Good news is where you find it, and these days, living in New Orleans, we’ll take all we can get. The New Orleans Saints won the Super Bowl exactly one month ago today. Regardless what people down here say (“I predicted this.” Yeah, right. Sure you did.), we were as surprised as anyone else.

The downside of that great news is that a new season gets underway this summer and the Saints win will be ancient history. No sooner had Coach Sean Payton got back into the office on Airline Drive when sports reporters started badgering him, wanting to know, “Can you repeat?”

So much for the kind of good news we get in this life. Almost all of it has a dark side, something that takes the shine off it, that would rob it of a lasting joy. And yet, there are bits and pieces of news here and there that are light years beyond the other kind. They are pure joy and have no negatives whatever.

A few days ago, we gave the first 6 of our even dozen items of good news, the kind that never loses its luster and carries no negatives.

I promised to come back and give the last six. These are mine and the result of a lifetime of trying to live the Christian life. You’ll think of more to add to it.

7. When the Lord Jesus comes into your life, you become a child of God.

Not just his servant or friend, but his child. Not his admirer or supporter or member. His child. Not just a convert, a number, a scalp to be counted, but the very own born-again child of the living God.

“As many as received him (Jesus), he gave the power (or right or authority) to become children of God, even to those who believe in his name” (John 1:12).

Now, I suspect you are aware that scripture uses many metaphors and similes to tell us all we are in Christ. There are places in the New Testament, for instance, that tell us we are adopted into God’s family. And others tell us we are born again. Isn’t this contradictory? Not at all. Each brings something special to the picture.

In the new birth (John 3:3), we leave behind our previous existence and begin our spiritual lives as newborn infants. In adoption (Romans 8:15 and Galatians 4:5), we enter at whatever real age we happen to be. The Roman custom of adoption sheds light on this. Instead of the way we do (adopting infants), the Romans adopted fully grown adults in order to have an heir.

So, we are children of God. The Apostle John said, “Behold, what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us that we should be called the children of God!” (I John 3:1) Indeed.

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After a cold winter, everyone looks forward to the Spring. Well, today is March 5, and where I live–New Orleans, Louisiana–regardless of the calendar, it’s Springtime. Later this week the temperature will reach the 70s and after that, we’ll never look back.

The TV news people said today a number of economic indicators are really looking good in this country. We’re ready for this kind of “springtime” also; the winter of our economic discontent has been devastating to so many.

But, there’s a problem with this kind of good news. Know what it is?

After the Spring will come a blisteringly hot summer. And a few months later, winter again.

After a time of economic prosperity, sooner or later, there will come a downturn, a correction of the stock market, or whatever we choose to call it.

It’s life.

So, is there good news anywhere with no shadow to it, no dark side, no “other side of the coin”?

You bet there is.

Here are an even dozen pieces of really, really great news, none of which carry harmful side effects. (Note: A second article will give the last half of this; below are the first six news items.)

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Once you hear Calvin Miller, you never forget him. As creative a mind and as uncontainable an energy force as you will ever run up against. A preacher, pastor, professor, best-selling author, and accomplished author. And, I’m happy to say, a friend.

I heard him tell this story 15 years ago and have repeated my version of it ever since. Last night I found the notes taken from that message and felt that readers would enjoy it.

A traveler was making his way by foot through a strange and foreboding countryside. When a violent storm arose, he was forced to seek shelter. Coming upon a monastery, he was pleased to see a light shining through a window. He knocked. A monk came to the door.

“Come in, come in, stranger,” said the monk.

The brothers fed him and let him warm by their hearth.

“Would thou care to spend the night under our roof rather than return to the storm?” said the abbott, the head monk.

“I would indeed and I’m grateful,” said the traveler. “But in order to do so, I will need a few items. Could you please provide for me a rubber suit, a pound of butter, and a bass saxophone? Also, if you have it, two duck eggs and three turnips fresh from the garden.”

That night, all kinds of noises came from the visitor’s room. No one slept in the monastery that night.

The bad weather continued. The next night, the abbott invited the stranger to remain another night. “I thank you,” he said, “And, if you would be so kind, I will once again require the use of the rubber suit and bass saxophone, and another pound of butter, two more duck eggs and three turnips.”

That night was a repetition of the first, the strange noises filling the air, driving sleep from everyone. In all, as the storm lingered, the stranger stayed three nights. By now, the monks were beside themselves with fatigue.

On the morning of the fourth day, the sun came out.

As the visitor was leaving, the abbott walked out with him. “May I ask you what that was all about, this business of the rubber suit and the bass saxophone, the butter and eggs and turnips? All that noise coming from your room? We are beside ourselves with curiosity.”

The stranger said, “It’s an old family secret. I can tell you if you agree never to tell another living soul.”

The abbott agreed never to breathe a word of it to anyone. So he told him.

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Often, I like to use the Mississippi River as an analogy for the great torrent of offerings that flow from individuals into the church offering plates and eventually into the world.

I point out that this great body of water, which flows a couple of hundred yards below my house, is actually composed of individual drops that fell from the sky in a vast basin extending from Western New York State all the way to Eastern Montana.

In the same way, the hundreds of millions of dollars the churches of our denomination send to the fields of the world each year get their start from a child’s piggy bank, a widow’s pension and a young couple’s tithe.

Yesterday, I had an epiphany, one of those moments when you realize there’s far more to this than seemed obvious at first.

I was visiting a church not far from where I live. Although retired from being director of missions for the Baptist churches of metro New Orleans, they’re still on my heart and anything I can do to encourage one, I want to do it. Mark Tolbert, seminary professor and recent interim pastor of our church, is completing one year as the interim shepherd of that congregation and I do treasure this man. I wanted to hear him preach.

So, yesterday, I worshiped at Williams Boulevard Baptist Church in Kenner, Louisiana.

They received two offerings. The first, in the middle of the service, went for the budget, that is, the full ministries of their church. The second, at the end, was being sent to our International Mission Board for recovery work in Haiti and Chile, following their devastating earthquakes.

I dropped a few dollars into the second offering and something hit me.

Just as there are numerous locks and dams along the great Mississippi River, obstacles we might say, which the waters have to negotiate before they arrive at the sea, the offerings we place in the plate have a number of hurdles to overcome before they reach their destination.

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The book centered around the year 1940 and all the war-related events of that year: Hitler’s invasion of the Low Countries, Churchill’s coming to power, Dunkirk, the Blitz, FDR’s election to the third term, and the isolationism in the USA.

I told the author (via email) of my appreciation for the book and added, “That year is also special because I made my appearance on March 28, 1940.”

After thinking about that a moment, I added, “But don’t think me old just because I was born in 1940.”

Later, reflecting on that, I wondered why I’d gone to the trouble to say that, seeing as how I do not know that author and don’t expect to meet him. Why was that important to me?

I decided it’s a personal thing.

None of us want to be pigeon-holed because of demographics or statistics, nor for preconceptions or ignorance. Just because you are a Southerner does not make you a redneck. Living in Mississippi does not mean you are barefooted. All Louisianians do not speak Cajun. All Yankees are not rude.

Here’s a short list of assumptions I do not want people making about me. Again, it’s just a personal thing. Readers will have your own list.

Do not assume…

1) that I’m humorless just because I’m a preacher.

2) that I’m idle just because I’m retired.

3) that I’m unquestioning just because I’m a Christian.

4) that I’m saintly just because I’ve been saved since 1951.

5) that I’m intolerant just because I’m evangelistic.

6) that I’m homophobic just because I’m a conservative Christian.

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