My Friend Emmitt

 Football championships are a tradition for southwest Alabama.  I remember braving the cold night at the Hoover Met as that afternoon Sweet Water won the 1A championship and Demopolis won the 4A championship that night.  Championship football is a way of life for the people of Alabama.  Either Alabama or Auburn could pay for the BCS Championship.  Auburn sits at #1 and this year’s Iron Bowl could be the biggest ever.  The winner could take it all.

My alma mater, Jemison High School, played in the first ever Alabama High State Playoffs in 1967 representing class 2A.  I was a freshman and played two plays all season.  We lost to Lamar County 46-7 and finished second.

Several years ago, Jemison returned Legion Field for the 4A Championship against Deshler of Decatur, Deshler, as Demopolis and Sweet Water, content for the championship annually.  Thinking back on that cold night, I remember Emmitt, a good friend, classmate, and co-worker road to Legion Field with me.

Six years my senior, Emmitt had infectious personality, but he had several character flaws as well.  I remember him being a ferocious fighter, but he would never finish a fight allowing his opponent too many opportunities to win.  He liked to drink beer, had a tenacity to cuss, and loved football even though he never played that much.

Emmitt was a good and intelligent worker.  He always did a good job and the supervisors knew they could depend on him.  He was one of the utility men used to re-brick the cement kilns, which was a very tedious and vital job for the process of making cement.

Some of the men at the plant thought it unusual that Emmitt and I would go to the championship together knowing Emmitt’s lifestyle and mine.  One time Emmitt came to work with two black eyes and a broke nose.  When the guys inquired of his condition, he said that his wife’s ex husband put a 38-caliber pistol between his eyes and threatened to “blow him away.”  Instead, he slapped him across the nose with the pistol.  Emmitt and his wife’s ex were usually cordial until they got to drinking and fighting.  Remember, Emmitt had a tenacity to allow his opponent an opportunity to over power him.  That was the case here.

Emmitt and I had been friends forever, had mutual kin, and his wife was a classmate of mine.  I had witnessed to Emmitt on numerous occasions.  He always listened.  That is why the trip to Legion Field was so important.  His answer to my inquires were almost the same each time.  He would say, “I want to live like I want until I get about fifty years old.  Then, I will get saved and live for the Lord.”  I think there a bunch of folks that have that attitude.  There is a major flaw to this reasoning.  The Spirit of God will not always strive with man.

Emmitt and I had a great time at Legion Field.  He did not drink, smoke, or cuss when he was with me.  He did respect me as his friend and my office as pastor.  Jemison once again fell short of the championship coming in second to Deshler.  Emmitt fell short of becoming a believer.

One day while visiting The Clanton Advertiser website obits, I saw where my friend Emmitt died with cancer.  He was well past fifty and as far as I know never accepted Christ.  I remember the last time I saw him.  It was at his uncle’s funeral.  He was about fifty-four years old.  I reminded him of his words about being saved when he turned fifty.  He relied, “One of these days.”  I reminded him that I thought God was giving him another opportunity because of the occasion of the funeral.  He wanted to put it off again.

My heart broke as I read the obituary.  Cancer is such a terrible disease.  When I think about people dying in that horrible condition, I cannot see how they do it without the strength of God giving them peace and mercy.

Championships are temporary, no one remembers who is second, unless it is one who has fallen short.  Then again, all of us have fallen short.  The Spirit of God will not always strive with man.  Do not be an Emmitt.

And the Lord said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, for that he also is flesh: yet his days shall be an hundred and twenty years. (Genesis 6:3 KVJ)

"Sin of Poverty"

One day several years ago I was recovering from an intense workout at rehab after total knee replacement by sitting in the car in the Demopolis, Alabama Wal Mart parking lot.  I told my chauffeur that I would wait while she went in for a few things.  Now all you know that if you go to town, Wal Mart calls you to it like a bug zapper attracts insects.

The parking lot had more cars than normal.  My friend reminded me that it was the fifteenth of month, government checks.  She ought to know, she delivered them for a quarter century with the United States Post Office.

All that I saw intrigued me.  I am a people watcher and I observed people getting out their vehicle and sashaying into the land of bargains.  Folks were in raggedy old trucks, red mud covered Tahoes, nasty rice burners (Hondas, Toyotas, Nissans), BMW’s, and Mercedes.  There were big people, extra-large folks, short people, and tiny folks all coming and going.

I watched a customer gather buggies and return them to the proper place. Other folks, removing junk from their buggies, left them in empty parking spaces, where arriving customers would have to move them to park.  Some folks just have a knack for sorriness

I had the windows and moon roof open enjoying the smell of spring, only to have it ruined with the nasty smell of a cigarette.  I watched as the lady puffed and blew that blue nicotine toxic cloud my way.  She, along with all the other smokers deposited their nasty cigarette butts on the pavement at the Wal Mart entrance.  People can be so inconsiderate.

We experienced the same inconsideration at the monthly distribution of food for low-income folks at the Bethel Baptist Building Annex each month.  Pam, the Associational secretary and I had to make and post signs reminding the folks that it is a no smoking area.  One day I told a man it was no smoking.  He said he did not know it was no smoking.  I asked if he smoked at his church.  He said no.  I asked could he smoke on school property.  He said no.  I reminded him that he was on church owned property and parked his car on school property.  NO SMOKING.

What amazes me is the fact that people receiving this low-income food have money to waste on junk.  My experience living below the poverty level, according to the IRS, for four years while attending the University of Montevallo, my wife, the kids, and I lived on bare essentials.  There were no vacations, no ball games tickets, no new clothes, just what we needed. 

I am reminded of a devotional about the “sin of poverty.”  It is the dialogue between Jesus and the rich young ruler.  Jesus told him to sell all he had and to give the money to the poor.  He lacked faith.  Most of us are aware of the sin of riches, but what about poverty?

Poverty also can block faith.  People use being poor as an excuse.  Most of us find it difficult to give food to a person with a cigarette dangling from their mouth, the smell of liquor on their breath, marijuana in their pocket, a designer purse on the shoulder, and sporting a new Mercedes.

I decided to do a word study on poor.  The Bible is full of references to the poor.  Jesus said that the poor would always be around and to help them, Deuteronomy 15:7-8.  The tricky part is how to help.

What I learned was that being poor is about attitude.  Heck, some the richest people in Marengo County are poor when compared to Donald Trump.  I know growing up we did not think of our family being poor, is just those folks in Jemison were rich because they had a lot of new stuff.

If we are not careful, we can foster an attitude in the poor of expecting handouts.  I remember in economics class at the University of Montevallo the Chinese proverb:  Give a man fish you feed him today, teach a man how to fish and feed him tomorrow.

I also remember the University had a partnership with Guatemala.  During one of the exchanges, a delegation from Guatemala wanted to see the poor of Montevallo.  They took them to a rundown area.  The Guatemalans said, “No, show us you are poor.”  They were carried to a place where there were a few shanties.  Once again, “No, show us you’re poor.”  Finally, they showed them a rundown old shack.  They were amazed and said, “Everyone here is so rich.”

What about the sin of poverty?  I have concluded that people are poor by birth, by choice, and by uncontrollable forces.  Think about it.  One cannot control what family they were born, what conditions they face, and what calamities that will come. 

My late friend Jim Baker said that he went from being wealthy to pauper overnight in the soybean business when President Jimmy Carter imposed the grain embargo on Russia in the late 1970’s.

The sin of poverty must be a choice (Proverbs 10:4, 21:17).  The rich young ruler had to decide to stay rich, or trust God.  The flipside is the poor, to stay poor or trust God (Psalms 69:33; Proverbs 13:7, 19:1; Matthew 5:3; and James 2:5).

Two things stand out in God’s Word about the poor.  God has always been on the side of the poor, not just any poor, but those who were poor with material things, but rich in faith.  The church’s duty is defend the poor and preach the Good News/Gospel to them.

 

Blessed is he that considereth the poor: the Lord will deliver him in time of trouble (Psalm 41:1 KJV).

 

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor (Luke 4:18a KJV).

 

Lest I forget Calvary, “For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though He was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through His poverty might be rich” (II Corinthians 8:9 KJV).

Dad, Willy, and Me

Dad died on April 27, 1984, around four in the morning.  I had been up all night with him and held his hand as he drew his last breath.  Moments before that final breath, I woke mamma, my sister, and baby brother where they could spend those last precious moments with dad.  They were skeptical at first.  We had several close calls with him that final week.  I finally convinced them that the nurse had assured me that he was dying.  The nurse and I had watched his breathing move from the stomach area to his throat.  She said when it got there death was close.

The week began with Easter on April 22.  Dad was at home.  I do not remember what we did that Sunday, but I am sure we tried to make it a great day knowing that he had lived two years longer than the doctors’ first prognosis with his brain tumors and consequential surgery.

Dad did not care for Easter, especially before and even after his salvation.  Dad had something we don’t see much of now days.  Raised by Christian single mom, his dad committed suicide; dad knew and practiced Christian principles.  Dad always told us that Easter was about Jesus’ Resurrection and not about bunnies, baskets, and bonnets.  It was not about dyed eggs, delicious chocolates, or dumb pagan practices. 

Easter was one of the two holidays that momma or we did not have to beg him to go to church with us.  He was faithful on those two events.  I remind pastors and church folks not to make fun of those, especially dads, that come only at Easter and Christmas.  I know I have seen my mother cry a million tears trying to get dad in church.  I still can see her big, beautiful smile when daddy escorted her into the church at Easter.  We were elated too.  New clothes, dad in church, and momma’s Easter dinner made it wonderful.  We were glad Jesus rose.

Dad understood what many skeptics did not.  Daddy believed that Jesus rose from the dead.  Skeptics are like the characters in television investigation programs.  They have to prove everything scientifically.  One of the problems skeptics find with Christianity is faith.  We trust God, but skeptics want tangible proof.

Several weeks ago, while I was reading, I ran across this line.  There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.  I remembered that I had read that phrase before and did not think much about it.  That was until shortly after I read it again in another book.  I thought about it more.  Then a third time within a month there is was again.  Since all three times were in the context of daily devotions or readings I asked, “God what are you trying to say to me.”  I wrote the phrase down and looked for its original author.  I found it to be a quote from William Shakespeare’s play, Hamlet Act One Scene Five.  Well, back to old Willy Shakespeare.  Being an English minor in college, I have had to read him a lot and analyze the meaning of his plays.

Skeptics take Shakespeare’s phrase out of context.  In the play, Hamlet, Horatio, and a Ghost are in conversation.  Hamlet says, “And therefore as a stranger giver welcome.  There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, that are dreamt in your philosophy.”

Hamlet and Horatio are products of Protestant humanism.  This philosophical thought is a compound of ethics, logic, and natural science.  Logically, for Horatio there were no Ghosts, much less carry on a conversation with one.

The Horatio’s of the world refuse to believe the Resurrection, but Jesus demonstrated the Resurrection before He rose from the dead.  Remember that Jesus was late for Lazarus’ funeral, but right on time for his Resurrection.

Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of him that was dead, saith unto him, Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days.

And when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth (John 11:39, 43 KJV.)

 

The Horatio’s of the world have doubts about supernatural phenomena or in the case of Southern Baptists, spiritual phenomenon.  One meaning on Shakespeare’s quote is there is more that meets the eye, levels of truth, meaning, and complexity that are not visible to casual observers such as the Resurrection morning.  Angel said, “He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay” (Matthew 28:6 KJV).

 

As Southern Baptists, we believe there is more than meets the eye.  In our postmodern culture of growing skepticism, our challenge as believers is continue to live by faith.  Paul reminds believers at the very humanist and carnal Corinth about the unseen.  But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him (First Corinthians 2:9 KJV).

 

As I walked from the hospital the morning daddy died, I reflected on the week.  There was a sense of loss and relief.  On Monday night after Easter, I had my last supper with daddy.  It was just daddy and me.  I fed him while mom took a much-needed break.  Later in the wee hours of the morning, dad had a seizure and the ambulance rushed him to the hospital.  By Friday morning, he was with Jesus.  As I held his hand in death, Jesus took dad’s spiritual hand.

Walking to my car, the morning sky was crystal clear, the air was a vigorous cool, birds were singing, and dad was alive and well with Jesus.  We had dad’s funeral on the Lord’s Day.  Take that skeptics!

A Person of Faith

I was watching a car show the other night.  These shows do what I would love to do, rebuilding old jalopies.  My love for building cars started when I was in the fifth grade.  I got a model car kit from a classmate for Christmas.  Over the years, I had a pretty good collection that I lost when our home burned.  In that collection I had a ’55 Chevy Nomad, a ’50 Ford, a ’57 Chevy, a ’40 Willis, two ’32 Fords, the Batmobile, ’53 Ford pickup, and a few others.  Some of these date back to my teens.  I built them until the government regulations forced glue makes to change the formula and ruining its sticking power.

My dream car is a ’32 Ford Vicky, yellow convertible or five-window, 350 Chevy engine, saddle colored leather interior, and Crager junkyard mag wheels.  Trouble is, they are out there, but beyond a retired Director of Missions means.

These car-rebuilding programs have the mission of saving old cars one at a time.  The closest I have come to rebuilding an old vehicle is when my youngest son Aaron and I rebuilt my ’77 GMC pickup, and I understood the statement, “They don’t build them like that any more” a little better.  It is an era of American history that is fleeting away.   A friend of mine said that it makes him sick to watch classic cars headed to the scrap metal place.

My ’77 GMC is actually a 2009-13 pickup.  It looks old, but it has experienced a transformation.  No, it is not a Johnny Cash Cadillac.  It is a completely restored truck.  It is a work of love and labor.  I will always cherish the time that Aaron and I, father and son, spend together transforming a ragged, rusty, multicolored hunk of junk into what most call a “sweet ride” or a “clean” classic.

Transformed classics make up the body of the church.  Men, women, boys, and girls that experience the transforming power of God are new creations.  The power that raised Jesus from the dead is the power that transforms all those who trust Jesus as Lord and Savior.  It is the same power that carries believers to virus pandemics.

As I thought about restored vehicles and changed lives, I cannot help but to think about Brother Arch Crumpton.  He was a classic when speaking of a man of God.  He was an old classic that you don’t see anymore, a one of a kind.  Brother Arch was a giant pillar in my home church.  Brother Arch, two other deacons, and the pastor were the only men in my home church when I was boy.

I heard stories how Brother Arch would walk four miles to church on Sunday morning to start a fire in the old pot-bellied stove, then walk back home, hitch the mule team to the wagon, and then bring the family to church.  It makes those coveting toilet paper during corona virus panic a little silly.  We have grown too soft in our living.

Brother Arch always sat on the second pew on the preachers left.  He wore a dark blue suit, white shirt, a tie, and a fedora every Sunday.  He could pray some of the sweetest prayers.  I never heard anyone say a bad word about Brother Arch.

One of the most interesting stores about him was when he was a young man in his twenties.  I remember as a kid thinking that Brother Arch was ancient, being well into his seventies when I was a teenager.  He was tall and frail, but always sported a smile.  In his twenties, which would have been in the 1920’s, he had an appendix attack.  By the time the doctor arrived, he had gangrene and the doctor said there was little or no hope.

The doctor did something that most would think repulsive.  He opened Brother Arch, took out his intestines, and washed them in warm soapy water.  Once they were clean, the doctor repacked them.  I remember that Brother Arch always had a flat stomach.

Somewhere along that time, Brother Arch accepted the Lord as his Savior and the Lord removed the gangrene of sin from Brother Arch.  He was transformed and became a model for the men in our church and our community.

One of my fondest memories of Brother Arch happened one Sunday afternoon at my Aunt Edna’s.  My cousins and I were playing football in the front yard.  Brother Arch and his wife, Mrs. Blonnie, shuffled their way toward the house.  They walked along our goal line, which was the sidewalk to the house halting the game for a few moments.  Suddenly, Brother Arch called for the football.  One of my cousins tossed it to him and Brother Arch kicked the football.  He laughed and told us to have fun.  We all had a little more respect for him seeing that old man could kick a football.  Brother Arch will never know how much of an impact he had on my early Christian walk.  He was an inspiration and an example of what a Christian should be.  He was a Christian Classic. He has always been a man of hope.   Our churches would much better with more men and women like Brother Arch.

And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into His likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit (Second Corinthians 3:18 NIV).



Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new (Second Corinthians 5:17 KJV).

"To God be the Glory"

In an effort to stay within budget, I volunteered to build the cabinets for the Family Life Center kitchen at the Friendship Baptist Church in Clanton.  The church bought the materials and I furnished the labor.  I made them of oak with raised panel doors.  Along with the cabinets, I had built an island for serving food and fashioned oak underneath the stainless steal sink to hide the plumbing.  It was a big job, as was the entire project.

As I unloaded the cabinets on a Saturday workday, one of my deacons noticed that I had a worried look.  With apprehension, he asked if I was okay.  I think he thought that I was frustrated over the Family Life Center project and my involvement with it.  I had been a subcontractor of sorts for it and saved the church 18-20% of the total construction cost.

I told him that my thoughts were with an old friend.  The night before I received word that my friend JJ had been involved in a terrible accident where he worked.  JJ was severely burned having third degree from his waist down, second degree from his neck down, and first degree on his face.  Prognosis was that he would loss everything from his waist down.

JJ, a wheel inspector for ABC Rail in Calera, stepped on a four-inch gas line in performance of his duties.  The gas line fueled the heat treatment department for the hardening or tempering of train wheels.

As JJ stepped on the gas line, it broke and gas filled JJ’s overalls and then ignited from the flames used in the heat treatment.  Witnesses saw JJ rocket into the air about fifteen feet and then fell about thirty feet onto a concrete floor below.

Had JJ worn pants with a belt, he would have lost every thing from waist down according in ABC Rail Safety officials.  University of Alabama Birmingham hospital doctors said the quick response of the ABC Rail Safety team covering JJ’s burns with shaving cream and the rescue team with the airlift unit saved his life.  The shaving cream sealed and cleansed the burns.

When my deacon friend asked me if I was okay, I did not know much about JJ at that time.  My information was that JJ was in critical condition and he may not live.  I told my deacon friend that I did not know how to pray for JJ.  I did not know whether to pray that JJ live or that Lord take him.  I wanted to install the cabinets and get to UAB hospital burn unit to see my friend.

JJ and I had been friends all our lives.  We were the same age, but were in different classes at school due to our birthdays.  I cannot remember our teenage years with being around one another with baseball, football, and basketball, watching JJ sail off the swing and dive into the Little Cahaba at Bull Dog Bend, or taking a ride in his Dodge Super Bee.  I really think he came to the house to see my sister!

JJ loved playing cow pasture football because his mother would not allow him to play organized football.  I have thrown JJ so many touchdown passes that I am afraid to give you a number.  One Saturday we played football, supposedly light tackle, against some boys from Isabella at their high school football field.  I remember JJ said he was so sore after the game that he could hardly go to work on midnights crawling from his Super Bee to his job on the overhead crane.  We played football well into our thirties.

JJ had his share of troubles.  His wife had been sickly for years and Aetna Insurance had paid the limit for her hospital stays and surgeries.  JJ told me one time that he owed almost eighty-five thousand dollars to Brookwood hospital in Birmingham.  His eldest son got involved in the Gothic culture and became a drug addict.  That son later died in a drug related suicide.

After I installed the cabinets, I visited JJ at UAB.  I will never forget the sight I saw.  JJ did not look human.  Swollen and pumped full with fluids, JJ’s head and body was swollen beyond recognition.  His eyes were as big as a man’s fist and his ears were as large as a man’s cupped hand.  We cried.  I will never forget that deforming image of my friend.

For weeks, I visited JJ at UAB’s burn unit.  JJ suffered excruciating pain from the burns, from shaving good skin for skin grafts, and from the shoulder that sustained damage when he hit the concrete floor.  On one visit, I witnessed JJ break into a sweat as he tried to stretch a rubber hose with the injured shoulder.  He struggled to pull it an inch or two. 

Most people thought JJ would never work again, but he did.  Instead of taking a medical disability, JJ would work at ABC Rail until it closed.  Then he worked at a pipe shop.  He remains an avid sports fan, playing a lot of golf.

JJ has been a deacon in his church for many years.  I had the privilege of doing a marriage renewal for his wife and him.  I was with him at his son’s funeral.  Through all that he has been, JJ has taught me faithfulness and hope.

But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.  Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.  And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God (Romans 8:25-27 KJV).

I remember being in agony as I prayed for JJ.  Do I pray he live, or for the Lord to receive him?  I told the deacon at Friendship that I finally prayed, Lord may Your will be done and You receive glory.