Is Your Gospel Accessible?

“…but if our gospel is hid, it is hid to those who are perishing.” (II Corinthians 4:3)

Yesterday, four somewhat frustrating things happened to me. It took the fourth one before I began to see a pattern.

After spending the night at a hotel in Jonesboro, Arkansas, and before departing for my destination in MIssouri, I decided to see Arkansas State University. The desk clerk gave directions and I drove to the campus, about a mile away. A directory on the side of the street told how to find the student center, which is normally where one will locate a campus store so I can pick up a t-shirt with the school emblem.  It appeared to be simple: down this street, turn right.  Oops. Construction work is going on there. So maybe I missed a sign. Yes, there it is. Turn right here. Free parking for visitors, the sign said. It’s not a big school; this shouldn’t be difficult.

Down that street–the one clearly marked as the direction of the student center–permanent barriers were embedded, blocking it off. The only thing accessible there was the post office. I pulled in, turned around, and left, deciding that a visit to Arkansas State was not on the agenda for me today.

Five minutes later, on my way out of the city, on the left side of the four-lane highway stood a Wal-mart. I needed a couple of things and decided to run by. Should be simple, right?

After exiting, I had to make a decision: whether to go to the right or left on a highway paralleling US 63. I chose “left,” drove 100 yards, then turned right and circled back over the highway. There should be a left turn here that would take me back to the Wal-mart. No left turn. I drove a few country blocks, turned in someone’s driveway, then returned, looking for directions. No street or driveway exited to my right in the direction of the store. I gave up and re-entered US 63 and drove on.

A mile out of town, I passed a church. Now, this area of Arkansas seems to have a church for every 50 people, so there was nothing unusual about that. What was strange was that  across the entrance stood a huge gate barring anyone from the parking lot. What was that all about, I wondered. Were people parking there when they shouldn’t? Maybe teens using it as a lovers lane? Or truckers parking their rigs there?

I can just imagine some I’ll-take-care-of-this-person in the church assuring the pastor, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll stop those people from parking here.” And he erects this barrier.

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What Pastors Can Learn From Obama’s First Debate

Taking a risk here, commenting on politics.

I’m not taking sides, at least not on these pages. I’m not speaking for Mitt Romney to point out that President Obama made some needless mistakes in the first debate of this presidential election, errors from which pastors can learn important lessons.

Before listing them and making my points, let me say this is not a summary of what the political commentators have been saying. Just my thoughts, for whatever value someone might find in them

Pastors, don’t try to protect your image.

The president’s advisors have said (probably in private, as I can’t imagine anyone saying this publicly) that Obama’s goal was to project himself as “above the fray,” and to “look presidential.” If that was the plan, it was a bad one.

When you are interviewing for a job–and that’s what these debates are–you must at the very least come across as wanting the job.  The president came across as owning the job and resenting the fact that someone else would try to take it away from him.

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A Crash Course in Spiritual Maturity

“…knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance….” (James 1:3)

Pity the church with an immature pastor. He can drive good people crazy.

His ego is always out there seeking a caress, his stubborness could put a mule to shame, and his unteachable spirit frustrates even the saintliest. He thinks of himself first of all, what effect something will have on his career secondly, and of the church a distant third.

A few days after Hurricane Katrina went through our part of the world and left New Orleans flooded and hundreds of thousands of people homeless and vast numbers of churches destroyed, I had a phone call from one of our young pastors. His church had come through fine, but his members were scattered and some were not coming back.  He said, “Joe, I worry about the effect this will have on my future prospects. I mean, this will not look good on my resume’.”

Yes, he actually said that.

I replied, “My friend, you don’t have a resume’. You’re still in seminary.” I let that soak in, then added, “If you will do this right and be faithful, you will someday look back on this as one of the finest things the Lord ever did for you.”

He could not hang around long enough to see that, however, and soon had moved out of state.

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No Matter What You Do, Be a Teacher

“The things which you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses, these entrust to faithful men, who will be able to teach others also.” (II Timothy 2:2)

Every teacher who is truly effective became a teacher because of the influence of a highly effective teacher.

You can’t say that about preachers. Preachers are called by God. (Teachers can be also, but it’s not a requirement as it is with preaching.)

In seminary, we debated an entire class period the difference in preaching and teaching. Nothing was ever settled, but doing so forever burned the question in the minds and hearts of the lot of us. This morning I went online to pursue the issue. The internet has many powerful voices, each with the definitive answer.

Here’s mine. To preach is to announce the truth of God’s revelation in all its dimensions. To teach is to individualize truth and assist people in their development.  Preachers are messengers; teachers are mentors.

It’s not that clear cut, I can hear someone say. Fine. Give us yours. But this one suffices for me at the moment.

Brad Meltzer is a highly successful novelist. In “Parade” magazine for Sunday, September 30, 2012, he paid tribute to the “World’s Greatest Teacher.”  (Nowhere in the article does Meltzer make that grandiose a claim about Sheila Spicer, his ninth grade teacher. Perhaps this is a series the magazine is running.)

Meltzer writes, “The teacher who changed my life didn’t do it by encouraging her students to stand on their desks, like John Keating in Dead Poets Society.  Or by toting a baseball bat through the halls, like Principal Clark in Lean on Me. She did it in a much simpler way: by telling me I was good at something.”

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Immature Pastors (Part 2)

Immaturity and sin have one big thing in common: they’re more obvious in others than in ourselves.

At a state Baptist convention attended by a thousand or more church leaders, during a business session when anyone is free to walk to a microphone and express an opinion about the motion on the floor, I noticed the same young pastors kept rushing to address the messengers. At times what they said was pertinent, but one got the feeling they liked the sound of their own voice reverberating off the walls of that majestic worship center.

Returning home, I wrote a letter to the editor of our state paper–in hope that some of these guys might recognize themselves–suggesting that these youngsters could save themselves a lot of embarrassment and the rest of us considerable time if they would attend a few meetings before speaking out. That way, they might know what they were talking about instead of having the chair gently inform them that they were misinformed or out of order or clueless on this issue.  (In the next issue of the paper, the mother of two young preachers took me to task for my insolence. “McKeever was young once,” she said. I was then 44.)

I have indeed been young and I have been green and ignorant, and I possess lots of experience with immaturity.

In my first church following seminary, I can still recall (painfully, I might add) the way I was critical of one of our state convention workers who would plan the annual youth evangelism meeting a few days after Christmas.  Since my church was doing well and our youth were excited and the numbers growing, all the evidence proved I was an authority on working with youth. To my thinking, it did. I could have written a book on what that guy was doing wrong and how he could get it right.

And then, something happened.

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Help! Our Pastor is Immature!

“Let no one look down on your youthfulness, but rather in speech, conduct, love, faith and purity, show yourself an example of those who believe” (I Timothy 4:12).

Recently after one of our writings on the subject of spiritual immaturity, a young friend in the ministry wrote to tell of a painful experience he’d had with a longtime buddy who was pastoring a church. I’ll summarize his story.

After his team lost in the Super Bowl, Pastor Kent went to his Facebook page and slammed the winning team. He griped about the city, its people, its reputation, and said every bad thing he could think to say. He was an unhappy camper.

His friend, telling the story–we’ll call him Tommy–sent him a private note to say it was not very gracious for a pastor to be speaking that way just because his team had lost. Perhaps Kent would like to soften his words somewhat.

Pastor Ken responded harshly, insisting he had been joking and that he was offended at being reprimanded in public this way.

Since they were longtime friends and he felt he could speak plainly, Tommy pointed out that he had not rebuked him in public but this was a private communication. He added that the city whose team had just won the championship had undergone some very difficult times lately and this victory had given them a much needed lift, that sort of thing.

That day, Kent cut off all further communication with Tommy and  “unfriended” him and his family on Facebook. They’ve had no contact since.

The experience hurt Tommy. He told me, “I really miss my old friend.”

An immature pastor can be a problem for all who know him.

Pray for his church. Pray God will give the church a few mature leaders who can speak plainly with him (that’s a euphemism for “take him to the woodshed when necessary”). He will be lost without such friends.

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The Funeral Surprise

All right, here’s what happened.

I never did know for sure which team Mack was for.  All I know is the one he hated: ours.  He missed no opportunity to slam our players and coaches and me for supporting them.

This made little sense, seeing as how Mack was a native of this area.  But when I wore  a shirt sporting our team emblem, if he was in the yard–did I say we were next-door neighbors?–Mack would make a derogatory remark.  Sometimes he would unloose a stream of profanity and more than once called the owner a scoundrel.

Now, I can understand neutrality about a team one doesn’t care for, but hostility? That one escapes me. Mack was most definitely not neutral. He hates us.

One time when we were talking over the backyard fence about something or other, I told Mack I had met his sister the other day and what a nice person she seemed to be. This set him off again. He informed me that she had been a cheerleader at one time for our team, and he thought she was a fool. He cursed her, cursed the team, and said the fans were idiots.

When Mack opposed something, he took no prisoners and left no one in doubt where he stood.

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How I overcame the fear of public speaking and learned to love it.

Good title, right?

Now a confession. I was never afraid to stand in front of a group and speak. Not ever. In fact, quite the opposite.

As a fourth grader in our little West Virginia schoolhouse, teacher Margaret Meadows would periodically invite class members who had read an interesting story to stand and share it. I recall Violet Garten (love that name!) was so good at it. But when she called on me (I’m the guy frantically waving my hand) and I walked to the front of the class, I broke the rules.

I did not relate a story I had read somewhere.

I made one up on the spot.

That is serious something or other, I don’t know what. Was it a love for being the center of attention? Self-confidence on steroids? Not given to introspection, I’ve never tried to answer that, but I am confident that little snapshot reveals a world of insight on the man I became. Positive and negative.

In high school, one of the requirements for presidents of local chapters of the FFA (Future Farmers of America) was that we be able to address an audience of our members for a full 30 minutes.  I don’t recall actually doing that, but addressing audiences 30 minutes at a clip would end up describing my life. I’m a Southern Baptist preacher, you understand. As of this December 2, I will have logged a full half-century of preaching.

When friends tell me they hate public speaking with a dread, that they would rather take a whipping than stand in front of a group and speak about anything, I’m speechless and cannot begin to identify.  So, yesterday I did something.

I asked my Facebook friends who dislike public speaking to tell us why.

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You Are Not the Judge of Your Own Work

Two scriptures need to be up front….

“Sow your seed in the morning, and do not be idle in the evening; for you do not know whether morning or evening sowing will succeed, or whether both of them alike will be good.” (Ecclesiastes 11:6)

“And let us not lose heart in doing good, for in due time we shall reap if we do not grow weary.” (Galatians 6:9)

Half the ministers I know are sitting in judgment on their own work. And it’s not looking good for them.

They decide the Kingdom work is not going very well, feel guilty because they are so ineffective, and grow discouraged. Instead of giving their all day in and day out over a long life of service and obedience, they turn inward, give less and less of themselves, while the visible results they so long for become more and more scarce.

Stop it.

You’re not the judge, just a worker in the field of the Lord.

Now, get back out there and trust that the Lord knows what He was doing when He assigned you to this corner of the Kingdom.

Jeff Christopherson could tell you.  In an article “Re-defining success,” published in the Fall 2012 edition of “On Mission” (pastors’ edition),  the publication of Southern Baptists’ North American Mission Board, Jeff talks about something that happened to his father Allan.

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