Things that do not stick with me

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When my friend Freddie Arnold told me that a certain solution was exactly what I needed to take care of the mildew in my concrete, I wrote it down.

And promptly forgot what I had written.

Over the next several weeks, when I would be out and about and could have run by Home Depot or Lowe’s and picked up that item, my mind would not recall it, try as I might.  So, eventually, I dug out my note and determined I would remember it the next time.  And forgot it again.

It would not stay in my mind.

Shock Wave, it’s called.

And even now, I had to work at finding those two words in the cluttered file system of my mind.

Some things just will not stick with me.  You can tell me and I walk away without remembering one word of it.  It’s like the brain has no cells in that tiny portion of gray matter and we have to find another mental refrigerator on which to apply the magnet containing that piece of information.

Medicines are like that.

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When is a pastor to defend himself?

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Mostly, the pastor should let others defend him.  But sometimes, he is the only one able to tell the whole story. His staunchest supporters can do only so much, and he has to take it the rest of the way. Here is an instance when I did this…

In cleaning out some files the other day, I ran across a letter I’d written to our congregation almost exactly half-way through my 14 year ministry at the last church in which I was answering some critics.

Following is the letter in its entirety….

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Only one thing missing

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“God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of love, and of power, and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7).  “Having a form of godliness but denying the power thereof….” (2 Timothy 3:5).

Former U.S. Senator John W. Warner used to tell of an experience during his term as Undersecretary of the U.S. Navy (1969-72).  During a visit to an unnamed foreign country, he was impressed by the majestic World War II cruiser on display in the harbor of the capital city.  This major component of the country’s defense system looked to be everything one would expect with its gleaming brass gun mounts, its sparkling paint, its bright signal flags.

When Mr. Warner asked for permission to come aboard and inspect the ship, a routine request almost always granted, he was surprised as the captain nervously informed him that this would not be possible.

Later, an aide told Warner the reason for the denial.

The ship was a sham.

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Why my granddaughters “must” believe in God

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The year was 1972 and the Vietnam war was raging.  Daily news reports told of the horrible damage being done to the bodies of children when their villages were napalmed. Napalm is liquid fire, so use your imagination.

At some point, my wife and I learned that a hospital in Da Nang was working to repair these burned bodies and that they were hurting for funds. So we began sending them contributions from time to time. I forget how we got it to them.

One day I came home for lunch.  As I entered the apartment, Margaret looked up from the Newsweek where she was reading yet another story of the horrors taking place in Vietnam. She was in tears. “Can’t we do more to help these children?” she said.

I said, “Maybe we can send $25 a month instead of occasionally.”

She said, “No. I mean, like, adopt one.”

I reacted instantly.  “What?  Honey, you don’t just adopt a foreign child!”

When she saw how closed I was to the subject, she dropped it.  But she continued to pray.

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Does it matter if the pastor is not a tither?

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Oh man.  When a friend suggested we ask Facebook friends what to do when a pastor or staff-member is not tithing–and not even giving anything to the Lord’s work–I went with it. And the fur flew, far more than I expected.  Answers ranged from “Terminate the guy, immediately” (a large contingent said that) to “Tithe? That’s Old Testament law and has no place for New Testament believers!” to “Who are you to judge?”  They argued back and forth, and some became rather unChristian in their comments.  Then, one group accused the other of Pharisaism and condemned the condemners.

Amazing how this issue arouses the dander of some otherwise reasonably minded people.  Even so, ever the one to charge hell with a water pistol, I thought I’d take on the subject.  Here goes….

First, I write as a tither.  But it was hard getting started, I will admit.

Giving one-tenth of my income to the Lord was never taught in the churches I grew up in.  As a college student I joined a Southern Baptist church where tithing seemed to be a pillar of the faith. One day, the minister of education approached to ask if I would give my tithing testimony. I stared at him blankly and said, “What is that?”  First time I’d heard of this thing called “tithing.”  He was aghast.  But then, Ron Palmer had come from a longtime Southern Baptist family where tithing had been ingrained in him since childhood.  It was new to me.

Learning to tithe was slow and hard.

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The need for a traffic cop

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Someone has to be in charge.  Don’t they?

On the highway, in the classroom, at the factory, during the ball game, and in the Christian life, nothing works without someone present being empowered to say, “This is the way; walk in it” (Isaiah 30:21).  Right?  Or not?

Here are a few thoughts to begin a conversation around your dinner table on the subject of authority….

In “The Story of Ain’t: America, Its Language, and the Most Controversial Dictionary Ever Published,” David Skinner describes the hostile reaction that greeted the release of “Webster’s Third Edition” in 1961.  The incident makes a great point for all of us, particularly church folk.

But first, the context.

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No team wants a fan like me.

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I’ve never meant much to any team I’ve rooted for.

Once, when LSU was running toward the national championship in college football, someone asked if I had a school t-shirt. I didn’t, but went out and bought one.

That school makes no money from me. They do not know I exist. I’m on no mailing list for alumni or anyone else.  I just watch them on TV. I cheer when they win and hurt when they lose.

One evening this fall, LSU was playing Alabama and it was a huge game.  I cut off the television and went to bed at halftime.  Sunday morning, I got up and left home to travel to the church where I ministered all morning, and did not learn the outcome of the game until the afternoon.  Some fan, right?

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An odd skill pastors must learn if they are to survive

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Pastors must learn to live with loose ends.  Unfinished tasks.  Dangling threads that need to be tied up.

When they lay their heads on the pillow at night, God’s shepherds can think of 38 things left undone and needing attention tomorrow….

Someone needs a call returned, a member needs a visit, a sermon needs more preparation, a program needs planning, a colleague needs encouragement, an employee needs to be held accountable, the pastor’s child needs some dad-time, his wife has been wanting to talk about several issues, he had hoped to begin his physical fitness program this week, the nursing home has invited him to hold a service, the seminary wants him to speak, the denominational committee needs to meet and hear his report, and he should have prayed more today. The family that buried their father last month needs a follow-up visit.  The postponed dental appointment should be rescheduled and his CPA has a question about his taxes.

“There’s always something,” said Rosanne Rosannadanna (the old Saturday Night Live program).  There is indeed.

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Your Christmas Eve message

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A pastor’s Christmas Eve message will have a flavor all its own. Because of the relaxed nature of the evening, the sermon is often directed toward the child in all of us. Hence, the following….

My friend Annette loves to pass along to me her assignments.  Her Mississippi church frequently invites her to give a talk on this or that, and she messages for my take on that subject. She uses nothing I do verbatim, but I suspect some of my responses provokes creative ideas in her.

Some of the most interesting pieces on our website were instigated by Annette.

The other day her message said, “I have to explain the Christmas story to children ages 4-11 in my church. Help!”

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The kind of bridge I want

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The Huey P. Long Bridge crosses the Mississippi River a few miles downriver from here.  It was dedicated in 1935, a time when cars were small and narrow and governments needed to put men to work.  That’s why they gave New Orleans its first bridge across the river and named it after this politician of dubious merit.  (That’s a pet peeve of mine, but I’ll move right along.)

The problem with that bridge for all the decades since is that its two lanes were too narrow and curving for modern cars and trucks. Each lane was 9 feet wide, with no shoulders alongside. Signs forbade trucks from passing anyone, and motorists caught up on their prayers driving across it.  It really could be frightening.

Then, in recent years, the government finally decided it was high time to upgrade that bridge, and shelled out something like a billion dollars to widen it and correct some of its flaws.  These days, driving across that huge wide expanse is a pure joy. (The lanes are 11 feet wide, bordered by a 2 feet-wide shoulder to the inside and an 8-foot shoulder to the outside.)

What I wanted to tell you, though, was something an engineer said about the original bridge, something I find fascinating.

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