Sunday, I worshiped with the First Baptist Church of New Orleans, met with two other churches in the afternoon to monitor their discussion about the possibility of merging, and preached at another that night.

The last time I worshiped at FBC-NO, Pastor David Crosby was announcing the departure of Minister of Music Brian Skinner. Today, it was the departure of Scott Carlin, for the last six years his associate pastor. Scott becomes education minister at FBC Lubbock, Texas.

David Crosby told me, “Before Katrina, our church had 12 full-time staffers, including custodial. Today, with Scott’s departure, the last has left us. Everyone on our staff has come since Katrina.”

Turnover. It’s like an epidemic.

As the First Baptist Church of Kenner prepares to welcome Pastor Mike Miller on Sunday, July 27, the following Sunday it will say good-bye to Ken Gabrielse, minister of music for the past 16 years. Ken leaves our church and the music department chairmanship at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary to become director of music for the Oklahoma Baptist Convention.

No one called from Oklahoma to ask, but had they done so, in addition to giving Ken the highest of recommendations, I would have encouraged them to find occasions for him to teach pastors about staff leadership. I’ve worked with some excellent staffers on the years, but none more loyal or more faithful than Ken. We thank God for him and Jana and will miss them intensely.

Meanwhile, New Orleans’ Calvary Baptist Church has voted unanimously-save-one to call Michael Carney as their new pastor. Coming from the Atlanta area, he begins on August 24.

This week, Good News Baptist Church, located 3 blocks from Franklin Avenue Baptist Church–are these folks brave or what?–is dedicating their new facility with a series of services. I’m preaching Wednesday night, July 23.

Sunday, August 10, the First Baptist Church of LaPlace dedicates a new educational building which has been long in the planning stage.

Deaths.

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You’ve heard of the optimist who jumped off the top of the highest building in the city. Someone at the 20th floor heard him say on the way down, “So far, so good.”

It’s Tuesday morning at 9 o’clock and my colonoscopy is scheduled for 12:30 pm. I’m ready.

They say that after age 50, men and women–but particularly men–should get these tests every five years. I’m 68 and this is my first. My wife and her gastroenterologist conspired to get me in for this examination. I didn’t protest; I’ve known this is something that I needed to attend to.

When I’ve mentioned to friends that I’m having a colonoscopy, they all say the same thing: “Piece of cake. The worst part is the preparation.”

The internet is saturated with sites giving information, analyses, advice, descriptions, photos, and testimonials on the subject, so I’ll spare readers the technical stuff I’ve dug up, except for one paragraph.

Colon cancer is the second leading cause of cancer deaths in the USA. Each year, something like 150,000 Americans come down with colon cancer, and around a third of them die from it. However, a colonoscopy is the gold standard of detections, and when caught in time, colon cancer has a 90 percent cure rate. That’s pretty impressive.

I visited the doctor’s office one week ago and we made this appointment. The doctor gave me a prescription for something called “osmoprep,” the tablets to clear my system before the test. The prescription costs 50 dollars. The instructions said to quit taking aspirins 7 days prior to the colonoscopy. On Sunday, two days before the test, I was to eat easily-digested food. I had cereal with milk and coffee for breakfast, a piece of grilled chicken and a baked potato for lunch, and a bowl of chicken noodle soup for supper.

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I was scheduled to bring the sermon at a church that was one week away from welcoming its new pastor. My first thought was to pull out a message I had used before with other congregations that would be apt for this occasion. Then, something occurred to me.

Why not ask the incoming pastor what he’d like me to say to the church.

In reply to my e-mail, an hour later I had his answer. One would have thought he had been waiting for someone to ask him that very question since he was so prompt in responding.

He said, “I would love to come into a church that was unified, where everyone loved each other, and they all prayed for the pastor.” He even gave a text for each point from Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians.

The more I reflected on it all week, the more I realized any pastor coming into a new church would give a month’s salary for these three gifts.

UNITY — The text is Ephesians 4:11-16.

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To be sure, we only have one side of the story, but from the account of the only eyewitnesses speaking out, this is what happened at the Treme Community Center Tuesday morning.

Kiyana Howell had arrived at the center to pick up her four children at the end of the Tambourine and Fan summer camp. She parked in the drive-through and was gathering the kids in, when a woman pulled up behind her and began blowing her horn, demanding that she “move it” and “move it now.” The angry motorist, it turned out, was a member of the New Orleans Police Department, 17-month veteran Ashley Terry, who was there in her personal vehicle to pick up her nephew.

According to the staff of the center and some bystanders, Terry was honking her horn and yelling, “B—-, you don’t know who you’re f—- with!” among other crude cursings. At some point, she told Ms. Howell she was a police officer and flaunted her gun in full view of a number of witnesses.

Meanwhile, the staff of the center called 911. Several members of the force showed up a few minutes later. The one in charge talked only to Officer Terry, interviewed no one else, told Ms. Terry that she should have shot the man who had stepped up and suggested she put her gun away, and wrote up the report that the 911 complaint was “unfounded.”

Well, not so fast, defenders of the public welfare. Wednesday morning’s Times-Picayune brandished this all across the front page. Looks like one more example of local police departments taking care of their own, said the report.

In recent weeks, we’ve seen several occasions where a cop was out of line but his colleagues merely warned him and sent him on his way. In one case, the off-duty cop was speeding, almost ran over another policeman, and slapped a cop. However, no charges were filed.

In another, the mayor of Mandeville, just across Lake Pontchartrain to the north, was drunk and behind the wheel of his SUV. He was speeding, broke through the toll booth gate leading on to the causeway, and was finally chased down by the Causeway cops. Because he was the mayor, they took him home and that was that. Except you can’t keep news like this down.

For the next couple of weeks, more and more revelations about Mayor Eddie Price’s drunken behavior came to light, making the front page of our newspaper each time. The cops who should have written him a ticket and booked him but did nothing were fired, as they should have been.

One more, of a different nature.

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Thursday of this week was unlike any 12 hour period of the last four-and-a-half years for me. I was a pastor again, doing the things pastors typically do.

Here’s how it went.

For two hours–from 7 to 9 am–I sat in the waiting room of my local tire store. After finding out the previous afternoon that the wait to have my tires rotated would be up to two hours, I decided to be there when they opened the next morning. Thursday morning at 7 o’clock, I was there. A woman and I walked in together, and ended up the sole occupants of the waiting room as the employees worked on our car and kept finding additional services we needed. In my case, it was a front end alignment, wind-shield wiper replacement, new air filter, and one of my tires was questionable. (It was the spare that had come with the car when it was new. After a blowout a few months back, we took it out of the trunk and put it on the ground. Small numbers on the tire indicate it was manufactured in the 25th week of 2004. Who knew tires get old so quickly and become hazardous? We put it back in the trunk for the emergency spare and placed the spare, a new tire, in its place. We’re leaving on a 2-3 week vacation on July 27 and want the tires to be in good shape.)

I had prayed for the Lord to use the time in the store. He did.

The woman and I gradually began to chat, first about her job, then her church (her pastor is a close friend), and finally about her broken marriage and the challenges she faces dealing with a non-responsive ex-husband, bad finances, two young children, and such. I made suggestions on getting help, shared two scriptures that seem ready-made for her situation, and we prayed together.

Since she drives almost 10 miles to church on Sunday, and lives only a few blocks from the First Baptist Church of Kenner, when she found out that I will be preaching there this Sunday night at 6 o’clock, she said, “I’m coming.” I suggested it wouldn’t be a bad idea for her to have this as her back-up church family since she lives so close, but to remain a member of the fine church she already has.

I was 10 o’clock arriving at the associational office. In the meantime, the pastor’s secretary from our church called to tell me of two families in Ochsner Hospital. One family had asked if I might run by to visit, since death seems eminent.

I’m no longer a pastor but I know my calling. God did not give me a pastor’s heart for nothing. (Every retired pastor knows the feeling.) I told her I would go.

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Tuesday evening, on my way home, I was driving up Metairie Road in heavy traffic. Suddenly as we drove past a small side street, I glimpsed a fellow on a bicycle coming out of that street, headed straight for our line of cars. In a split second, the bike whipped straight toward us, then at the last moment turned a sharp right and moved in the same direction we were going. I almost had a heart attack; I just knew I was hitting a cyclist and killing him.

And now, for perhaps 10 seconds he was pedaling alongside my car, just off the right window. I rolled it down and called.

“What are you doing? You scared the daylights out of me!”

He said, “Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing.” The light up ahead turned red, the traffic stopped, he crossed at the light, and was gone.

I thought of twelve things I wanted to say to that foolish man. “Maybe you know what you’re doing, but I don’t–and I’m the guy with the car!” “You’re trying to commit suicide, that’s what you’re doing.” I even thought of saying to him, “Friend, you’re going to get killed. I can’t say that bothers me a great deal, but it will devastate your loved ones. And, frankly, I don’t want to be the one who hits you!”

So, so foolish. “I know what I’m doing.” He was in a little world all his own, dead certain that if he followed his own rules, he would do just fine.

My strong hunch is that the impatient motorist on the interstate, the one weaving in and out of traffic, the fellow who tailgates you flashing his lights until you get out of his way, then pulls the same stunt on the next driver in front of him, that foolish speeder no doubt feels he knows what he is doing.

He may indeed. Until he meets up with another nitwit just like him, then all bets are off.

Earlier the same day, maybe at 1:30 or so, I drove a few blocks to a little eatery that has opened up on Elysian Fields Avenue close to the University of New Orleans. I’ve been there once, trying to patronize businesses that have reopened in our area. The food was nothing special, but I decided to give them another try.

Inside the door, a sign instructed me to seat myself. The one vacant table, however, had not been cleaned and the last diners had clearly been messy eaters. I pulled out a chair, sat a little back from the table, and looked for a waiter. A couple of minutes later, he arrived, towel in one hand and a stack of menus in the other. When I asked for a menu, he said, “In a minute,” and proceeded to–I couldn’t believe my eyes–rake the mess off the table onto the tiled floor.

I sat there frozen in place. Did I want to eat here?

I said, “You’re raking that food onto the floor?!” He didn’t say a word, just kept at it. I stood up and said, “Friend, this place is too dirty for me. I believe I’ll eat somewhere else.” And walked out. Nonplussed, the waiter called, “Thanks for coming in, have a nice day.”

Clueless, apparently. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

What are they thinking? I can understand the restaurants that serve you a bucket of roasted peanuts encouraging customers to drop the dry shells onto the floor. But wet, sloppy food onto a tiled floor? No thank you.

I drove down the street to Cafe Roma, a lovely and classy affair with great food, friendly staff, and better prices.

Do they know what they are doing, one wonders.

You visit a church where no one speaks to you, no one greets you at the front door, no one gives you a bulletin, and no one even acknowledges your presence. You’re uncertain where to sit, completely in the dark on where the nursery or rest rooms are, and feeling more alone by the minute. You can tell by the empty pews that this church is in trouble. You find yourself wondering, do they know what they are doing?

Or more specifically, what they are not doing.

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Ask any church leader why America–or the churches in general or a denomination in particular or all Christians–does not (do not) have revival and the answers will usually come out to something like: “We’re not praying,” or “We’re not praying hard enough,” or “This takes prayer and fasting.”

Today, I spent an hour on the internet reading some of the hundreds of websites on the subject of revival. Those that attempt to cover the subject of why we are not experiencing revival usually attribute it to sin, complacency, or prayerlessness.

Maybe they’re right, but it seems to me those answers are missing the point.

The reason we’re not having revival may indeed be that we’re not praying for one. After all, Scripture assures us that “you have not because you ask not.” (James 4:2)

But that just leads to the question of why we’re not praying for revival. The answer, I strongly suggest, is simple: we don’t want a revival. We like things the way they are.

I said it and will stand by it: we do not want revival. The churches don’t, the church members don’t, and very few of the pastors want a genuine Heaven-sent revival.

After all, revival means change, and we don’t want change. We’re too comfortable the way things are at the present.

I used to have an elderly man in my last church who showed up for services from time to time mainly because of his wife. Once when I was visiting in their home, I learned that five years earlier, he had had a heart bypass operation. His wife said, “And pastor, the doctor ordered him to walk several blocks a day, but he won’t do it.”

I tried to shame him a little. After all, the walking was for his own good and might prolong his life. He said, “Preacher, the reason I don’t walk is simple. Walking interferes with my routine.”

His wife scoffed, “What routine! Pastor, he goes to the casino!”

He lived two more years, still spending his days with the slot machines.

That, in a word, is why the great masses of Christians do not pray for nor desire revival: it would interfere with their routine.

By “revival,” we mean an across-the-board movement of the Holy Spirit as He touches hearts, changes minds, melts pride, and transforms sinners.

In a revival, the hearts of God’s people are broken in repentance and humility, the Lord’s people come together in love and service, and the Lord’s work of ministry and giving and witnessing and missions moves forward at warp speed.

Now, logically, most Christians would like these things to occur. In our heart of hearts, we know this is what is going to be required for God to transform the modern church and make it once again a missionary organization. We know the people of our community are not going to be reached in numbers big enough to have any kind of impact until the Lord’s people have a new touch of God in their lives. And we confess we want that, that we desire revival.

But we don’t. Not really.

Everything inside us resists change. Our ego resists Anyone else sitting on the throne over our lives. Our spirit rebels at Another calling the shots. Our bodies are afflicted with inertia, which we learned in the chemistry lab means a resting body prefers to remain at rest.

Now, I’ve seen revival and perhaps you have, too.

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Cause for Reflection….

After the recent death of comedian George Carlin, one of the funniest men on the planet–also, one of the dirtiest–the Florida Baptist Witness ran a guest column from Don Walton, a vocational evangelist whose blog is www.timefortruth.org. Titled “Seven Words You Can’t Say in Heaven,” the article credits Carlin with “more than anyone else” being “responsible for turning the profane and irrevent into comedic material.”

Walton picks up on Carlin’s infamous “seven words you can never say on television,” a routine he was sometimes arrested for performing. Now that he has died, Walton says, he “stands before a much higher tribunal than our nation’s Supreme Court.” And, here are seven words he cannot say in Heaven: “I’m sorry, Lord. I was just joking.”

Cause for Rejoicing….

Last Sunday, Memorial Baptist Church in Metairie dedicated their newly restored sanctuary. This is one of the few churches in our association that suffered great loss due not to the floodwaters that followed Katrina but the winds and rain that comprised this hurricane. When winds tore off the roof of the sanctuary, water rushed in, ruining the upstairs offices and the interior of the worship center.

For nearly three years, Memorial has met in their fellowship hall. A number of churches across the Southern Baptist Convention, including Nashville’s Woodmont Baptist Church and Allen, Texas’ First Baptist Church, have been faithful encouragers to Memorial during this time. Prestonwood in Dallas has sponsored their Unlimited Partnership seminary student, if I’m not mistaken. That student, Jonathan Young, recently graduated from seminary and has become Minister of Education at Opelousas’ First Baptist Church.

Pastor Jackie Gestes came to us some two years ago–in the depth of the church’s need–and has become a faithful friend and shepherd.

Sunday, the congregation ringed the inside of the worship center, holding hands, and dedicated this building and themselves to Christ anew. I’ve known this good church since arriving in New Orleans in 1964 and can say the sanctuary has never been more beautiful.

We will appreciate prayers for Pastor Jackie, his wife Joani, and the church leadership as they tackle the impressive challenges before them.

Cause for Concern….

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The Jasper Alabama Daily Mountain Eagle has published a fine article and some great pictures of this incredible lady

Click Here to read the whole thing.

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