Pyromaniacs and Hope

I made a hospital visit to Demopolis the other day.  As I stepped out of the pickup, the aroma of blossoms of Barrett pear trees flooded the air.  Being the global minded, I was transported to a time long gone.  I could smell the burning of a field and I remember gathering sagebrush, setting it afire, and slowly scattering the fire around the field surrounded by wild plums in full blossom.  I could see daddy on the 8N Ford tractor straddling the fire, breaking the freshly burned field, and I could smell the heavenly scent of fresh dirt mixed with smoke rising from burned sage, weeds, and stubs of long gone crops.

Momma always worried that would catch ourselves on fire.  Did I ever tell you that momma was a worrywart and daddy did not worry about anything?  Well anyway, my brothers and I were pyromaniacs, burning fields, burning trash, burning wood, and burning rubber.  Burning rubber was fun until I bought that first set of tires.

The old timers burned off the woods each year to help control undergrowth and bugs.  I do not remember having trouble with pine beetles when we burned the woods.  All we had to watch was the smut.

We burned all the clippings, limbs, and brush we cleared.  It was fun to tell tales by the fire after dark.  Once again all we had to do was watch out for the smut.  You ain’t lived until you see yourself in the mirror after standing around a smutty fire or using pine tops putting out wood fires or field fires started by inexperienced pyrotechnical neighbors.

A fire is hypnotic.  It consumes, destroys, and eliminates where new growth can spring forth with new life.  Ain’t nuthin’ no prettier than new green sprouts shooting up in a smutty area.  It has an indescribable green hue.

When one burns a yard, field, or the woods, there is hope for new growth.  Life comes from that which was dead.  I think that is the reason the Resurrection was in the Spring.  That which was dead, comes forth living and vibrant.

As Ezekiel gazed upon a valley of dry bones God asked, “Son of man, can these bones live?”  Ezekiel answered, “O Lord God, thou knowest.”

I felt that way the first time I remember daddy burned the field.  Daddy knew it would produce a bountiful crop in due time.  Daddy gave me hope.  It reminds me of a story I used several years ago speaking on having hope.  It goes like this.

Several years ago, a teacher assigned to visit children in a large city hospital received a routine call requesting that she visit a particular child.  She took the boy’s name and room number and was told by the teacher on the other end of the line, “We’re studying nouns and adverbs in his class now.  I’d be grateful if you could help him in his homework so he doesn’t fall behind the others.” 

It wasn’t until the visiting teacher got inside the boy’s room that she realized it was located in the hospital’s burn unit.  No one prepared her to find a young boy horribly burned and in great pain.  She felt that she couldn’t just turn around and walk out, so she awkwardly stammered, “I’m the hospital teacher, and your teacher sent me to help you with your nouns and adverbs.” 

The next morning a nurse on the burn unit asked her, “What did you do to that boy?”  Before she could finish a profusion of apologies, the nurse interrupted her:  “You don’t understand.  We’ve been very worried about him, but ever since you were here yesterday, his whole attitude has changed.  He’s decided to live.” 

The boy later explained that he had completely given up hope until he saw that teacher.  It all changed when he came to a simple realization.  With joyful tears, he expressed it this way:  “They would not send a teacher to work on nouns and adverbs with a dying boy, would they?” 

Let’s celebrate hope in the Resurrection Jesus Christ our Lord!

So I prophesied as I was commanded: and as I prophesied, there was a noise, and behold a shaking, and the bones came together, bone to his bone.  And when I beheld, lo, the sinews and the flesh came up upon them, and the skin covered them above: but there was no breath in them.  Then said he unto me, Prophesy unto the wind, prophesy, son of man, and say to the wind, Thus saith the Lord God; Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.  So I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood up upon their feet, an exceeding great army (Ezekiel 37: 7-10 KJV).

"Like Rats Scurrying From A Corncrib Fire"

Charley was a shift supervisor at the cement plant.  He had this nervous energy.  He would have trouble being a supervisor now days considering all the labor laws, restrictions, and government policies protecting employees.  Charley was not a bad supervisor, but it is a very different working world today as opposed to the late 1970’s.

Charley was terrified of his boss, a man nicknamed “Killer.”  I thought Killer was short for Killingsworth, but word was it was because Killingsworth tried to commit suicide.

Charley transferred his fear of Killer to his crew.  When Killer wanted something done, Charley was a nervous wreck trying to push his crew.

 I remember one incident where we had bricked the burning zone of one of the cement kilns.  Killer was notorious for staying ahead of schedule for winter maintenance shutdowns.  He told Charley to have us light a fire in the kiln burner pipe to start curing the new brick as soon as maintenance pulled (closed) the hood of the kiln.  This process was burning natural gas and slow rotation of the kiln.

Well, the frantic Charley nervously pushed the kiln burner and his two oilers, one oiler being me, to light her up.  M C, the other oiler, and I tied a rag on a long metal rod, sprayed it with WD 40, lit it with a cigarette lighter, and shoved it in the kiln in front of the burner pipe. 

With the lighted rag in front of the burner pipe, the kiln burner opened the natural gas valve on a six-inch line.  That may not mean much, but for informational clarity, a six-inch gas line makes a loud blowing sound like a rocket taking off.  M C and I had liftoff.

Charley did not know that Killer and several laborers were under the burner pipe repairing the discharge hearth of the kiln.  M C and I watched as these men scrambled from the hearth like rats scurrying from a corn crib fire.  The door of the hearth was ten feet off the ground and one ladder.  Had it not been so serious, it would have been comical and Killer was fighting mad.  He had a right to be.  He, along with the other men, could have perished in a fire if there had been a back draught or excess gas in the kiln.  Lighting a kiln was always very dangerous.

Killer chewed on M C and me for a while.  We explained that were only following orders.  He wanted to know if we knew they were in the kiln.  We said we did but he gave the order to Charley and if he gave the order, and he was in the kiln, that he must have known that it was okay to light the fire or he would not have given Charley the order to light it.  M C and I never lit another kiln without being sure it had no one in it.  It was not unusual to work on the hearth when the kiln was lit, but it was lit when no one was in it, only afterwards.  M C and I felt sorry for Charley when Killer got on him.

Charley was a fine Christian man.  Older employees knew him before his conversation.  They said that when Charley accepted Christ as savior that the next week he brought a one-ton truckload of tools and equipment back to the plant.  He had taken shovels, wheelbarrows, air hoses, welding machines, and acetylene torches and hoses to name a few.

Charley lived a converted life.  Everyone in the plant knew it, especially Killer.  I never understood why Charley never stood up to Killer.  I always marveled at Charley’s testimony and confession of stealing the truckload of equipment from the plant.  To me that took courage to confess and even more courage to bring the stuff back, especially when they told him he did not have to bring it back.  That kind of courage could stand against Killer.

And Zacchaeus stood, and said unto the Lord; Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor; and if I have taken any thing from any man by false accusation, I restore him fourfold.  And Jesus said unto him, This day is salvation come to this house, forsomuch as he also is a son of Abraham (Luke 19:8-9 KJV)

"If You Can't Spell, How Do You Use A Dictionary?"

I want to squash a vicious rumor that has slowly circulating about me.  As with any rumor, it is hard to locate the source.  Rumors and gossip have a tendency to be bigger and better than reality.  Rumor has it that your Director of Missions is very intelligent or as some say, smart.  Well, It ain’t so.

Truth is you do not know what I do not know.  In the words of the great communicator and master of wit, Will Rogers, “It isn't what we don't know that gives us trouble, it's what we know that ain't so.”

My father-in-law once asked me why I was going to school, referring to seminary, for so long.  I responded by saying that when I was a young man, I thought I was pretty smart.  That was until I started classes at the University of Montevallo.  Once I started into the wonderful world of academia, I realized I did not know anything.  I told paw-in-law that the more I went to school the dumber I got.  Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “Knowledge is knowing that we cannot know.”

I know that I cannot spell.  I rely heavily on the dictionary, the thesaurus, and the spell check.  That reminds me of my friend Lamar from the university who talked really slow, but could spell anything.  He asked me how I spelled correctly.  I said, “I use the dictionary.”  With all of his Chilton County wit he asked, I might add very slowly, “How do you use a dictionary if you don’t know how to spell the word?”  I called Lamar a “Smart Aleck!”  What’s funny is I had to use Roget’s Thesaurus to look up “aleck” while writing this article because spell check could not understand what I was trying to say.

The thing is I appear to be more intelligent than I am.  I enjoy being with intellectual thinkers, theologians, and people of wisdom.  I listen more than I speak and act as if I know what they are discussing.  If I listen long enough, a familiar topic will pop up and I will chime into the conversation.  I remember one time in church they were talking about Communion.  I sat among these church folks and I was clueless.  I had visions of something from a hippie commune or something.  I kept my mouth shut long enough to realize they were talking about the Lord’s Supper.

I like what Christian motivational speaker Zig Ziglar says, “It's not what you've got, it's what you use that makes a difference.”  He also says, “Your attitude, not your aptitude, will determine your altitude.”  Confucius says, “Real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance.”

In Seminary, my friends would ask, “How in the world are you an English minor and cannot spell?”  I replied, “Very limited vocabulary.”  During lectures, I was continually asking my friends how to spell theological words and terms.  I remember the professor talking about “exegesis.”  I was clueless to what exegesis was and spelled it Xahjesus.  Hermeneutics was another one.  I spelled it hermahnudecks and was clueless to what it was.  Regardless of what Lamar says, I am glad I had a dictionary at home to look up these words.

I had a pastor friend call and ask me what I knew about “such and such ism” that was the new hot topic in scholarly thought.  Having no clue, I said, “I don’t know, what do you think?”  After a while, I figured out what he was referring and I told him my take on the subject.   Jewish scholar Mivchar Peninim says, “A wise man’s question is half the answer.”

It is always good to ask someone how to act and what to wear when attending special events.  Admitting that you do not know something is a very important step in the road to knowing something.  To know that you do not know is true knowledge.  Knowing when to say I don’t know is very librating.  I like Yogi Berra philosophy that says, “If you ask me anything I don’t know, I’m not going to answer.”

It reminds me of a statement from a sermon on Esther.  The preacher said, "It is important knowing what you do not know.  Esther was not afraid to ask for help when meeting the king." 

When the turn came for Esther (the girl Mordecai had adopted, the daughter of his uncle Abihail) to go to the king, she asked for nothing other than what Hegai, the king's eunuch who was in charge of the harem, suggested. And Esther won the favor of everyone who saw her (Esther 2:15 NIV).

"Be My Valentine?"

Do you remember your first Valentine card from your first love?  I remember exchanging Valentine cards and hoping to have a special note from that special little girl that I had a big crush.  She wrote in my Valentine, “Would you be my Valentine.”  Being the dummy I was I discovered that she had written that in every card she gave to the class.

Tucked away in my old Bibles are Valentine cards that my three children Andy, Angela, and Aaron have given me through the years.  I keep them and read them when they are angry with me.

Through the years I have been to many Valentine banquets.  Some have been very formal and many have been simple.  Some have been humorous and some have been serious.  There have been those with TV personalities and some with well-known preachers and church leaders.  There have been those where the menu included steak and potatoes, ham and potato salad, chicken and green beans and always a red velvet cake.

I have been the guest and I've been the host.  I have been the keynote speaker, one who served, and been the headwaiter.  I have been with my sweetheart, my wife, my daughter, and widows.

One church where I was pastor we planned a Valentine Banquet for the senior adults where our young people served and the adult ladies' class cooked.  I had been involved with many church banquets and had very few problems planning and hosting events.  But one would have thought I had asked the adult ladies to prepare for the Queen of England and all her entourage.

The adult ladies' teacher went ballistic.  She panicked saying that they could not cook for huge number of senior adults, all fifty of them.  All the adult ladies were great cooks and cooked for numerous Sunday dinners on the ground, but the teacher had a medulla oblongata malfunction, in other words, she went crazy.

She called a meeting after church one Sunday prior to the banquet, which several of the senior adults attended.  She fussed and fumed saying her class could not do such an undertaking.  I reminded her that the church was buying the food, the young people were serving, and I would help, but it was useless.  I could not understand her dilemma knowing that six ladies from a former, smaller, church I pastored fed members from six churches at a countywide Thanksgiving supper and had plenty of leftovers.  I felt embarrassed for the senior adults were hurt by her actions.  Thank God one of the class members who volunteered to do it.  Three volunteers cooked a feast fit for the Queen of England for the senior adults, whom many are now gone to be with the Lord.

At another church, we had just completed a new family life center.  I thought it would be wonderful to have a formal Valentine banquet for our youth, you know one where everybody dressed up.  This church was very casual in their attire.  In fact they were too casual.  They said the casual dress was not to offend unchurched people and those who rode the church van.  They did not want to “run them off.”

Right off the bat, I was confronted.  I received a lecture on the destitute status of many of our youth, how my expectations were too lofty, and my feelings too callous.  One would have thought I had asked them to dress in evening gowns and tuxedos for the presidential inaugural ball.

Knowing the spiritual immaturity of this member, I asked her if her daughter went to the prom, if she participated in beauty contests, or if she went to school dances.  She concurred that she did.  I asked her if she dressed for those events as she did for church.  She politely told me that her daughter did not.  I said that it is a shame that parents would spend hard-earned money for tuxedos and evening gowns for worldly events and would dress shabby when attending the house of God.

That was over a decade ago.  I agree with a pastor friend who said of people who lead in worship at large events now days.  He said it looks as if these people need a comb for their hair, a razor for their beards, and an iron for their clothes.

The Bible is our Valentine and worship is our banquet.  I want to dress as if meeting a king when I attend church, because Jesus is King of kings and Lord of lords.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life (John 3:16 KJV).

He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love (I John 4:8 KJV).

. . . for he is Lord of lords, and King of kings . . . (Revelation 17:14b KJV).

Lists

Are you a list person?  Most people are.  I went to the grocery store one time to buy a bell pepper.  I did not need a list to buy a pepper.  That bell pepper cost me over fifty dollars.  No, the pepper was not expensive.  They had a sale on steaks that were approaching their expiration date.  I bought them because they are better when they age.  Steaks go well with baked potatoes, so I bought some big baking potatoes.  Steaks taste good marinated in Dale’s Steak Sauce, so I bought a bottle to make sure I had some.  As I checked out, I told the cashier that the bell pepper sure cost me.  I should have made a list, but I still would have bought the steaks.

I quit trying to have a “to do” list.  As I started the list, I realized there were some other things that needed my attention.  I listed several things that I wanted to do that day and the day after.  I never got around to finishing my list for the day so I postponed them to the next day, which postponed my next day list.  Not being able to complete my list, I threw the list away.

Lists are important.  During my years at the University of Montevallo, lists were very prominent.  There were list of classes, lists of degrees, lists of grades, lists of scholarships, lists of job opportunities, lists of those graduating, lists of those who owed tuition, lists of those who were on academic probation, lists of books, lists of required reading, the dean’s list, and the president’s list.

There were lists at the cement plant such as work detail lists, work order lists, absentee lists, employee job lists, requirement lists, job awards lists, vacation lists, lunch menu lists.  If you were fortunate or unfortunate, you got on the boss man’s list.  That was not a good list.  He would give you a list of the worse jobs in the plant.  The plant had an employee list and an employee time card number list.  There were lists of job positions, daily job lists, preventive maintenance lists, and danger lists.

Lists remind me of the couple who were having trouble remembering.  Their family doctor told them they needed to make a list.  They did and it helped.  One night as they prepared for bed, the husband decided he wanted some ice cream.  He asked his wife if she would like some.  She said yes and asked if he would put chocolate syrup on it.  Knowing his forgetfulness, she asked if he needed to write it down.  He said no, that she wanted ice cream with chocolate syrup.

She then said could you put some whipped cream on it.  He said he would.  She asked again if he needed to write it down.  He said that she wanted ice cream with chocolate syrup and whipped cream.  She asked him to put some walnuts on the whipped cream.  She asked him if he needed to write it down.  He reluctantly repeated her list back, ice cream, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and walnuts. She then added one more item asking him to top it off with a cherry. 

“Do you need to write it down,” she asked.  He answered, “No, you want ice cream with chocolate syrup, whipped cream, walnuts, and a cherry on top.”  With that, he went to the kitchen.  Pans rattled, dishes clanged, and cabinet doors slammed.  After twenty minutes, the husband returned with a tray of scrambled eggs, bacon, and grits.  The wife was infuriated.  She said, “I told you to make a list, you forgot the buttered toast.”

Lists are important.  The Bible is full of lists.  When you read a list of “begats,” remember that each name has a story behind it.  Take time to read each one. 

And the days of Adam after he had begotten Seth were eight hundred years: and he begat sons and daughters. . .  And Methuselah lived after he begat Lamech seven hundred eighty and two years, and begat sons and daughters (Genesis 5: 4-27 KJV).

Speaking of the importance of names, God keeps lists.

He that overcometh, the same shall be clothed in white raiment; and I will not blot out his name out of the book of life, but I will confess his name before my Father, and before his angels (Revelation 3:5 KJV).

"I'm Not Making This Up"

The other day, just moments away from conducting a funeral, I talked with Mel one of the funeral home directors at Martin Funeral home in Clanton.  I have known Mel for a long time.  His dad is the probate judge up home.  Mel, his dad, and uncles run the funeral home in Clanton.  They are very professional, highly respected, and deeply compassionate.

Mel and I go way back to 1982 when I was counselor for the Chilton Baptist Associational Youth Camp at Cook Springs.  The camp is between Birmingham and Pell City.  I had a group of fourth grade boys, Mel being one of them.  I remember that week as if it were last week.  Mel had a problem with his upper lip.  At that time, he was a little shy, a little self-conscious, and somewhat, but not completely, withdrawn because of it.

Mel has transformed into an outgoing young man. Mel and his family do a wonderful job with funerals.

Mel, Rex Kent, former FBC Demopolis pastor, and I spent a moment reminiscing as members of the Oaks family spent time with people paying last respects to AC.  When I return to Chilton County for funerals, Mel and his uncles say to me, “This must be a big funeral when they have to call the ‘Big Gun’ in to perform the ceremony.”  Friends up home are proud of me, I think.  They always say, “I knew you would be a big preacher some day.”

Rex listened as Mel and I reminisced about camp, funerals, and being from Chilton County.  Mel told the story of funeral he did for a certain family in the Jemison area.  In fact, the family for which I reserve the right of confidentially was one I visited while pastoring my first church.  They were members of the community.

I will never forget my first visit.  I found an elderly woman in a wheelchair in one of the filthiest houses I have ever called on while visiting for the church.  When I visit, most hosts will ask me to forgive them for not having a clean house.  If they only knew how some houses look and smell, they would think their homes were fine.  All they need is to go on church visitation to realize the how bad things can get.

The house was at the end of an old red dirt road.  A flock of geese greeted me, and I had to dodge goose droppings along the way.  The house was surrounded with junk and trash.  A short man in a pair of worn and dirty overalls and sporting an old fedora greeted me.  He introduced himself and directed me inside.

As I entered the house, it reeked of foul odors.  The little man had a peculiar smell, but nothing like what I was about to experience.  In the house was a blend of aromas from gangrene, cat mess, human waste, dog feces, bird excrement, goose droppings, and a blend of urine.  Most of this was evident because it covered the 1960’s green shag carpet. Every piece of furniture had an oil film on it and the smell of Prince Albert tobacco on the man in the fedora was minute compared to the other aromas.

Now, I have a strong constitution as the old timers say, but as I tried to witness blowflies buzzed, the cats rubbed my leg, the dog panted in the heat, the birds fluttered in their cages, the summer heat sweltered, the geese squawked, and my stomach churned.  The longer I sat there, the more I felt the need to vomit.  I had to excuse myself by saying I needed something from my car and went outside to catch a breath of fresh air and try to keep my dinner down.

Going back outside was a trip of adventure also.  This trek was solo, no little man to hold back the geese.  Dogs don’t brother me, but geese do.  It is a phobia from childhood.  As I tried to get fresh air, the geese honked and squawked as they rushed toward me.  All I will admit is they will not do it again, I guarantee that.

I frequented the home while pastor in the community and it never got any better.  The family did not care or was so accustomed to the filth that it did not affect them.

Mel said that when the woman died, the funeral was unbelievable.  He said that the woman was filthy, the funeral procession hilarious, and funeral ceremony odd.

It seems that the only family for the funeral arrived in a worn out and broken-down motor home like that of Cousin Eddie in the Chevy Chase movie National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.  The family rode in it behind the hearse in the procession.  A large Confederate Flag waved in the wind on the rear of the motor home.

Since they had a preacher to conduct the funeral, they decided that they would kill two birds with one stone, no pun intended, and have a wedding.  That’s right.  They asked the preacher while they had all the family, the church, the license, and him to conduct a wedding.  They left the church in a decorated motor home.  I am not making this up.  There is no way to make up a story like this.

You must remember; two pastors and a funeral home director discussed this just moments before praying with a family and conducting a funeral.

Ministry is multifaceted.  For most pastors, weddings and funerals are the most stressful. I can only imagine doing them together.

Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me (Matthew 25:34-36 KJV).

I wish there was a line that said, I was filthy, and ye visited me.

Give that Old Time Rock and Roll

As a minister people assume that Gospel music is my favorite.  I love to sing old hymns, I enjoy listening to Southern Gospel and I think there is not anything more beautiful to hear than a ladies ensemble or men's choir.  Some contemporary Christian music is okay.  I look for sound doctrine and theological truths.  The chorus I Exalt Thee and Ray Boltz’s Thank You have some of the best praise words ever written.

I enjoy all kinds of music, but much I can live without listening. I tell people all the time that music died after 1969.  Hank Williams’ I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry and Calijah are two country songs I like. Elvis’ Don’t Be Cruel is another favorite.  My personal favorite music has to be Rock and Roll oldies. 

I remember living in Beloit, Illinois from 1957-1960.  My sister and I had a room on the second floor of an apartment in which we lived.  From our windows, we watched and listened as the teenagers played 45 rpm records.

The teenagers blocked the drive, lined up tables with record players, and piled what seemed to be hundreds of records.  Bill Haley’s See Later Alligator, After While Crocodile was one that they played over and over.

Dressed in poodle dresses, bobbie socks, and black and white saddle oxfords girls would dance with their boyfriends for hours.  The boys wore their hair slicked back in ducktails, white T-shirts, blue jeans with a rolled cuffs, and black and white saddle oxfords.  These impressed this six-year old boy and his four-year old sister.

As these teenagers graduated and new songs appeared, my sister and I were lucky recipients of many of those 45 rpm records.  We played them over and over.  Only a few exist today.

As a teenager one of my favorite songs was Dion’s A Teenager in Love.  I love listening to it now.  Now you know why people me a hopeless romantic.  During these years, radio stations had stopped playing the music of the fifties and early sixties and were playing songs by groups named for insects and the hard rock bands of the late sixties and early seventies.

History teaches that the invasion of these foreign insect music groups introduced the drug culture to the United States.  Many of the love songs gave way to antiwar and protest songs. 

Coupled with strong rhythm beats and creative musical instruments, we forget the message a song conveys.  Many radio stations due to what it suggested banned the Everly Brothers song, Wake Up Little Suzie.  That is tame compared to the lyrics of some of today’s music.

Our minds are remarkable recording devices.  Our children sang Bill and Gloria Gaiter’s song that said, “Input, Output, What Goes In Is What Comes Out.”  That is why my Oldies are more nostalgic than anything.  They remind of the time that I almost became a Yankee and time of innocence long ago and far away.

Each Sunday as Lisa and I visit the wonderful churches of Hale County Baptist Association, we sing the songs from Baptist and Broadman Hymnals, Stamps-Baxter’s, Inspiration Hymnal # 12, and the many praise songs and choruses. These songs remind me of the wonderful Victory in Jesus on The Old Rugged Cross God’s demonstration of Amazing Grace. 

When we have been there ten thousand years, we will have just begun singing the new songs of heaven.  Gone will be Rock of Ages and When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder.

And they sung a new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book, and to open the seals thereof: for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation. . .Revelation 5:9