As a child of the Depression, Jim Lancaster was poorer than most of us can imagine. When a church in his neighborhood announced they were having a vacation Bible school for two weeks, and at the end, each child would receive a free popsicle, Jim determined to attend. He had never actually tasted a popsicle, but he had seen them, and in 1930s Florida, anything cold and refreshing was a welcome treat.

Little Jim did not miss a day. Then, on the last day, the worker gave the children God’s plan of salvation. “You can be saved,” she said, “by praying and asking Jesus to forgive you of your sins and come into your heart.” She added, “If you want to do this, get up right now and come with me now. However, you will not get a popsicle.”

Out of over 200 children, two boys came forward, Jim being one of them. Years later, both of those boys became preachers of the Gospel.

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Barry is the treasurer of his church. A few days ago, he sat in my office and told me of the financial trouble his church had found itself in. They are running some thirty thousand dollars behind their million dollar budget. I said, “Do you have unpaid bills?” “No,” he said. I said, “And your church is without a pastor?” “Right.” I said, “Friend, you don’t have a financial crisis. Your church is doing just fine. Besides, you’re going to get a new leader. The offerings will go up once he arrives and begins his ministry. Stop worrying.”

On the other hand, a new pastor told how his church is not responding to his sermons on stewardship. “In fact,” he said, “the Sunday after I preached on giving, the offerings actually went down. I’ve been in the pastorate a long time, but never had that happen.”

I said, “I think I know what happened.” He was all ears. I said, “Not all churches are alike. Some have members with deep pockets. When the church gets behind financially, the pastor brings it to their attention, and they bring in the money, and the crisis ends. However, I’ve known your church for many years. You don’t have wealthy people. So, they’re not going to be able to respond immediately to your stewardship lessons. But just stay the course. Keep telling them. They’ll come through.”

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My friend Windy Rich had had a demanding week. When he arrived at church that Sunday morning, the associate pastor met him at the door and asked him to read a passage of Scripture in the worship service. Windy scanned it hastily, then, assured that he knew it, walked to the pulpit and intoned, “He that humbleth himself shall be exhausted.”

I’ve been thinking about fatigue lately. Not enough to exhaust me, you understand, but still…

What started it was finding an old journal and going over some notes on one of the busiest days of a long pastorate. It went something like this…

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Something happened to me today that brings back the absolutely most painful memory in my 42 years of pastoring churches.

That morning a long time ago, the phone rang at 4 a.m. Instantly awake, I grabbed it and heard a local doctor’s wife say, “Joe, Carlos just called from the hospital. He said, ‘Honey, pray for me. I’ve lost Rebecca’s baby and I’m losing Rebecca.'” I said, “I’m on my way.”

Rebecca’s husband Arlen was the lone tenant of the waiting room. He was pacing, crying, praying. We hugged and prayed and I sat down with him to wait and share his suffering.

Arlen and Rebecca had easily been the most popular junior high school teachers in our town, until he quit to take a job with a local plant in order to earn a better living for his family. Rebecca stayed home and started having babies. This would be their third child. The others, perhaps 2 and 4, were the most beautiful little girls anyone had ever seen.

For some reason, Rebecca had had a premonition about this birth. Even though the pregnancy seemed normal in every respect, she told Dr. Carlos, “When I go into the hospital to have this baby, I want you to stay with me until it’s over. Do not leave the hospital.” He gave her his word and kept it.

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32 cartoons to illustrate the “2005 Winter Bible Study” for Southern Baptists. These are free for your use in teaching (for use with ‘powerpoint’, overhead projectors, etc), but there is a small charge for magazines and books wishing to use them. for info.

If I were the devil and wanted to damage the cause of Jesus Christ on earth, I would set myself to dividing Christians–separating believers from their congregations and erecting barriers between churches. Make them all independent. Convince them they don’t need others, that they are able to go it alone. Sow seeds of mistrust, play on their fears that they lose something when they cooperate.

If I were the devil and wanted to separate believers, I could chalk it up as ‘done’ and go on home. We are separate already. But the devil did not do it; we did this to ourselves.

We prize our independence. We prefer the solitary life. No one tells me what to do. I am in control. I don’t like the give and take of working with others. This way there’s no yielding, no submission, no humbling before others because there are no others in our little world. Each of us becomes a cosmos unto ourselves.

I am immensely burdened for weak Christians and weak churches I see all around.

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The other morning as I was dressing for work, an old 1940s movie was showing on the classics channel. Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck were meeting on the sly in the local grocery store, standing near a display of cereal, pretending to be shopping while carrying on their illicit conversation. What struck me about that was the cigarette smoke that could be seen curling up from off screen, presumably from their hands, toward their faces.

It occurred to me that I cannot remember the last time I’ve seen someone smoking in a store. I love the change.

Not long after I came to the New Orleans area as pastor in 1990, Ochsner Hospital began posting signs announcing that “this is a smoke-free zone.” I thought how strange to have no one smoking anywhere inside the hospital.

These days, no hospital allows smoking inside its buildings. The very idea is repugnant to us.

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If I heard it once while watching the Olympics, I must have heard it a dozen times. The champion runner from Jamaica, the one so admired and feared by our best runners, is actually a student at the University of South Carolina. The Puerto Rican basketballer who led his team to dominate the USA Dream Team in the first game–his name is Arroyo–actually plays for the Denver Nuggets. The giant who led in China’s athletes during the opening ceremonies plays for the Houston Rockets. Another nation’s champion will be a senior at LSU this year. And so on. Again and again.

The old categories just aren’t holding like they used to. Borders and nationalities mean less and less. And did you notice that you cannot tell who is American by their names? Our people–and our names–come from all over the planet.

I recall when purchasers of automobiles were urged to “buy American” to save jobs here at home. There is a reason we don’t hear that any more. First, the plants assembling “American” cars began using parts manufactured all over the world and brought together at a plant somewhere in the states. Then, foreign countries began relocating their automobile plants to the states. Nissan, Mercedes, Toyota and others have built billion dollar plants in states not far from where I live.

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To Jesus, everything revolved around obedience. In His relationship with the Father, obedience was all: “I do always do the things that please Him.” (John 8:29) As for us, it’s the same: “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord’ and do not do the things I tell you?” (Luke 6:46)

What started me thinking about that is something my friend Shane told us the other night. I was preaching for four days at a church in Booneville, Mississippi, and Shane–minister of youth at a church in the next town–came over to sing on Monday night. Just before the song, he told the congregation what happened to him the previous Friday.

“It was my day to do the hospitals,” he said, “which means I had to drive to Memphis. On the way home, I drove past the airport there, and something happened. The Lord called my mind to that sack of tracts (booklets that tell how to know Jesus as Savior) in my truck, and impressed on me that I should go into the airport and hand them out to travelers. So, I parked my truck and went inside.

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