Confession is Good for the Soul

It is funny the people you meet that stick in your mind and things that call them to mind.  The other day, while working on the laptop computer, I kept using my cell phone as a mouse.  The laptop has a pad that you use, but I had placed my cell phone beside the laptop and unconsciously I would move the phone while looking at the screen only to realize the cursor was not moving.  “Duh”, I said to myself.  I finally placed the cell phone to another place on the desk. 

Then, I thought of how many times I have tried to open the office, the house, the post office box by mashing my key with my thumb.  Talk about being programmed.  My Honda key unlocks my car, opens the trunk and blows the horn, so naturally I try my others key the same.

There is something else.  Did you know that a cordless phone will not change the channels on the television?  I know I have tried it several times.  I would point the antenna at the TV and push channel 4.  Next, I would bump the phone to remind the batteries to work.  It is funny when you realize just how dumb you are.

I know that you can program the DVD player remote to change TV channels and you can program the TV remote to change the DVD, but I do not think you can program the cordless phone to control the DVD player or TV.

They say confession is good for the soul.  I confess.  There are too many gadgets and too many buttons to push.  We live in a push button world.  What was life like before push button gadgets?

Speaking of gadgets, we were actually able to carry on intelligent and extended conversations, drive at normal speeds on the highways, hear sermons, and attend meetings without interruption before cell phones.  Do you remember dial telephones?

That brings me back to people sticking in you mind.  I remember working with a guy named “Radiator”.  It was an odd name and Radiator was an odd kind of man.  He wore coveralls and his hair was never combed and looked as he had just gotten out of bed.

He did odd things.  Once hearing of a submerged fishing boat, sunk by a floating log, he inquired of its location.  A day or two later he had retrieved the sixteen 16’ fiberglass runabout with a Mercury outboard.  He patched the hull, reworked the outboard and started fishing and skiing.

On another occasion he had a Volkswagen bus that had a nut on the rear axle that would not stay tightened so he welded the nut to the hub and axle.  He had a knack with gadgets.  It was 1971.  The company where Radiator and I worked said employees were making too many outside calls.  Management placed a lock in the first hole of the rotary dial of all the telephones in the plant.  Our foreman was bragging how outside calls had ceased and people were working more.  Radiator said he could make a call without dialing.  The foreman, who thought Radiator a nut, argued that Radiator could not.  It was very interesting for an 18 year old boy to hear two grown men arguing like grade school boys over a dare, but I listened.

Radiator asked the foreman for his home phone number.  The foreman told him then Radiator proceeded to lift the receiver and with his pointer finger push the buttons in the receiver cradle with a Morse code rhythm of the numbers given by the foreman.  Radiator handed the phone to the foreman which heard ringing and then his wife answer the phone.  The know-it-all foreman got a quick lesson from the gadget man on how the dial was a circuit breaker that when dialed broke the circuits in a systematic rhythm determined by the hole dialed.

Radiator was smarter than he appeared.  When I think of it, John the Baptist, being a little odd, was wiser than he appeared.  I guess with my gadget dilemmas, I am dumber than I appear. 

Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves (Matthew 10:16 KJV)

Serpents know the principles of survival and the softness of doves invites all to know them.  In a push button world, God’s truth obligates the disciple to send the message and the seeker to listen.

The King

I don’t know about you, but I find myself standing long lines at funerals, Wal Mart, ball games, restaurants, and theme parks.  Long lines can be boring for most folks, but I have learned to have a little fun.

It all started years ago at Six Flags Over Georgia waiting to ride the Great American Scream Machine roller coaster.  Lines were so long that people had to have their hands stamped with a time to return to get in line.  The wait in line was so long that television sets were at each end the lines to watch programs if the person in front of you, behind you or on either side of you did not want to talk.  It was fun meeting people from different cities, states, and countries.

Of course, with the introduction of a new ride, the Scream Machine was easy to ride.  We would ride it, get off it, get back on it, and ride it again.  In fact, I rode the Scream Machine 22 times with no hands.  Now, that was fun.

Another thing that was fun when things got a little slow was to get an accompanist and point into the sky.  Now, there would not be anything in the sky.  We would point, nod our heads, whisper, and back away to watch how people would gaze into the sky.  You heard, “I see it.”  “There it is.”  “How many are there?” “What did they see?”  Yea, I know that is just wrong to do that, but it sure was fun to watch people watching the sky.  The line did not move any faster, but it sure seemed as though it did.

Gazing is something we all do, especially when trying to “figure” out something.  “Figure” is a good old Chilton County term for reasoning, contemplation, meditation, consideration, deliberation, reflection, or observation.  You have probably heard the expression, “Don’t look at me like a new born calf staring at an open gate.”   Nowadays I caught myself staring because I am losing my eyesight, not trying to figure it out.

I remember working for Hiwassee Land Company during the summers between by sophomore-junior year of school.  Our foreman, Benny, gathered us together to see something that most of had never seen before.  We worked two summers in the woods killing hardwood where pine could grow, and we saw very few snakes.  On this particular afternoon, we saw two, a small king snake and a large water moccasin.  Benny made us be real quiet as we approached the two snakes, which were in mortal combat on a small branch.

The moccasin had its mouth around the neck of the king snake.  Benny whispered, “The king snake is going to kill the moccasin.”  We stood there in disbelief.  The poor king snake’s head was lifeless, but its tail was just a twixing.  Slowly, but surely, the king snake wrapped itself around the moccasin.  Then, little by little, the king snake squeezed the moccasin.  In the silence of our gazing/staring at the snakes, we could hear the cracking of the moccasin as the king snake crushed him a little bit at a time.

Benny said that the king snake, the smaller, would eat the moccasin, the larger.  We did not believe it, but the longer we watched, the limper, the moccasin became.  Finally, the moccasin opened its mouth releasing the king snake.  Like a calf staring at a new gate, we watched the king snake eat the moccasin.  The mouth of the king snake unhinged and open wide as the king snake slowly swallowed the moccasin.

The Great American Scream Machine gazing at the sky and the king snake incident remind me of what Ty Pardon, pastor of FBC Thomasville, said at a Quarterly Men’s Meeting.  He reminded us that the problem of the church is we stand gazing into the sky when Jesus said to be witnesses.  Could it be that we are wanting and looking for the Lord to come back because Satan, the moccasin, has the paralyzed most of our ministries?  Remember the King is not finished and one day he will crush Satan.  Until He comes, we are to be witnesses not gazing or pointing into the sky.

But ye shall receive power, after that the Holy Ghost is come upon you: and ye shall be witnesses unto me both in Jerusalem, and in all Judaea, and in Samaria, and unto the uttermost part of the earth.  And when he had spoken these things, while they beheld, he was taken up; and a cloud received him out of their sight.  And while they looked stedfastly toward heaven as he went up, behold, two men stood by them in white apparel; Which also said, Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven (Acts 1:8-11 KJV) .

"Dad It's A Cross"

Cloudless blue skies are beautiful and remind me of special moments.  In the area where I call home is a fly zone.  On those beautiful clear sky days, my brothers and I would watch all sorts of airplanes overhead.  Some would be small planes, especially crop dusters, flying close to the ground.  Others would be military C130’s flying in groups of three roaring overhead with ground shaking rumble.  Fighter jets would buzz by low enroute to blow up Lay Dam.  A local pilot told us it was part of the military practice to buss the river and dam, so they never really blew up the dam.

Sometimes the airplanes would be so high that all you could see was contrails.  It was fun trying to find the plane.  Suddenly, the plane would glisten in the sunlight and we could see the tiny speck running ahead of the contrail.  We often wondered where the people were going and if they could see us.  Having flown, I realized they could not.  I remember the eerie feeling of no planes in the sky after 911.

Years ago Andy, my oldest son, and I were riding the church bus one Sunday morning.  Andy was no more than six or seven years old.  I rode the church bus, a converted school bus, as a helper to pick up kids who normally did not attend church. 

If you remember, there was a fad, craze, or period when Baptist churches converted school buses into ministries for church visitation and evangelism.  I remember it was exciting when the church started the process of buying a bus.  Baptist business meetings can be hilarious. 

We had Saturday morning visitation encouraging people to attend church with us.  We had a busload of kids from time to time.  We even had people who needed a ride to church ride with us.  Sometimes there were several helpers and their children.

The most amazing thing was we had several children who had never attended church, did not have Bibles, and had never heard of Jesus.  Some children we helped dress for church.  I remember rounding up kids in the yard, washing their faces, hands, and feet, helping change from play clothes to church clothes, and believe it or not, getting a few out of bed.

Contrary to what most churched people think, unchurched people do not understand the language and customs of church, what ministers call the Language of Zion.  It is okay that they did not know and it is our responsibility to help them know Jesus.  If a person finds Jesus, he or she will learn the language and customs of Zion as we help them become disciples.

This particular spring morning the sky was a cloudless, beautiful blue with the exception of two airplanes in the sky.  One of the little girls, about Andy’s age, said, “Look a big X in the sky.”  Two jets crossing overheard left two huge contrails.

Without missing a beat Andy said, “Dad, that’s a Cross just like the one Jesus died on. It is not an X.”  It is amazing how kids, grownups too, see things differently.  It made my job as bus helper, kid dresser, and worship preparer worth the effort.

I remember telling Andy that the reason we were picking up the other children was that they might learn about the Cross, the Crucifixion, and Christ.

As we go, more people will see as Andy did that morning that boys and girls, moms and dads, and grandparents across Alabama do not know Jesus or understand the Cross.

For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God (I Corinthians 1:18 KJV).

And Jesus came and spake unto them, saying, All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth.  Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen (Matthew 28:18-20 KJV).

"Be Quiet Ears"

The sound of birds singing, after a good night’s sleep, it is a harmonious reminder of Spring.  They do not sound so melodious after a long night of an old-fashioned case of insomnia.  Sleepless nights exaggerate sounds and the sweet melody of birds singing becomes aggravating foul chirping.  It makes one want to get a gun and shoot them.

Hearing is a valuable sense that we take for granted.  I pastored a church that had a signing ministry for the deaf.  It was spellbinding watching people sign my sermons.  Signing is beautiful interpretation of preaching God’s Word. 

Every once in a while Laura,  the translator, would make eye contact with the deaf and then with me.  With a look of desperation she would shrug her shoulders meaning, “Brother Bobby I cannot translate your Chilton County, Mars Hill, vernacular.”  I forget that no one has translated all of my native Chiltonian lingua franca into American Standard English.

Experience as a preacher has taught me that listeners do not always interpret everything I preach as I intended.  I have gotten a laugh when I said something serious and I have had people get serious when I intended humor.      

Having a high frequency hearing loss prevents me from hearing every word of a conversation.  I do not hear certain feminine voices or sounds very well.  I have to watch people’s lips, especially if they speak softly.  People  remind me that that is too convenient of an excuse for not hearing women.  Most people hear what they want to hear. 

That reminds me when my daughter Angel was small.  She is the athlete of the family and she loved playing outdoors.  The love for playing outdoors got her into a dilemma with her Pawpaw.

One autumn afternoon, one where it turned very chilly, Angel and her older brother Andy were playing with their cousins at Granny and Pawpaw's house.  As the autumn sun slowly snuggled under the warm blanket of earth, Jack Frost decided to pay a visit to the clean, clear night air.  Angel did not carry a jacket on her visit, so Granny ordered her to the steps that went from the den up to the bedrooms.  Pawpaw had guard duty.

Andy and the cousins did not enjoy being outdoors, but since Granny and Pawpaw sentenced Angel to an evening of torture on the dreaded “punishment steps” for not bringing a jacket, they decided to help Granny with the persecution and have fun outside.  Angel watched them through two large glass sliding doors circle the house repeatedly.  Bundled in warm jackets, they taunted with each circle.

Angel begged and pleaded to go outside only to have Pawpaw remind her she did not have a coat.  He watched, as Angel would slap at her ears, as one would swat at mosquitoes to keep them away.  Angel quietly mumbled, “Shut up, stop it, shut up, quit talking to me. . .”  Pawpaw watched her for several minutes and curiosity finally killed the cat.  Pawpaw asked, “Angel, what are you doing?” 

Angel said, “Pawpaw my ears are telling me to go outside and play.  They say not to mind you and Granny, but I am telling them to shut up, stop it.  They are trying to get me in trouble.”  Pawpaw had a good laugh and Angel stayed on the steps.

When I rescued Pawpaw and Granny from the grandkids and Angel from the dreaded steps, Pawpaw said you gave Angel the wrong name and that he would pay to have her name changed to Devil.  Angel was smart for not listening to her ears.

For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine; but after their own lusts shall they heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears; and they shall turn away their ears from the truth, and shall be turned unto fables.  But watch thou in all things, endure afflictions, do the work of an evangelist, make full proof of thy ministry (II Timothy 4:3-5).

  

GONE

Gone are the toys, gone are the joys,

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys,

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Gone are the trees that shaded the ground,

Now a carpet of grass abounds

Gone are those that lived off the land,

Now new folks live where natives once ran

Gone are the fields of peas and corn,

Now a place where memories are born

Gone are the toys, gone are the joys,

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys,

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Gone are the voices of children so tender,

Now just thoughts of their playing linger

Gone are sounds of their big wheels on concrete

Now scarred that sidewalk is silently discreet

Gone are tree houses and swings,

Now grow vines, bushes, and other things

Gone are the toys, gone are the joys,

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys,

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Gone is a three-year-old, who learned to ride,

Now an empty hillside is all that resides

Gone, the noise of three children at play,

Now all is silent as when it is time to pray

Gone, gone, gone, gone,

Now an old man sits alone

Gone are the toys, gone are the joys,

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys,

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Gone, gone, the passing of time,

Now memories put to rhyme

Gone, gone the sin of the poet of grey,

Now thankful God washed sin away

Gone, gone as far as the east from the west,

Now sinful memories put to rest

Gone are the toys, gone are the joys,

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys,

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Gone from porch swing is the old man,

Now realizing before God he will stand

Gone, gone sins his sin washed away,

Now Jesus our sin did pay

Gone, gone in the passing of time,

Now remembered in simple rhyme

Gone are toys, gone are the joys,

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys,

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Gone one day the things of earth,

Now in heaven those of second birth

Gone to the Father one by one,

Now that eternal life has just begun

Gone, gone, gone away

Now with Jesus everyday

Gone are the toys, gone are the joys

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Bobby E. Hopper

February 19, 2010

(Sitting on the front porch swing at Sugar Ridge)

On July 14, 2012 the front porch swing, as well as the house, completely burned.

"Picking and Grinning"

As I heard the unique sound coming from the steel guitar one Sunday night at a church, memories of Sunday evenings raced through my mind.  During the summer, my family gathered at momma’s for supper and after that some pickin’ and grinnin’.

Momma and my two brothers played guitars.  No, I cannot play guitar or any other musical instrument, but I learned to grin. My sister and I inherited our musical talents of playing from dad who could not play the radio without getting static. 

In fact, in Mrs. Gentry’s fourth-grade rhythm band class I played the triangles.  The triangles looked like a dinner bell.  My part was to hit the triangles, usually twice, during songs the class played.  Notice I said hit, not play the triangles.  Momma tried to raise me right, that is playing the guitar, but she said I did not have rhythm.  You cannot get much rhythm hitting the triangles twice in a fourth grade rhythm band.

At any rate, we gathered every Sunday evening after church to play and sing.  We sang anything we could remember such as church hymns, country/western songs, rock and roll tunes, and folk songs.  There were songs like the Kingsmen Trio’s Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley, Hank Williams’ I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry, Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder, and many more.  We actually knew more church songs than other songs.  We even made up a few songs.  My wife Lisa says I still do that when singing hymns at our churches.  I always comment, “They rhyme don’t they?”

We loved to sing together.  The choir director at my home church had my brothers and me learn several songs to sing for the congregation.  My brothers never played their guitars.  We sang either acapella (without music) or sang with what they called canned music. 

My home church considered this canned music as from the devil.  No, we did not make it devilish.  My home church considered anything other than the piano and the organ as evil.  One time a visiting youth group was going to play a trumpet.  The deacons said, “You’re not going to play that horn here.”  The son of one of the deacon’s said, “I wonder what they (the deacons) are going to do when the Trumpet of Lord sounds?”  The deacon consulted with the pastor and decided to let them play the trumpets.

I guess most of our church thought that we were paying the devils his dues by playing the guitars on Sunday evenings.  Momma, like each of us, was a sinner, a saved sinner.  Momma played anything she picked up.  She would play the harmonica, the juice harp, the saxophone, the piano, and the organ.  One time she took a comb, wrapped it with wax paper, and blew the teeth of the comb like a harmonica.

One time daddy traded a steel guitar for a banjo.  Momma played it too.  Not having a steel guitar to play Hank Williams’s heartache songs, momma would take a regular guitar, lay it flat, and use a pocketknife to slide on the strings.  It did not have the exact sound of the steel guitar, but it did the job and she sang she was so lonesome she could cry as she slid the pocketknife up and down the strings.

The only audience we had was dad and ourselves.  That is what we thought.  One Sunday evening we stopped playing after singing several songs.  Down in the holler below us, we lived on the hill, our aunts, uncles, and cousins hollered back, “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”  We had no idea our kin was listening to Mars Hill’s version of American Idol.

Momma often reminded us that we could not afford many luxuries, but we could sing about how good God is.  When momma felt depressed, she would start singing and playing church songs.  We sang with momma until death, time, and different directions separated us.  As I listened to the steel guitar, that night I felt a yearning for home as did the Hebrews did when they were carried away into captivity.

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.  We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.  For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, sing us one of the songs of Zion.  How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land? (Psalm 137:1-4 KJV)

"Calamity Jane"

As Southern Baptists mission work is in our blood.  It always creates excitement whether it is local or across the world.  It is a time of venturing into the unknown, meeting different people, and experiencing the power of God.

I remember my second trip to Wyoming during the 1980’s Alabama/Wyoming partnership.  The Bridger Valley Baptist Church in Lyman, Wyoming, needed help with a mission in Granger, Wyoming and extended a Macedonian call to come help them.

A log home company donated a building to Christian believers in Granger.  The Chilton Baptist Builders mission was to remodel the log home and make a small church.  Bridger Valley, the sponsoring church said that it would be ready for our team.  The Chilton Baptist Builders were in their second year of mission work.  The first trip we drove to Kemmerer, Wyoming.  On this second trip we decided to fly.  That was the beginning of an eventful mission memory.

I remember it was the first time to fly for several of us.  Somewhere between Birmingham and Memphis, I experienced a holy hush.  It was a wine and cheese sampler flight.  Being from a “dry county” and being “teetoler” Baptists, we confused the flight attendant by our refusal to partake of the different flavors of cheese and wine.  Someone did suggest what we could have the Lord’s Supper since they were serving wine, but since it was our Lord’s last meal, we did not want this to be our last meal due to drinking the communion wine.  What I thought of as a holy hush after that moment was really my ears were stopped up from the altitude change.  I realized this when I could see people talking but could not hear them.  I learned to chew gum to make my ears pop.

Flying into Salt Lake City International Airport, we watched a severe thunderstorm beneath us as we circled the airport.  We noticed a great big flash on the horizon and that the Great Salt Lake resembled an Alabama catfish pond.  It was much bigger when we got on the ground.  We were glad we did not drink the wine and missed being struck by lightning.

Exiting the plane, we went to get our luggage.  One of my bags was the first to come up and around the carousel.  Soon everyone had their luggage and was ready to go as I waited for my second piece.  All of a sudden the airport went black.  The thunderstorm knocked off all the power in northern Utah and southwest Wyoming.  I decided to go down into the luggage carousel.  I saw my piece, retrieved it, and we went to find our ride.  I am glad the electricity did not come back on.

Outside a black man asked if he could take our luggage.  David, one of our team who had never been out of Chilton County, said “Sure.”  He told the man that was neighborly of him to offer.

After he carried our luggage on this cart to the curbside, the black man stood at attention, lowered his left hand by his side, snapped his fingers, and said, “We are porters sir.”  David said, “Glad to meet you, I’m an Easterling and we have some Porters back home in Clanton.”  The porter snapped his fingers again and said, “We are porters sir.”

I said, “David, he wants a tip.”  I was pretty country myself, but I knew tipping porters was different than tipping cows.  David gave him a dollar.  The man snapped his fingers again.  David gave more, and I gave some.  David was not a happy missionary.

The host pastor stood outside with a sign with ALABAMA printed on it.  We loaded in his van for a 135 mile trip to Kemmerer.  We were hungry; remember we had only cheese and water or soft drinks for our only meal of the day.  All of northern Utah was without power, no place to eat and a long ride before we found a place with power.

Finally, we stopped Bingo’s Truck Stop in Evanston, Wyoming.  It was ten at night, Wyoming time.  The cook there looked like the cook on Hee Haw except he did not have fly swatter.  Bingo’s had a 12-ounce T-bone special.  I ordered it medium rare.  When he brought it out it was the largest steak I had ever seen.  The French fries were on another plate.  I could not eat it and I took it back.  With the toothpick rolling in his mouth the cook said, “What’s wrong?”

I said, “You are going to have to “lick that calf again”.”  He said, “You said medium rare.”  I replied to him, I can eat a steak when it is rare, when it is red, when blood is seeping out, but it has to be hot!  The steak had ice crystals around the bone on the side against the platter.  He said, complaints, complaints. . .  I was hungry, but not that hungry. 

We pulled a Willie Nelson and got on the road again.  Arriving at Granger at midnight, we found the log home.  It was sitting on the ground; there was no phone, no power, no water, and no sewage.  We thought as we surveyed the situation, welcome to mission excitement.

And a vision appeared to Paul in the night; There stood a man of Macedonia, and prayed him, saying, Come over into Macedonia, and help us.  And after he had seen the vision, immediately we endeavoured to go into Macedonia, assuredly gathering that the Lord had called us for to preach the gospel unto them (Acts 16:9-10 KJV).

The Chilton Baptist Builders were tired and sleepy that first night at Granger, Wyoming.  Church members from Bridger Valley and Granger provided some travel trailers and a mobile home that had Sunday school rooms, for us to sleep.  I slept on the floor of the children’s class room.  It had carpet.

The host pastor said that seven miles up the road on the Interstate was Little America, a large souvenir shop where there were bathrooms and showers for truckers.  That was a good hike to use the restroom.  Thank goodness the church did provide us with a van.  It was Saturday night, but we could wait to Sunday morning to shower at Little America and dress for morning worship at Bridger Valley.

The next morning we tried to decide what to do first.  The host church was to have the log cabin ready for us to remodel.  It was on the ground.  The grounds had large holes for water and sewage lines.  In Wyoming the frost line is eight feet whereas in Alabama is four to eight inches.  It was a mess and we needed some power and needed to find who was in charge of the utilities.

As we talked we heard a racket and the banging of car doors.  Looking around the corner was an old Toyota pickup.  A lady was hauling barrels of water to water trees in planned community of Granger.  The church was in this small development area near a river.  Other than a Honky-tonk, the log cabin was all that was in the development on the river.

We asked her who the man in charge of the power was.  She said she was.  She said she would get it turned on.  We asked her who we need to see about the water.  She said she was in charge of the water.  Yes, you guessed it.  She was in charge of the sewage.  She chastised us when we asked for the man in charge.  She was very much in charge.

She wore blue jeans, a plaid shirt, cowboy, maybe that was a cowgirl boots.  Her demeanor and the feeble husband caused us to give here the nickname “Calamity Jane.”

She constantly flew in and around the church in that beat up old pickup.  I said flying because the doors would not stay closed and it looked like a bird flopping when she skidded up to the church.

When we tried to unload the water for her she reminded us she was not a Southern Belle but an independent Wild West woman to which we said, “Yes mam!”  She was good to keep us stocked with snacks and drinks.  We were glad she did not tote pistols.

For three days S.O., a slave to alcohol now gloriously saved and nicknamed “Rabbit” and I worked under the log cabin jacking it up.  Underneath were skunk dens.  We did not change clothes because we had skunk hair and skunk feces all over us.  We worked and ate alone.  We did shower and put on clean underwear each day.

On Wednesday Calamity Jane slid in and demanded that all the workers give her their dirty clothes.  Rabbit and I were under the church running electrical and water lines.  Rabbit said, “Be quiet and be still.”

Our guys tried to tell Calamity that it was okay, but that was like spitting in the wind.  They all disappeared and returned with their dirty clothes.  Calamity took them and then shouted, “Where’s your underwear?”  Rabbit and I were quiet as church skunks.  Wayne, our brave spokesman and electrician, tried to convince her that she did not need our dirty undies.  This time it was reminisce of the stand off at the shoot out at the OK corral.  Calamity did not have pistols, but those “wimps” disappeared and reappeared with their dirty BVD’s.  At least they were man enough not to squeal on the two dirty skunks under the church.  Calamity just wanted to minister.  She was not a Lydia, but she did love the Lord and His workers.  She returned every man’s clothes clean and folded.

And on the sabbath we went out of the city by a river side, where prayer was wont to be made; and we sat down, and spake unto the women which resorted thither.  And a certain woman named Lydia, a seller of purple, of the city of Thyatira, which worshipped God, heard us: whose heart the Lord opened, that she attended unto the things which were spoken of Paul.  And when she was baptized, and her household, she besought us, saying, If ye have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come into my house, and abide there. And she constrained us (Acts 16:13-15 KJV).

We were able to winterize the little log cabin.  There was three inches between the window and the logs.  They were worshipping in weather that was below freezing. We put in a new ceiling, new lighting, and electrical outlets.  It is good to do mission work.  It shows us that people are different.  The people of Granger and Bridger Valley were wonderful and I often think of our time there.  I can say that for us “kountry boyz” from Chilton County that porters and Calamity Janes can be a culture shock.  They remind us that people need generous tips and lots of love, understanding and encouragement.  We did have the opportunity to witness, help change lives, and be changed as well as do some remodeling.  Mission work is exciting and eventful.

Everyday Routine

The “Left Behind Series” created a renewed interest in the Lord’s second coming.  The events of 911 heightened the interest and the current events in Jerusalem escalated interest in many.  There have always been two sides of the issue.  Response to Jesus’ coming is either indifference or fanciful schemes.  Few people are very eager or expectant and leave it to God.  One thing is sure.  God always gives plenty of warning.

In May 1984, National Geographic Magazine showed color photos and drawings of the swift and terrible destruction that wiped out the Roman cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum in AD 79. The explosion of Mount Vesuvius was so sudden that the people died in the middle of the routines of life. Common people were in the market, wealthy were in their luxurious baths, and slaves were at their backbreaking work. They died after breathing superheated gases and then volcanic ash buried them. Life was going on as usual, but sudden destruction overtook them on that terrible day. The tragic thing is that the people did not have to die. The article stated that scientists have verified what some of the ancient Roman records indicate: that there were weeks of rumblings and tremors preceding the actual eruption. There were even ominous plumes of smoke visible from the mountain several days before the volcano erupted. If only they had responded to Vesuvius’ warning! God was warning them, but they were not paying attention. They went about their lives as usual instead of paying attention to the warning which God had provided.

Speaking of the second coming of Christ, Paul wrote these words to the Thessalonians: “Now, brothers, about times and dates we do not need to write to you, for you know very well that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, ‘Peace and safety,’ destruction will come on them suddenly, as labor pains on a pregnant woman, and they will not escape” (1 Thessalonians 5:1-3).

God has always warned His people long before judgment falls.  Two days before the cross, the disciples asked Jesus about the end. Jesus discussed with His disciples the destruction of the temple.  Jesus knew that in 70 AD that Titus would march the Roman army into the city and over a million Jews would die.  History records that there was plenty of warning and that there were no Christians in the city then.  They were out ministering.  The disciples realized that Jesus was telling them that people can come to the point of no return. 

Are we approaching that time?  We know that Jesus said no one knows the time.  We know that man will not be the one who destroys the world.  We know that when we distort God’s plan we reap the harvest of sin.  The Bible teaches us that judgment will fall when least expected.  There are definite signs of Jesus’ return.  If there is no flood, there is no judgment nor Noah.  If there is no Noah, there is no Jesus, no cross, no resurrection, nor second coming.  If there is no second coming, there is no judgment, no heaven, nor hell. 

Jesus gives an expose¢on the human heart and the consequences of sin in Matthew 24:37-44.  “Eating and drinking” is a New Testament expression of the subjection to the World.  Eating and drinking are vital functions of life but as such they may be occasions of sin.  “Marrying and giving in marriage” is an expression of immorality.  Without God people have obsession with sin.  Abortion becomes choice, homosexuality becomes alternative lifestyle, spouse becomes significant other, the church becomes a haven for incest, and tampering with Divine order becomes genetic engineering. We are pushing the limits in population, technology, and pride.            

Our hope is involvement by God who always provides salvation.  Jesus provides grace.  Noah found the grace of God who saved the world.  It was not Noah.  Human achievement without God becomes overweening pride.  The world needs a Savior.  We must be ready to share Jesus.  (v. 44)

Old Fashion Graveyard Cleaning

Down the hill, facing the East is a pink granite headstone in West Chilton County. 

The headstone is unique among the gray granite headstones in the Union Springs Baptist Church Cemetery.  The name etched in the pink granite is the only headstone with that name.

I served on the Cemetery Committee for many years.  One of the things the committee did was remodeled the cemetery.  Don’t laugh, it was in terrible shape.  Families had staked out their territories.  Bricks, bushes, wrought iron fences, galvanized pipes with chains, and huge flowerpots marked the boundaries.  Some family plots had pebbles, some white, other colored. There were rose bushes, daffodils, sweet gum trees, and junipers.

Cleaning the cemetery was an annual event, usually before the Easter weekend.  Men and women arrived with rakes, hoes, shovels, wheelbarrows, lawn mowers, weed eaters, and tractors.  With the eagerness of worker honeybees, everyone descended on the cemetery to make the resting place of the dead a thing of beauty for the living.  I remember moments when I would see people weeping over a grave as they cleaned around it.  Most people cleaning the cemetery had loved ones and friends buried there.

Years before the remodeling, the only tool needed was a yard broom made from dogwood saplings.  The cemetery, as most yards did not have grass, so most people sweep the bare ground with the yard broom.  A bare graveyard with thousands of sweet gums balls makes for hard work.  Sweet gum balls in grass, in white pebbles, and all the stuff mentioned above makes it harder.

Even though my dad was not a Christian, he always helped with cleaning the cemetery.  In fact, we did not have to beg him to come to church on Easter.  I wish more pastors and believers would be more sensitive to families that have a dad or others who only attend church at Easter and Christmas.  For a family pleading with tears for a husband and dad to attend church only to have that loved one ridiculed when attending is heart breaking.  I know that I was so happy when daddy went to worship with us at Easter and Christmas.

Years before there was a Cemetery Committee and remodeling, on a Saturday we were cleaning the cemetery.  I have to believe that this catalytic event initiated both.  Here is what happened.  There was discussion on the difficulty of the annual cleaning.  All the stuff in the cemetery had deteriorated with time.  Families did not want their sacred territories disturbed, so anyone who violated this unwritten rule was severely reprimanded.  As a point of interest, most of these sacred territories belonged to folks who never attended the church. You might say they had been grandfathered into ownership.  Their granddaddies planted those trees and placed all the other stuff.  Their descendants continued this possess until this incredible moment in time.

Holy indignation built in the cemetery among those who were entrusted with cleaning in preparation of the Holy Week.  Holy Sacraments of the cemetery were about to face an episode likened to Jesus cleaning the Temple.

A sweet gum tree towered above a grave on a bare bank.  Erosion and sweet gum balls presented a growing problem.  Some men of the church huddled in deliberation to conjure a remedy.  The verdict was the tree needed to go but gripped with fear of retaliation from the Sacred Society of Cemetery Relics and Botanical Substance, no one volunteered.

Daddy, who listened at a distance because he was not a member of the church, asked, “Do you want the tree cut down?”

They replied that they did but feared the repercussions.

Daddy looked at me and said, “Go get the chainsaw.”  I went home to get the McCullough daddy used when he logged for a living.  Daddy reminded me of Jerry Clower’s cousin Marcel Ledbetter, who used a McCullough to get a soft drink, as he fired up the chain saw and felled the towering sweet gum.

Yeah, the family that said they planted the tree was upset.  We did not have to worry about them quitting church because they never came anyway.  Eventually, all the sacred relics and botanical substance were gone as were those who wrestled over the decision and those who retaliated.  Manicured and groomed, the cemetery looks nice today.

I often shed a tear when I visit that pink granite tombstone with the name Hopper on it.  I snigger when I stand at the foot of daddy’s grave.  It is just a few feet from where he created the stir in the cemetery and among those from both sides of the issue.

The old song reminds us that when the Lord returns, the cemetery will be a mess with graves bursting open.

Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:

 And said, Where have ye laid him? They said unto him, Lord, come and see.  Jesus wept. (John 11:25, 34-35 KJV)

    

Multifaced Ministry

 A few years ago, 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 deformed 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, the 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 someday.”

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 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 bother 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 have to 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.

People Need the Lord

We have all heard the song People Need the Lord.  We sing it and it moves us, but does it move us to do something.  That something in particular is God’s call for our lives.  There is no greater reward than knowing that our calling/ministry is a God thing.  Sometimes we have to revisit our call and remember our surrender to follow Jesus.  We recall how lost in sin we were and the joy that comes from knowing that our sins are washed away.  Commit to memory that day and the burden you had for those around you will rekindle the passion to see lost people saved. 

“Capture the Passion” for lost people.  The world is doing as expected.  What about God’s people?  Today many churches are turning inward.  An article from Theodore O. Wedel, “Evangelism- the Mission of the Church to Those Outside Her Life,” The Ecumenical Review, October 1953, p. 24, explains some of our present day dilemma:

On a dangerous seacoast where shipwrecks often occur, there was once a crude little life saving station.  The building was just a hut, and there was only one boat but a few devoted members kept a constant watch over the sea, and with no thought for themselves, they went out day and night tirelessly searching for the lost.  Many lives were saved by this wonderful little life saving station, so it became famous.  So some of those who had been saved, and various others from the surrounding areas wanted to become associated with this station, and give of their time and their money and their effort for the support of its work.  New boats were bought, new life saving crews were trained, and the little life saving station grew. 

Some of the members of the life saving station were unhappy that the building was so crude and poorly equipped.  They felt a more comfortable place should be provided as the first refuge of those who were saved from the sea.  So they replaced the emergency cots and beds with better furniture in the enlarged building.  Now the life saving station became a popular gathering place for its members, and they decorated it, and they beautifully furnished it exquisitely because they used it as something of a club.  Few members were now interested in going to sea on life saving missions so they hired life boat crews to do the work.  The life saving motif still prevailed in the life saving club's decorations and there was a liturgical lifeboat in the room where the club held it's initiations, but professionalism had taken over and displaced the original purpose of lifesaving.

Now about this time a large ship was wrecked off the coast, and the hired crews brought in loads of cold, wet, half drowned people.  They were dirty and sick, and some of them had black skin and some of them had yellow skin and the beautiful new club was considerably messed up - so the property committee immediately had a shower house built outside the club where the victims of ship wrecks could be cleaned up before they came inside.  At the next meeting there was a split in the club membership.  You see most of the members wanted to stop the clubs life saving activity as being unpleasant and a hindrance to the normal social life of the club.  Some members insisted upon life saving as their primary purpose and they pointed out that they were still called the life saving station.  But they were finally voted down and told if they wanted to save the lives of various kinds of people who were shipwrecked in those waters, and dirty and wet, they could begin their own life saving station down the coast a little ways, which they did.  And as the years went by the new station experienced the same changes that had occurred in the old one.  It evolved into a club, and yet another life saving station was founded.  Well history continued to repeat itself, and if you visit that coast today, you will find a number of exclusive clubs along the shore which are very professional in nature.  Shipwrecks are still frequent in those waters, but most of the people drown.

People need the Lord.  Opportunities from God proliferate.  Churches stand at the portal of a great opportunity to share Christ.  Be yielded and ready for opportunities.

Black Snake Road

The Friendship Baptist Church is located on Friendship Road in Clanton, Alabama.  The road got its name after a couple of residents did not like living on Black Snake Road.  It is named black moccasin snakes which make the creek their home. 

One spring the bridge on Black Snake Road was out for repairs.  A great spiritual truth came to me during the bridge outage.  I heard vehicles stopping and turning around in the Friendship parking lot.  There were barricades at each end of the road which warned that the bridge was out. 

Local people that lived either side of the bridge knew that one could not pass the creek.  They knew that it was to stop travelers before they went too far and plunged into the creek.  Most travelers ignored the barricade and tried to continue anyway.  They did not realize the deadly plight if they were to enter the creek.  One police officer had to shoot his way back to his patrol car after he had investigated the new work of the bridge.  He said the moccasins were everywhere.  The barricades were to help travelers even though it did inconvenience them with a three-mile detour.

The Book of Amos has a story about a barricade.  Amos tries to warn the king and the kingdom about impending danger.  Like the travelers on Black Snake Road, they did not heed the warning.  He had a challenging preacher named Amaziah who did not agree with him.  Amaziah does not see the brevity of the kingdom due to immorality.  Amos sees destruction for those who ignore the warning.  People of the kingdom agreed with Amaziah because it was convenient religion preaching to itching ears.  There was no accountability. 

Amos was as believers are to day.  That is he was the reason things were bad.  He was a threat to the community going forward.  Amaziah saw Amos as a threat to the kingdom and the temple.  Amos had the message from God.  He compared the nation to a plumb line.  The nation was out of line with God.

The message is the same today.  Nations, communities, churches, organizations, and individuals that are not plumb with God face destruction.  Those who want to seek the gods of the world openly disdain and defy God’s people.  Living and preaching the Word of God threaten the “status quo.”

The Amos 7:10-11 tells us that people believe worldly gossip more than the gospel. Gossip feeds on jealousy and indifference and is not always repeated exactly.  The Gospel is truth. Then Amaziah the priest of Bethel sent to Jeroboam king of Israel, saying, Amos hath conspired against thee in the midst of the house of Israel: the land is not able to bear all his words.  For thus Amos saith, Jeroboam shall die by the sword, and Israel shall surely be led away captive out of their own land.

Verses 12-13 remind us that people want worldly economic stability more than morality.  Competition disrupts the status quo.  Amaziah tried to discredit Amos and run him from the area, tying him to economic problems which were sin problems of the nation. 

People did not want their sin pointed out by the preacher Amos.  Morality does not have a price and immorality cannot bear the words of morality.  Prosperity is not always a sign of God’s approval and Amos tried to relay that to the nation

Verses 16-17 teach us that living by gossip, worldly economics, and fearing man does not give peace and leads to destruction.  Mankind cries peace, peace without God.  There is coming a time when the world will suffer without the voice of believers available.  There will be a time when God’s grace has passed. The Word of God goes out through reading and proclamation, but is not heeded.  People reject the message and sometimes the messenger.  May we, believers in Jesus Christ, continue share the Gospel in a world that darkens with evil and the return of our risen savior is drawing near.

"LIFE FROM ACROSS THE TRACKS"

I never will forget the first time I heard the phrase “Below the Bogue” which I learned is the same as “South of the Bogue.”  I think I understood its meaning before anyone told me.  I am from across the tracks myself.  I grew up in rural Alabama in a community called Mars Hill.  While in school, Jemison folks called those who lived across the tracks “that bunch from Mars Hill.”

Most of us from Mars Hill lived in shacks, used outdoor toilets, and wore hand-me-down clothes.  We went to school Monday through Friday, to town on Saturday and church on Sundays.  Our dads hauled pulpwood and our mammas stayed at home. 

The best thing about being from Mars Hill was most were great athletes.  A picture of the 1917 Mars Hill baseball team crowns the cover of A Pictorial History of Chilton County.  Jemison High school state championships in baseball, basketball, football, softball, tennis, and volleyball all have Mars Hill athletes as their all-states, all conferences, and captains. 

It was in Sunday school that I learned that the Apostle Paul preached at Mars Hill, not the one in Chilton County, but the one in the Bible.  He had a difficult time preaching there.  They were a tough bunch in Mars Hill.  Mars Hill people are always tough.  If the Bible mentioned Mars Hill, I knew that being from Mars Hill was prophetic and had its advantages.

I have always had to defend my Mars Hill roots.  A church I pastored was one of the places I felt the bias.  A church member confronted me about the issue of prayer for one of our mission programs.  I wanted the leaders to teach our children and youth how to pray.  We had a wonderful missions program and it was a model for the Alabama Baptist State Board of Missions in Montgomery.  Two of our RA’s were pages at the Southern Baptist Convention in Salt Lake City one year.  One of the two got a scholarship to Samford University through our RA program. 

I did not want to sidetrack mission ministries, but wanted incorporate prayer and teach the importance of prayer in concert and in support of missions.  The response I received knocked the wind from my sails.  The sin of sanctifying geography and the sin of sanctifying size reared its ugly head.  The church member said, “I know that you pastored a little old church in the sticks of Bibb County and you did not have many members so you know nothing of missions.  You need to leave the missions to us.” 

The truth was that I served as vice-moderator, moderator, and the Associational Brotherhood director for Bibb Baptist Association.  My Bibb church was a mission church.  I had been a Royal (RA) Ambassador since boyhood and understood very much the value of missions.  The Bibb church lead Bibb Association churches in giving eight percent to the Association. 

I did not take his statement as personal attack, but it did affront me because he offended the kind, generous, and saintly members of that little church.  I felt as though this church member had slapped little churches and pastors of little churches in the face by such a diabolical statement.

I have learned that it is more important where the Lord takes you than where you have been.  Jesus’ teachings speak volumes about geography and size when He calls us to follow Him.  Let me use this paraphrase:  “Give me who you are and forget where you came” is the call to follow Jesus.  Wow, I wish I had known back then what I know today.

Are we guilty of the sin of sanctifying geography when we refer to “that bunch from Mars Hill” or “South of the Bogue?”  Where the Lord takes us is more important that where we have been.  Are we guilty of the sin of sanctifying size when we compare churches or say we are too small to do anything?  God has no small churches.

The day following Jesus would go forth into Galilee, and findeth Philip, and saith unto him, Follow me.  Now Philip was of Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter.  Philip findeth Nathanael, and saith unto him, We have found him, of whom Moses in the law, and the prophets, did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.  And Nathanael said unto him, Can there any good thing come out of Nazareth? Philip saith unto him, Come and see (John 1:43-46 KJV).