Some 25 percent of locals are planning to leave this area, a new poll shows. Or, to turn that depressing statistic around, 75 percent who responded to a survey last month say they plan to stay in the area permanently. Of that number, 47 percent however admitted they are not hopeful about the future of the New Orleans region.

According to Thursday’s Times-Picayune, that poll was conducted on behalf of the Council on Alcohol and Drug Abuse for Greater New Orleans. CADA takes an annual community survey of attitudes on matters related to underage drinking and substance abuse. A year ago, the organization added other questions in order to discover attitudes about life here since Katrina.

John King, executive director of CADA, said those who responded to the poll from St. Bernard Parish have a more negative view than other parishes. The telephone poll queried 608 people in the metro area between March 20 and April 3. Fully one third of St. Bernardians say they plan to leave. Once you move into Orleans and Jefferson parishes, the percentage drops to 16, or about one in eight.

Sixty percent of those interviewed said they feel the area is more dangerous now than before Katrina. Again, the numbers are higher in St. Bernard, with 78 percent saying so. But even in Orleans and Jefferson, more than one-half agree.

More to the point for CADA’s purposes, the interviewees were asked if a family member is showing signs of emotional distress due to Katrina and its aftermath. In St. Bernard, 88 percent said yes. The percentage in Orleans is 48 and 46 in Jefferson. This stress is producing a higher rate of divorces, suicides, and incidents of domestic violence, King said. On television Wednesday night, John King pointed out that most of the city’s psychiatrists and psychologists and other workers in the alcohol-and-drug-abuse field did not return to the city after Katrina but moved their practices away.

So the problems are more severe and the health workers scarcer. Anyone see a pattern developing here?

Not sure if this is good news or what, but the father of one of our ministers has won the lottery in Tennessee. He won it to the tune of $2 million, according to the report we received. No one asked, but I think we might want to pray for him, too.

A PRAYER FOR THE VIRGINIA TECH COMMUNITY

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We can always count on our Norco friends Rudy and Rose French for a thought-provoking contribution to the Wednesday pastors meeting. Since they have just returned from visiting family members living in Bangkok, Thailand, we invited them to report. The highlight for Rose was sitting “on the nose” of an elephant, which picked her up and deposited her on top just like you see in the movies. The down point, they reported, was discovering some family members are planning a divorce. That’s always bad news. Rudy continued….

“I realized that I have been unhappy lately. For a lot of reasons that I thought were important. But in Thailand, everyone was so happy, even the poorest of people, some of whom had no legs or were blind. I was really struck by that. So I decided to make a list of the reasons for my unhappiness. I filled up a couple of pages, and then looked at it and thought, ‘Everything here is stupid.’ So I tore it up and threw it away. And I decided I would be happy. I certainly have plenty of reasons to rejoice.”

Rudy continued, “I used to own an English bulldog. That was the most wonderful dog. As he got older, he developed cataracts on his eyes, and when he went in for surgery to have them removed, he had a heart attack and died. Ten years later, I still miss him. But I’ve thought, ‘I’d like to have another English bulldog.’ Now, they are expensive, so I told my family, ‘Count this as my birthdays and Christmases for the next five years, but that’s what I want.'”

Rudy now has his English bulldog puppy. “The cutest little thing you have ever seen,” he said. “And now, I look around and count all the reasons I have to be happy: I have a wonderful wife and a terrific little puppy.” Everyone laughed. Rudy admitted that people who own those bulldogs usually look just like them; we’ll be keeping an eye on him.

Later, when Joe Williams was sharing about the “coping with life’s challenges” conferences he holds for churches still coping with post-Katrina existence, he said, “I can do these with any size group–even down to one person.” Two people called out, “Rudy!”

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1) Tony Merida has resigned as pastor of the First Baptist Church of Kenner to become Dean of the Chapel and Professor of Preaching at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. This is the position last held by Tony’s mentor, Dr. Jim Shaddix who now pastors Riverside Baptist Church in Denver. Everyone loves Tony and Kim and is saddened by their leaving the church, except–as was the case when we resigned 3 years ago–they’re not actually leaving. At the moment, they plan to keep their membership in the church. My family is delighted for a lot of reasons, among them the fact that Kim teaches piano to my grandchildren. She also plays for the worship services and is as wonderful a singer as you’ll ever hear. Also a good Bible teacher. Talk about a preacher out-marrying himself; that’s our Tony.

When Tony stands in the pulpit and opens the Word, he’s as good as they come. He’ll be a wonderful role model and teacher for the next generation of preachers.

2) “Safe at Home” has been canceled. Or at least postponed for a year. This evangelistic outreach of the Scott Dawson Evangelistic Association seems to be a great idea which did not connect with our people at this particular time. The plan was to buy out all the tickets for the May 20 baseball game in which our Triple-A New Orleans Zephyrs would be playing, to print up thousands of vouchers and give to our church people to distribute to their friends, vouchers which would be redeemed for actual tickets (and thus a seat) at the stadium. After the game, the Dawson team would bring a platform onto the field and present a musical program, after which Scott himself would present the gospel.

In all the preliminary meetings with pastors trying to generate interest and participants and local leadership, it would appear that locals were polite and interested but not to the point of “taking the ball and running with it,” as the expression goes.

A 45-minute conference call today, Tuesday, involved a number of local ministers and the Dawson team, and at the end it was decided to call off the event.

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Throughout Scripture, God’s favorite invitation was always, “Come and see.” Can any good thing come out of Nazareth? Come and see. Come see a man who told me everything I ever did. Come unto me.

Over a year ago, Dennis Weems was comfortably residing in California. He knew of the devastation Katrina had wrought on this part of the world and had thought of coming this way to help. One Sunday he was visiting Immanuel Baptist Church in Highland, CA, and heard of the church’s plans to bring a construction crew to New Orleans. He joined them. And never left.

Pastor Jeff Box of Suburban Baptist Church said, “He came in April of 2006 and has been here ever since.” His arms swept over the new sanctuary which was being dedicated this morning and he said, “Dennis Weems designed everything you see before you today.”

Now, I’ve been going to a lot of church dedications and rededications lately. But I have to say, this is the most beautiful rebuilding I’ve ever seen. In the courtyard, the walkways are large flat stones spaced appropriately and greenery is everywhere. “Who did this?” I asked Jeff. “Dennis Weems.”

“So, how did this happen?” I asked Mr. Weems. He told how he had come down with the Highland group, planning to stay one week. “We were redoing a pastor’s home. There was so much work to do, I decided to stay another week or two. Then Pastor Jeff asked me to look at Suburban Church with him.”

They had walked around the hurricane damaged buildings, structures that Jeff had wept over and which he had privately decided would have to be torn down. When he met Dennis Weems and learned of his expertise in construction, he asked him to walk around the building with him. “What do you think?” Jeff asked. “Tear it down?”

Mr. Weems said, “Five or six contractors had turned Pastor Jeff down. They all thought it was a total loss.”

One year later, Suburban Baptist Church is a miracle. A lighthouse in New Orleans East. A lovely oasis in the midst of a depressing stretch of highway.

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Whoever said “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words don’t bother me” was not living in the real world. Words have incredible power to cut and hurt or bless and heal. It’s not only the Word of the Lord which is a “two-edged sword,” but everyone’s words have the power to stab and to heal.

Take Don Imus. He’s not doing anything now, so he’s available if you want to take him.

The paper says this shock-radio talk-show host did so much good for children. When he “opened mouth and inserted foot” the other morning, he was in the middle of a fund-raising thing for children. He’s built a ranch out west and brings inner-city children there to experience a different kind of life. But he brought all that good work to an abrupt halt the other morning when he off-handedly referred to the women of the Rutger’s University basketball team as “nappy-headed hos.”

I was never a big fan of Imus, even though we picked him up locally on the MSNBC channel and I tuned in occasionally. Some people must like him but I could never figure why. I will never forget a banquet he spoke before some 10 or 15 years before–seems like it was during the Clinton presidency–in which he was filthily crude and vulgar and offensive before the president, his family, his staff, congressional leaders, and the press. It was a disaster of the first magnitude. What I could never figure out was why anyone thought this guy was something special.

Forget Don Imus. The question that ought to be asked is what it says about this country that he was tolerated for all these years, with sponsors paying big bucks for him to do what he did.

Anyway. All of that was to lead up to the New Orleans situation.

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Our churches are getting stronger. Wednesday at our weekly pastors’ meeting, several leaders gave reports of people coming to know Christ in Sunday’s services and several told of baptizing last Sunday.

Our churches remind me of a boxer getting up off the mat after an eight-count. He was knocked down and almost out, but not quite. Maybe it took a splash of cold water in the face to clear his head, but he’s back on his feet now, so to speak, and ready for action.

Oh sure, many of our churches are still meeting in someone else’s church building or in their renovated fellowship hall, but they’re meeting. Over ninety of them are meeting on Sunday in regular services. The gospel is being proclaimed. The lighthouses are shining forth.

Some of our newly renovated and recently rededicated churches are now focusing on having an open house for their communities. The idea is to get the neighbors to come celebrate with them the return of this vital force in the area. And to make some more friends in the neighborhood.

Before the hurricane landed its haymaker in late August of 2005, some of our churches were focused inwardly and doing little or nothing in the community. They would not have used these words, but the prevailing attitude seemed to be, “Well, they know we’re here. If they want the Gospel, they will come.” Which is of course the worst theology on the planet, and light years from what our Savior commanded.

Now, we’re getting into the community.

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David Vise of Idaho Falls, Idaho, sent a note. God is calling this student minister into the pastorate. He reminds me of the time I led him to Christ, and then the 1976 Adrian Rogers revival in our church (the FBC of Columbus, MS) when he was called into the ministry. He and Tammy finished seminary in Fort Worth and led the student ministry in several churches before landing in Idaho. And now, in his mid 40s, he will become a pastor. Some church is going to be so blessed.

Word came from that same Mississippi church of the death of Scott Neaves. This young man fought muscular dystrophy for many, many years and has left an incredible testimony for Christ. I talked with his parents in Columbus tonight (Tuesday) and said, “Mississippi State has lost a great fan.” Robert (his dad) said, “He’d already bought his tickets for the upcoming season.” I told Dee (his mom) of a lasting memory I will carry to my grave. When I started telling it, she said, “I know. I will never forget that.”

Bryan Harris was our youth minister–there was never a better one; he now pastors in Vallejo, California–and the youth were going to present a drama in the evening church service. They had turned the lights out in the sanctuary as the kids slipped into their places. Because of Scott’s infirmity and the cumbersomeness of his wheel chair, some of the youth would carry him into the room and slip him into his chair. So, the lights are out, we hear the youth softly walking in, and then, someone hit the spotlight too soon. It stayed on for perhaps a full second, then was shut off. But while it was on, we saw something we will never forget: the young person playing Jesus was standing in front center holding Scott Neaves in his arms, just exactly as we expect the wonderful Lord is doing at this very moment.

My buddy Harry pastors an English-speaking international church in the Far East. Some of the Lord’s workers in that part of the work prefer that their last names and locations not be given out, so you’ll understand that I’m using only his first name. He emails a weekly news update to his friends and supporters in the States, and I’m constantly being amazed at the cultural differences he’s now having to deal with. The weather forecasters are a big concern, for example.

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Pastor Mickey Crane told the Easter worshipers about my Dad’s 95th birthday coming up this Friday, the 13th of April. “That’s a big thing,” he said. “But don’t worry,” he smiled, “most of you are not going to live that long.”

Actually, living this long has been a surprise to both my parents. Mom turns 91 in July and so far holds the longevity record in her large family, of whom she has only two siblings left. “We never thought about it,” she says. And with Dad’s taking retirement on disability back in 1961, I assure you he never thought about living this long either. No one would have given him a chance.

I spent the Easter weekend with Mom and Dad, driving up Friday and back to New Orleans Sunday evening after filling the pulpit at the family church (New Oak Grove Free Will Baptist at Nauvoo, Alabama) Sunday morning. On the way home, I began reflecting on what life is like for them now that they’re in their nineties. Their circumstance is probably the same story for a lot of others in their age group.

Each day is pretty much the same. You don’t feel like going anywhere, and even the occasional trip to the doctor is a big deal. So you stay at home. It’s the only place you want to be.

You know all your doctors, nurses, and druggists as intimately as you do family members. In their case, the home health nurse arrives on a published schedule and Mom usually has lunch waiting on her. With the excellent health insurance they carry through Dad’s lifelong involvement with the United Mine Workers of America, their co-pay at the druggist is a whopping 10 cents. Whatever frustrations they have in their lives, my parents have no complaint about their medical insurance, and we’re blessed by that.

The arrival of the newspaper and the morning mail are the high points of your day. And on those days when the mail carrier zooms past without stopping, you feel a little cheated. “Did she forget us?”

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I wonder if I’m the only one with this problem.

Take Thursday morning, for example. I was wide awake at 5:15, got dressed and studied several chapters of the Old Testament book of Esther. I’m slowly working my way through the entire Bible, rethinking these wonderful scriptures I first met in the late 1940s, and writing in the margins for the grandchild who will eventually inherit this copy. (With eight grandchildren, I study and preach from eight Bibles; eventually, each will own Grandpa’s Bible.)

Then, I turned on the television and with the sound muted, watched the weather forecast while doing 15 minutes of a stretching-and-weights routine I put together years ago. It was cold outside, so I bundled up and grabbed my water bottle and headed out the door for the river levee where I walked three miles and talked to the Lord. It was 7 o’clock when I returned. I turned on the coffee, took my bath, and got dressed. My wife awakened, I brought her a cup of coffee and we chatted. I had breakfast and read the paper, then a phone call occupied 15 or 20 minutes. I thought of a message to put on my website; a pleasant chore which I can never do in less than half an hour.

The time now was 9 am and I was just leaving the house.

The drive to my office across New Orleans’ morning traffic takes 45 minutes. All the way, I kept thinking, “I’m late to the office. What will people think?”

Wonder if I’m the only one with this problem.

In a real sense, I had been on duty since 5:15. Reading the Bible and praying, exercising and walking, eating a good breakfast and reading the morning paper, and then counseling by phone and writing by computer–all these are as much my responsibility as a minister of the gospel as any task that will come up in the course of what we think of as “working hours.”

“Be on guard for yourself,” the Apostle Paul instructed the pastors of Ephesus in Acts 20:28, and then “for all the flock among whom the Holy Spirit has made you overseers.” First, take care of yourself. Fail to do that and you’ll not be caring for anyone. Then and only then, take care of the flock.

Pastors generally do not have a taskmaster breathing down their necks, timing their arrival and departure from the office, checking off their chores, making sure they get their work done. In my work with the hundred or so Southern Baptist churches of metro New Orleans, I most certainly do not have one, for which I am grateful. However.

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One of my favorite verses on the death/burial/resurrection of Jesus is Acts 26:26. Easy to remember that way–26:26. Paul is on trial yet again, this time before King Agrippa and Governor Festus. He gives his testimony, telling why he’s living the very life he once fought against, and then transitions into the message which he now preaches. Good strategy. Like a modern candidate who gets asked one question but quickly moves into the message he wants people to hear.

Paul says, “I started preaching this message to those at Damascus, then to Jerusalem and Judea, and then to anyone who would listen, even the Gentiles. I told them they should repent and turn to God. That’s been my message. So why am I on trial? Good question. I’m being tried for preaching nothing but the very things which Moses and the prophets predicted. And what was that? That the Messiah (Christ) would suffer and rise from the dead, and that He would be the first to proclaim light to Jews and Gentiles.”

At this point, Festus interrupted. “Paul, you are completely insane. You have overtaxed your brain with all that learning”–no one ever accused the Apostle Paul of being ignorant, although many of his later defenders qualify in that regard–“and you have completely lost it.”

Paul answered, “I am most definitely not out of my mind, most excellent Festus. I’m simply preaching the truth. King Agrippa knows. He has been observing these things all along. Nothing has escaped his notice. Because….”

And here it comes.

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