My friend Bob has been dealing with a difficult family situation. It’s not as though he needs the grief, because Bob is getting up in years and his health is bad.

Bob said to me, “I can’t wait for heaven.”

I agreed and said, “They don’t call it ‘rest’ for no reason.”

That’s a reference to Revelation 14:13. “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on….that they may rest from their labors.”

When I was a kid, a song we’d hear occasionally was called “The Big Rock Candy Mountain.” We heard it, smiled at its silliness, hummed along and thought nothing more of it.

It turns out that was the hobo’s national anthem during the Depression. And it gives us his idealized picture of paradise.

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The absolute most foolish thing the lay leadership of a church will ever do is to bring in a new pastor, turn everything over to him, and abandon him.

“You’re God’s man; it’s in your hands now.”

Sounds good. But it overlooks one massive fact: he’s a sinner and you have just handed him a temptation he may not be able to resist. You have endangered your church and put his entire future ministry at risk.

Take just the area of finances, for instance.

If you want to corrupt a preacher–not all of them, but it will work with a strong percentage–give him the say-so over the checks that will be written from the church. Do not build in any kind of oversight.

Hand the minister a credit card and pay the bills when they arrive with no questions asked. I can almost guarantee that fully one-third or more of ministers will cross that invisible line into questionable territory.

The news out of Compton, California, this week reports another pastor arrested for abusing the church’s trust. This minister took as much as $800,000 from the church, according to the FBI.

The FBI? They call the feds in on these things? They do. This is not a private little matter between a pastor and the mayor or the police chief, who may even be a member of your church. This is serious stuff. The Compton pastor will spend several years in the federal penitentiary.

You might think all the members of that church would be upset at the preacher. You’d be wrong.

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Every minister with any experience at all could write a book to pastor search committees. They would urge them to focus on one pastor at a time, always keep your word, do not sugar-coat how things are in your church, bring along a packet of material on your church and community to leave with the candidate, and give him names and contact information on past ministers who have served your church so he can do his own background checking.

It’s a scary thing, being selected for a pastor search team, what we used to call the “pulpit committee.” That title changed when it finally got through to some people that they were searching for more than someone to fill the pulpit; they were seeking God’s shepherd for their flock.

Over nearly a half-century in the ministry, I have dealt with at least an average of one such committee per year. In fact, during one three year period, I counted up the number of contacts I had had from pastor-searchers: 36, one per month.

I’ve seen them all, from the absolutely fantastic to the disastrously inept.

Personally, I can think of a-hundred-and-twenty-three things I’d like to say to this little group of folks entrusted with the future of their church.

I’ll confine myself to three words of counsel.

–Don’t fall in love too easily.

–Take your own sweet time.

–Run lots and lots of references, then run a few more.

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The headline in Saturday’s Times-Picayune read, “Feud simmers in Fla. church.” The story was one we hear so often and one which I dread with everything in me. This time, Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church of Fort Lauderdale is ground zero.

When longtime pastor D. James Kennedy died in 2007, the church leadership set out to find God’s man to lead their church into the future. Some of us who have been around a while had observed the Kennedy era from start to finish. By his own testimony, he had been a mediocre preacher until God got hold of him and filled his life. Out of this came the “Evangelism Explosion” program for training laymen to share their faith. Soon, the church began to experience great growth and Dr. Kennedy was given celebrity status in preaching conferences across America. In the last few decades of his ministry, he was constantly on television. From that pulpit and in print, he preached a message of conservative Christian doctrine and conservative politics through which he called this nation to return to Christ.

Now, the new pastor is the grandson of Billy and Ruth Graham by their oldest daughter Gigi. His name is Tullian Tchividjian. The newspaper even tells how to pronounce his name: TUH’-lee-uhn chuh-VI-dee-uhn.

“But some Kennedy loyalists, including his daughter Jennifer Kennedy Cassidy, are upset with the direction Tchividjian is taking the church and have called for his ouster.” (T-P article)

So, what is this heretic doing that would provoke such a hostile reaction?

First, he looks different. “His hair is spiky, his beard sometimes scruffy, his skin tan. He has forgone wearing a choir robe at services.”

In other words, he looks like half the young pastors in America.

Second, “he has rejected politics as the most important way to change the country.”

A letter circulating through the church from the dissidents charges the young pastor with deceiving the leadership when they first considered him for their pulpit. And just how? They’re not saying.

Is it theology? Is Tchividjian preaching false doctrine? Nope. Apparently, they have no trouble with that.

There is the matter that the new pastor brought in the staff from his previous church (New City Presbyterian) and “they have taken complete control.”

The letter accuses the pastor and his staff of “violations of ethical standards that have guarded the purity of the church for decades.”

What violations, what standards? They’re not saying.

When invited to a meeting to discuss these matters, the dissidents did not show up.

Now, I’m tempted to say here “I don’t have a dog in this fight” and leave it there. But I do have one. Every disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ has something at stake every time a church goes through this kind of internal conflict.

If indeed there are important ethical or biblical standards being violated, then the plaintiffs–if they’re not to that point yet, it would appear they’re getting close–should speak up and say so.

If not, I have some counsel for them: walk away from this.

It ain’t your father’s church, dear.

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Carly Fiorina made all the news four years ago when Hewlett-Packard’s board of directors fired her as CEO. Until that moment, she had been one of the brightest stars in the corporate world. Her memoir, “Tough Choices,” written in 2006 (and which I purchased last Sunday for a dollar in a discount bin at my neighborhood Dollar Tree), tells the fascinating tale.

I recommend this well-written book for women in business, but for anyone interested in learning about leadership. The insights are worth a semester in any leading business program.

At the height of her frustration with HP’s board, Fiorina writes, “I steeled myself for what lay ahead. Once again I began saying the Lord’s Prayer every night, over and over again, just as I had as a little girl.”

That stopped me in my tracks.

I was pleased to see this industry leader who had not long before been named by a national magazine as the most powerful woman in business on her knees, seeking the help of Almighty God.

And yet, I found myself wondering about her praying the Lord’s Prayer again and again. She is an articulate woman and has no trouble phrasing her thoughts and expressing her mind. Why would she pray that prayer–which I’m all in favor of–but not speak to the Lord in her own words?

She didn’t say, and I’ll leave it there, except for one thing: I affirm her. If praying the Lord’s Prayer works for her, then fine.

I am not sent to tell people whose prayers are accepted and whose are not.

You have no idea how liberating that is.

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By now, I’ve been called for jury duty perhaps a half dozen times. And every time, I think the same thing: this is an exciting and highly inefficient system.

Take today, for instance. I reported for jury duty in the Jefferson Parish Courthouse along with 99 of my neighbors, none of whom I had ever met, shortly after 8:00 a.m. We were given choice parking in the new multi-level garage, and signs directed us into the brand spanking new courthouse. We entered through the glass doors just behind the magnificent statue of Thomas Jefferson. Inside, several security check-throughs were in place. We emptied our pockets and passed through the detectors as though we were boarding Delta or Continental. Down the hall, we entered the magnificent waiting room–furnished with cushioned chairs and decorated with mosaics on the walls–and checked in at the desk.

At 8:30 we were welcomed and shown a 10 minute video on the history of juries and what might be expected from us. “Down to your left,” said Bert, the assistant parish clerk, “you’ll find free coffee and spring water. Vending machines are there, and plenty of magazines to read. You’ll have a break in the morning and an hour for lunch. The ladies on the desk will validate your parking ticket.”

I’d brought along a book to read and a notebook with which to work on a couple of articles. The large room allowed for people to get up and walk or even sit at tables and visit with one another. Television sets strategically placed beamed Regis and Kelly and later “The Price is Right” to the jurors. After a bit, I got out my pad and walked to the counter and introduced myself to the ladies as the cartoonist.

“Oh, you’re back. I still have the drawings you did of me the other time.” So, again today, I sketched them all–Pam and Lou and Lolita and the others–and a few jurors who saw the action and wanted in on it. And then, about that time….

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your presence today. We will not be needing any juries today. You are dismissed.” It was 10:30 a.m.

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The best dollar I’ve spent in years was for Carly Fiorina’s book “Tough Choices: A Memoir.” Sunday after church, my granddaughters spotted a Dollar Tree store and because they had one like it in New Hampshire, where they’re from, we ran by for a few minutes. Near the checkout stand was a bin with books on sale. This hardback, originally priced $25, was going for one precious dollar.

Carly Fiorina–for those who don’t keep up with goings-on in the business world–is one of the smartest women on the planet, rose to a high position with AT&T, and then was hired to take over Hewlett-Packard in the late 1990s as their new CEO. After a few years, the board fired her. The termination was a shot heard ’round the world.

I’ve marked up the book. On page 26, I wrote in the margin, “Each time she overcame her fears, she was stronger.” On page 43, she speaks of men in her corporate world who were called “42 Longs.” That referred to their suit size, but described “a manager who looked and acted the part but was more show than substance.” On page 70, I wrote in the margin, “She saves her tears for the important stuff.”

When Fiorina took over Hewlett-Packard, she found a company that sounds and appears like a number of formerly great churches I have known over the years. That’s what rang all the bells inside me, the connection with the world I live in. On page 181, I wrote at the top of the page: “Like a dying church living on memories of past glories?”

Carly Fiorina describes what she found when she arrived to take over this company which had been founded by Bill Hewlett and Dave Packard, originally in their garage. For a long time the men ran it as a benevolent dictatorship, but now they were off the scene and the company was struggling to find its new identity. Here is her description on arriving….

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The jury returned today with a verdict of guilty for rapper Corey Miller. A couple of years ago there was some kind of scrape–I’ve consciously avoided the details of that–in which one of Miller’s fans was shot to death and he was arrested and charged with the crime. A trial resulted in a guilty verdict, but an appeals court ruled that the defendant’s rights were violated and he was given a new trial. Same verdict.

The absolute strangest aspect of this entire thing, however, is the stage name of the rapper: C-Murder.

If you plan to kill someone, I’d suggest you find yourself a benign name like Hep Y’Brother or Love1another.

Reminds me of the sports car that was scooting in and out of traffic on the freeway endangering everyone not long ago. As he flew past, I said to my passenger, “If that guy is in a wreck and it ever goes to trial, he’s guilty before it gets started. His personalized license plate says ‘Aggressive.'”

Speaking of irresponsibility, two items.

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My pastor friend and I were talking about his new assignment. I said, “I cannot tell you how to succeed. But I can tell you how to fail–try to please everybody.”

He laughed, “That’s a problem. I’ve always wanted to please everyone around me.”

That trait, I say to myself and to my colleagues in the ministry, can be fatal.

I’m tempted to say here that the desire to please everybody is a characteristic of all ministers, but that is not the case. In fact, some preachers I know are quite the opposite and feel affirmed only when someone is mad at us.

In between is the road. Stay out of the ditches.

The time was the 8th century B.C. and the preacher was Isaiah, a man who apparently could function well even with his approval rating from the congregations he served dipping below zero. He and Jeremiah had that in common. It’s a rarity, believe me.

I sure don’t have it.

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