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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In the Sunday, August 9, 2009, “Parade” magazine, movie celeb Brad Pitt is talking about his life with Angelina Jolie. They are all the rage of the tabloids, they appear to be in love, they live together but are unmarried, and they’re the parents of five children, three of them adopted from various countries.

Wherever they live–in France, in L.A., and in New Orleans–Pitt says he tries to get involved in helping the needy. In New Orleans, his organization is leading the way in innovative techniques for building new homes for those devastated by Katrina.

And yet, this couple is a favorite target for anyone with a soapbox and a sermon, it would appear.

Pitt says, “I resent people telling others how to live! It drives me mental!”

“Just the other night,” he says, “I heard this TV reverend say that Angie and I were setting a bad example because we were living out of wedlock, and people should not be duped by us! It made me laugh!”

He might have laughed, but he was angry. “What d–n right does anyone have to tell someone else how to live if they’re not hurting anyone?”

Those of us in the ministry know exactly what was happening with that preacher, I surmise. He was making a point, a biblical one, no doubt, about the sanctity of marriage or the importance of obeying the teachings of scripture in one’s personal life. He thought of Brad and Angie and threw that in to make his point.

A few years ago it was Elizabeth Taylor and her–how many, eight?–multiple marriages. In the 1990s, it was President Bill Clinton and his philandering ways. It was Michael Jackson, it was Marilyn Monroe, it was Madonna. In the 1940s it was Errol Flynn and the usual Hollywood crowd.

It’s cheap preaching.

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Wish I could take credit for this heading but I swiped it. In an internet article, a pastor of another denomination was urging his congregation to sing in the worship services. Even if you have no singing voice and take steps to make sure you are never heard attempting to sing, he said, in church no one sounds bad.

I’ll buy that. Now if I can only convince half the people I know.

I have only two things to say in making that point. But they are two really, really big points.

One. When a group of people with mediocre voices blend them together, something almost magical takes place. Perhaps the strengths of some compensate for the weak areas of others, but the combined voices produce a strong and powerful musical effect.

Last Wednesday night, I spent two hours with the sanctuary choirs of the First Baptist Church of Jackson, Mississippi. I say “choirs” because they have one for each morning services. Together, there were easily 200 people in the rehearsal room. An impressive sight, a lovely group of people.

Now, I know very little about the musical abilities of any of those good people, but I know a lot about church and have decades of experience with church choirs, and I’m going to let you in on a secret: most of those choir members are not all that good. Oh, they can carry a tune, but not one in ten is of solo calibre.

Together, however, they are incredible.

That great choir stands as the ideal metaphor for your congregation in worship: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

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When functioning as it ought, the heart of the Christian is so constructed that when he sees a need, his immediate impulse is to stop what he is doing and minister to it.

But what if the Father has something else for that believer to do, something more appropriate for this believer’s skills and heart and desires, something further down the road, something not apparent at the moment?

What if the Father does not want the disciple turning aside to minister to every need he/she notices along the way and needs him/her to–you’ll understand the expression–move it?

In that case, the Father’s primary plan seems to be to close doors in front of the believer.

Closed doors–when you are in a desperate search for an open one–can be frustrating and discouraging.

A letter arrived this week from a friend in another state. He is not a pastor but a minister of music and worship leader, and a good one, if I’m any judge. The gist of the letter said, “No one seems to want what I can do for their church. They all seem to want younger men who play the guitar and put on a show. I’m a traditionalist and not comfortable with contemporary trends in church music.”

“Right now,” he said, “I’m working with a church of another denomination, and the work is going well, although the pastor is being non-supportive. I want to get back into our denomination, but nothing is opening up. I’m frustrated and my wife is bordering on anger.”

He did not ask for advice and I did not offer any. I promised to pray for him, and I have.

I can’t get him out of my mind or off my heart.

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Mrs. Vaughan was a lovely senior lady and the grandmother of Cindy Hardin who was dating our oldest son. Because we adored Cindy, we came to know Mrs. Vaughan and to treasure her. She was white-haired, soft-spoken, and a member of the neighboring Methodist Church.

That morning, noticing her name on the hospital list as a new patient, I stuck my head in the door and asked how she was doing.

“Oh, it’s nothing, pastor,” she said.

“What happened is that I passed out yesterday. When I came to, I was lying on the floor. I live alone, you know, and so before pushing the LifeLine to summon help, I decided to take inventory and see if I might have had a stroke.”

“I pulled myself onto the bed and moved my arms and legs. They worked. I wiggled my toes and my fingers and they were all right. Then I began to sing. I knew if I could still sing, I was all right.”

I laughed, “I want to thank you for that incredible insight into life. If you can still sing, you’re all right.”

As your pastor, faceless/nameless friend reading this, I’ve come today to tell you something about your song you may never have known or perhaps forgot. I hope you will take this to heart.

One: God wants you to sing.

Singing is all through Scripture, beginning with the song of Exodus 15 on the heels of Israel’s triumph over Pharaoh and ending with the “new song” of Heaven in Revelation. Someone has said that ours is the singingest religion in the world.

No doubt you recall the well-known passage of Ephesians 5 which calls on believers to sing: “…speaking to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord….” (vs. 19)

Perhaps you have heard the super-spiritual among us tell singers in church that “this is not a performance; you’re singing to the Lord.” They’re half right; it is to the Lord.

We are also to sing to one another. We provide the audience for each other’s songs.

God has so arranged His work that when we do something unto Him–whether it’s praying or praise or mowing the lawn or bringing an offering or singing–we touch each other and encourage one another.

So, go ahead and clap after the solo. You loved it and the singer needs the encouragement.

Two: God gives us the song.

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