They Never Told Me This

They Never Told Me About New Car Protocol...

2010-12-08T08:47:00.000-08:00

It's really amazing that everything thing a Pastor does can come under scrutiny, including his choice of the car he drives. That's why it's described as living in a fishbowl.

I am currently driving a 1998 Mitsubishi Diamante with 166,ooo+ miles on it. Pretty much everything on the car still works. It has a few dings, nothing serious enough to repair. It has an oil leak that I have decided to go ahead and repair pretty soon. The interior is not perfect but there are no major seat tears. The radio works but the antenna is broken and the CD player skips so I don't listen to much music while driving. I have decided there is no one I feel a deep need to impress when it comes to the type of car I drive, so it will be my car as long as I can squeeze a few more miles from it.

I remember a time, though, when I did need to buy a new car. After a bit of shopping, I found a Ford Crown Victoria that I purchased. The following Sunday, I announced the new purchase to our church. I did so a bit tongue-in-cheek just for the fun of it.

I explained that there are two views in a church regarding the Pastor's car. There are some who believe the Pastor should drive a "fine" car that reflects well the position of the church in the community. They want the Pastor "looking good" driving to a wedding or funeral. So, I noted that this was a big, luxury car with all the bells and whistles. It was a nice, comfortable car and everyone in the church could feel their Pastor was doing well.

In the other view, members believe the Pastor should reflect a modest lifestyle. His car should not be ostentatious suggesting perhaps he is too worldly. In fact, some go to the extreme of suggesting he drive an old rust-bucket just to show he is not earthly-minded. I explained to the congregation that even though this was a nice car, it was indeed used, pre-owned. I had not overly spent; I had not paid a new car price.

The members of that church laughed at the humor of my announcement, and honestly would not have had a problem with my purchase, no matter what car I drove. A fun benefit in the ownership of this car was that I often freaked out other drivers who thought an unmarked police car was pulling up behind them. The point of my story is that I am still amazed at the little everyday issues that can get a church all up in arms. There are just a lot more eternal issues to focus on.

I pray you all have a Merry Christmas and will be focused on the eternal values of this Christmas season.

I am Salty!

2010-10-19T07:20:00.000-07:00

Our family bought it's first TV when I was in the 1st grade. Incidentally, that is when I remember us first having an inside bathroom as well, but that is a story for another time.

Sunday mornings consisted of our family of four getting ready for church. Church was never an option in our family. It was understood by all of us that church is what we did every Sunday morning. Come to think of it, church is what we did every Sunday morning and evening and Wednesday evenings.

I remember that on school mornings we were entertained by listening to the radio while we prepared for school. But on Sunday mornings, we watched TV. Christian TV at that time consisted of Oral Roberts Healing Ministry and Gospel Quartets. I was totally inspired by the Gospel music in particular, and decided at that time I would join a Gospel Quartet and become a Gospel singer. Well, God had other plans for my life, evidenced by the fact I have no musical skill.

Nevertheless, despite my lack of musical talent, I still love music and love worship. I also love to watch children worship. There is something pure and unadulterated in their expression of worship. Children often express truths in worship that we might have missed otherwise.

I will never forget one little 4-year-old boy. He would dress in suit and tie every Sunday. His hair was slicked back and he was the epitome of style. He was a well-behaved boy and loved to sing at the top of his lungs. Boy, could he belt it out.

One of the songs we often sang back then was "I Exalt Thee". That seemed to be his favorite. In his child-like understanding, he would tilt his head back and burst forth in song, "I Am Salty, I Am Salty, I Am Salty, Oh Lord!"

Well, you get the picture. We are SALTY! Enough said.

Have a great day! Make it SALTY!

All About Ministry

2010-10-10T18:02:00.000-07:00

It has been too long since I showed up here. In fact, I have written nothing since we announced Dallise was diagnosed with Chronic Myeloid Leukemia. With great thanksgiving I can report that she is doing well and the worst symptom or side effect she has experienced is excessive tiredness, and even with that she has not missed a day of work. I recently spoke to a client who was diagnosed with CML a few years ago. He endured everything from steroid treatment to bone marrow transplant to extensive chemotherapy, and is not a healthy man even today. We have been spared those extreme trials and we are grateful.

Now, with that personal report given, "It's All About Ministry."

I have always preached that wherever you work, whatever you do, that place is a place of ministry. I never had to practice that truth until I stepped into the business marketplace three years ago. I find that there are daily opportunities to speak a word of encouragement, pray with someone or to share my faith. There are people out there who may never step into "my church", but I can take church, no, not church, but Christ, into "my world". That may be the most important thing I can do as ministry.

While it was very difficult to adjust to not being "Pastor", I now find my job, my job ministry, very fulfilling. I have been guilty in the past of passing some degree of quiet, private judgment on those who left formal ministry. I thought they just did not have the stamina or they became jaded or disillusioned with ministry. I thought maybe they were quitters, they were giving in to satanic pressures. They were to be pitied and definitely prayed for. They just didn't have what it took. I have even thought that maybe some of those should never even have been called ministers. We read all the statistics of the numbers of churches that fail and the numbers of those who have left the ministry and we feel saddened by those numbers.

Yet, might it just be possible that God just planned, in His own wisdom and for eternal reasons we might never know in this earth, to use some "old Preachers" to carry His message to a different crowd in a different way than he started out.

I'll admit, this may sound like one "old Preacher" trying to justify his own life journey, but I gotta tell you, this feels pretty right for me at this season of my life. So, please do not feel sorry for me, please do not look at me as one who abandoned The Call. If anything, that Call is stronger than ever and I am feeling a holy liberty to pursue it as long as God gives me life. I have an idea this thing is about to become an even greater adventure than I imagined 35 years ago when I launched into pastoral ministry.

A Goodson Prayer Request

2010-01-30T20:24:00.000-08:00

Dallise and I have been facing a new challenge in our lives since the end of 2009, and we finally know enough about it to be able to share with our friends so that you may pray for us. It sounds like really bad news at first, but then there is enough good news about the bad news that it is not quite so bad as it will seem at first.

The short story is that Dallise was diagnosed December 31, 2009 with Chronic Myeloid
(or Myelogenous) Leukemia (CML). Obviously, this was scary news. Since then after doing some of our own research and meeting with about three different Dr’s, we have discovered it is not life-threatening and is not terminal. It is a type of leukemia that is completely treatable and manageable.

There is medication, a pill, that will within 18-24 months put the disease into remission. She will still need to take the medicine on an ongoing basis thereafter as the leukemia would return without it. This treatment may produce some side effects, although in terms of cancer treatment, these should be minimal and manageable as well.

Yesterday, she underwent a Bone Marrow Biopsy to establish a baseline for measuring the treatment process. She began taking the medication last night.

While it would be dishonest to say we are at perfect peace about this, it is absolutely true to say that God is daily perfecting our peace. We will not be surprised at all to awaken one fine day to discover that God has completely healed Dallise with no further treatment necessary. If not, we still will daily revel in God’s constant grace and provision for every need.

The website noted below will give you more info if you are interested in details.

http://www.leukemia-lymphoma.org/all_page?item_id=8501

Needless to say to you, our friends, we will count on your intercession whenever God brings us to your mind.

Thank you!! Thank you!! Thank you!!

Philip and Dallise

They Never Told Me...

2009-12-08T11:47:00.000-08:00

...how to prepare for a church service. Now I'm not talking about the sermon preparation, although that can be a challenge in and of itself. Some Ministers love the study, the note-making, the digging. Others love the presentation, getting in front of the crowd, preaching the Word. It seems most Ministers love either the preparation or the presentation, but one of the two is often a little more difficult than the other for most of us. There are times when I really get inspired in the preparation, but mostly I love the presentation.

But, how does one prepare himself for the service itself. The normal and most common activity of many Ministers is to pray until the moment it's time to walk onto the stage. Some ascend the stage, as it is practically named, or more technically, the pulpit, as the music begins. Some pray in some secluded room until the music has ended and the announcements have concluded, then grandly make an appearance. I'm sure it is not nearly as important just when one arrives, as long as he/she is ready and prepared.

Many churches have a Prayer Team, an invaluable team, and I do not say that lightly, who intercedes for the Pastor and the service before and/or during the service. My Prayer Teams always felt it was important for me to join them in our Prayer Room just prior to the service. I tried to accommodate them as I knew it was important.

For me, and I say this knowing that it does not have to hold equally true for everyone, I found myself frustrated and confined in feeling it mandatory to participate every week with this Team. It actually distracted me from my readiness. I'm not against prayer, by any means, but I had already prayed. I had spent the week in prayer asking for God's anointing and guidance. I was ready. I still needed their prayer, their intercessory prayer, for me. The crux of intercession is to pray for another, isn't it? I needed that; I just didn't need to be present always.

After many years of trying to understand my own emotions and needs in this area of preparation, I came to realize that what I most needed right before the service was some face time with our members. I'm a people person. I need conversation, connection, laughter, stories. I had to make connections with the people I most cared for. I just had to satisfy my need to see and be seen. Once I had my people-fix, I was ready to go. It took some time for my Prayer Team to understand and accept my needs, but once they did, I was a free man, and we all understood how to dovetail our needs together.

Maybe this all sounds a bit narcissistic, but, hey, it is what it is. A Pastor at our church just blogged ( A DAY IN THE LIFE WITH PK: NARCISSISM ) about the narcissistic tendencies our modern world of communications - FaceBook, Blogs, Twitter, etc - has produced. He and I decided to become the founding members of the FELLOW NARCISSISTS CLUB.

Currently, Membership applications are being accepted. The only prerequisite is that you understand we all have a little (or a lot) of self to which we must die. "Nevertheless, I live, and the life which I now live, I live in Christ..."

They Never Told Me About Elder Fights...

2009-09-22T12:32:00.000-07:00

We studied Biblical Leadership. We went to Leadership Seminars and Workshops. We read books on Leadership. We watched as mentors dealt with their own church Elders and Deacons. But, still, no one can prepare you for the battles that spontaneously break out when passionate men and women feel strongly about church direction with opposing opinions.

There is an adage that Pastors should never surround themselves just with "Yes Men". I believe that is true, but I have also discovered that every Pastor needs someone who is in agreement and in tune with his heart and vision. It is healthy to have leaders who agree with you. I propose that every Pastor needs a couple of "Yes Men", because it is a given understanding that every Pastor will, without fail, have plenty of "No Men".

Dallise's Dad was a Pastor. In one church he served, the Deacons drove past his house one night and fired a rifle into his house. It happened to be fired into Dallise's bedroom. Fortunately she had not yet gone to bed and no one was hurt, but that's a pretty serious "Deacon Problem".

I have been blessed with some very good leaders and advisers along the way. We still have blessed friendships with many of them. One of those Elders whom I still call my dear friend and with whom I still communicate is Ronnie. He and I have stood toe-to-toe in the church building locked in an intense verbal disagreement. After 30 minutes, we had still not come to an agreement, but we embraced and parted company, both still passionate about our own view of the circumstances.

This "intense fellowship" was not uncommon between the two of us, but we always came back together over lunch at the local hometown restaurant or to play golf. I knew he had my back when the times were tough and he knew I always valued his opinion and input.

There are more stories about Ronnie, but to relate them now means that I would be telling the story according to my own flawed recollections. His memory may recall different details about the same story, and the next thing you know, we would be on the phone arguing over whose version is the most accurate.

Bottom line is that "Yes Men" or "No Men", we all need each other. I have learned to appreciate the divine tension that exists between men consumed by God's calling. So, Ronnie, and all the others with whom I have been privileged to minister, here's to you, the salt of the earth.

A Wife Who Keeps Me Straight...

2009-09-11T17:20:00.000-07:00

There was a generation of Pastors who were expected to have musically talented wives who would complement the Pastors' preaching skills through the music ministry. They were hired as a package, though the wife was generally never compensated monetarily.

Dallise, my wife, has a degree of music competency. In fact, she has a great heart for leading worship, and has led in various seasons of our pastoral ministry. However, it is not her passion and it is not the greatest asset she brings to the churches I've pastored.

She is wonderfully able to take my big picture-no detail plans and turn them into organized success. For example, it is common that I might step onto the stage on a Sunday morning and announce to the church, with no prior warning to Dallise, that we are going to have a church dinner on a certain date. When we get home, she asks, "Who is going to bring the food, the drinks, the plates, the condiments?" In other words, what about the details? My answer is always that it will just work out, but she knows better. So she gets busy with the list making, the delegating, the planning; and it always results in a fabulous event, all because of her.

But, I have to say the most fun and most humorous assistance she brings to the church family is her insistence in keeping me on track. I'm a storyteller and have a tendency to travel far afield from my sermon point as I chase one rabbit trail after another.

Dallise has always sat just to the right of center aisle on the second pew. She knows me all too well and early on developed her own series of subtle hand signals to get me back on point. Because I often ignored her subtleties, she was forced to become more and more overt in getting my attention. As a result, every church we have pastored picked up on her signals and many, if not most, of the congregants soon joined her in giving me the "fingers-slashed-across-the-throat" signal. This signal is universally recognized as the "cut" sign, meaning stop the current thought; it is not appropriate to go there. Or maybe you can visualize her "rolling-the-hand-in-circular-motion-in-front-of-her-face" signal, meaning move it along, pick up the pace.

Alas, I may have never finished a sermon or a Bible Study in our Small Group if it were not for her signals, although once again in Small Group all the members have joined her in keeping me on track.

What a wife! I love her and need her. She keeps me straight!

What about any of you other ministers? What signals do you get from your wives intended to keep you straight?

They Never Told Me I Might Not Have An Office.

2009-09-01T06:11:00.000-07:00

This morning, I read a FaceBook note from one of the Pastors at our church, saying that his office is packed and he will probably be working from home a few days. His office is being repainted and re-carpeted.

I think it's great that he is getting a fresh makeover for the place where Sermons are formed and refined, prayer battles are waged and won and personal counseling encourages and restores. To be comfortable in such a setting is important and vital.

It made me think about my excitement leaving Bible College in 1975 and going to my first position as Assistant Pastor to my Father-In-Law. I was already dreaming of my office and all the miraculous ministry that would flow from that environment. I couldn't wait to get in there and furnish it naturally and spiritually.

The church had a recently built new facility and there were quite a few unfinished rooms. As luck would have it for this "Dreamer of Offices", there were no finished offices as of yet. So, it turns out that my first office was a shared room with my Father-In-Law. Not only did we share an office, we also shared an 8-ft folding table as a desk. He worked on one end; I worked on the other. It was quite a setup, but we made it work.

I eventually did get an office of my own and even my own desk. Through the next 30+ years, I have shared offices, worked from hallway offices, had small spartan offices and large well appointed offices and home offices and attic offices and basement offices. Of course, as you would imagine, it turns out in the end that while offices are necessary and conducive to good ministry, the bottom line is that Sermons are formed and refined first in the heart. Prayer battles are waged and won in every environment in which people live and struggle. Encouragement and restoration happens wherever the Word of the Lord is fitly spoken, even from my current desk sitting unenclosed and exposed in the middle of a bank lobby where I work as a Personal Banker.

I miss my own church office at times while in this different season of my life working and ministering at a bank. One great Revivalist wrote, "The world is my pulpit." A Circuit Riding preacher said, "The saddle is my pulpit." So, I say, "The world is my office, " and I am happy to know I'll never be without an office.

By the way, the Pastor I referred to in the opening paragraph would no doubt gladly give up his freshly painted and re-carpeted office to minister anywhere and everywhere there are hungry souls.

They Never Told Me About Going To Jail.

2009-07-21T14:38:00.001-07:00

When I was a teenager and dating Dallise, I left her house late one night going home on back country roads in South Georgia. I got pulled over by a policeman who jumped out of his car with his pistol drawn and pointed over the top of his car door. He screamed at me to put my hands on top of my car and spread my legs. I was in no position to argue, so I did exactly what he said, but thinking this was obviously a mistake. He said I was speeding and resisting arrest, though I explained I never saw his flashing lights in my rearview mirror. Notwithstanding they escorted me back to the police station and after making a somewhat convincing argument, they let me go with a fine.

It was many years later that I was again arrested and spent two nights in the Birmingham, AL jail. Our church was participating in Operation Rescue. We planned to stage a sit-in on a particular weekend to block the doors of abortion clinics, hoping to save a few babies who might otherwise have been aborted those days. There were four Pastors on staff and it was decided that we should not all participate on Friday in case the police held the arrestees through the whole weekend. One of us would need to be available to lead the Sunday service. I was the elected hold-out for the Friday Rescue. As expected everyone was arrested by mid-morning, men and women and teenagers. But they were released late Friday night, so I was free to do the sit-in the next day. I was arrested fairly early, my hands cuffed behind my back with the tough white plastic zip cuffs, shoved into the paddy wagon with a few others and hauled off to the county jail.

It had been decided that we would take no personal ID with us and that we would each give our name as "John Doe"when booked in. It was thought this might drag out the process a bit and perhaps attract more media attention to the effort. We were all placed in a large common room with 5'x7' individual cells surrounding the perimeter. We were not in with the general population of the jail; we were isolated only with our group, so we certainly felt no danger. We were free to talk, fellowship, pray and read our Bibles together, which we did. It really was turning into just a nice day with other Believers.

We were given an evening meal, then shortly afterward guards escorted each of us to our own individual cells. When the big metal door slammed shut behind me, it no longer seemed to be a day of fellowship. I was wondering why we were not released like the group the day before, but then remembered we had not given our real names and the police were not going to be so easy on us. The cot which stretched from wall to wall in my cell had no sheet, just a hard plastic mattress and no pillow. I had my own little private toilet and sink, but it was very austere.

Somehow, I finally drifted off to sleep, only to be roughly awakened about 3:00 am and dragged down the hallway by the night guard. In my sleepy state, I was having trouble focusing on where I was and why I was being treated this way in the middle of the night. The officer had realized they had failed to fingerprint me and they were going to do it now. He demanded my name, to which I replied John Doe, having finally remembered where I was and why I was there. He explained this game could be played both ways and they did not have to, and would not, release me until they had my real name and felt that I was being cooperative. In spite of the sleepy stupor hanging over me, he finally had my undivided attention. I snapped to alertness and blurted out, "Philip Goodson. That's Philip with one "L". He fingerprinted me and returned me to a fitful night of waiting for morning when I felt sure I would be released.

For whatever reasons the police had, none of us were released on that Sunday either and we all spent a second night in jail, a little less traumatic than the first. Finally, late Sunday we were bonded out upon agreeing we would not participate in Operation Rescue again for some determined period of time.

I don't really think this experience qualified as having been arrested for my faith. I certainly did not suffer and I was not persecuted or even mistreated. We did some "soft time" for taking a stand on an issue about which we felt passionate. I want to believe it made a difference in Birmingham and that a few babies might be alive today because of our actions.

But I have to say that nobody in Bible College told me I might spend a couple of nights in jail. By the way, whose idea was it that I was the one elected to wait until day two and spend two nights in the 5'x7', when everybody else on staff got to go home to their nice warm beds?

They Never Told Me About Unrighteous Indignation...

2009-07-05T10:15:00.000-07:00

I have experienced moments of righteousness indignation. There are certain injustices that must be met with a certain extreme level of anger. It demands reaction. Jesus displayed that type of anger when he overturned the moneychangers' tables.

I think God blessed me with a pretty easygoing personality. I am not too easily angered. The problem is that easygoing personalities have a really ugly side. If pushed too far, the circumstances can devolve into UNRIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION. I don't like the picture of who I am when that happens, although from the perspective of 25 years later, it does have an element of humor.

We once faced an accusation by a Grandmother of inappropriate discipline of her Grandchild in our Daycare Ministry. She was so incensed on the phone that we could not speak civilly, so I invited her to my office for further discussion. It picked up where the phone call ended, definitely not on a pleasant note.

The tension escalated until I became very defensive and ultimately stated EMPHATICALLY, "This meeting is over!!" She hotly replied, "Don't tell me when this meeting is over! I'm not finished!" At this point, I had reached the "ugly side". I slapped my hand on my desk several times demanding that she leave. When she refused, I turned off the light, walked out and shut the door behind me, leaving her in my darkened office.

Of course, she hotly pursued me still irately berating me. I followed her across our building to be sure she did not engage any of our workers, and even though she never let up on me, I had gained control of my own emotions and was relatively calm again - that is, until she whipped around right in my face. She screamed, "Don't you follow me!" That sent me right off the deep end again. I explained loudly that this was my sidewalk and so was the surrounding 5 acres and that I could walk anywhere I wanted to, violently waving my arms to accent my attitude.

As our voices climbed the decibel scale, she drew back her hand to slap me in the face. Out-yelled at this point, all I could do was lean into her pointing at my cheek, daring her to go ahead and slap the snarling cheek I presented to her. I'm sure it must have taken great restraint on her part to withhold her desire to deck me.

I distinctly remember to this day the fearful prayer coursing through my thoughts at that moment, "Dear God, She is going to knock me on the ground. My only request is that you help me not to cry when she does." For whatever reason, she did not follow her instincts to oblige my foolish offer of a free shot at my jutting law, for which I will be forever grateful.

She left, but filed an official complaint and soon a pair of police officers showed up to question me about the incident. I was more than happy to answer their queries until they read me my Miranda Rights. I have to admit that was a bit unnerving. I invoked my rights and called our attorney. Thankfully, we were able to resolve the issue without bruises or bloodshed.

The ugly side of an easygoing person is just that - UGLY! I'm mostly thankful my actions did not result in cosmetic reconstruction. I did, however, undergo a painful spiritual reconstruction and I don't think I have ever stooped quite that low again in unrighteous indignation.

Mission Trip Hot Tub Incident...

2009-06-16T08:24:00.000-07:00

Well, I promised the story about the Hot Tub Incident. Prefacing the story, I must relate a simple fact. I have always admired Billy Graham for many reasons that are immediately obvious. He has always been represented as a man of high moral integrity. One of those reasons is his carefulness to never be placed in a compromising position with women. I have read in his autobiography that when traveling, he would never enter his hotel room unless a staff member went in first to verify there was no one there of the opposite gender.

I have also worked hard to be careful that I am in no similar position of moral question. I have made it a practice to not counsel women unless someone else was present in the building or in an outer office. I will not close a door completely if I am counseling a woman. I include Dallise or some other Christian lady in counseling if and when possible. Except on rare occasions, I do not even have lunch in public with a lady by myself. I certainly do not visit a woman at home alone. I have this whole scary, fearful, funky paranoia thing going on about this sort of encounter.

Now to the story. We were on this R&R trip with our Missionaries in Puerta Vallarta, MX. (See previous blog) About five of us from our group were lounging in the massive 30-person hot tub outside by the pool area. Dallise was sitting by a friend at the opposite end of the little half-circle we formed in the seating area. I'm chatting with one of the guys beside me on the other end of our little half-circle. I looked up to see two young "ladies" entering the hot tub. Now there was lots of room across the hot tub with plenty of distance from where we were seated, but these two girls sat down immediately to my right, immediately adjacent to me, in broad daylight, mind you.

One of them stepped directly in front of me in the water, stuck out her hand and said , "Hi, I'm _____. What's your name." I was rather flustered at this brazen approach and stammered, "I'm Philip, and that's my wife right over there." Undeterred, she asked, "Are you here for business or pleasure?" I was so befuddled, I could not even answer. One of the ladies, one of our friends sitting beside Dallise, took up my defense. While I sat in stunned speechlessness, she answered, "This is our Pastor and we're here on a Missions Trip with our church! We're holding devotions tomorrow morning. Why don't you join us?" Well, that was all that was needed to end the encounter and the two "ladies" immediately left the hot tub. By the way, the "ladies" did not attend devotions the next morning.

I was completely lost and embarrassed and consequently the target of many jokes and jibes for the remainder of the trip. When we returned home and dedicated a service to sharing the events and fruit of our trip, it seems to have been the one story told repeatedly by those who attended the "incident" with me. In future Mission Trips, I have decided it might be wise to avoid the whole hot tub scene altogether. Still, what a way to do a Mission Trip, huh?

I can't say They Never Told Us ABout Missions.

2009-06-09T15:08:00.000-07:00

Missions was integral to the life of the Bible College we attended. What amazing times we had at Liberty Church in Pensacola when it was Missions Week! There were the most incredible stories of Mission work from Missionaries who had committed themselves to work long-term in various fields of ministry around the world. Special offerings were taken and Faith Promises for the coming year were confirmed. Dallise and I found ourselves so inspired that we promised more the first year than we actually made in income. We had to figure out the balance, however, and were a bit more realistic after that.

We have had the pleasure of leading a few short-term, 2-week trips to Guatemala and Mexico. We always wanted to inspire members who had never been to the mission field to go see first hand what their giving and prayers accomplished.

One of our church families had served for years in Jocotepec, Mexico. Several of our men had made trips down to assist the missionaries in constructing a new building. When it was finished, we were invited to participate in the dedication of the building. When I announced the trip and asked who wanted to go, the men who had been down volunteered to go again. I was disappointed that no one else was interested. The following week, the Director of Globe Missionary Evangelism, the overseeing mission organization, and I spoke about the trip. He was planning to be at the dedication and then sponsor an R&R trip for several missionaries over in Puerto Vallarta on the Pacific Coast. I offered that our church would sponsor our missionary family and join them for the trip. We would spend about 4 days at the dedication and then another few days at this fabulous resort. Next Sunday, when I announced the expanded plans that included Puerto Vallarta, we had a whole new group who was ready to go. We all went and had a great time of ministry and of rest.

Now, hardcore missionaries who go out to immerse themselves long term in the culture of the mission field thereby effecting lasting change for the Kingdom of God probably scoff at such a mission trip. It probably seems like a glorified, feel-good exercise that makes the individuals participating feel better about themselves and their altruism. They may have some valid observations from that perspective. However, I found on our trip that it was an effective way to introduce missions to Believers who had never ventured out before. Their appreciation and prayer and financial support for those who do go long term was greatly increased. Bottom line is that it's not a bad combination to bring perspective to those who had no personal experience other than listening to Missionaries speak and show their slides. (I know, I know. We now call it a PowerPoint Presentation.)

Everyone who went to Mexico with us on that trip came back with great memories. Sadly for me, the favorite story seems to have involved the Hot Tub Incident involving Yours Truly. I'll tell that story in my next blog. Stay tuned. You don't want to miss that one.

I don't know about you, but I'm ready for another mission trip, maybe to Jamaica or Hawaii this time. Who wants to go with us on this "Mission Trip"?

They Never Told Me How To Balance Ministry With Family Life.

2009-05-26T10:48:00.000-07:00

They did tell me it was important, but there were no formulas on how to make it happen. So, I had to figure it out on my own. I'm not sure you can teach a Minister how to keep focus on Family. Every family and every ministry is so different. For me, I look back over the years with gratitude that I was an Associate Pastor for half my ministry life. As Sr Pastor the other half, I led smaller churches and was not overwhelmed with round-the-clock schedules. It seems to have taken the pressure off a bit and I could adjust my ministry schedule around personal life a little more easily.

One year on the Saturday when our church was hosting a Liberty Fellowship Winter Conference in which I had some organizational responsibility, I was able to slip out and attend basketball games for my sons. Dallise and I always made it to band concerts and football game halftime shows and sporting events and sailing events. It was hectic, but we felt it was important.

Once as Sr Pastor, I had scheduled Judson Cornwall as our guest speaker. As we neared the week of the meetings, I realized it coincided with the final game of Seth's High School basketball career. Dallise and I toyed with several ideas about how to juggle the conflicting schedules, including skipping the service that particular evening. In the end, I called Bro Cornwall to explain my dilemma and ask if he might be flexible enough to reschedule and come to our church on a different weekend. He replied that it was the most legitimate reason for a reschedule he had ever been given and graciously agreed to come later.

We have been blessed in our family. As one friend put it to us, "For parents who have done so many things wrong raising their children, they sure have turned out remarkably well." That's about all the credit Dallise and I can take. We just blundered through it all and now have every reason to be proud of our kids. Each son has married a godly wife and together they are raising their own children in Christian homes and wisely balancing their service as Leaders in their respective Churches.

We just finished a blessed Memorial Day weekend with the whole bunch of them in our home. What a delight! There are now seven Grandchildren (two in Heaven) and another due in November. You may gather from the previous statement that life is not always rosy. The sweet is mixed with the bitter, but in the end, God has triumphed in our family.

I have said often that my greatest life ministry would be reflected in our kids. That is already apparent. Who they are in God and what they will accomplish in their lives will be evident in generations to come.

Do I ever think I somehow missed out on greatness in ministry? Not a chance! The most challenging, yet rewarding ministry in which I ever engaged was with our kids. The balancing act was worth it, and I think God is just pleased in the Center of our Family.

They Never Told Me That Not Everyone Is Transparent.

2009-04-19T16:52:00.000-07:00

People say that they appreciate my transparency. The problem is that I know myself and I sure don't feel very transparent a lot of the time. If there is any transparency in me, I'm not sure I can say that becoming transparent was a natural process for me. I'm not sure it is natural for anybody. We all have a tendency to put forward our best foot, to maybe talk and act as we think other people want to perceive us. We want to hide the innermost thoughts and feelings that betray the fact we are not all we are cracked up to be. We Christians seem especially to struggle with this. We certainly have our own language, Christianese, and we have developed a carefully crafted set of Christian platitudes that are not always, but can be, empty and meaningless.

I'm not about to suggest that all conferences and retreats are bad. However, it can be very painful for the minister whose church is in the middle of a difficult time to get to the retreat and hear the glowing reports from everyone else present. The feeling is that I must be doing something wrong; I must not be a good leader; I must be the problem in our church. It took only a few years in the ministry to discover just how difficult it is to be open and honest with other ministers.

One year in particular, Dallise and I headed off to the annual retreat. We were not very excited because we had been going through a difficult year. I was not looking forward to pretending that all was well. We decided that we would be honest about our emotions and confess the hard times, but also that we were trusting God. We did not even get to the registration table before we had been greeted by two or three close minister friends. "Hey, Bro Philip. It's great to see you. How are thing going in your church? Great, I'm sure; just like ours. Isn't it great to be a Pastor?" Well, my response was, "Not so great right now. We had a rough year. Some key people left. Our finances are down and we're struggling a bit. But we are also believing God and know He will see us through this time. It will get better. We're just needing some encouragement." Honestly, some of our friends did not know quite how to handle us. We just kept being honest at this retreat because it was the only way we knew to ask for help and understanding. Finally, on the third day of the conference, one of our best friends broke down and admitted he had been going through all the same things we had experienced and that he too was discouraged. It took him three days, but he finally got transparent with us and we were then able to encourage each other honestly. The honesty was refreshing and liberating.

Maybe you notice that I value being real and that I do not value pretence. One of the best compliments I have ever had made about me was from my daughter-in-law, Charis. A co-worker once asked her how she could deal with her father-in-law being a Pastor. The co-worker's perception was that Pastors are different out of the pulpit than in it, and how could Charis deal with that difference. Charis' response was that it was not a problem for her because her father-in-law was the same both out of and in the pulpit. I was honored by her kindness.

Although I wish it were always true about me, I appreciate that occasionally someone may see and appreciate the real me. It sure seems to make life easier and more enjoyable when I don't have to remember who I think I'm supposed to be to make others happy. I think I'm just gonna have to be me, you know - the me God wants me to be.

They Never Told Me Just How Little Time

2009-03-28T05:34:00.000-07:00

I would actually have for prayer, study, and personal devotion. Maybe they did tell me how difficult, yet important it would be to prioritize my day for personal preparation, but did I believe them? Naively, NO! When I was in Bible College, I worked a 40-hr week and took classes at night. It seemed all I did was work, eat, study and sleep. I left for work (BTW, making $3.00/hr and proud of it) at 7:00am, got home at 5:30pm, showered, ate dinner and left at 6:00pm for 6:30-9:30 classes, arriving home at 10:00pm. Every day was full.

I remember thinking how glad I would be when I was finally out of school and into ministry. I envisioned myself enjoying unending and uninterrupted hours of prayer and study. There would be no time restraint on the devotional side of life. After all, this would be the most important facet of personal ministry, right? Keeping myself spiritually alive, basking in God's instruction to my spirit would be key.

Wow, was I ever wrong about that! It was frustrating just how demanding everyday administration could be; and, oh how demanding all those people could be. Didn't they know I needed to be with Jesus? Now, I'm no Moses sitting in the gate or under the tree in the wilderness "judging" 3M+ people, but I felt a bit disconcerted at ending a day and realizing I had not spent adequate time with The LORD. I always thought ideally that if I could just take care of one issue or another, I would then have the time to study for myself and not just for a sermon.

Well, here I am 33 years later, still trying to figure out how to be successful at managing my devotional time. I once listened to a Christian radio show host interview an author who had written a book on how to have a consistently successful family devotional life. The more I listened as I drove down the road, the more guilty I felt. We had times, seasons maybe, when our kids were young that we would get somewhat consistent, but we never broke the distraction issues for long, consistent periods. This author really sounded like he had it together, and I certainly did not. Right at the end of the program, the host asked the author, "How do you make this all work in your family since you travel so often and always on the road away from your family?" The author replied, "Oh, I don't do so well at this myself." Well, I was all alone in my car, but I looked at the radio dial and screamed aloud, "You what!!!! All this time I'm feeling guilty because of you, and now you tell me you don't do this so well yourself!!?? How dare you!" Well, needless to say, I did not buy his book on Family Devotions, nor anything else he ever wrote.

The bottom line, I figured out, is that time is really not the issue with most of us. We will make time for the things that mean the most to us. I met a young man a few years ago who played soccer passionately. Because of hectic lifestyles, their games were played at 11:00pm and later. Another young man I know and love has been playing a basketball tournament at 10:00pm and later. It just points out that devotion is not a time issue, but a priority issue.

By the way, I'm not writing a book about prioritizing one's life for devotions. I'm still working on it myself. When I get it perfected, I'll start the book and inform you where you can pick up a copy.

Get me out of this hospital room!

2009-03-10T13:47:00.000-07:00

For some Ministers, hospital visitation is one of the most tedious of pastoral responsibilities. For me, it has proven to be one of the most Life-Giving facets of ministry. Some of my training for hospital visitation informed me that I should get in, see the patient, say a quick prayer and get out ASAP. Sometimes, when a patient is extremely ill or deeply medicated, that is obviously the way the visit should go.

But I have found through the years that it can often be most advisable to spend as much time as possible with patients and their families. I found it a profound ministry to sit at the hospital with patients and families for entire days at a time. I am listing below some of the fun things, some of the funny things, some of the poignant things that have happened to me around the hospital visit.

* It was in the hospital waiting room that my church members learned I used Tanning Lotion to soften the glare of my extreme whiteness.
* It was in the waiting room that I perfected the telling of some of my favorite jokes.
* It was in the waiting room that I learned intimate things about these families and they learned them about me.
* It was in the waiting room that I laughed with families as we told stories, and it was like medicine.
* It was in the waiting room that I cried with families, and it was like healing.
* It was in the hospital room that I learned a lot about medicine, even though the Dr's were ready for me to be quiet and leave so they could speak to the patient.
* It was in the hospital room that I saw the real person without makeup, without the fancy clothes, without any pretense, and they didn't care how I saw them, as long as I saw them.
* It was in the hospital that I saw God touch Sonny after his heart surgery and a supernatural peace came over him when God's anointing fell upon him.
* It was in the hospital that many private confessions were tearfully made to me in absolute confidence.
* It was in the hospital that widowed daughters and wives, husbands, children and parents met me coming in with open arms and shameless tears of appreciation that their Pastor had cared enough to come.
* It was in the hospital that parents voiced the fears and questions about their sick child that could never have been spoken anywhere else without shame and condemnation.
* It was in the hospital that God through anointed prayer raised up a neighbor from certain death. It was absolutely a miracle.
* It was in the hospital that one touch of my hand to my friend's shoulder made it perfectly clear she had left her body and gone to be with Jesus.
* It was in the hospital that I was privy to a dynamic family gathering around the death bed of its patriarch singing hymns as he was removed from life support.
* It was in the hospital that we sat silently watching a family mourn quietly and knowing it would be an interruption of holiness to say anything.
* It was in the waiting room that families exchanged questioning and worried looks as we waited for news of the surgical success.
* It was in the hospital waiting room that I could serve families in practical ways; getting drinks and snacks; going to the nurses' station for an update when the family was afraid to ask, but afraid not to ask; speaking words of hope or words of reality when necessary; calling family members with updates; calling out-of-town family members to summon them to the bedside; providing transportation.
* and of course there was prayer, intense prayer, intercessory prayer, comforting prayer, releasing prayer.
* It was in the hospital that I spent an entire day helping a family let go.
* It was in the hospital that I rejoiced the most when unexpectedly good news was shared.

I guess there's a place and a time to get in, see the patient, say a quick prayer and get out. But most of the time ministry just takes more time. I believe, in looking back at over 30 years of ministry, most of my church families will remember me more for being THERE than for the sermons preached, and that is just fine with me. It was in the hospital that I discovered how to love, hurt, care, serve, grieve, hope and rejoice.

Nobody Had To Tell Me About ...

2009-02-14T12:57:00.000-08:00

the importance of a supportive, loving wife when it comes to ministry. On this Valentine's Day, 2009, Dallise and I have been married just about 36 1/2 years. I cannot think of any way in the world that I would or could have have faced all these years in the ministry without her.

We were married on Sunday, August 6, 1972. At the end of that week, the end of our Honeymoon trip to St Augustine, FL, we moved into our little 12' x 52' mobile home that still had not been leveled and properly set up. About two weeks later, I began Bible College classes at Liberty Bible College. Dallise was there when I dreamed at night about the big exam on I & II Samuel, walking in my sleep trying to find the answers in the staple on the wall. She calmly led me back to bed and assured me I would do well, and I did. She sat on the low tree limb in the back yard asking me questions from different Books of the Bible and made me feel invincible for the ministry days ahead.

When we chose to spend a summer interning with her Dad in his new church plant, she was willing and excited to sell our little mobile home and leave for a 3-month adventure. At the end of the summer, when it was time to go back to college, she helped me load our rented U-Haul and head back to Pensacola even though we had not secured a place to live once we arrived. Friends housed us overnight, and the next morning we found a house to rent. Her faith was unwavering even in such uncertainty. Two years after that we headed back to DeLand, FL to spend the next 12 years of minstry in the little town we called "DeLand of Promise". Her faith was unshaken as we watched a 10-hour torrential downpour practically destroy the little bit of furniture we were transporting in an open trailer.

Twelve years later, when we resigned and had no where to go, she is the one who sat up in the middle of the night and had a vision of going to Birmingham, AL where we found a place of ministry that lasted another 8 years.

When we were debating the move to Fairhope, AL and I was feeling overwhelmed with the enormity of the moment, she said, "Let's go!" Eight years after that, we were considering a church plant in Chicago. We knew there was risk of failure, but she agreed that if that venture was not successful, we would figure out together what to do next. That is exactly what has happened and she has encouraged me all the way. Now while I am working at Chase Bank and sometimes feel I am missing my Calling, she reminds me that I am still being used by God to minister to people I would never see in "Official Church Leadership".

My point is that I have never had to make a major, life-altering decision apart from her. She has been with me all the way. I cannot imagine this journey without her. That makes her far more valuable than simply a Valentine on this February 14. She is life to me! Happy Valentine's Day, my indispensable Partner in Life!!

They Never Told Me About Musicians...

2009-02-10T07:05:00.001-08:00

When I was a kid, the first Christian TV programming was just hitting the airwaves; shows like Oral Roberts and his healing ministry and lots of Gospel Quartets. I was captured by the Gospel Quartets. I loved the music. It touched something in my soul. Music still does that to me. The strains of melody minister to my soul and the words are the confession of my beliefs. I need it often.

Musicians are a creative and wonderfully talented bunch of people, but they can be a little quirky. Nobody told me this in Bible College; nobody told me that some of the most intense fellowship occurs between the Pastor and the Worship Pastor as they both try their best to be obedient to the Holy Spirit.

I have worked with people who are extravagantly talented musicians leading with professional quality and I have worked with some who are not formally trained musicians, but have an incredible sense of the flow of the Holy Spirit for a service. I have also worked with musicians who do not necessarily shine in either of these departments. These fall under the heading of "making a joyful noise unto the Lord". As a Pastor, you sometimes just utilize what you have and pray for rescue. Sometimes you just give people a chance knowing their hearts are pure; sometimes purity of heart is the best quality going for you. In all honesty, I have been pretty blessed through the years to have some amazing Worship Leaders in the small churches we have served.

There was a time early in our ministry that was characterized by an incredible worship experience for months on end. We hosted a joint praise service, High Praises, one Friday night each month and invited other churches to participate. We experienced two hours or more of pure worship without interruption; no preaching, no announcements, just worship. Wave upon wave of God's presence overwhelmed us in those meetings. One minute we would be prostrate on the floor in awed wonder and the next leaping and shouting for joy. I've never experienced anything quite like it since.

It was while we pastored this church that we were blessed with an interesting team of musicians. Our pianist was narcoleptic. Yes, you read that correctly. She would strike a chord on the piano during a time of spontaneous worship and nod off to sleep. About the time you thought all was lost, she would rouse long enough to hit the next chord. We also had a deaf drummer at this same time. Yes, again you read that correctly. He was totally deaf in one ear and partially deaf in the other. He was a teenager who wanted desperately to be part of the team, so we gave it a shot. He wore headphones and really tried, but we did ultimately have to ask him to leave the music team. We had a fair trombonist at this time and a guitarist who we discovered later frequented the local bars as an entertainer.

Incredible, huh? It is amazing to me that God was anywhere near that whole thing, but we sure did enjoy HIS presence in those days. In some ways, I miss the excitement and spontaneity of those encounters with the Holy Spirit. Alas, we have come a long way, baby.

Musicians; you gotta love 'em!

They Never Told Me About Failure...

2009-01-27T07:36:00.000-08:00

I suppose every Bible College student goes into ministry with expectations of glowing success. Most of us experience an abundance of success stories, especially when we have invested in the lives of the people around us. I don't remember, though, that I was prepared for the failures of ministry I would face, and honestly now in hindsight, I'm not sure anyone can be prepared for failure. Programs were unproductive, outreaches failed, not every person who came through the church doors were saved and discipled, and even churches as a whole might shut down.

I remember about 25 years ago praying that God would never call me to plant a church. Nevertheless, we left Alabama in 2003 bound for Chicago to do that very thing. Dallise and I understood in advance the risk of failure. The following letter written in October, 2006, describes the end of that endeavor.

"Dear Friends,

Dallise and I want you, our friends and prayer partners, to know The Gathering Place Church will be closing at the end of October, 2006.

Dallise recently read a magazine article about Katie Couric's move from the Today Show to the CBS Evening News Anchor position. Asked about the format of the evening news, "'Some things are going to work and some things aren't,' she says matter-of-factly. 'I believe in noble failure.'"

That phrase caught my attention. I looked it up on the internet for further insight. Charles Schwab says, "The idea that failure is okay is ridiculous. But here at Schwab we differentiate between noble failure and stupid failure." Among his criteria for defining noble failure, Schwab included, "...you have a good plan and know what you're doing, you've thought it through carefully, and have implemented with sufficient management discipline, that if you look back in review, you'd conclude that it was thoughtfully done."

We launched out three years ago with prayer, with counsel from many whom we respect and with an obedient spirit. We got off to a good start with a plan and a passion to obey God in planting this church. We experienced moderately steady growth. I became involved in the local Chamber of Commerce and discovered a receptive platform for communicating the gospel in that business setting. We even were able to lead a few to the Lord.

However, we have not been able to sustain that growth and momentum, and for more than a year have been in a steady decline. Some moved away or graduated college and left for other pursuits. Some left after discovering that we embrace the gifts of the Holy Spirit and some left because they had personal conflicts with others in the church. Our worship leader resigned to devote his energy to the completion of his doctorate degree. Other emotional setbacks, more personal in nature to several families in the church, rocked our world when a dear friend and founding member passed away after a short battle with cancer.

Charles Schwab included another criteria in defining "noble failure;" "...you need to debrief yourself and ask what you can learn from the experience...".

I have learned much about how to start (and how not to start) a church. I'm sure there are many things we would do differently if we were starting again. I've learned much about myself, the details of which I will reserve communication for another time and format. For now, suffice it to say, my sense of calling into the ministry is only reaffirmed and strengthened through this experience.

While we are sad and disappointed at the results of our efforts, we cannot say we are sorry we embarked on this great adventure. Dallise and I have no regrets about our decision to move here and start this church. We believe it is important to take risks and venture out beyond our comfort zones to attempt great things for God. We are ready for the next "step beyond" in our lives, whatever that may be.

A. J. Valliant, reflecting upon a personal failure, wrote, "I suppose the lesson I took from this is that if we fail with grace and style the end result becomes secondary. It's the purity of our intent, and the depth of our conviction, that informs our worth; not some arbitrary marker of success."

Dallise and I hope you will see godly grace and style evidenced in our lives in the coming days. Be assured our worth is informed by the love of God, and to that love we will cling tenaciously.

We are deeply grateful for the financial, prayer and emotional support from so many of you. Thank you for your confidence in us. "

Now we are two years beyond that "noble failure". So, what's next? I have been working at Chase Bank as a Personal Banker, and have many opportunities for personal ministry to my clients. In that respect, it is fulfilling, but still, "What is ahead?"

This following "Word" was given at our church last Sunday. "... God wants you to KNOW that today is the day of His visitation upon your LIFE! To resurrect dreams, hopes, visions & promises and what you think is dead & gone."

The immediate response of my spirit to this Word was not that I would experience a "resurrection" of dreams or of ministry as I have known it before. What I heard, instantly and instinctively, was that God is birthing a NEW vision, a new dream, a new direction for me and Dallise. That excites me!Dallise and I both feel we may have another two years here in Chicago before we fully understand a new ministry vision and the release to pursue it. Thanks for walking this journey with us in prayer.

By the way, we do not see ourselves as failures in any way, only that we have experienced failure along the way. Even if they had told me about failure in Bible College, I could have learned its lessons only through my personal encounter with it. We can't wait to see what God brings from this past "Noble Failure" we have experienced.

Learning to be Brief...

2009-01-20T10:56:00.000-08:00

I took a speech class in high school and again in college. I remember how difficult it was to get through 3 minutes of a speech in front of an unappreciative audience. Even then, I realized it was important to speak with passion, and consequently, took some ribbing from my classmates for trying to be expressive.

I know what it is like to watch a parishioner plug in a set of earphones and listen to his transistor radio as I began to preach. I've watched people disappear from the service and never come back, and it always seems there is someone in the audience who falls asleep. Inevitably, someone would come to me at the end of a sermon and apologize for falling asleep. I had this happen frequently enough that I often publicly assured the congregation that it was OK to fall asleep. I would rather them fall asleep at church than at home in front of the TV. I joked that I sometimes put myself to sleep while I was preaching, and so I would not let my feelings be hurt when others fell asleep.

While I have not always been successful at following my own advice, I have realized that brevity in a sermon actually makes it more memorable. I have worked for years to refine and shorten my sermons. Alas, much of my downfall has been that I so easily stray from my prepared notes just to spontaneously tell a story that comes to mind. Of course, I have great stories to tell!!

At any rate, this week I went back through all my blogs because I discovered there were added comments that I had not seen. In doing so, I noticed something that will not come as much of a surprise to those of you know me. My earlier blogs were relatively short and my later blogs have become increasingly longer.

So, I'm off on a new quest to pare down the length of my reminiscing. Try not to fall asleep while reading these blogs. If you fall asleep while reading my blog, I can only surmise you might think I'm boring. If you do fall asleep, don't tell me; just let me think I'm interesting and you'll make me a happy man.

They Never Told Me in Bible College that I might have to be the Sound Guy!

2009-01-13T12:53:00.000-08:00

In ministry I've always valued the importance of a good sound system, but also learned the system is no better than the person operating it. Further, I don't know too many issues that can cause more disagreement in a church than the volume of the music. It can divide a congregation.

The sound can also make or break the minister's effectiveness, whether he be preacher or singer. When I first arrived at a new pastorate, the Sound Guy (and that by the way, is usually the official designation of the person who operates the sound system), informed me that I would never have to tap the microphone to determine it it was on or not. In fact, he forbade that I do so. He had some experience in the field of sound and had worked professionally with a couple of bands. He promised that he was a proficient and professional Sound Guy and that my mic would always be ready when I was ready. He said that he would watch me constantly and know my habits and patterns so that I would never have to worry about the sound. You know what? He was right. It was wonderful to work with him.

Ultimately he left our church and Robert volunteered to be the Sound Guy. Robert was not as professional as the previous Guy, but in due respect, his experience in the sound field had been cranking up the volume of his favorite heavy metal music he was listening to on his headset. Lest you think I am being critical of Robert, I watched him take his new responsibility seriously and grow in his skills through the following years that he was Sound Guy. On top of the fact that he got better and better, no one could ever play air guitar as well as Robert did when he was in the sound balcony out of sight of everyone but God and me during our Worship Service. Here's to you, Robert!

I never expected to ever have to be the Sound Guy. I am sure most of you will know who Larnell Harris is. Before he became well known and before he recorded and sold as many songs as he has, he came to our church to minister. He had no entourage to accompany him; no sophisticated sound system, no special lighting, no smoke, no nothin' but himself and a case of cassette sound tracks, one song on each cassette tape. He conscripted me to be his Sound Guy.

It sounded simple. We set up the cassette tape player at the front pew just a few feet to Larnell's right on the left front side of the sanctuary in plain sight so everyone could witness the Sound Guy at work. We set up a goose neck mic stand bent down to the speaker on the cassette player so the sound could be carried to the house speakers. He had his tapes all cued, meaning he had already advanced the tape past the blank leader tape that was always on a cassette. The music would begin immedialy, avoiding that awkward silence hissing in the speakers while waiting for the music to start. The tapes were all laid out in the order of performance. It sounded simple.

It sounded simple. Before the service, Larnell explained he did not like to talk too much between songs and that he wanted me to get the next tape into the player as quickly as possible and go ahead and punch the play button. He assured me he would be ready to sing at that precise moment. He went over a few subtle hand signals he would use to have me raise or lower the volume and suggested it would be important for me to pay attention. It sounded simple.

The service began, Larnell was introduced and I was on. I was johnny-on-the-spot at the end of each tape. Punch the 'eject' button, snatch out the concluded tape, pop in the next song and hit 'play' in one fluid motion. Other than the rattling noise of the tapes being manhandled, everything was going pretty smoothly.

It WAS so simple even though I was tightly wound and wanting not to disappoint or distract Larnell. I was clearly picking up his hand signals and ministry was flowing. It was unfolding as we had hoped and I was envisioning myself traveling as Larnell's roadie and Sound Guy. Then it happened.

The song had reached its climax. Larnell ended the song with a flourish and the music stopped. I punched 'eject' and as I did so, suddenly Larnell belted out this amazing acappella note. I was memerized by his talent and ability to give the song such a powerful unplanned finish. Everyone was in awe; you could feel the electricity in the air. God was with us. With an odd look of slight frustration, Larnell gave me a head nod to go ahead and start the next song and we launched into another spectacular moving performance. In my mind, the evening could have been no better. It really was simple.

After the service, Larnell made a beeline to me. I knew he was coming to congratulate me on a job well done and perhaps even offer me the full-time Sound Guy position. Alas, he launched into an explanation that I had essentially hung him out to dry on that one song. But the music had ended, I explained. Turns out, it was just a rest in the song, and what had appeared to be his impromptu spectacular ending would have been even more spectacular had it been accompanied by the dramatic musical conclusion now resting silently on the cassette. So much for simple.

Although the evening was a ministry success and people were leaving blessed and refreshed, I knew immediately and instinctively that any offer of becoming the Sound Guy for Larnell Harris had gone as silent as the blank leader tape on the cassette. It had seemed so simple.

Every Good Pastor Has A Toilet Cleaning Story...

2009-01-06T14:33:00.000-08:00

Bible College is a place for dreams to begin taking shape. The ministerial student envisions himself preaching eloquently, baptizing converts and giving wise counsel based on the Word of God. He sees life change in discipleship and community in Communion. He will be loved and appreciated for his strong, yet compassionate leadership. The church will thrive as he obeys God.

What nobody really told us is that the everyday, mundane events of administration and maintenance can eat up the Minister's week. My son, Seth, now a Childrens' Pastor, wrote the following. "No one ever told me I would pull teeth of little kids; no one told me I would have to clean up bubble parties in the bathroom, or rescue preschool workers from little boys who lock themselves in closets because they had gone pee in there."

I discovered quickly that I would have to print bulletins, make deposits and do the accounting, cut grass and trim hedges, do painting, plumbing, carpentry and electricity (scary), replace lighting, vacuum, and worst of all, clean toilets. While I am not very good at many of these chores, I can say that I have developed a certain skill level in all of them. In fact, in a strange sort of way, I have come to realize that each of these responsibilities has produced character that I may not have developed otherwise. Charis (my daughter-in-law), wouldn't you agree that character is important?

I have come to realize the importance of serving the Body of Christ with a good attitude in these mundane, behind-the-scenes activities. I believe this so strongly that I can now say with a strong conviction that no Minister is worth his salt if he does not have a good toilet-cleaning story. Yea, you guessed it; you get to hear my toilet-cleaning story.

I was Administrator of the Christian School our church had established. One day it was reported to me that the urinal in the boys' bathroom that served our third and fourth graders was stopped up. In case you did not already know this, urinals are not designed for solids. Only liquids will flush. So, I wondered why the urinal would be stopped up. It would have been nice to have had a full time custodian whom I could call on a two-way radio and send to the rescue. But no, I, the Pastor/Administrator, was the only one on call. Besides, we didn't have two-way radios. When I arrived to scope out the damage, I discovered that apparently some little boy had devised a way to deposit "solids" (feces, poop, #two) in the urinal. Even though I knew it was not going to flush, I was hoping a few timely flushes would dissolve the "solids" adequately to make it disappear. That was only a pipe dream. Ultimately I conceded I would have to find a way to remove the "solids" from the urinal. It was not a fun task and I secretly resented the teacher who reported the incident, but would not take the responsibility to do anything more. Finally the task was over and I could get back to the important duties of ministry.

The next day, the teacher reported to me again the same problem. I took care of it again and this time really scolded the boys in the class and threatened the safety of their lives if it should happen again. Well, the next day, we were back in the same mess, if you know what I mean. Since none of the boys would own up to the responsibility, I figured the entire group of boys would have to assist in the cleanup. To their dismay, I made each of the boys join me in the bathroom and with the pair of tongs I had conscripted for the daily duty, each had to remove a piece of the "solid". I do not understand to this day why I did not have some parents in my office and on my case for involving their innocent little kids in this disgusting task. I'm sure most were uninvolved and yet, all learned an important lesson in hygiene that day.

By the way, if my memory serves me correctly, and it doesn't always, my son, Heath, was one of the "depositors" involved. Heath, if I am wrong, please forgive me for the unjust accusation. If I am right, I hope you have your own share of similar experiences. I would wish this on you only because I understand the value of every minister having a good toilet-cleaning story.

Good Baptisms Gone Bad

2008-12-31T10:17:00.000-08:00

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...

2008-12-20T17:06:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-09T12:36:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-16T16:03:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-08T17:08:00.000-08:00

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

2008-10-28T09:19:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-19T11:29:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-04T18:02:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-09-30T11:40:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-09-26T15:18:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-20T13:20:00.000-07:00

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!"