The books on how to build a healthy church are flying off the printing presses these days. Seminaries are holding conferences and consultants are finding fertile fields for their congregational therapies.

I do not have a set program–and precious little expertise, probably–on restoring the health of a church so much as I have a heavy burden for it.

I’ve served all kinds of churches and been used of the Lord to restore the health of at least two. As you surely know, the Lord never likes to waste experience.

I’ve seen the damage sick churches can inflict in a community and want no more of it ever again. An unhealthy church can destroy the reputation of Jesus Christ throughout its area of influence. An unhealthy church perpetuates itself by bringing up a new generation of wrong-headed members who spread their poisons to other congregations.

An unhealthy church turns people against the truth and inoculates them against the overtures and ministries of a healthy, normal church.

An unhealthy church sucks the life out of missions by cutting off its support of missionaries in order to keep themselves afloat to the bitter end.

Recently, a pastorless church asked me to come for a “renewal weekend.” Now, that term can mean anything, but the leadership was clear on what they had in mind.

They said, “We are not inviting the community to this. They’re certainly welcome, but we’re not ready to have a harvest time. We need to get ourselves straight.”

They sent me a number of subjects such as unity, health, effective evangelism, and leadership in order to guide my prayers and planning.

Rather than the sanctuary, we would hold all but the Sunday morning session around tables in the fellowship hall. They would serve lunch at noon and refreshments in the evening. The attire and the approach would be strictly informal.

We met twice a day, at noon and at 6:30 pm, for three days, Thursday through Saturday, and concluded with the Sunday morning service.

I’m not going to try to encapsulate here what we covered in seven sessions, except to lay out the general plan. My heart’s desire, you will not be surprised to learn, is for three or four more churches to invite me to do something similar. I’d like to do this until I get the hang of it, working the rough edges off the material, and then turn it into something of lasting benefit to other churches.

Here is the layout of the seven sessions.

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(Tweaked for second time Monday afternoon 5 pm)

We are about to see just how bad New Orleans parties when it really tries.

All that Mardi Gras stuff they can do with one hand. But winning the NFC conference, going to the Super Bowl, and then winning the thing–that is worth celebrating.

Being a Baptist, I’ll not be celebrating, of course. But I do plan to smile twice, one this morning and once Tuesday at the team’s parade.

I hope you know better than that. No one is enjoying this team, this victory, and this phenomenon for the city more than God’s people–all of them, across the board, of whatever church or denomination. It has brought everyone together (except for the Mannings, and I expect they will make a stab at enjoying the celebration; they’re a classy bunch.), black and white and otherwise, old and young and of indeterminate age, Christians and Jews and all them others, longtimers and newcomers and sometimers.

No one asks for your credentials. If you share our joy, you’re invited to our party.

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I must be dreaming. I sometimes take these afternoon naps and wake up wondering what day it is. Today I rubbed my eyes and thought I had just watched the Saints defeat the great Indianapolis Colts in the Miami Super Bowl.

Oh? I did? It really happened?

Incredible. Wonderful. Mind-stunning.

This one will take weeks to soak in.

What do the experts know?

All week long I got so tired of hearing the wonderful Peyton Manning lauded as the greatest ever, Drew Brees as “good but unproven,” and–this one really got me–the Saints not having a chance because “they haven’t been here before.”

Think of that.

If going to a Super Bowl would automatically entitle you to an advantage the next time, the Buffalo Bills should have won the second, third, and fourth ones they were in. Instead, they lost all four.

The Saints won. The experts–and there were plenty of them–did not give our team a chance.

Saints won by 2 touchdowns, 14 points.

I am thrilled.

At this moment, the neighbors are out in the streets dancing to Fats Domino blaring from someone’s speakers. Fireworks are exploding in every direction. And I don’t mean firecrackers. These are massive, light-up-the-sky shatter-your-eardrums boomers.

Wonderful.

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You’ve heard them, I’m sure. Some well-intentioned but thoughtless man of God stands before a gathering of the Lord’s people and in urging us to evangelize our communities will overstate the case.

“Jesus told us to become fishers of men! He did not tell us to be keepers of the aquarium!”

Invariably, especially if the audience is made up almost exclusively of preachers, the statement will be met with a chorus of ‘amen’s.’

The only problem with that is it sounds good, but it is not so.

Jesus did not send His disciples just to reach lost sheep–He certainly did that–but commanded that we are to “feed my sheep.” In John 20, He gave that command to Simon Peter three times.

In Acts 20:28, Paul tells the pastors of Ephesus that they are to “shepherd the church of God which he purchased with his own blood.”

And here’s another one, the one that set me off this morning.

In trying to motivate church members to get into the community with the gospel, the WIBT preacher* will say, “The Bible in no places commands the people of the world to come to church. It does, however, command us to go into all the world with the gospel.” (*Well-intentioned but thoughtless)

That’s so true, it’s almost totally true. But it lacks something critical.

Think of all the parables Jesus told in which the king or a father instructs his servants to go into the highways and hedges and “bring them in.” If that is not a word for the servants of Jesus, it is meaningless.

When we go to outsiders with the love of the Lord and the word of the gospel, we are to “bring them in.”

Clearly, the people of the world are indeed to come to church. Our assignment is to bring them in.

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I stood at the front of the church and watched as the congregation was led in a full slate of old hymns and familiar gospel songs. Nothing that ascended from us that morning had been composed since the 1950s. My grandparents would have been right at home there.

It was the menu we are told grey-haired people (like myself) say they want from a worship leader.

That was one boring service.

I grew up on those hymns, and like most veteran church-goers in that church, knew them “by heart.” I sang as lustily as I could manage while endeavoring to save voice enough to preach. But in no way did I find that song service meaningful, worshipful, or enjoyable.

The problem was the familiarity of it all. I could sing those hymns in my sleep (and probably have). My mind went on vacation while my mouth sang them. And that is precisely why singing them regularly is a bad idea.

“O, sing unto the Lord a new song!”

Anyone who has read his Bible much has run across that line before. To make sure we could not miss it, the Lord sprinkled throughout His Word. It can be found in Psalms 33:3, 96:1, 98:1, 144:9, 149:1, and in Isaiah 42:10.

In Psalm 40:3, David testifies that after the Lord lifted him from the miry clay and gave him firm footing, “He put a new song in my mouth.”

We’re told in the last book of the Bible, that in Heaven “they sang a new song” (Revelation 5:9 and 14:3).

Anyone see a pattern here?

I stand before you today with a bit of news that worship leaders across the land should take to heart: not every senior member of your church is addicted to “The Old Rugged Cross.” Some of us like “O, the Wonderful Cross.”

We like it because it’s fresh, it forces us to think about what we are singing, and the tune is a good one. It’s singable, worshipful, thought-provoking.

And the second bit of news is that the rest of the congregation can learn to love well-written recent hymns, gospel songs, and choruses.

But give us a steady diet of anything and within a few weeks, we’ll be begging for mercy.

I once heard Rick Warren say that at Saddleback, they had found that after the 17th time a song was used, it ceased to be meaningful to those singing it. (Pretty sure 17 was his number; I’m going by memory here.)

New songs are good, but the old hymns are not bad. The ancient hymns should be taught to the youngsters (hey, they’re new to them!) and used sparingly with the old-timers. And all of us should be introduced to new hymns, gospel songs, and choruses our worship leaders have discovered and like.

There should be no more worship wars. We’re all friends here.

The problem is finding the balance between the old and the new, a constant tension in any entity involving more than two people.

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If you’re a pastor, here’s an interesting game to play. And that’s all it can be, unfortunately–a game.

If you could go back to the churches you have served, what would you do differently?

I’m always intrigued by those who say, “If I could live my life over, I wouldn’t change a thing.” I think, “What? You never made a mistake? Never really blew it? Never did anything stupid?”

We all did, let’s face it. And surely, if we went back and knew what we know now, we would do many, many things differently.

Here’s my take on this subject.

The first church I served was a tiny congregation 25 miles north of Birmingham, Alabama. It was my first attempt at preaching and pastoring and I did poorly, I’m afraid. The good folks at Unity Baptist Church of Kimberly, Alabama, were patient with me for the 14 months I served them. At the end of that time, I resigned and for 6 months served as part-time associate pastor of Central Baptist Church in Tarrant, Alabama. We were living in Tarrant and I worked down the street from the church at the cast iron pipe plant as secretary to the production manager.

If I could do the 14 months over at Unity, the one thing I would do is seek out a mentor.

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In this the Red Zone of my life–I turn 70 in two months, but don’t let on like you know it; I’m trying to ignore it–I’m becoming more and more settled in certain aspects of the Kingdom of God. One that is becoming clearer and clearer is the prominence in the Lord’s plan of His Church.

As one who began this journey–I received the kickoff a long way back, deep in the End Zone, to push the football metaphor to the brink!–loving the church but seeing no real strategic importance for it, this has been quite a trip.

Church was always a part of our family’s life, beginning with the New Oak Grove Free Will Baptist Church near Nauvoo, Alabama, continuing with the little Methodist Church in a mining camp near Beckley, West Virginia, back to Nauvoo, then college chapel at Berry College near Rome, Georgia, West End Baptist Church in Birmingham where God did a dozen great things in my life forever changing my earthly and heavenly fate, and thereafter, on to the churches I have served.

Here’s the list of the Southern Baptist Churches that have been so faithful, so foolhardy, so daring, as to bring me to labor among their leadership, in chronological order:

Unity Baptist Church, Kimberly, Alabama. (1962-63) They were the first, bless ’em.

Central Baptist Church, Tarrant, Alabama (first six months of 1964)

Paradis Baptist Church, Paradis, LA (1965-67)

Emmanuel Baptist Church, Greenville, MS (1967-70)

FBC Jackson, MS (minister of evangelism) (1971-73)

FBC Columbus, MS (1974-86)

FBC Charlotte, NC (1986-89)

FBC Kenner, LA (1990-2004)

Still a member of the Kenner church, although following my retirement last June 1 from the Baptist Association of Greater New Orleans, I’m in a different church almost every weekend.

So, here they are, my TWENTY-ONE battle-tested, tried-in-the-fire-and-found-to-be-authentic, strongly held convictions about the Church of the Lord Jesus Christ.

I send them forth not because they are new, but in the hope that God’s people who read them will come across one or two of them they’ve not thought of, causing them look deeper into that aspect of the Kingdom and thus have a greater appreciation for the Mind and Heart of God.

This list is not exhaustive (although some might find it exhausting!), but I can’t wait for that. Let’s get started….

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New Orleans is beside itself with joy this morning. People are walking around with a grin on their faces and a quickness to their step.

The New Orleans Saints are going to the Super Bowl.

The (Jackson, MS) Clarion-Ledger cartoonist Marshall Ramsey says on his Facebook page that the King Edward Hotel is reopening there after 40 years, Massachusetts has elected a Republican to fill the Kennedy seat in the U.S. Senate, and the New Orleans Saints are in the Super Bowl. Can the Apocalypse be far behind?

Last night as soon as the Saints kicker knocked the ball 40 yards downfield through the uprights, a cheer ascended heavenward from this part of the world as one voice. I walked out the front door of my house just to see if anyone else was coming outside. After all, we need to share our joy and express it with those of like minds.

Up and down the block they were flowing into the street, some yelling that odd Saints cry of “Who Dat!” You could hear fireworks popping from every direction.

After 43 years, our team has won the NFC Championship and earned a spot in the Super Bowl to be played in Miami on February 7. How sweet it is.

I hope the joy lasts a long time. But I’m also a realist.

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I had a small reminder today of what Heaven is going to be like.

Remember, you heard it here.

I was having lunch with Pastor Michael and Jane Perry after the morning services in the First Baptist Church of Moss Point, Mississippi, where they serve. We got started talking about families or football or something, and they said Jane’s father–now in Heaven–was the biggest Alabama fan on the planet.

“He had Bear Bryant pictures all over the house,” she said. “He’s gone but they’re still there.”

That’s when I related my little tale of the 1980 game between Bama and Mississippi State. As I began talking, Michael started smiling. I said, “Have I told you this story?” He said, “No, but I remember the game. Go ahead, and I’ll tell you when you finish.”

My story went like this. We had driven from our home in Columbus, MS, to Jackson for the game. Alabama had a 17-game winning streak going and State was a perennial doormat for the Southeastern Conference. Even though we liked both teams–we were located between both universities on U.S. 82 which adjoins them–we were rooting for Bama that day.

When the game ended, the score was State 6, Bama 3.

We stopped in Starkville for supper (!) and drove on home. Pulling into the driveway, we saw people inside our garage. It was 6 or 8 of our neighbors. They were painting a large sign for my house, no doubt rubbing in the loss.

One of them ran up to the car and said, “You’re back too soon. Come back in 30 minutes.”

I let the family in the back door and went to wash the car. On my return, they had rigged up a massive sign covering the front porch of my house, complete with floodlights in the yard. The sign read: “The Bulldogs blitzed!” (that was the team’s theme) “State 6, Bama 3.” Someone had done a pretty fair drawing of the bulldog sauntering off after the victory, with me on my knees in the rear, wearing my hat with the big ‘A’. Underneath all that were two large captions:

“If my people will humble themselves….” and the other: “our land has been healed.”

It made the front of Monday’s newspaper.

I still have that folded up sign stored away in the attic somewhere.

Michael Perry laughed. “I told you Jane’s daddy was the biggest Alabama fan. After that game, they were supposed to come up to our house, near Moulton, Alabama, where I was pastoring.”

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I bemoan the death of mail-out church bulletins. The internet–and maybe the busy lives of church members–was the culprit.

Years ago, we preachers would receive as many as thirty or more bulletins from other churches every week in the mail. A secretary in each church was assigned to type up the congregational news, pastoral announcements, and such and put in the mail, usually by Wednesday or Thursday, with the assurance it would be in the mailboxes of the members no later than Saturday.

Most of us received only the mailouts from churches and pastors we knew well, or admired greatly and wanted to keep up with. A few I took because the minister or secretary (or both) could be counted on for a great story.

Back then, that was a great source of sermon illustrations. Some of us loaded our file cabinets with clippings from church bulletins.

That’s where this one came from. I read it, loved it, clipped it out (alas, without the identifying information to say which church ran it), and have used it again and again over the years.

It’s as powerful a metaphor for the state of many churches and millions of Christians as I’ve ever seen.

The date is Saturday night, December 6, 1941, the eve of “a date that will live in infamy.”

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