Enjoyed It Reverend

Since I experience the call into the ministry, I have never been fond of the term reverend. There have been too many given that title and their ministries questionable. I would rather people call me Brother Bobby, pastor, preacher not reverend.

Most of the men and women where I have worked called me preacher. The black men called me “the man of the cloth.” Most of the churches I pastored they called me Brother Bobby or Bro Bob. A few youth and children called me “the Creature.”

While working on my doctorate, church people would ask me what they should call me. I told that Bobby had worked my whole life. Since that time until now most people call me Brother Bobby. When in formal situations people will call me Dr. Hopper. If folks do not refer to me as Dr. Hopper, I usually do not correct them.

I have a lot of fun when people realize I have a doctorate. I remember speaking at the University of Montevallo Batist Student Union meeting. The host introduced me as Dr. Bobby Hopper. Once behind the podium, I told guests that the D R in front of my name stood for “Documented Redneck.” I said my redneck degree came from BUTTS, Bessie University Technical and Theological School. Bessie was the community where I grew up and live today. Everyone laughed.

I started my doctoral work at Beeson Divinity School Samford while pastor of the Friendship Baptist Church in Clanton, Alabama. Folks there were supportive. I felt is was a great honor to serve alongside of them. God blessed in many wonderful and powerful ways.

One ministry was ministering to alongside of the Clanton Mental Health Clinic. The Clinic allowed residents to attend church with us. Three residents were faithful. Gwen, F D, and Nikki did not miss. Nikki was a high-spirited young woman that laughed and would repeatedly tell me that she did not belong in the clinic. She would say “I’m not crazy.” She constantly corrected Gwen and F D and insisted that teachers should too.

F D was a young man whose mental aptitude was that of a twelve-year-old. His favorite thing was wearing his toy cowboy pistols, cowboy hat, and guitar to church. He loved to sing and to impersonate Elvis. Another thing he loved was talking to his watch and calling KIT of the television program Night Rider.

Gwen was a black lady with a childlike demeanor. She worn ruby red lipstick like that of a little girl playing with makeup. The Clinic informed me that she received her disability from a car accident. She loved to help babysit children. F D and Gwen were constantly in competition for attention. They were polite and courteous most of the time.

One Vacation Bible School Richard and Stanley, F D, Nikki, and Gwen’s VBS teachers, were singing the opening song with the rest of VBS. Richard, an electrical engineer and Stanley, editor of the local newspaper, separated the trio: F D, Richard, Nikki, Stanley, then Gwen. The two men stood as the Rock of Gibraltar and the trio sang. F D singing like Elvis, Gwen correcting him, and Nikki laughing.

One year the VBS was a Cowboy theme. As I made visits to the classes I peeked into Richard’s class. The room was dark, tiny lights like stars scattered on the ceiling, Richard with head resting on a log by a fake fire, Gwen sitting by the fire, and F D playing his guitar. It was a moment that I will always remember.

Each service during the invitation, Gwen would come to the altar where she would ask me to pray for the clinic, her, and F D who was in route to the altar too. Many members of the congregation were uncomfortable with them. What Gwen and F D did was make it easier for others to come to the altar.

During my tenure there Gwen’s mental situation worsened, and the Clinic committed her to a hospital in Birmingham. As her pastor, I visited her there in the psychiatric ward. Once I had permission to visit, a big black orderly, that reminded me of a bouncer, met me and wanted me to state my business. I told him I was Gwen’s pastor. He gave me a look of unbelief seeing I was white, and Gwen was black.

He wanted more information, and I understood his concern. I was about to give up and leave when Gwen happened to walk past us. She yelled, “That’s my Reverend.” She carried a large black Raggedy Ann that had pigtails and freckles. For the next precious and few moments were shared together. The whole time she demanded that I hold Annie.

F D, Gwen, Richard, and Stanley have gone on before us. I enjoyed the moments we spent together. The highlight Sundays together was at the close of the service I would always ask, “Any word from the congregation as we leave?” Gwen would always say. “I enjoyed Reverend!” It was one of constants of worship.

When Gwen could no longer attend Friendship, I asked, “Any word as we leave?” There was an eerie and awkward silence. Suddenly, Regeana, wife of our local physician, said “I enjoyed Reverend.” The congregation tearfully applauded.

I was glad when they said unto me. Let us go into the house of the LORD. Psalm 122:1 KJV

 

Leave the Light On and Double Plunkin'

 

It was a Sunday night with six people in attendance at Brierfield Baptist Church.  The six people there were my family of five and Sis Fletcher.  Sunday mornings were a little better but not much.  Instilled in me was the principle:  teach or preach even it there is only one in attendance.  I still hold to that principle, I encourage preachers, and teachers of God’s Word that when there is only one student, then God wants you to have one-on-one time with them.  It is a divine appointment.  It may that God places us there to do some personal ministry.

With that thought, we had a regular service.  During the eight years at Brierfield, there were perhaps six years with no music.  Most people thought we were Church of Christ or a Mennonite congregation, not Southern Baptists because we did a whole lot of a Cappella.

My wife led the music that night, our two older children, Andy, who was twelve, and Angela, who was ten, took up the offering.  I called on Andy to open in prayer and Angela to pray the offertory prayer.  Aaron was a baby that cried AMEN a whole bunch.

People would ask me why bother to have church, why not just go home.  I would reply, we came to worship, and I was teaching the principles of worship to our children.  One particular Sunday, only my five showed for worship.  It was a cold, overcast, rainy morning.  The 1888 building used gas space heaters and I waited to see who would attend that morning before lighting them.  As Baptists do, sometimes there was a mad rush to make it right at ten o’clock.  This particular day it was, as a black friend of mine would say, “It’s just usin’s.” So usins worshiped in the warm car.

We had been at Brierfield for a couple of years, and this was the first of many times that it would be just my five.  The wife looked at me that morning and said, “For the first time, I am discouraged.”

I told her that were less than ten miles from home and in less than thirty minutes we could back in a nice and comfortable home cooking chicken fingers and French fries.  I reminded her that we had thought about becoming missionaries and if we were ten thousand miles away in Timbuktu and no one showed, that would be discouraging.

No one came, we went home, cooked chicken fingers and French fires, she went to bed for beauty rest and I watched kung fu movies and the kids played.

Let me regress back to the Sunday night with Sis Fletcher and my five.  I was finishing a sermon, and about to offer an invitation when a lady entered the church and sat on the back pew.  The Baptist Tradition is for everyone to look behind them when some enters the church.  All of us noticed that the lady was crying.  The Holy Spirit impressed me to preach a short sermon.  I preached a five-minute sermon; a concept that is totally unknown by a whole bunch of preachers and gave the invitation.  I prayed the closing prayer, hoping the lady would come where I could pray for her.  When I finished, the whole church that night, that sounds better than Sis and us, welcomed her.

What she would tell me remains with me until today.  She said, “I was on my way to kill myself and I prayed that if God was listening that He give me a sign.  I prayed to God that the church would be open. I saw the lights of the church, pulled into the parking lot; I sat in the car for a few moments, and then decided to come in.”

We learned that she was from another denomination, and she could play the piano really well and had played for a quartet.  There was only one problem she could not read music.  The way she played for us was we would start singing; she would peck on the piano keys until suddenly she would have the melody.  The walls of Brierfield Baptist became Bapcostal for a few months.  The term Bapcostal comes from the Chiltonian Text and means when a Baptist raises his/her hands and says amen and hallelujah like a Pentecostal, Brierfield is a Southern Bapcostal Church.

She did more than play.  One Sunday morning she had twenty-eight people come to church with her.  Another Sunday there were fifty-four there.  The most I remember was seventy-two.  She would say come to my church were the pastor and the people love you regardless of who you are and what you have done.  She shared Jesus like the woman at the well when Jesus confronted her.

For Christmas that year, we did a cantata.  Now remember, our pianist could not read music, but she utilized every key and petal on the piano.  We did the cantata for a neighboring church.  We got an ovation for it.  I will never forget what a deacon in that church said.  “I think that girl was double plunkin’ that piano like they do in a bar.”   Yeah, it weren’t no bar and she was shining, and it was wonderful.  Because the Brierfield Baptist Church was faithful and had it lights burning, she was letting her light shine by “double plunkin’” and sharing Jesus with her family, neighbors, and strangers.

 

Come, see a man, which told me all things that ever I did (John 4:29a KJV)

 

Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven (Matthew 5:16 KJV).

"Celebrate, Celebrate"

Celebration is an important part of our lives.  If you are like me, you celebrated the Christmas Holidays and the beginning of a New Year.  I was so enthralled in celebrating the New Year with four wild grandkids, that I went to bed way before the ball dropped in Times Square faintly hearing some fireworks exploding in the neighborhood.  Being from rural red-neck Alabama those sounds may have been the illegal discharging of firearms by my neighbors. I decided long ago not to be outdoors to see the fireworks in case it was falling lead.  I wanted to celebrate life with four wild children on New Year’s Day.

According to an article that I read years ago, there are numerous fatalities from celebrating by shooting at the stars during times of celebration.  There is a right and wrong way to celebrate.  Random firing in the air for celebration can cause a lifetime of regret. 

My daughter had a volleyball teammate whose brother did jail time for shooting in the sky during a Halloween haunted hayride.  When the 22-caliber bullet ricocheted hitting a small girl in the neck.

The shooting of fireworks is extremely dangerous.  In high school I had a classmate that returned from the Christmas Holidays missing his middle finger from throwing a “cherry bomb” firecracker.  My daughter also bounced a bottle rocket off her cousin’s granddad’s head in celebrating New Year’s.

We do a lot of celebrating.  We celebrate birthdays, holidays, weddings, anniversaries, victories, achievements, grand openings, graduations, retirements, and funerals.  We give cards, flowers, money, watches, certificates, pins, and plaques.  But, how many times do we celebrate God in worship.

It would behoove the church to celebrate the blessings of God rather than the church’s tendency to murmur and gripe.  For some reason churches forget the great things God has done and dwell on things that God has not done or that we think He should have done.  All one must do is see how quickly the Hebrews started complaining when they exited Egypt.  I like to paraphrase like this, “Where two or more Baptist are gathered there will be murmuring and fussing.

Celebrations have two extremes.  I remember reading an editorial in the Clanton Advertiser many years ago of an irate mom concerning here child’s graduation from kindergarten. According to the irate mom, there was not enough celebration because the principal and teachers were so thoughtless of the great achievements of little ones graduating the vicious and demanding academia of kindergarten.  She wanted caps, gowns, and pomp and circumstance, along with a boring speech, REALLY!  Let the kids have cake and ice cream and be thankful they will be entering the academia of the first grade.  Years later, I attended my grandson’s kindergarten graduation and I realized it was more for the parents, not the kids, as the teachers and aides pushed and commanded the children to act like the graduating class of Harvard Law School. 

After the extraction of last tidbit of information drilled into the child’s head, teachers and aides cut them loose to be kindergartners.  They ran and were excited about the cake, ice cream, potato chips, and punch and could not wait to get out of the caps and gowns.  Now that was a celebration. 

Then there is the extreme celebration and often taunting of the athlete who gets a penalty of excessive celebration upon a great achievement of running a touchdown all by himself.  Last time I played; I remember that ten other teammates helped the overly zealous running back score.  If we celebrated, we had to do pushups.

What about celebration on the Lord’s Day?  Is our role the one of the irate mother who thinks there should be more or are we the zealot who fellow parishioners want to throw the penalty flag?

Do we know how to celebrate God?  Is a worldly celebration more important than one for God?  How many editorials do the local newspapers write for churches celebrating or lack of, God at worship?  Is not the work of God more powerful than anything man has done?  Are we afraid to worship?  Do we really understand why we gather on Sundays?  Do we know how to worship?  Are we following tradition, or do we follow the examples of God’s Word? 

In Psalm 22 David wrote a mournful psalm that Jesus quoted while own the cross.  In Psalm 23 David wrote of the gentle shepherd that would help in times of need. In Psalm 24, David knew how to celebrate God’s majestic and triumphant presence.  The Ark of the Covenant had been returned to Jerusalem.  The people were ready to celebrate the presence of God.  David realized that when the heart is prepared, the desire to worship God becomes an integral part of our lives providing direction and focus.

Our moments together at worship are a time of celebration.  In our getting and giving, in our saving and spending, we remember that all belongs to God.  Seduction by the genius of Madison Avenue marketing and advertising distorts celebration by taunting us with pleasure from material wealth. 

God created it all and He is redeeming it all.  Celebrating God is recognizing His redemption.  We celebrate life because Christ lives.  Celebration is conditional.  Celebrating is acknowledging that everything is God’s.  He created us to worship, He redeemed us to worship, and He instructed us to worship. 

There are moral qualifications for worship.  We come with blameless conduct (clean hands), we do right with right motive (pure heart), we are to be faithful to God and to neighbor, and we are to be truthful in dealings.

The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.  For He hath founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the floods.  Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in His holy place?  He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully (Psalm 24:1-4 KJV).

Write today’s worries in the sand.  Chisel yesterday’s victories in stone – Max Lucado

"Oh Worship the King"

“I will not offer burnt offerings to the Lord God that cost me nothing.”  2 Samuel 24:24a

David would not give an offering to the Lord that did not cost him.  Worship without sacrifice is not worship. Lack of preparation, prayer, or planning limits the possibility of worship.  Sunday school without study is boring.  Music without practice suffers.  Sermons without preparation are repetitive.  When we do not give anything to worship, we do not get anything in return.  King David of the Old Testament knew how to worship.

If you want worthwhile worship, it is not by attending a church with a professional team of worship leaders and performers.  Worship is taking up the cross that God has given you, and sacrificing yourself in the service of worship. Those whose worship costs them nothing are to be pitied.  From Jesus’ lips come the standard for all sacrifice:  “For even the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

We do many things to hinder worship.  Crying babies, fidgety children, talking teenagers, and snoring men are not hindering worship.  They may be distractions, but they do not hinder worship.  They are symptoms, but the source has deeper roots that King David understood.