They Never Told Me...

...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...

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...

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.

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.

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...

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...

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?