We wrote this caption on a poster Wednesday at our monthly ministers’ meeting. Before soliciting their suggestions on what to tell our congregations concerning the economic situation our country is facing, I posed a different question to them.

“How many of your churches are hurting financially, how many are holding their own, and how many are doing better this year than last?”

Interestingly, only four pastors indicated their congregational giving was down, a larger number — perhaps ten — said their giving was about the same, and six indicated their contributions are higher than last year.

I was surprised. The church contributions to the association for both February and March are down considerably except for a substantial gift from one church in February that offset the otherwise negative numbers. My hunch was that, just as we hear of denominational agencies cutting back on expenses as a result of declining revenues, at the grass roots level our church incomes are suffering and are thus the ultimate culprit.

The fact that we are doing well (in the local churches) might be an anomaly for Louisiana, since we constantly hear that this state is not suffering the declines in employment or personal income other states are facing. Much of this is due to the rebuilding boom in the New Orleans area, a phenomenon associated with post-Hurricane Katrina life.

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I hate it when a call like this comes in. A young man whom I wed to his fianc

My grandson Grant is nearing 15 years of age and I love him dearly. However, it will not surprise readers who are grandparents that I miss the Grant who was the little boy of two or three or four. I was pastoring the First Baptist Church of Kenner and, with his parents’ permission, would often spend one afternoon a week with him. We would have lunch at McDonald’s — he was enamored with Ronald McDonald — and then visit the Audubon Zoo or a park to feed the ducks or a playground somewhere.

One day, I wrote this little poem about our relationship, from Grant’s perspective—

Title: “We’re very good friends, my grandpa and I.”

He tells me long stories

Of bad guys and thieves,

Of boys Joe and Jason

Who live in my trees.

He takes me to McDonald’s

At least once a week.

He reads his magazine,

We play hide and seek.

We love to feed the ducks

And sea gulls and squirrels.

We throw them bread and popcorn

–just us guys, no girls.

He tells me how much he loves me;

I say I love you more.

I love you all the way to Alabama.

He loves me to Singapore.

(This seems to have been inspired by a child’s book of a similar title. I should have gone further with the poem, and as I recall, that was the original plan. But this is all there is of it.)

In his commentary on James, Kent Hughes tells of an experience Howard Hendricks had while speaking at a Sunday School convention. (Hendricks taught Christian Education at Dallas Theological Seminary for over 40 years; he’s one of the Lord’s true originals.)

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As of last Saturday, I am the age of Ronald Reagan when he was elected president the first time. With him as my role model, I now have time for another career.

Someone asked this morning if I intend to enter politics. I said, “No. The movies.”

Two days before me, Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi and movie actor James Caan also reached the advanced age of 69. They look better and younger than me because they color their hair.

I’m considering going into denial about future birthdays. I may resort to the Greer Garson line: “Age is just a number and mine is unlisted.”

Got time for some stuff?

(In a conference, a friend, observing me dropping in an occasional humorous line, accused me of shallowness. I responded, “Everyone of those quips is profound. But most people don’t take the time to study them. That’s their problem, not mine.” That’s not entirely true, but I like to pretend it is!)

This fellow said their family used to have a “mobile” outhouse. In the summer it was 65 steps and in the winter it was a mile-and-a-half.

I had a garage sale. In the very first hour I sold $849 worth of stuff—for 39 dollars and 50 cents.

Two old men were talking. One said, “I’m going to live to be 120.” The other said, “I’m gonna miss you.”

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Watching our nation’s politicians as they propose, dispose, impose, expose, compose and, of course, suppose regarding the economic crisis this country is facing, I find myself wondering how many actually know what they are talking about.

I hate to be skeptical, but common sense — forged by a half-century of dealing with churches, finance people, and my own situations — informs me that most people do not relate to budgets, debts, and deals in the millions of dollars, much less billions and even trillions. The present meltdown of America’s financial institutions has complexities and ramifications and intricacies that baffle even the greatest minds.

That, however, does not prevent the lowliest politician from sounding forth on the matter, usually to tell the world all that is wrong with whatever the nation’s leaders are proposing at the moment. And what is his own solution to the quandary we face? He never says.

A long time ago, Missouri Senator Thomas Hart Benton said, “The worst disease afflicting my constituents is a thing called ‘the simples.’ The folks back home want me to come up with simple solutions to their complex problems, answers that resolve all their difficulties without it costing them anything.”

Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way.

 
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“Tragically, in most churches the pain of change is greater than the pain of ineffectiveness.” — Thom Rainer in “Simple Church.”

My longtime friend, Max Youngblood of Bessemer, Alabama, sent us a delightful thing from the Birmingham area. The Jefferson County Commission is proposing a “non-user fee” for residents who do not use the county sewer system. Well, sir, that gave restaurant owner Tasos Touloupis an idea. The owner of Ted’s Restaurants — one at 328 12th St. South and the other at 1801 4th Avenue South — has proposed a “non-diner’s fee.”

The way it works is this: Ted’s will maintain a record of customers. At the end of each month, his bookkeeper will send a $12 NDF invoice to all residents of Jefferson County who did not eat at Ted’s during the month.

Sounds like a deal, doesn’t it.

In these times of economic uncertainty, our churches will need to become more creative in generating income. How does a “non-member’s tithing” system sound?

Up in Alexandria, Louisiana, my friend Devona Able was at her computer the other evening. Her wonderful eight-year-old Grace Anne, looking over her shoulder, noticed an e-mail from “Dr. Joe McKeever.” She asked, “Is he a doctor?” Mom answered, “Yes, but not like Dr. Marzullo (her pediatrician).”

Grace Anne said, “Oh, so he must be a doctor like Dr. Brooks (Calvary, Alexandria). They’re like doctors of love because they teach people what love really means and that it comes from Jesus.”

“Yeah, baby,” mom said. “Something like that.”

Out of the mouths of babes. (So, just call me “Doctor Love.” Wait, on second thought, that sounds like a rap artist.)

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1. I would not tell God what I require. We may assume He knows what I need.

2. I would not judge a church by the externals — location, beauty, convenience, denomination, ample parking, landscaping, reputation.

3. I would ask: “Is God in this place?” “Do they teach His Word?” “Do they seem to care for people?” “Is this a ‘safe place’ in which to worship, serve, and grow?” “Is this home?” I would want the answer to those questions, but I would not make my decision on the basis of any of them. After all, it could be the church is not what it ought to be and God is sending me to help it grow and heal.

4. I would ask the Holy Spirit to lead me to the church he has chosen. After all, I don’t have the time or energy to visit every possible congregation in this city. “He leadeth me in the path of righteousness.”

5. And once I knew in my heart that ‘this is the church,’ I would join it. I would give my tithes and offerings and begin praying for the church leaders and looking for ways to encourage them. I would begin learning the names of church members, and not wait on them to reach out to me.

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I opened my email this morning to find an urgent plea from one of our Metairie pastors. Immediately, all the bells went off. Something was not right.

The message began: “Hi, how are you doing today? I went on trip to London to attend a program for the support of those living with HIV/AIDS. I am very sorry I didn’t tell you about it til now. I really need your assistance because I’m stranded in London. You won’t believe I forgot my little bag in the taxi where my money, passport, documents, and other valuable things were kept….”

He needed $2500 to “settle my outstanding hotel bills, feed myself, and transport myself to the embassy to recover a temporary traveling paper back home.”

A temporary traveling paper? Was this written by someone unable to express himself? Certainly not by this pastor, the sharpest guy in the city.

I phoned Freddie Arnold and said, “You’re not going to believe this e-mail. Listen to this.” I’d not read two sentences when he said, “Ninfa (one of the secretaries in our office) got one just like it.”

It was a scam. Someone had stolen the internet address and mailing list from one of our finest and best-loved pastors in our association, and was emailing everyone, asking for money. Send the cash by Western Union, of course.

I heard the other day that with all the trillions of dollars flowing out of Washington into our troubled economy, Congress accepts the fact that a certain percentage will be lost to fraud. Billions of dollars of it, if you can believe that.

I find it so difficult to believe that right now people are sitting in their homes and offices scheming to lay their hands on portions of that cash.

But they are.

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