When Elvis Presley died, someone asked Pastor Adrian Rogers of Memphis’ Bellevue Baptist Church if he thought “the king” had gone to Heaven. He answered, “Even if I thought he did, I wouldn’t say it. I don’t want people thinking you can live the way he did and still go to Heaven.”

A local priest had no compunction against that this week.

Al Copeland was laid to rest Monday. He was, in the words of one of his neighbors, our very own Elvis. If New Orleans has ever had a character, it was Mr. Copeland.

I’ll try to make this as brief as possible. Copeland started out in life poor, then became a millionaire with the Popeye’s fried chicken franchises, got into financial trouble when he bought Church’s Fried Chicken and had to sell out. But he kept a lesser known company, one selling spices for his chicken–and that is what has kept him rich. The paper says he was pulling down 9 million a year and was worth a fair piece of change. He raced speedboats and drove Rolls Royces and Bentleys and married the prettiest girl in the land–four times to be exact.

Each of his weddings was more lavish than the one before. The last two are still being talked about. The third took place in the Museum of Art in City Park, and the fourth in St. Louis Cathedral. When criticized for allowing this oft-married and gaudily-divorced man to hold his wedding in the Cathedral, the spokesman for the church pointed out that only his first marriage had the blessing of the church and that wife had died, so in the eyes of God this was only his second wedding.

Cosmetic surgery kept the 64 year old looking as youthful as his women. Cancer of the salivary glands killed him a week ago. He died in Germany where he had gone seeking a cure.

His divorce from the third wife ended up with the judge being thrown in jail for taking a bribe from Copeland’s attorney, although Al himself was never implicated.

The Christmas display at his Metairie home was one you loved if you lived elsewhere and drove in with your kids, or hated if you lived anywhere nearby due to the lights and the traffic. Newspaper columnists lauded him for lighting up his house after Katrina as a symbol that everything was going to be all right.

I never met the man. I have no first-hand knowledge of his eternal destiny. I am not his judge and wouldn’t want to be.

But I wanted to tell you about the funeral. It took place at the ritziest of Catholic churches in town, the Holy Name of Jesus Church on St. Charles Avenue, next door to Tulane University.

The priest, Monsignor Christopher Nalty, said during the funeral mass, “Most people knew Al Copeland as someone who lived in the fast lane. They didn’t realize that he knew that the Catholic Church was the one road to heaven.”

That’s what he said. (**CORRECTION. wEDNESDAY MORNING’S TIMES-PICAYUNE RUNS A CORRECTION ON THE FRONT PAGE. APPARENTLY, THAT IS NOT WHAT THE PRIEST SAID. SEE NOTE AT THE BOTTOM OF ARTICLE.)

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The sweetest thing I’ve seen in a while happened last week when I was preaching in Pickens County, Alabama. Some mornings, I would meet host pastor Tommy Winders and another preacher or two down at the diner for breakfast. The first time Tommy told me about it and how to find it, I said, “What is the name of the cafe?” He looked puzzled. “I don’t know. It’s just the cafe.” Translation: it’s the only one in downtown Carrollton, Alabama. I found it without any trouble. Its name is “The Diner.”

The first morning as we exited the diner, two large dogs met us on the sidewalk. Now, where I live, dogs don’t run loose and my first reaction was to step back inside. But Pastor Tommy knew these animals. He said, “Hey, you guys are supposed to be around back.” And off they went, just like that, their tails wagging.

The second morning, I had parked at the bank’s lot on the side of the cafe and as I was leaving the car, I noticed those same two dogs with a buddy standing guard at the rear of the cafe, their tails swinging. While the other two held back, the leader of the bunch walked up to the back door and looked up expectantly. After a moment, he said, “Woof!” That’s all. Just “Woof!” One time, nothing more.

In a minute, the door opened and the cook tossed out some breakfast leftovers. I thought, “Boy, these dogs sure have the humans trained.”

I have not been able to erase that image from my mind—the dogs at the back door, tails a-wagging, and one of them calling to the kitchen to announce their presence.

Here’s the cartoon of that scene with my comment. Feel free to post it or reprint it.

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What could Hillary have been thinking?

The story has apparently been around a few days but I just saw it this morning, then checked it at the Washington Post website for verification. This week Hillary Clinton claimed that back in 1996 when, as First Lady, she flew into Bosnia, they were under hostile fire and the welcoming ceremony had to be called off. Everyone was told to put their heads down and run for the cars. However, Sunday morning’s Fox News with Chris Wallace re-played Hillary’s claims at the same time they ran the actual video from that 1996 event. The video showed a crowd was gathered to welcome her, little children were presenting her with flowers, everything was all peace and joy. People along on that trip have spoken out this week, remembering that it was nothing like what Hillary now says. The reality was as far from what she is now claiming as it’s possible to get.

I suppose she’s trying to show how she functions well under fire. Maybe trying to contrast her “courage under fire” toughness with Barack Obama’s lack of military experience. If that was her aim, she might want to back off, because if she wins the Democratic nomination, she’ll then have to try to match the record of American hero John McCain and that ain’t gonna happen.

You would think that by now she and her advisors would know that every public moment of her life has been caught on camera somewhere and it’s hazardous to claim anything they’re not sure she did.

Is there a sermon in here or what!

What if we all had to endure this kind of scrutiny and public airing of our “misspeakings.” Some newspapers–the Washington Post among them–have “fact checkers” on their websites. It’s a great help to the average citizen who listens to politicians and have no idea to what extent they’re being conned.

Back in 1976 when Jimmy Carter was running for president, he promised he would never lie to us. He said this country was looking for a president who was an honest as our people. And he said it with a straight face. Coming after Watergate and the lies of Nixon, the message resonated with the country and he was elected—but for a single term. It turns out that it’s almost impossible to keep that promise in politics.

What was it Churchill said, something to the effect that in wartime, truth is so precious it must be protected by a bodyguard of lies. Not that this is what Hillary was doing this week.

In fact, Hillary may wish she was in New Orleans yesterday.

Saturday, March 29, 2008, was Expungement Day in the Crescent City. The event, sponsored by the Orleans Parish public defender’s office and held at the Treme Community Center, drew some 400 people eager to get their criminal records cleaned up. You have some old charge still on your record, but it’s false or has been dealt with and should not be left on the records, you brought your evidence and made your case.

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We celebrate the quality of our Lord by which He takes little things and achieves spectacular results. “Who has despised the day of small things?” said the prophet Zechariah (Zech. 4:10). Many a preacher has waxed eloquent (or as the kid said, “waxed an elephant”) on the way God uses the least, the lost, and the last to achieve the most, the best, and the first. Think of the widow’s mite, a baby in a manger, and a dozen nobodies chosen as apostles. The rod in Moses’ hand, the witness of a servant girl to a Syrian general, a little boy’s lunch of a few loaves and fishes–all bear eloquent testimony to the power of God to achieve much with little. A word here, a gift there, a deed.

Our Lord is a powerful God. As the gospel song puts it, “Little is much if God is in it.”

But there’s another side to this story. God is a great God who likes to do big things and when it pleases Him, to do them in grand ways. He made a universe whose size we are still trying to calculate. He created the galaxies, stars, suns, planets, oceans, and the egos of several people we could name. Big things.

God likes His children to dream big and is not complimented when the people He is counting on to serve Him in this world make small plans and expect little or no results.

Here’s an interesting story from the Old Testament. In the 8th century B.C., the king of Judah–Ahaz was his name and fear was his game–was shivering in his boots as he watched the kings of Aram and Israel surround Jerusalem with their fierce armies. God sent the prophet Isaiah out to calm Ahaz’ fears. “Take care and be calm,” he said. “Have no fear and do not be fainthearted because of these two stubs of smoldering firebrands…”

Eugene Peterson (“The Message”) puts it like this: “Don’t panic over these two burnt-out cases…they talk big and there’s nothing to them.”

Didn’t work. Ahaz needed something more than soothing words to settle his shattered nerves. So God raised the ante. “The Lord spoke again to Ahaz, saying, ‘Ask a sign for yourself from the Lord your God; make it deep as Sheol or high as heaven.'” (This is all in Isaiah 7.)

That’s quite a blank check the Lord handed the timid king. What would it take to stop your knees knocking and convince you that God is handling the matter, O king? Need a sign in the heavens? Just name it. Make it as big as you please.

True to character, Ahaz would not act decisively against the enemy nor would he boldly seize the offer God had made him. Fence-straddling was his spiritual gift. He said, “I will not ask, nor will I test the Lord!”

We’d like to help him with his theology and remind Ahaz that it’s not “testing” the Lord if God invites you to do it.

Well, the story goes on and gets better, but I’ll stop here. The point here is that God wanted big faith, decisive action, and a bold initiative out of his leader, and got none of it.

Now, move that scene over to your church. Your leader, the pastor, looks out his window–i.e., he observes the city where he lives, reads the paper, and watches the news–and feels outnumbered, overwhelmed, and outmatched. He wrings his hands, throws up his hands, and considers hiring some new hands. What is the church to do?

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So, Jim, you’re leaving the comfortable nest and trying your wings. You have served well on our staff for these four years and now God has called you to a congregation where you will be the point man. The shepherd, the overseer, the leader. The one who blazes the trail, rallies the troops, sets the mood, coaches the team, and–let’s face it–gets the credit and takes the blame.

I hope you will not mind if I make a few points here which I intend only as an encouragement to you in this new ministry. Entire books have been written to beginning pastors, but you will not mind if I don’t attempt one here. Here are ten pointers, most of which I have learned the hard way, and have the scars to prove it.

1) Remember to say ‘we’ and ‘our,’ not ‘I’ and ‘my.’

When you are referring to a staff member, say “our minister of music” or “our minister of students.” It makes little difference to you, but a world of difference to him/her. As a former staffer, you of all people know this. The assistant on your staff may take direction from you and be accountable to you, but you can magnify their ministry and encourage their faithfulness by speaking to them and of them with the greatest respect.

2) Never claim any authority as the pastor.

Any time you tell someone you have authority, it lessens it. If you truly have the authority to do a thing, you may sit quietly by and listen to the controversy that surrounds you, knowing within yourself that when the moment of decision comes, you will make the call. You must be prepared to do just that.

You might recall, Jim, a meeting in my office a couple of years back when I cautioned you about using that word “authority.” It was just before I did the same thing with the two lay leaders who mistakenly thought they had some too. Serving the Lord and leading His church are servant jobs, not positions of authority. Slaves have no authority other than to help and bless and give and suffer. They take orders from the Master or the Master’s representative.

So, if someone in the church gives you authority over them–and that’s the only kind you and I have in leading a church–it is their gift to us. We should wear it lightly, use it sparingly, and try not to let the recipient know they just saw it on display.

3) Learn to listen.

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My new friend Barry of West Virginia checked in the other night. He’s planning to be a pastor, he said, and while surfing the net in search of ideas, inspiration, and such, he found our website. He said, “I read it from 8 o’clock that morning until 5 o’clock that afternoon.”

I told him he holds the world record.

Wednesday of last week, our pastors’ group numbered only about 15, so we pulled two tables together and got our coffee and doughnuts and visited. Eventually, I said, “Let’s start with Eddie here, and go around the table. Introduce yourself–some of you don’t know the others–and tell something the Lord has done for you recently. Not 38 years ago, if you don’t mind.”

I had no idea this would be the agenda for the next 90 minutes.

Ann: “We lost 12,000 dollars—and then found it lying in the road in the basket where it had fallen off the car. It was untouched. The Lord protected us.”

Lawrence: “I had a series of strokes. God brought me through them.”

Marc: “I went through a time of serious depression. It was affecting my home and my church, everything. Even my wife said my sermons were boring. Finally, at a spiritual retreat, I recovered my closeness with the Lord and my energy for Him.”

Manuel told how one day on the job his body had taken 37,000 volts of electricity. “That’s why I have an artificial hand and foot,” he said. “I’m blessed to be alive and serving God.”

Jeff: “While we were evacuated from Katrina, I decided to try to find my son. Some 18 years ago, I walked out on his unwed mother and after I came to the Lord, I’ve felt so bad about that. I had tried over the years to locate him. I walked into a police station in the town where we used to live and identified myself, and told them what I was attempting to do. They arrested me on the spot.”

He went on to explain how his name was found on the list of deadbeat fathers, and he was kept in jail for two nights while he stayed on the phone, trying to raise $18,000. Eventually, he was reunited with his son. He explained what had happened and asked his forgiveness. “My son is down here right now,” he said, “living with us. He is such a fine young man.” There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.

Jeff pointed out how that as a pastor, he wants to be able to address this issue–dads who need to find the children they have fathered and do the right thing–and so had to go through this himself so he would have the integrity to call them to own up to their responsibilities.

Other pastors around the table had their stories of what the Lord was doing or had done in their lives. Then, it was Bobby’s turn.

“Well,” he said, “I’ve never lost $12,000. I’ve always been in good health and was never depressed. I’ve never had strokes or been struck by lightning. I’ve never fathered a child out of wedlock…”

A preacher on the other side of the table said, “And you call yourself a pastor!”

We laughed the rest of the morning at that.

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The title is actually a corruption of Ecclesiastes 12:12 wherein “the preacher,” whoever that was–the implication is that he is Solomon, but I wonder–said, “Of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh.”

We beg to differ. But of course, we have access to a much greater variety of books than even Solomon did.

One of my friends begins our too-infrequent visits with, “What books are you reading?” and another with, “What book is by your bedside at this moment?”

My wife laughs at that last question, because for me, it’s not “book,” but “books.” Usually a pile of them. Some I read, some I started on and stopped, and often I’m somewhere in the midst of three or four which I fully intend to finish.

The ones by my bed at the moment are mostly World War II era books. I don’t get very far at night before sleep beckons. I’m halfway through “You Must Remember This: The Filming of Casablanca.” I checked it out of the Jefferson Parish Library, one of my favorite places. “Casablanca” is one of my favorite movies.

The last book I finished was–ready for this?–Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice.” I know, I know, it’s a “woman’s book.” Here’s how it happened that I came to read it.

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