The Past Reached For And Held the Future

One night at prayer meeting I watched as an elderly church member reached for a newborn baby.  The baby’s mother slowly and tenderly handed the newborn to the woman.  In that single moment I thought, God what are you teaching me? The oldest member of church was holding the newest addition to the church family and the profundity of it has intrigued me since that moment. 

An elderly woman holding a baby boy does not sound profound, but the significance of the moment is.  Ninety plus years of wisdom was holding innocence.  The experience of that woman who witnessed many innovations caressed an immature babe who would see advancements that the woman could never imagine.  A mind full of memories was staring at one who would not remember it.  One dear woman nearing the end of her journey was blessing a little boy just beginning his.  One with a lifetime of decisions gazed into the eyes of one who could not even focus into his beholder’s eyes.

I pondered the love that Miss Martha gave to little Mac that night.  It was a special flash to see how wonderful God is, how He speaks in simple, yet very philosophical ways.  Was Miss Martha passing the Christian baton to Mac?  Was she praying for Mac’s health, his journey in life, or his salvation?  How many newborns had she held and blessed in her lifetime?  Did she ponder the thoughts that Nicodemus mulled over when Jesus said, “Marvel not that I said unto thee, ye must be born again?” (John 3:7)  She had been born again many years before and now walked physically feeble toward the end of one journey, yet spiritually ran boldly toward the beginning of eternity.

Was Martha rejoicing over the Apostle Paul’s saying, “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new” as she held a new baby? (2 Corinthians 5:17)

I do not know Martha’s thoughts or Mac’s mother’s feelings, but I know I felt a sense of awe when God’s saint held a newborn in the House of the Lord.  I felt as though I saw Anna when she saw baby Jesus.  “And there was one Anna, a prophetess, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Aser: she was of a great age . . . And she coming in that instant gave thanks likewise unto the Lord, and spake of him to all them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem.” (Luke 2:36a, 38)

Billboards on Life's Highway

Traveling the highways, we see lots of billboards.  On our last trip to Baytown Texas for my son Aaron’s wedding, there were hundreds of billboards.  Not too far from Aaron’s apartment is the world’s largest gas station named Buc-ee’s.  Of course, it is the largest.  What else would you expect from the state that boasts the largest of everything? 

Buc-ee’s is known for billboards by Texas interstate highways with simple and humorous slogans.  One of my favorites is:  Two reasons to stop at Buc-ee’s, # 1 and #2.  The Baytown Buc-ee’s is 60,000 square feet, sits on 18 acres, has 96 gas pumps, and employs 200.  Buc-ees also has the cleanest bathrooms.  Two employees' sole purpose is cleaning the bathrooms 24 hours a day for #1 and #2.

From three hundred miles from Baytown, we started reading the billboards.  The billboards were better than the GPS.  The ideas behind the billboards: When motorists pull in to use the restroom, they are like to buy.  For me it means how far I was from Aaron.

There is a large billboard on I-110 in Pensacola, Florida advertising the Andrews Institute that says, “The world comes to Gulf Breeze.”  It is true people from over the world come to Gulf Breeze to have surgery.  I know I went there.

As a kid, I remember a barn north of Jemison that had “See Rock City” painted on its tin roof.  For several years traveling with the Bethel Baptist Builders, I have seen dozens of old barns with the “See Rock City slogans.  I have been by Rock City on many occasions, especially with the Builders, but have never been there.  My destination is the Builder work site and I resist the temptation thinking that one day Rock City will be the destination.

Billboards are very tempting.  My friend Michael Mason has a chapter in his book True titled 1-800-2good2Btrue.  He says, “That if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.”  As a traveling evangelist, he says that he sees motels with rooms for $19.99 per night.  He writes, “Chances are, many of those people at those motels are not there to sleep.”  He and his wife have stayed in rooms with worn carpets, stained bathrooms, and dirty sheets.  He asks, “Is sleeping on clean sheets really worth over a hundred and fifty dollars a night?  Probably not, but peace of mind is priceless.”

Many years ago, on a building trip with my home Association, we were headed to Granger, Wyoming.  On I-80, we started seeing signs inviting us to visit the Little America truck stop.  The closer we got to Granger, the more inviting the billboard became. 

Little America was an oasis along I-80 before truck stops were common.  At Little America, there is a hotel, restaurant, post office, convenience store, repair shop, and other trucker amenities.  We were expecting something more by reading the billboards.  We were kinda disappointed at first.  Before the trip was over, it was truly an oasis.  Way back, when we were there, that is where we showered after working all day on the Granger church.  There were no facilities or other amenities at the church.  Little America was a welcomed relief after working in skunk dens under the church all day.

Michael Mason believes billboards line the highways because the highways are filled with lonely, empty people trying to find their niche in life. And advertisers know people are desperate to find happiness and will do whatever it takes to find it.

There are signs with: 1-800-divorce, all you can eat buffet, $9.99, ice cold beer, Cracker Barrel 18 miles, World’s Largest Adult Bookstore exit 666, Exit here for Gator City, Visit Silver Springs, and my favorite, Accident/ Injury, Call Alexander Shunnarah 1-800-808-****.  Shunnarah is everywhere.

Long before Ricky Nelson was a traveling man. There was the Apostle Paul. On his missionary journeys, he had a traveling companion named Demas.  Demas had potential, but the world captivated him.  Rather than being in the presence of God, he chose the pleasures of the world.  He read one too many billboards that distracted and tempted Demas and he got off at an exit and never returned.

 

Do thy diligence to come shortly unto me:  For Demas hath forsaken me, having loved this present world, and is departed unto Thessalonica; Crescens to Galatia, Titus unto Dalmatia (II Timothy 4:9-10 KJV).

 

On a Builder trip to Pikeville, Kentucky, there was a billboard in the mountains advertising a plumbing business.  It was an eye catcher.  “We repair what your husband fixed.”  Ain’t you glad that we serve a God that repaired what you and I try to fix after we fall prey to Satan’s billboards.

 

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!

Life’s Pesty Hang-ups

This morning was my day to take my clothes to the laundry.  I separated the shirts from the slacks and folded them into a pile to carry.   I always return the clothes hangers.  Now up home some folks say cloak hanger, coat hanger, or plain hanger.  I collected them separating the slack hangers from the shirt hangers.  It never ceases to amaze me how they can get tangled.

When I try to hang our clothes in the washroom, which not big enough to “cuss a cat,” those demon hangers want to join together and hold hands, I mean hooks.  It never fails in my effort to get one hanger that three will fall on the floor.  Did I say that the laundry room was small, just enough room to stand between the wall and the washer and dryer?

This morning these pesky hangers hooked up in the bedroom, just outside the place where they hang out with my clothes.  The hangers have this uncanny way of deciding which shirt and sweater that I am going to wear.  I reached for a white shirt, the hanger for the blue striped shirt got in front of the white shirt hanger.  It was like it was saying, “Take me, take me.”  I want to believe there is a tiny clothes hanger gremlin that mixes up the hangers while I shower.

When I get the clothes ready for the cleaners, I routinely place the hangers between the folded shirts and folded slacks to prevent them for being tangled and sliding everywhere.  I have yet to be successful.  First, the hangers are accustomed to hanging with the clothes, not smothered between them.  It is as though I have trapped them, and they search for the just the right moment to escape.  I want to think that I have them in the wrong order with the shirt hangers against the slacks and they are trying to hang with the right article of clothing.

One time the hangers tried to make a daring escape when I got them out of the truck.  They scattered all over the sidewalk in front of the cleaners.  Another time they escaped when I tried to load them to go to the cleaners.  Their escaping just leads to entanglement.

I wish that the shirt hanger and the slack hanger could be like the plastic hangers from clothing departments.  These have swivel hooks, but the plastic ends are subject to break when under pressure.

Some store-bought plastic hangers are various colors.  Their hooks are hard to remove from the closet rod.  They are independent cusses and are harder to hold together.  They are durable, but unlike the metal hangers, they are limited in practicality.

Metal hangers have a variety of uses.  I have used clothes hangers to hold exhaust pipes in place.  The wire is perfect to use in most redneck situations.  They even make a great tool to unlock car doors.  I have used them for welding.  A good hanger and acetylene torch set to the right flame can weld broken car frames, lawn mower decks, and wrought iron.  I have used clothes hangers as a short set of jumper cables.  When using them as jumper cables, make sure you have a solid connection.  The wire does get hot.

There is another hook that can more tangled than clothes hanger hooks and that is fishing hooks.  They are so jealous of one another.  Every time you try to get one to tie on a line, they hang together.  They are one for all and all for one.

They can be testy also.  When you try to separate them, they have been known to bite.  Their bite can hurt too.  When they do bite, they have a tenacity to hold on tight and must be removed by cutting them out.

Every time I think about fishhooks, I think of red worms.  Trying to put a red worm on a hook can be challenging.  Once you have threaded a worm or two on the hook you must cast with care, or you will have to thread more worms on the hook.  Dad used to tell us not to cast too hard because we were feeding worms to the bass and bream.

When I think of fishhooks, I think of Amos 4:1-2 in the Old Testament.  He calls the uppity women cows, we say heifer up home, and says that because of their sin they will be led to captivity with hooks. 

Hear this word, you cows of Bashan on Mount Samaria, you women who oppress the poor and crush the needy and say to your husbands, "Bring us some drinks!"  The Sovereign LORD has sworn by his holiness: "The time will surely come when you will be taken away with hooks, the last of you with fishhooks.  

One commentary said the hooks would be in their noses. This became very vivid when I had to remove a hook from a nose.  I remember one Saturday we were fishing at my sister’s pond when my niece hooked my son Aaron’s nose with a hook.  Aaron didn’t cry but he encouraged me to hurry.  The red worms were tickling his nostril.  I cut off the barb and slid the hook off his nose.

Amos’ passage illustrates how tangled our lives can get with sin.  Sin, like pesky clothes hangers and fishing hooks, has a way of hooking us and causing all sorts of entanglements.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us (Hebrews 12:1 KJV).

 

Brother Arch

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 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 Aaron and I rebuilt my ’77 GMC pickup, and I understood the statement, “They don’t build them like that anymore” 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.

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.

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 has always been an inspiration and an example of what a Christian should be.  He was a Christian Classic.  Our churches would much better with more men 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).

 

My Friend Ray

When I received a call about Ray, an old friend, dying in the hospital, I immediately went to see him.  While in route to Shelby Baptist Hospital, my mind raced with all kinds of scenarios concerning his demise.  I had not heard from Ray in a while.  You, as well as I, sometimes let valuable time slip away without talking with old friends.  You do not mean for it to happen, but it does.  We get busy and time flies.

Ray and I made friends when his wife, Jodi, and he started attending my home church.  We were the same age and our children were the same age.  Jodi was a childhood friend of mine.  Ray accepted Christ as his savior because of a revival that started with a study of the Book of Revelation.  Brother Cecil Swell, pastor of West End Baptist Church in Clanton led the study.  I wish I had his notes because it was a wonderful study.

Someone had invited Ray’s brother-in-law and Jodi’s brother, Bobby, to the study.  When Bobby heard the teaching of Brother Cecil, he was scared to death.  Bobby was one of those guys that was scared into the kingdom of God. 

Because of Bobby’s salvation, most of his family became Christians.  It was reminiscent of the Philippian jailer in the Book of Acts were the jailer and his whole family were saved and baptized.  Ray was one of Bobby’s family members, but the range of Revelation spread well beyond Bobby’s extended family.

Ray was eager to hear, study, and learn God’s Word.  I remember spending hours in Bible study with Jodi and him.  Our friendship grew as he grew in the Lord.  He lived nearby so we jogged together; lifted weights together, ate meals together, and visited together.

I never will forget a Thursday night visitation.  Ray and Gary (Scooby) went on visitation with me.  Ray witnessed Scooby as they worked together, and Scooby became a believer.  Both of them were what we term “on fire” for the Lord and they could not wait to share their new faith.

I led them to the house of a fellow that we all knew.  I had been there for several visitations but had no luck.  I thought that these “new boys” might have a great influence knowing that they used to drink together.  When our acquaintance opened the door, he started cussing, ripping, and tearing into us.  I knew he meant no harm, but Ray and Scooby ran as if they met the boogieman.  Suddenly, I found myself all alone.  Our friend had been snorting a few ounces of alcohol, so I said I would come back later and went to retrieve my two new converts who were hiding behind a car.  I reminded them that they were like that at one time.

This was before I surrendered the call into the ministry.  I firmly believed that Scooby and Ray were being called into the ministry, not me.  They had wonderful testimonies and were growing spiritually by leaps and bounds.  I could see God at work in their lives.  Even their wives expressed that they did not know if they could be “preacher wives.” 

I did become a deacon and I realized later that I was the one being called into full time ministry.  Scooby later became our Sunday School director and Ray became a deacon.

Ray eagerly learned and understood the ministry of being a deacon.

Ray and Jodi’s marriage had started on shaky ground having divorced and remarrying about the time of their salvation.  Their commitment to the Lord temporary healed a strained relationship.

As time slipped away, about ten years, the pressure of marriage, kids, and ministry increased.  Ray and Jodi separated a second time.  Ray volunteered to resign as deacon.

With the divorce final, Jodi married another man and Ray started drinking and slowly slipped back into his old ways.  He dated a younger woman, and she became pregnant.  Ray unfortunately chose alcohol for relief and overdosed trying to escape.  With no one to help him, Jodi, with the encouragement of her new husband, stood by Ray’s side in the hospital until he died.  Jodi is the one who called me thinking I could encourage Ray.

Jodi met me and gave me the bad news that he would not live very long.  I will never forget the look in Ray’s eyes as I tried to communicate with him.  He acknowledged me with a penetrating stare from his lifeless body.  He was dying with alcoholic chronic pancreatitis or alcohol poising.  His body could not digest the excessive overdose of alcohol.

I spent as much time allowed by the hospital that afternoon with Ray and Jodi.  Jodi lost the father of her children, and I lost a dear brother in Christ.  There was some much that Ray and I needed to catch up on.  I do not know how much Ray comprehended, but one last time our eyes focused on each other as I told him I loved him.  I thank God for having known Ray and regret I could not help him.

It has been almost thirty years since Ray died the way he did and I have been asked, “Do you think Ray was saved?”  I know he was, but he lost his vision and gave up.  Eugene Peterson expresses it in The Message, “If people can’t see what God is doing, they stumble all over themselves; but when they attend to what God reveals; they are most blessed.”

The King James Version says, “Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth the law, happy is he” (Proverbs 29:18).

That Bunch From Mars Hill

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 mission's 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 the value of missions very much.  The Bibb church lead Bibb Association churches in giving eight percent of its money 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).

 

 

EXPECTATION

Today is the start of the new Millennium.  School at Beeson starts at eight o’clock Monday morning.  I expect it will be a great class.  Much will be expected of us.  There is always uncertainty of trying to do what the professor expects. My whole community, family, and church expect me to do well.  There is hope for everyone if a poor country boy does well.  That’s expected though! January 1, 2000.

I wrote this paragraph in a devotional book, Front Porch Tales, that I got for Christmas from our eldest son Andy in 1999.  This book became an inspiration for the articles you read.  The devotion was titled Expectation.  It is the expectation of John the Baptist’s birth and the song, which his father sang.  Philip Gulley writes, “. . . that expectation is a blessing, not a curse.  It is a beautiful thing when people expect something decent of you.”

At the time I was meditating on this probing thought, the world was breathing an inkling of relief after being in panic mode for several months.  Remember Y2K.  Corporations, businesses, banks, and utilities spent mega bucks trying to avert a major meltdown of the civilized world of the computer its massive web of control.

I remember bank presidents in Clanton asking the preachers to tell congregations not to make large withdrawals from the banks.  One Clanton resident withdrew $150 thousand dollars.  One banker said that if certain people knew the man’s name, that that man’s life would be worthless.

One member of the church I pastored worked on a power company’s building in downtown Birmingham trying to update the computer infrastructure to avoid meltdown, as electrical outage would be catastrophe.  Expectation of calamity controlled the minds of people around the world during the Y2K scare.  Mass panic was imminent.

Fast forward twenty-two years and we discover that most people laugh at the folly of Y2K, remember the awfulness of 911, dread the terror of COVID as the panic of world destruction looms even greater today.  If one listens to the media, it is DOOM, DESPAIR, and AGONY on me.  We hear about the financial collapse of nations around the world and the expectation that America is ripe for financial collapse clouds our judgment.  We see the moral decay of Europe and witness the deterioration of our great nation with each new song, video, commercial, or fashion design and wonder how low we can sink in moral degradation.

I believe that God created you and me for these times.  I revisit my calling from time to time.  I remember sitting at the dinner table studying the Bible when God directed to preach the truth.  Most people do not believe me, but I am by nature a shy introvert.  God is the reason that I do not appear that way today.

I never expected to be a preacher, especially a director of missions.  I knew that the Lord expected me to use the talents and gifts that He blessed me.  I never expected that I would be a writer of articles that have become a blessing and inspiration to those who read them.

I wanted to quit the University of Montevallo, especially after I made an F ++ over a C-- on my first English 101 paper.  The F was for grammar and the C for content.  I even had to attend the Harbert Writing Center just to learn how to write.

Every Monday I wanted to quit but I was reminded that the family had too much money invested in me.  It made me realize that too many people depended on me.  Remember what I said about expectation.  Many times, I did not believe that I could make it, but I knew the Lord kept providing my every need and increased my abilities.

Along about the time I began to feel a “burnout” bearing down on me, I realized that I expected more from myself than God, family, my church, and the community did.  After my freshman year, I made the dean’s list.  I expected to graduate sigma cum laude, but a geography class and European history class crushed that expectation.  I thought about it.  I was working full time at the cement plant, taking twelve hours of classes, pastoring a church, and trying to raise a family and I was expecting to make straight A’s.  Then I realized who cares if I make straight A’s.  It was my expectations, no one else’s.  I made straight B’s that term, which is not shabby since I only attend one computer class and took tests for the others.  I got a reprieve from the University because the cement plant would not work around my schedule.  I had a high enough grade average that I did not have to attend classes. That’s another story!

When the Lord reminded me of my long-term goals, I started enjoying school and making better grades.  The Lord increased my belief, and my expectations became a blessing.

It is this attitude I need when facing the uncertainty of the world and the certainty of God.  When I think about COVID and the threat of government control, I am reminded of the father of the child with a foul spirit that the Disciples could not help.  Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.  And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief (Mark 9:23-24 KJV).

I believe, no I expect, believers to make a difference.  “It is a beautiful thing when people expect something decent of you.”

 

 

I Heard It In A Love Song

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

"Ability to Shoot from the Hip"

Several years ago, one of our pastors, now in another part of the state, asked me about my ability to “shoot from the hip.”  He said his church wanted to know how I did it.  I said that one should never rely on “shooting from the hip” as a way to handle life’s situation.  The ability to “shoot from the hip” is as coaches teach players.  Practice your position so well that it becomes second nature without really thinking.

I told my pastor friend that I constantly read books and articles.  I am storing information that can be retrieved as needed.  Most things we do require thinking and contemplation.
My personality in decision-making requires that I gather the necessary information, meditate, and sleep on it.  “Shooting from the hip” is more exceptional, than the rule of thumb.  It is great to have the ability, but it must be tempered and preceded by thought and reflection.  Folks up home have a saying, “He is sharper than a stepped-on thumb tack.”  All I can say is that the tack has been stepped on a lot if it is sharp.

I never will forget my first day at the cement plant.  The yard foreman was conveying to me why the plant had the reputation for high wages.  He said that it was hot, nasty, hard, and dangerous work.  Reality hit when he said, “You may walk in the plant, but if I did not work safely, co-workers would carry my dead body out.”   I responded, “Yes sir!”

We had regular safety classes.  Everyone that worked rotation had to either stay past quitting time or come in early to attend TAKE 2 classes.  Gerald Thomas from Georgia taught these classes and was a good teacher.  TAKE 2 started in North Alabama at a chemical plant.  The spokesperson was said to be a custodial worker with a very good voice.  I had my doubts, but the old gentleman did have a very good speaking voice.  The chemical plant produced a movie clip that focused on different scenarios where people would get hurt.  It was very good, but it was no Hollywood production.

There was jingle with the presentation that stuck with you after the class.  TAKE 2 meant that one would take two minutes to think about the situation before taking action.  TAKE was an acronym for T, have I Talked over the situation, A, what Actions will I take, K, do I have the Knowledge to perform the task, and E, do I have right Equipment to do the job safely and correctly.

The film would show an employee who did not take time to review the job that resulted in the employee injuring himself.  The narrator would reiterate what the simpleton did wrong and then the same employee would do it correctly following the TAKE 2 steps.

There were several jobs where TAKE 2 had to be automatic and fast reaction saved lives and equipment.  Employees had to be fast, but not careless.  At every safety meeting, Gerald would handout “Fatal Grams,” papers containing reports of fatalities in cement plants, and other related industries.  These men and women walked into the plant, but coworkers or rescue squads carried them out.

Taking 2 is important in ministry.  One of my former pastors of my home church, David Myers, talked with me about being a pastor.  He said, “Bobby, as one of your dads in the ministry, let me give you one piece of advice.  Church members will come to you with difficult problems expecting you to fix it.  Tell them that you will take it with consideration of prayer and genuinely pray.  Wait on God to solve it or give you an answer.  Most preachers run ahead of God trying to fix the problem, if they had waited, God would have taken care of it.  Take time to let God work.”  That is why so many preachers get in trouble and must find another church.

I can say that after thirty plus years of ministry, Brother David was right just as David of the Old Testament:

And it came to pass, when David and his men were come to Ziklag on the third day, that the Amalekites had invaded the south, and Ziklag, and smitten Ziklag, and burned it with fire;  And had taken the women captives, that were therein: they slew not any, either great or small, but carried them away, and went on their way.  So David and his men came to the city, and, behold, it was burned with fire; and their wives, and their sons, and their daughters, were taken captives.  Then David and the people that were with him lifted up their voice and wept, until they had no more power to weep.  And David's two wives were taken captives, Ahinoam the Jezreelitess, and Abigail the wife of Nabal the Carmelite.  And David was greatly distressed; for the people spake of stoning him, because the soul of all the people was grieved, every man for his sons and for his daughters: but David encouraged himself in the Lord his God.  And David said to Abiathar the priest, Ahimelech's son, I pray thee, bring me hither the ephod. And Abiathar brought thither the ephod to David.  And David inquired at the Lord, saying, Shall I pursue after this troop? shall I overtake them? And he answered him, Pursue: for thou shalt surely overtake them, and without fail recover all (I Samuel 30:1-8 KJV).

 

King David was pretty decent at shooting from the hip in his younger years; just ask the Goliath family, but learned wisdom in seeking God as he faced life. 

A Road Renewed

I had a wonderful dream a moment ago

Aaron and I traveled down a fresh graded dirt road

 

It was beautiful as we held hands and walked

Suddenly he let go as a friend yelled and talked

 

Separated for just a moment by a machine

Aaron was gone and not seen

 

As I looked for him with fear in my heart

Around a beam he came swift as a dart

 

He grabbed for my hand with a look of relief

Falling and losing his candy and chips in temporary grief

 

I cringed in pain as he slammed his small hand on a piece of steel

He gave a sign that he was okay and that the pain was real

 

He looked up with eyes of concern of what I would do

I looked back with eyes that said are you hurt and I love you

 

He picked his candy bar, chips, quickly reaching for me

Together we continued down an old road renewed to see

 

All the things one sees in dreams when he longs for sons away

Smiling as he awakes and remembers that they will be back one day

 

Wonderful dreams from God, a loving Father, during a morning time snooze

Gee, I hope the boys come back for we do not have many days to lose

 

As the story in Luke’s gospel where a father longs for a returning son

Seeing him coming down a road renewed knows a new beginning has begun

 

So, thank you Lord for the visions and dreams of old men

They remind me that old things pass away, and renewed roads begin

 

 

 

Written January 18, 2022, Andy’s 46^th Birthday for Aaron and Andy while they are away from me physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  I know one day that we will walk together again.  bobby e. hopper   

 

 

Snow on Your Birthday

 It snowed on a Sunday on the third week in January on the Alabama ground

It was as special and unique as you as the snowflakes falling around

 

Looking forward to snow around the eighteenth reminds me of you

It is something that only the God of all creation can do

 

Snowflakes, babies, and new days are His special gifts He gives

Each only lasts for a short time the longer each of us lives

 

Snowflakes last a few days, babies for a few months, and new days a day

That is what makes the extraordinary and exceptional come our way

 

The snow on your first birthday was one a magnificent moment in our time

Followed by other birthday snows your sixth and sixteenth are memories of mine

 

Your sixteenth was a trip to eat Chinese in a blizzard was fun when we returned home

Stranded in the deep ice and snow we feared as the car slide and started to roam

 

Each time the snow falls, I think of how wonderfully and uniquely created you are   

My son I pray that your birthday gives you all you want and desire

 

The snow is gone for your birthday and you are far away in Texas somewhere

I miss you and long to be with you to watch the snow flying in the air

 

Andy’s 46^th Birthday poem – bobby e. hopper, January 18, 2022

I Can't Wait!

Whew!  Are you glad the Christmas shopping is over?  My favorite day to Christmas shop is Christmas Eve.  Lisa and I had fun this Christmas Eve at the Walmart, Kirkland’s, and Lowes in Alabaster, Alabama.  I heard some woman on her cell phone say, “I’ll be so glad when Christmas is over. And can’t wait to get out of this crowded Walmart.”  She was pushing and overloaded cart of toys.

I remember when my son Andy and daughter Angela were small, I would take them along with Rachel, Brandi, and Allyson, my nieces, Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve.  We would have our pictures taken with Santa, eat at McDonalds or Arby’s, and hit, the now long-gone, Eastwood Mall.  We would get home just in time for supper at Granny and Pawpaw Moxley.  We had a blast looking at all the lights, hearing the sounds, and smelling the treats of Christmas.  I continued this tradition when Aaron came along.  It was fun until they all got too big for one vehicle.

The first year I went alone was 2011 and there was a crowd in Meridian.  There were so many folks Christmas Shopping that I went through three traffic light changes before I was past the light.  One time there was no light, but people were thoughtful and generous to allow cars to enter the lane.

I continued my tradition of eating out at a restaurant.  This time it was Chili’s Restaurant.  It cost about the same as I used to pay for all those Mickey D kid meals or an occasional Arby’s.  By the way, I never did see Santa.

The mall was crowded and the hot item for sale was anything related to cell phones.  I was in several conversations before I realized that cell phone users and customers were talking to their ear.  I did not need any cell phone paraphernalia, but I did buy Toy Story 3 which we watched as a family on Christmas Day.

I am by shopping as I am about hunting and fishing.  People ask me do I hunt or fish.  I tell them that I rather kill and catch.  It is the same with shopping.  I go to buy.  I do research those things that I might be in the market to buy.  I have never understood why people go to several stores and usually return to the first store and buy what they initially picked.

I have never been to haggle.  I had a car salesman friend that I bought most of my vehicles.  I would say, “Jerry, I want you to make a living but not all of it from me.  What is the bottom price?”  If I liked it or thought it fair, I bought it.  If I thought it too much, I went home.

Shopping is an art that I have yet to master or for that matter to acquire.  I heard a preacher on the radio the say that some people visit churches “shopping for a feeling.”  I have heard that from a good many folks over the years.  Some would say, “Preacher, we are just shopping around to see where we want to attend church.”  I translated that as, “Preacher we are trying to find a place that will cater to all are needs.”  The joy of visiting prospects is when they say, “Preacher, how long do we have to wait to serve when we join your church?”

Most people want to be served rather than serving.  They want to feel good when they go to church.  I remember a preacher friend telling one of the “feel good searchers” that one could not always go on feelings because from time to time he felt that he was lost, but the Bible affirmed it was not about feelings and was about what Jesus did and believing it.  Joy comes knowing that even in the worst of times, Jesus did it all and God is on His throne.

Jesus came and purchased our salvation.  Shopping for a feeling will lead to disillusion and disappointment.  Serving is not about feelings, but about faith and sacrifice. 

In Rodelio Mallari’s sermon FACT, FAITH, and FEELING he states, “Our feelings are deceptive because they are based from external factors.  Jeremiah 17:9 states, The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it? They are affected by the changing state of finances, weather, environment, problems at home and work, or the sickness and death of loved ones.  The presence of bad feelings and the lack of good feelings do not always indicate that we are sinning or out of God’s will. God sometimes cuts off our source of security and allows us to be deprived temporarily so He may know what is in our hearts; whether we love Him for Who He is.  Feeling is a fruit of salvation not its basis. You’ll feel good when you LIVE and SERVE God for His glory & honor!”

Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ: By whom also we have access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God.  And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope: And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us (Romans 5:1-5 KJV).

My Favorite Uncle

With all the hoopla of a new world order behind us and the uncertainty of the world before us, people are cautious.  The prognosis is bleak for a worldview and thus caution prevails as our way of life tumbles.  Cautious people procrastinate and worry of failure. 

Beverly Sills, famed opera singer, observed, “You may be disappointed if you fail, but you are doomed if you don’t try.”

That statement reminds me of my uncle Clifton.  He was my favorite uncle on the Hopper side of the family.  He lived with us when we lived in Illinois.  He rode a Harley, raced stock cars, drove in demolition derbies, and flew airplanes.   Now, you know why he was my favorite uncle.

He was the reason we lived in Illinois.  He got daddy a job at Beloit Iron Works.

Uncle Clifton ran away from home when he was sixteen.  He lived in Bessemer for a short time running moonshine and racing cars with the boys from Hueytown, the ones who would later become Alabama Raceway and NASCAR legends.

He left home because Granny Hopper would not let him play sports or participate in any activity that might harm him due to a heart condition.  No one knew where he was for years until one day, he appeared at our home in Chilton County.  Daddy did not recognize him, and he did not know daddy.  He was looking for daddy when he stopped to ask where the Hoppers lived.  After that meeting, we packed and moved up North.

After three years there, we moved back to Sweet Home Alabama.  Uncle Clifton married Aunt Maxine and for several years could not have children.  They adopted Jim, eighteen months later adopted Mike, twenty-one months later birthed Bill, and later Alice.

Somewhere along the way, my adventurous and dashing uncle became over cautious.  Reckon having kids did that to him?

One day years down the road, my cousin Bill approached Uncle Clifton with a great idea about VCRs.  VCRs were new and Bill suggested to Uncle Clifton that they buy VCR movies and VCR players and rent them to people.  Uncle Clifton told Bill that that new-fangled invention was a fade, and it would be a bad investment.  You know what happened there and now it has gone the way of the Dodo.  When I think of it, I could have been related to the billionaire who created Bill’s Blockbuster or The Hopper Movie Gallery.

A little later Bill, the persistent entrepreneur, had another scheme.  He told Uncle Clifton about paintball guns.  Bill wanted to open a store that sold paintball guns and accessories.  Uncle Clifton said that it was another fad and that it too would pass.

Like the VCR rental, paintball and accessories were the craze of young people everywhere.  Bill did open a store and had success with the store as a part-time venture.  He had paintball guns that were like something out a science fiction movie.

Bill, the perennial entrepreneur, consulted Uncle Clifton with the idea of buying a tract of land and building a course for hosting paintball competition.  Bill envisioned hundreds of people from all over the state coming and competing in paintball wars, battles, and mêlées.  He dreamed of family events, national competition, and maybe worldwide competition.  Uncle Clifton talked him out of the venture.

Uncle Clifton, on one his spontaneous excursions, visited me at Gallion, Alabama.  It was not unusual for him to make a trek from Illinois to Arizona to Louisiana to Alabama to Illinois visiting kinfolk.  He was not too cautious, just with his children and his money.  On this particular visit, he spoke of Bill’s potential as an entrepreneur.  He said that the next time Bill had an idea that they were going to run with it.  On Uncle Clifton’s next spontaneous excursion, he had a stroke near Joplin, Missouri and died in the hospital. 

Being too cautious prohibits many blessings.  Philip is an example of being too cautious in the Bible.

When Jesus then lifted up his eyes, and saw a great company come unto him, he saith unto Philip, Whence shall we buy bread, that these may eat?  And this he said to prove him: for he himself knew what he would do.  Philip answered him, Two hundred pennyworth of bread is not sufficient for them, that every one of them may take a little.  One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter's brother, saith unto him,  there is a lad here, which hath five barley loaves, and two small fishes: but what are they among so many?(John 6:5-9 KJV)

What's Your Red Stew?

 

This morning as we have gathered in God’s house to speak of the eternal,

Some have chosen to remain away for the temporal. 

They feel that it was more important to call a turkey for the kill,

Rather than call a lost friend to tell them of God’s will. 

Others have stayed at home to rest,

Rather than go to God’s house and give their best. 

Others elected to work,

Rather than be blessed in doing God’s work. 

Others have gone to shop at the mall,

Rather than stop and give God their all. 

They all say they are looking for something their spirits to renew,

But as did Esau, they have traded God’s blessing for some red stew.