to discover there are a variety of Bubbas in our little world and most of them seem to find their way into whatever church I happen to be a part of. There are southern bubbas, redneck bubbas, western bubbas, northern bubbas and even those I classify as just plain ole bubba bubbas; and please, let's not forget those precious bubbettes. I'll not take the time just now to describe the differences in these classes of bubbas, but trust me they exist.

We know and value some of the most wonderful bubbas and bubbettes in the world; people we call friends; bubbas like Robert, Ronnie, George, Donnie, Charles, Jeff, Mike, Dallis; bubbettes like Mary, Karen, Becky, Linda, Sue, Lisa, Jackie. This is just the short list of a long list of names I could note here. Some of these names are real; some are made up, but if yours is here, you probably know who you are.

Well, you get the picture, I hope. The name Bubba and Bubbette has somehow become a term of endearment for some of the best people in the world whom I still call friends. So don't be surprised if I greet you as Bubba! or Bubbette! It just means I like you.

They never told me in Bible College about Bubbas and Bubbettes!

Be instant out of season...

They never told me to be instant in season and out... Wait a minute! I guess maybe they did tell me about this. Even if they had not told me, scripture is pretty clear about being always ready. I just never knew exactly how that would really show up in ministry life.

When I left Liberty Bible College in 1975, I joined my Father-In-Law, Dallis Johnson, in the church he had planted a couple of years earlier, New Hope Church near DeLand, Florida. It was a great place to begin ministry.

One Sunday afternoon just as I was settling in for a little sleepy time, he called and said, "Hey, I think you should plan to preach tonight." That was at a time when we still had Sunday night services every Sunday. I explained that I was not really prepared to preach but he said that was OK, that God would give me something. In a panic, I left sleepy time behind and rushed to the church to pray and prepare. I had about three hours to get ready. Keep in mind, I just did not have enough experience under my belt to prepare a sermon in three hours. Neither did I have a bank of sermons or even adequate study habits to fall back upon. Needless to say, I searched the concordance (literally) until I found something to speak about. I have no recollection what the sermon topic was that night, but I'm sure it was quite brutal for the congregation to have to hear. I will always be grateful for those wonderful people who patiently endured my early days of ministry. Several remain our close friends after 30 years and still encourage me by remembering those days as good times in our spiritual lives together.

A couple weeks later, Dallis called me again one Sunday afternoon about 3:00 and told me to preach that night. I noticed this time it was not so much a request as it was an expectation and that I should not even argue my lack of readiness. Again, feeling very much unprepared, I rushed to the church to try to get ready. A few weeks later, the same scenario repeated itself. In fact, it became part of the norm of my ministry life to expect that call on Sunday afternoons. I even learned to discern during the morning service, based on Dallis' demeanor in preaching, whether to expect a phone call at 3:00 that afternoon. Needless to say, I figured out that every day was "in season" with Dallis. While I was stressed to the max for weeks on end fearing he would make that afternoon call, I did learn to "be ready".

Twenty years later in Fairhope, Alabama, our church agreed to support a local Church of God In Christ by attending revival services they were holding in a tent set up in their parking lot. It was important to them that I, as a local Pastor, be honored by being seated on their makeshift plywood stage with their ministers. After a rousing worship service in which that old organ literally rocked our little stage, the host Pastor announced that the guest minister would bring the scripture reading for the evening. Everyone was standing waiting for the out-of-town guest minister to step forward with the reading. After an awkward moment, the church Elder beside me leaned over and said, "That's you, my Brother." That old familiar feeling of panic quickly rose inside me. As I approached the podium, I wondered if someone had been responsible for telling me about this moment; was there supposed to be a specific scripture to be read that evening; was there even a theme of which I should be aware? In a daze, I vaguely remember flipping open the Bible, alighting my eyes on a passage of scripture and reading it with all the passion I could muster under the circumstances. Whatever I read, it seemed to satisfy and even encourage all present.

Glad that was over, I settled in for a long evening in which the real out-of-town guest minister preached the proverbial "everything from Genesis to Revelation" sermon. Then he prayed for everyone there, kicking up the dirt and sawdust floor with his zeal. It was quite a scene that must have impressed even the devil himself. By this time it was after 10:00 in the evening. Quite frankly, it had been my plan to slip out much earlier, but remember, I was in the honored seat on the stage. Finally it seemed everything was over and I was glad we would soon be leaving. Again the host Pastor came to the podium, I thought to dismiss us. But noooo..., he again introduced me and announced I would now come and bring a sermon. He had to be kidding, right?

Nevertheless, I was "on" again. I assured the congregation I would be brief due to the lateness of the hour. I was happy it had been my practice to make little outline notes in the wide margins of my study Bible. I was able to go to a passage and give a 10-minute sermonette that appeased the host Pastor and relieved the congregation, I'm sure.

Those were memorable days and I did indeed learn to "be instant". Yes, I guess they really did tell me about this in Bible College, but I couldn't have truly experienced the power of this scripture any other way than to be thrust into inconvenient moments in which the Holy Spirit graciously showed up.

I'm A Better Lover Than...

I'm a better lover than... Well, before I finish that thought, let me set this up. We've all heard funny stories about some of the well intentioned words of wisdom that have somehow come out all wrong. One of the comments on my first blog was about B.T. mistakenly using the word, 'concubine' instead of 'combine' (as in a farm implement) throughout his sermon. I'm sure many of his "fans" relished making him aware of his mistake after the sermon was finished.

I have a couple of favorites that I am grateful to have not spoken. I am equally grateful that I was present to hear my friends utter words that could not be recovered before the humorous damage was done. One preacher tried to communicate the concept of being self-deprecating. However, in the passion of anointed preaching, we were exhorted instead to be "self-defecating". Someone blurted out, "Well, I HOPE that is something you do by yourself!" Another gave a clarion call for the listeners to come "prostitute themselves at the altar". There were no takers and the altar remained empty that evening. A colleague and I jointly officiated a wedding. As he prayed the Benedictory Prayer of Blessing, he eloquently besought The Lord to "bless this couple in every situation and circumcision, uh...every circumstance...".

One of my earliest blushes came shortly after I entered the ministry. I noted that I had recently observed that being a good pastor was more about loving people than about being a good preacher. As I glanced down at the pulpit, I continued, "...and I'm coming to the conclusion that I'm a better lover than I am a preacher." As the words drifted across the congregation in the silent moment that followed, I finally dared lift my eyes in horror to discover that everyone present was doing his best to stifle the laughter. In a mistaken effort to cover my blunder, I shouted above the laughter, "But, but the only way you will know that for sure is to ask my wife," at which point she roared, "Don't ask me. I'm not lying for him!"

They just never told me in Bible College that anointed preaching could be so human!

They Never Told Me This in Bible College

Bible College was full of promise. We had great professors who were knowledgeable and who gave us the benefit of years of experience. Our minds were filled with The Word of God, our hearts with passion. We were going to change the world. We were unstoppable. We launched into ministry with everything we needed to meet the needs of the broken, hurting masses. We were Pastors, Missionaries, Evangelists.

It took only a very short while to discover there just were going to be circumstances of which no Professor could ever forewarn us...because no one in Bible College would ever have imagined these events as part of everyday ministry life. No one could have prepared us for dog funerals, overflowed baptistry tanks, disrespect for the office of Pastor by the base runner rushing the catcher (Pastor) at home plate during the church-wide picnic and softball game. We would not have believed the Professors if they had told us we would have to sit in the dunk tank at the Fall Festival, that we would have to clean the toilets, that we would have to lead the Christmas Sunday music even though one had no musical skill whatsoever. We could not have dreamed that Sermon props could go so badly, that verbal faux pas would ever be so embarrasing, that so many people could actually sleep through your sermons or plug in their transistor radio earpiece while you were preaching. OK, OK, that's an IPod these days.

I think you get my drift. The stories I will share on this blog are real stories from my 33 years of ministry. Sometimes the names will be changed to protect the innocent; sometimes the real names will be used to expose the guilty. The bottom line is, "They never told me about this in Bible College!"