.
Harold Camping didn't get it wrong. Don't believe it? Just ask him, he'll tell you. He now says that the end of the world will be October 21, 2011. He claims that the church was “invisibly raptured.” I guess that I must be invisibly writing this blog post. And many of you invisibly reading it.
It’s pretty cool actually. I have wanted to be invisible ever since I read H. G. Wells’ The Invisible Man when I was in fifth grade. Well, back THEN I thought it would be cool. You could go the store and not pay. No one would call you fat. You could go to which ever head wasn’t busy. (Yes. I called it a head when I was in fifth grade. Probably since I was five. Navy family, you know.)
Now that I think about it as an adult, though, maybe it’s not so cool. Should I preach Sunday morning? An invisible preacher-- preaching to an invisible crowd? Talk about apoplexy! How would I know how many people showed up? The first thing I do on Sunday morning is count. I do that even before I pray. All preachers count. Trust me. You can spot us at football games trying to count the number of people in the other set of stands. (Ministerially speaking, we were just shy of five hundred and two. We actual had two hundred and five, and that IS less than five hundred after all.) Now; however, thinking about going to the women’s head is just creepy and kind of disturbing.
So, I’ll be glad when Jesus comes back on October 21 and we can be seen again and…huh? What’s that? Oh!? Jesus came back invisibly! I see.
Hmph. So much for five hundred in church this Sunday.
Showing posts with label Church Growth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Church Growth. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
A Waffle House Theology
.
The year would have been 1988, and I was freshly transferred from the Naval Submarine School in Groton, Connecticut to Dam Neck Naval Base in Virginia Beach, Virginia. After completing boot camp in Illinois and then sub school ( which lasted over the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays,) I had been North of the Mason Dixon Line for just shy of nine months.
What this means is that I lasted nine months with NO sweet tea, NO warm weather, NO one saying y’all, and most of all, NO grits. North of the Mason Dixon they have a weak-kneed grits resemblance known as cream of wheat. echkk. I tried c.o.w. once. That stuff makes you speak all Hebrew and stuff. Like you have massive amounts of phlegm stuck in your throat. heeackkkkk.
So, it was on a bright, sunny, rather warm February day I got off the plane at Norfolk International Airport. Tagging along was my buddy, Chris Oldenburg, a native of Connecticut, classmate at BESS and soon to be roommate at Dam Neck for SWSA School. For three months Oldie had listened to me complain about negative digits weather, the horrors of Connecticut rudeness, the all around uncouthness of unsweetened ice tea, and the sheer indignity of NO grits. Needless to say people, my heart stopped after seeing a Waffle House sign just outside the gates of Dam Neck. “Stop!” I yelled to our cab driver. “Take us there! Take us there now.” It was two in the afternoon (umm. Fourteen-hundred) and we didn’t need to report for duty until 8 the next morning. “We’re eating some real food. Forget the mess,” I told Oldie. This is where it gets interesting.
I ordered heaven on a platter. Grilled chicken breast on a bun, with hash browns; scattered, covered and smothered; sweet tea, and—of course, a side of grits. Oldie studied the menu for a few minutes. I can still see the perplexed features of his face; brow wrinkled, slight frown, eyes squinting. I am quite sure his fingers were sticking to the syrupy menu as he kept eyeing the short order cook, slightly afraid of the recently released convict who was waiting to cook our food, and the just-shy-of-a-set-of-dentures tattooed woman, waiting to take his order. Ahhh. The best Waffle Houses have convicts cooking the food. The quality of the food is inversely proportional to the amount of time his incarceration ended. And if your waitress has a full set of teeth, be wary. Be very wary.
The classic line of all lines was not delivered by Oldie though. He simply asked her, with a straight face, to bring him a grit also. Her line is the one deserving Hall of Fame recognition. One that was probably much practiced by someone employed so close to a military establishment. With a hilly Virginia accent she drawled, “Sugah. They dun cum buuy theyself.”
******sigh******* Waffle House Theology. Grits do not come by themselves. They come as a group. As a collective. What made me reminisce about this story was thinking about the church. This past week, preaching from Luke 15, I chided the church (us and the church at large) for caring more about the 99 that the 1. Spending more money on the 99. More effort, more energy, more resources. Caring more for the 99 at home than the 1 outside and lost. The church is a collective also. A fellowship of Believers. There is no such thing as a singular grit. There is no such thing as a singular Christian. The word is plural, and the Waffle House Theology is that we need to spend more time remembering that, more time caring about in-reach and out-reach as we do about insuring the comfort of those that never wander. Remembering that grits don't come buuy theyself, and neither do Christians.
The year would have been 1988, and I was freshly transferred from the Naval Submarine School in Groton, Connecticut to Dam Neck Naval Base in Virginia Beach, Virginia. After completing boot camp in Illinois and then sub school ( which lasted over the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays,) I had been North of the Mason Dixon Line for just shy of nine months.
What this means is that I lasted nine months with NO sweet tea, NO warm weather, NO one saying y’all, and most of all, NO grits. North of the Mason Dixon they have a weak-kneed grits resemblance known as cream of wheat. echkk. I tried c.o.w. once. That stuff makes you speak all Hebrew and stuff. Like you have massive amounts of phlegm stuck in your throat. heeackkkkk.
So, it was on a bright, sunny, rather warm February day I got off the plane at Norfolk International Airport. Tagging along was my buddy, Chris Oldenburg, a native of Connecticut, classmate at BESS and soon to be roommate at Dam Neck for SWSA School. For three months Oldie had listened to me complain about negative digits weather, the horrors of Connecticut rudeness, the all around uncouthness of unsweetened ice tea, and the sheer indignity of NO grits. Needless to say people, my heart stopped after seeing a Waffle House sign just outside the gates of Dam Neck. “Stop!” I yelled to our cab driver. “Take us there! Take us there now.” It was two in the afternoon (umm. Fourteen-hundred) and we didn’t need to report for duty until 8 the next morning. “We’re eating some real food. Forget the mess,” I told Oldie. This is where it gets interesting.
I ordered heaven on a platter. Grilled chicken breast on a bun, with hash browns; scattered, covered and smothered; sweet tea, and—of course, a side of grits. Oldie studied the menu for a few minutes. I can still see the perplexed features of his face; brow wrinkled, slight frown, eyes squinting. I am quite sure his fingers were sticking to the syrupy menu as he kept eyeing the short order cook, slightly afraid of the recently released convict who was waiting to cook our food, and the just-shy-of-a-set-of-dentures tattooed woman, waiting to take his order. Ahhh. The best Waffle Houses have convicts cooking the food. The quality of the food is inversely proportional to the amount of time his incarceration ended. And if your waitress has a full set of teeth, be wary. Be very wary.
The classic line of all lines was not delivered by Oldie though. He simply asked her, with a straight face, to bring him a grit also. Her line is the one deserving Hall of Fame recognition. One that was probably much practiced by someone employed so close to a military establishment. With a hilly Virginia accent she drawled, “Sugah. They dun cum buuy theyself.”
******sigh******* Waffle House Theology. Grits do not come by themselves. They come as a group. As a collective. What made me reminisce about this story was thinking about the church. This past week, preaching from Luke 15, I chided the church (us and the church at large) for caring more about the 99 that the 1. Spending more money on the 99. More effort, more energy, more resources. Caring more for the 99 at home than the 1 outside and lost. The church is a collective also. A fellowship of Believers. There is no such thing as a singular grit. There is no such thing as a singular Christian. The word is plural, and the Waffle House Theology is that we need to spend more time remembering that, more time caring about in-reach and out-reach as we do about insuring the comfort of those that never wander. Remembering that grits don't come buuy theyself, and neither do Christians.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Luke The Evangelist
.
Ask the average Christian to name THE evangelist, and they will most likely say Billy Graham. According to denomination, historical knowledge, cultural setting, or theological persuasion, they might say Joel Osteen, Benny Hinn, C.H. Spurgeon, or D.L. Moody. But…ask any seminary student the name of the Evangelists and you’ll surely get Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John as your answer. The original Evangelists, usually with a capital E, are the four Gospel writers. The word Evangel is old English for the Gospel of Christianity, hence the Evangelists are those who wrote that Gospel.
With the case of Luke, the book and name hold special affections for me. First of all, Luke’s telling of the Lord’s story is the first of my memories of the Christian faith. It would be most of ours if we were to think hard on it. My earliest memories are of my sisters teaching me to sing Away In A Manger. Naturally, that whole song is a culmination of the story in Luke 2. Secondly, it was the first Gospel I read in its entirety, as a twelve year old boy. This was not long after I saw Star Wars’ second installment, The Empire Strikes Back, and I thought, “Hey. Luke is in the Bible. Luke is in Star Wars.” The profundity of that thought does not escape me. Thus started my love affair with Luke.
The third reason would be the fact that my son is named Luke. (Hmm. Wonder why?) To me, the name Luke represents the personification of manhood, machismo and the essence of coolness. My Luke was named, by-the-way, more in reference to Cool Hand Luke, than the Luke of the Bible or Luke Skywalker. (Although there was certainly a strong influence from the Evangel and the Jedi.)
My son Luke was the most amazing kid, and is now the most amazing young man. Coming from the bias of all parents, he is the world’s greatest teenager. He is funny, witty, charming, a bit of a Casanova-ladies-man, and, naturally, one of the “popular kids” in High School.
But I believe it was an act of Divine providence that he shares the name of one of the Evangelist. Luke’s heart is that of an evangelist, and his spiritual giftedness is leading people to the Lord. Time after time, from a three year old to a high school freshman, he has come to his dad and told me about his “friend” at school that he has invited to church (most everyone he meets is a friend, hence the quotation marks. He, like Will Rogers, never met a stranger.) Said friend needs a ride, or his/her parents won’t let them come, or lo and behold, there they are on a Wednesday night or Sunday morning looking for their “friend” Luke who invited them. Sometimes they come looking for a meal, others for game time (an AWANA thing,) or occasionally just looking for something to do. But they all come looking for what people need most…someone to care enough to reach out, to be a friend, to say with the simplest of invitations, “I care about you. You are important to me”
As I write this, my eyes misting up with a sanctified pride, I can’t help but wonder…Church; if we were more Lukish, more Markish, more Matthewish, more Johnish, how many more people would come to church and feel like they are important to God, because they were important to His people? I can assure you, there wouldn’t be enough room to hold them.
Well, food for thought I guess.
And to my Boy I say: “Keep ‘em coming, son. There is room at the cross for them all!”
Ask the average Christian to name THE evangelist, and they will most likely say Billy Graham. According to denomination, historical knowledge, cultural setting, or theological persuasion, they might say Joel Osteen, Benny Hinn, C.H. Spurgeon, or D.L. Moody. But…ask any seminary student the name of the Evangelists and you’ll surely get Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John as your answer. The original Evangelists, usually with a capital E, are the four Gospel writers. The word Evangel is old English for the Gospel of Christianity, hence the Evangelists are those who wrote that Gospel.
With the case of Luke, the book and name hold special affections for me. First of all, Luke’s telling of the Lord’s story is the first of my memories of the Christian faith. It would be most of ours if we were to think hard on it. My earliest memories are of my sisters teaching me to sing Away In A Manger. Naturally, that whole song is a culmination of the story in Luke 2. Secondly, it was the first Gospel I read in its entirety, as a twelve year old boy. This was not long after I saw Star Wars’ second installment, The Empire Strikes Back, and I thought, “Hey. Luke is in the Bible. Luke is in Star Wars.” The profundity of that thought does not escape me. Thus started my love affair with Luke.
The third reason would be the fact that my son is named Luke. (Hmm. Wonder why?) To me, the name Luke represents the personification of manhood, machismo and the essence of coolness. My Luke was named, by-the-way, more in reference to Cool Hand Luke, than the Luke of the Bible or Luke Skywalker. (Although there was certainly a strong influence from the Evangel and the Jedi.)
My son Luke was the most amazing kid, and is now the most amazing young man. Coming from the bias of all parents, he is the world’s greatest teenager. He is funny, witty, charming, a bit of a Casanova-ladies-man, and, naturally, one of the “popular kids” in High School.
But I believe it was an act of Divine providence that he shares the name of one of the Evangelist. Luke’s heart is that of an evangelist, and his spiritual giftedness is leading people to the Lord. Time after time, from a three year old to a high school freshman, he has come to his dad and told me about his “friend” at school that he has invited to church (most everyone he meets is a friend, hence the quotation marks. He, like Will Rogers, never met a stranger.) Said friend needs a ride, or his/her parents won’t let them come, or lo and behold, there they are on a Wednesday night or Sunday morning looking for their “friend” Luke who invited them. Sometimes they come looking for a meal, others for game time (an AWANA thing,) or occasionally just looking for something to do. But they all come looking for what people need most…someone to care enough to reach out, to be a friend, to say with the simplest of invitations, “I care about you. You are important to me”
As I write this, my eyes misting up with a sanctified pride, I can’t help but wonder…Church; if we were more Lukish, more Markish, more Matthewish, more Johnish, how many more people would come to church and feel like they are important to God, because they were important to His people? I can assure you, there wouldn’t be enough room to hold them.
Well, food for thought I guess.
And to my Boy I say: “Keep ‘em coming, son. There is room at the cross for them all!”
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Youth
This is an increasingly frequent scene at my house, and it is the highest compliment a pastor can be paid. When the youth group feels comfortable being at the pastor’s house he is doing something right. Affecting the next generation in a positive way is his job, so that the rest of their lives they will have fond memories of church.
The problem with many of our churches is that we have made such a large dichotomy between the adults and youth that there is no hope of winning some of them back. I have seen what can happen, first hand, when the adults squash the hopes of the next generation. We must quit losing these kids!
Pray that God will revive a generation and bring them back to Him.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Love in Action
Every seminary graduate has them. Those profs who speak louder and with more to tell us than any text book ever could. I had two I absolutely adored. One of these great men was Steve Drake. We had some friends in common, but mostly he was a great mentor.
In my “Foundation for Ministry” class, Steve told us the story of a wife that came to his office for counseling. “I not only want to get rid of him, I want to get even! Before I divorce him, I want to hurt him as badly as he has hurt me.” With the Wisdom of Solomon, Dr. Drake suggested that she go home and treat her husband as if she "truly" loved him. She should go out of her way to be kind and generous; She should spare no effort at pleasing him and enjoying him. “Make him believe that your love is undying and that you can’t live without him. Then tell him you want a divorce. That will really hurt him.” She was thrilled with the plan and went about acting “as if” she loved him. For two months, she showed kindness, support and love. When Dr Drake had not heard from her those two months, he called and asked if she was ready for the divorce. “Divorce?” she exclaimed. “Never! I’ve found out I really do love him.”
Here is the point; her actions had changed her feelings. Motion resulted in emotion. The ability to love is established, sometimes, not so much by fervent promise but by repeated deeds. We can learn a valuable lesson from this story. If we put our words into action and if you will SHOW your love with deeds, it will return to you in abundance. As Paul said, “If I gave all my wealth to the poor, and if I were burned alive for my deeds, if I didn’t have love, it would all be for nothing!”
I am afraid that we have lost sight of that, and we have begun, as a culture and a society, to only offer love conditionally. If you give it to me, I'll give it back. Thank God, He offers us unconditional love. No strings attached. We need to be more like that. I fear greatly for my beloved Southern Baptist Convention, that we have become a Convention of Ephesian believers...those whose love has grown cold. We are right on the money with our doctrine and theology, but just like the church in Ephesus, we have left our first love. Remember, they didn't lose it, they left it! We leave the love of Jesus when we want a Baptism every Sunday, but never evangelize. When we want a church full on Sunday, as long as no visitor sits in our seat. Lots of youth and young married couples, but no contemporary music and certainly no disruptions caused by teens and young children. We want our students to go to Bible Drill, but heaven help the poor youth worker who asks for $25 to buy pizza.
Let us stop with the games of playing AT church, and let us put our love into action. I really, honestly, truly, certainly do believe that if we will, we will find full churches, filled baptisteries, and youth growing strong in their faith.
In my “Foundation for Ministry” class, Steve told us the story of a wife that came to his office for counseling. “I not only want to get rid of him, I want to get even! Before I divorce him, I want to hurt him as badly as he has hurt me.” With the Wisdom of Solomon, Dr. Drake suggested that she go home and treat her husband as if she "truly" loved him. She should go out of her way to be kind and generous; She should spare no effort at pleasing him and enjoying him. “Make him believe that your love is undying and that you can’t live without him. Then tell him you want a divorce. That will really hurt him.” She was thrilled with the plan and went about acting “as if” she loved him. For two months, she showed kindness, support and love. When Dr Drake had not heard from her those two months, he called and asked if she was ready for the divorce. “Divorce?” she exclaimed. “Never! I’ve found out I really do love him.”
Here is the point; her actions had changed her feelings. Motion resulted in emotion. The ability to love is established, sometimes, not so much by fervent promise but by repeated deeds. We can learn a valuable lesson from this story. If we put our words into action and if you will SHOW your love with deeds, it will return to you in abundance. As Paul said, “If I gave all my wealth to the poor, and if I were burned alive for my deeds, if I didn’t have love, it would all be for nothing!”
I am afraid that we have lost sight of that, and we have begun, as a culture and a society, to only offer love conditionally. If you give it to me, I'll give it back. Thank God, He offers us unconditional love. No strings attached. We need to be more like that. I fear greatly for my beloved Southern Baptist Convention, that we have become a Convention of Ephesian believers...those whose love has grown cold. We are right on the money with our doctrine and theology, but just like the church in Ephesus, we have left our first love. Remember, they didn't lose it, they left it! We leave the love of Jesus when we want a Baptism every Sunday, but never evangelize. When we want a church full on Sunday, as long as no visitor sits in our seat. Lots of youth and young married couples, but no contemporary music and certainly no disruptions caused by teens and young children. We want our students to go to Bible Drill, but heaven help the poor youth worker who asks for $25 to buy pizza.
Let us stop with the games of playing AT church, and let us put our love into action. I really, honestly, truly, certainly do believe that if we will, we will find full churches, filled baptisteries, and youth growing strong in their faith.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
