1. USA Today for Tuesday lists 5 things to expect in 2006, and number two is: “New Orleans Returns.” We sure like the sound of that. Basically, it refers to the conventions set to meet in our city sometime later in the year. The first big one comes in June when the American Library Association brings 20,000 librarians. My kind of people. Article says most of the city’s 19,000 hotel rooms are now operational, although five major hotels downtown remain closed.

2. Personally, I was glad to see 2005 close up shop and go home. One year ago I was recovering from cancer surgery, which was followed by nearly 3 months of radiation, followed by a similar period of recovering from the radiation. In June, my wife’s sister, two years younger than Margaret, died. And you know what happened in late August. I’m sure a lot of great things happened in 2005; I just can’t recall any of them at the moment.

3. As though underscoring the darkness of the year, on the final day, my mentor left us. James Richardson had successfully battled cancer a few years back, but something–I think they called it dementia–managed to do what cancer could not. He was 82, 17 years my senior. The reason I note that is that when I would tell him he was my father in the ministry (actually, one of three), he would laugh, “I’m not old enough.” We first met in the late 1960s when I was newly called to Emmanuel Baptist Church in Greenville, Mississippi, and James was the long-time leader of the nearby First Baptist Church of Leland. We quickly became friends, especially when he counseled Margaret and me on our marriage. A few years later, he recommended me to the staff of the great First Baptist Church of Jackson, MS, where we stayed for three life-changing years.

I sat down at the computer late Sunday night and wrote some remembrances of James and delivered to his family at the wake Monday evening in Madison, MS. It printed out to four long pages, and I still thought of more stories and incidents later. Here is a sample. At Emmanuel, we were loving our ministry and God was blessing, but we were sinking deeper and deeper into the poorhouse. When we resigned to move to Jackson, James came to see us. He said, “I don’t want to offend you, but I’ve bought some new suits and wondered if you would like to have my old ones.” He gave me seven of the most beautiful suits you’ve ever seen. If I’m not mistaken, they didn’t even need altering. At Jackson, one of the secretaries told her husband, “Joe is the best dressed one on the staff.” It was all James’ doing.

I told James and Cissa’s youngest son Ian, “So much of what is good in my ministry is James’ doing.” Ideas I picked up, counsel he gave me, things I heard from him, saw him doing, learned from him.

In the late 1980s, I was pastoring a church that was about to kill me. Some of the leadership dedicated themselves to getting me out and made every act of ministry an ordeal. They undermined my confidence and eventually managed to convince a mediator we’d brought in that I should leave. I will never forget one small comment James Richardson made toward the end of all this sad business. He said, “I am so angry at those people for convincing you that you can’t preach.” That was 16 years ago and I cannot type those words today without tearing up. Margaret says it was the comment of a father, one who understand the pain and cared deeply.

I wish for every young minister a mentor like that. God help me to be that for one or two.

4. Our family is hurting for the West Virginia coal miners. As I write, one of the trapped miners at the Sago mine has been found dead and another 12 are still underground. The nation is hurting and grieving and praying, but some of us do so a little differently. The McKeevers are a coal mining family. For generations, the men in our family dug coal for a living throughout Appalachia. In 1926, a 14-year-old boy in Nauvoo, Alabama, went into the mines alongside his father and began doing a man’s work. It was the family business; it’s what a boy did. For the next 35 years, Carl McKeever kept at it, eventually priding himself on never having lost a day due to sickness or an accident. Two of my brothers followed him into the mines for a while, but thankfully walked away from it. Dad retired in 1961 with numerous health problems. But he stayed a miner. He is to this day, at almost 94, a proud and active member of the United Mine Workers of America.

We lived near Beckley, West Virginia, for four years, 1947-51, with Dad working in the mine at a coal camp called Affinity. I still recall the day school let out early and we all camped out on the mountainside below our houses to watch the goings-on in the hollow. There had been a cave-in and some miners were trapped, possibly dead. We sat there for hours, it seems, quiet, worrying, fearing, praying. Finally excitement erupted at the entrance of the mine and word filtered from one group to another as to who was alive and who died. Little clusters of people hugged, some of them laughing and thanking God, some sobbing in grief. The ambulances sped away and most of us went home, thanking God it wasn’t us this time, feeling so sorry for those it was. I was about 8 years old; you never forget this.

“This is not about placing blame,” says the mine owners. “This is about rescuing our workers.” But when we hear that this mine was cited in the last year for hundreds of safety violations, it’s hard to ignore. The news reports that the ownership, ICG, is a group of investors who buy up bankrupt businesses and try to turn a quick profit. Sounds like they did so at a high cost.

Occasionally, some of us say we want less government, smaller government. That sounds so right to us conservatives, until we stop and think what it means. It means fewer regulatory bodies enforcing safety laws. It leaves owners and bosses free to use and abuse labor. Ask any veteran coal miner or factory worker.

5. Friend of mine named Murph used to drive a battered old car that was forever breaking down. He was stuck on the interstate one day and managed to get to a phone (before cell phones, obviously) and call his father-in-law to rescue him. He ended up waiting for a couple of hours as his wife’s dad took wrong turns. Eventually, the car was towed and repaired and all was well. When Murph related the story he added an interesting tidbit. “While I was waiting beside the highway,” he said, “at least half a dozen drivers stopped, offering to help. And I noticed that every one of them was driving old, beat up cars. I figured they knew what it was like to be broken down on the side of the highway and need help.”

Suffering will make you compassionate for others who are suffering. II Corinthians chapter 1 comes to mind here.

6. Some of our Lifeway leaders from Nashville are in town this week, looking at the bookstore on the campus of New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary and trying to decide what to do about it. Apparently, no students will live on campus until next fall and even then, it’s likely no one will live in the neighborhood. We surely do miss that great bookstore, though.

7. Wednesday, January 4, we’re back with our weekly ministers’ meetings at the First Baptist Church of LaPlace, some 15 miles west of the New Orleans airport, and each Wednesday thereafter. Someone from another state inquired this week about our meeting, implying it’s something they should consider in their area. I told him we more or less backed into ours. We held one in Jackson while New Orleans was shut down in mid-September and found it to be so helpful, we called for another one in LaPlace the following Wednesday. It keeps growing and meeting needs, so as long as it does, we’ll stay with it. If you know any New Orleans area Baptist pastors and staffers, please tell them about our meeting. From 9 am to noon, lunch served.