The Kingdom, The Kids, & the Cowboys

“When I prayed to make the Broncos better, I didn’t mean Peyton Manning!”

~Tim Tebow

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Carrie-Anne and I are headed up to Tulsa for our annual time of spiritual renewal and ministry rejuvenation. The Tulsa Workshop has long been a favorite destination for us. Every year we are encouraged, uplifted, inspired, equipped, empowered, enlightened, and educated. It’s in Tulsa where we sing our lungs out, we “amen” some of the best preachers in the faith, and we’re transformed. We grow in Tulsa. We change in Tulsa.

I’m approaching this year’s three day event with the same anticipation. I’m so privileged to sit with Terry Rush in his office at 6:30 Thursday morning; what encouraging thing will he say to me this time? I’m so blessed to call Rick Atchley a good friend; what valuable advice will he give me when I see him? My life is more meaningful for knowing Rick and Beverly Ross and their whole family; how will Josh challenge me this year?; how much of their broken hearts and enduring faith will Rick and Beverly reveal to inspire me?

How much of Jeff Walling’s sermons will I steal? Who am I going to run into that I haven’t seen in ten years? How hard will Randy Harris make me laugh? How long will Chris Moore’s beard be, and how many rubber bands will be holding it in place? How many tears will roll down my cheeks as Keith Lancaster leads us in “It Is Well With My Soul” while I realize that my sin — not in part, but the whole! — has been nailed to the cross?

I’ll get to see Dan Bouchelle for the first time since I took his old job at this wonderful church in Amarillo (hopefully, nobody’s told him yet that I referred to him in a sermon two weeks ago as Central’s interim preacher). I’ll get to sing praises to our God with my wife and with our old friends from Mesquite and with new friends we haven’t even met yet and with hundreds and hundreds of Christ’s redeemed. Is Marvin Phillips still alive?!? I’ll listen to Jay Guin and Don McLaughlin and Patrick Mead. I’ll come back with books and CDs and a refreshed understanding of my own salvation and a renewed enthusiasm for the mission to which our Father has called me. And we might run into Garth Brooks again at the Mexican food restaurant.

I love the Tulsa Workshop. I highly recommend it.

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My friend Jerry Schemmel, the play-by-play voice of the Colorado Rockies, has just released a brand new clothing line with a Bible-based theme. This is his baby: 1925 Sports — workout gear with logos inspired by 1 Corinthians 9:25. “…to get a crown that will last forever.”

Here’s the link. Check it out. Way to go, Jerry. Very cool. I know your schedule’s about to get really hectic. Enjoy the relative calm of the final two weeks of spring training. Someday, when you get out of baseball broadcasting to enter the full-time preaching ministry, we’ll talk about hectic. Have a great season.

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The above Tim Tebow joke was submitted earlier today by Josh Penn. Thanks, Josh. See you at the Warrior Dash next month.

Peace,

Allan

Scattershooting while wondering whatever happened to Tony “The Thrill” Hill…

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I was prepared for all that wind yesterday. I had been told about the wind here in Amarillo. I was ready for it. I’ve already experienced it many times over the past four months, so it didn’t surprise me when it hit yesterday just as church was letting out. But not one person had ever told me about raining mud! What was that, the 11th plague?!?

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Speaking of things I’m still learning about Amarillo: I knew it was flat up here. But I didn’t realize you can actually see New Mexico ski slopes from Soncy. I was having lunch with a Rotary Club a couple of weeks ago at the top of the Chase Tower downtown and I swear I looked toward the southeast and saw Cowboys Stadium. It is flat out here. And, yes, there are tumbleweeds. Real tumbleweeds. Blowing across the highway. I’ve never experienced anything like that. Tumbleweeds!

I was complaining to Matt Richardson yesterday about the five-and-a-half-hour drive between here and Fort Worth. He and Sara have family there; they know about that awful drive. But then Matt surprised me by declaring that the two hour drive between Amarillo and Lubbock is even worse. We both acknowledged that there’s nothing to look at, nothing to see on I-27, but he says it’s the moonscape! “You pass the Sea of Tranquility like four times!”

And, yeah, Matt writes his own material.

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I love Aerosmith. You know I do. But Steven Tyler should not sing America’s National Anthem.

Ever.

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I was very sad to see the Dr Pepper corporation in Plano put an end to the production of Dublin Dr Pepper out of that little bottling plant southeast of Stephenville. 

I understand that Dublin Dr Pepper was stretching way past their six-county distribution agreement. I knew something wasn’t right when we began seeing six packs of the glass bottles in our North Richland Hills Wal-Mart. You know, that actually took away from some of the mystique. It was much more cool when you could only get Dublin Dr Pepper — the only soft drink in America made with Pure Cane Sugar instead of corn syrup — in Dublin. Carrie-Anne and I always took the girls to Dublin every couple of years to check out their Dr Pepper museum (which contains much more memorabilia and artifacts than the official Dr Pepper Museum in Waco), to get a real hard-core Dr Pepper float from the old soda fountain there, and to stock up on a case or two of the special stuff and bring it home. Come on, I’ve got an “Official Dublin Dr Pepper Bootlegger” T-shirt! That doesn’t mean anything when anybody can buy it just about anywhere.

I also get that Dublin DP was infringing on some copyrights. There are Dublin Dr Pepper shirts and Dublin Dr Pepper caps and Dublin Dr Pepper quilts and bumper stickers and poodle sweaters and dominoes. It had become its own brand. They were in complete violation.

But, still, it saddens me. Dublin Dr Pepper was another one of those quirkie little peculiarities that made Dr Pepper unique. It made it a little weird and special. Now it’s gone. Dr Pepper will still bottle the sugared soda in special classic cans and bottles with the nostalgic logos and designs from the 1920s and ’30s. But it won’t say Dublin anywhere on them. And that’s a shame.

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Speaking of Dr Pepper: the people who run the world’s oldest soft drink have never been terrific marketers. Changing your logo every ten or twelve years and your advertising slogans every two or three years isn’t good. It doesn’t work. Dr Pepper’s TV commercials over the past decade or so have been embarrassing. Either really boring or really corny or over the top strange. They nailed it in the ’70s with the “I’m a Pepper” campaign. And I’m excited to see that they’re bringing it back. Have you seen the newest commercial? I saw it for the first time during the BCS Championship Game and I saw it a few times yesterday during the NFL Conference title games. I like it.

My shirt would say “I’m a preacher.”

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Life Together has become, over the years, my favorite Dietrich Bonhoeffer book. Being a part of a brand new church family has given me many reasons to re-read some of my favorite passages. One of those passages calls us to celebrate every moment within our faith community. Every person, every event, every interaction, every sub-group, every meeting, every worship assembly: it’s all a gift from God. Good or bad, life-giving or joy-stealing, fair or unfair, the spiritual giants of the faith and the immature babes in Christ: it’s all given to us by our Father in order to sanctify us.

“If we do not give thanks daily for the Christian fellowship in which we have been placed, even where there is no great experience, no discoverable riches, but much weakness, small faith, and difficulty… then we hinder God from letting our fellowship grow according to the riches which are there for us all in Jesus Christ.

Christian community is like the Christian’s sanctification. It is a gift of God which we cannot claim. Only God knows the real state of our fellowship, of our sanctification. What may appear weak and trifling to us may be great and glorious to God. …the Christian community has not been given to us by God for us to be constantly taking its temperature. The more thankfully we daily receive what is given to us, to more surely and steadily will fellowship increase and grow from day to day as God pleases.”

Peace,

Allan

I knew it was the official start of the NFL season when, right after church this morning, I spotted Greg Dowell running down 54th Street at Coulter.

Gross.

I must draw your attention to an excellent Washington Post column written by Fort Worth native Sally Jenkins. It’s about the Super Bowl in Arlington. She mentions the plans to set the attendance record and the fiasco with the seats and the obscene prices of parking spots and nachos. But it’s not just about that. Her article is so much bigger and better than that. She claims that this Super Bowl at Jerry’s Place was, for her, the tipping point. This was the last straw. This was absurdity beyond belief. Beginning with the stadium itself:

It’s the cleanest, safest, nicest stadium anyone has ever visited. It is also the most extravagant and economically stratified. It cost double what Jerry Jones said it would, and taxpayers financed about a quarter of it, yet its innermost marble interiors are totally inaccessible to the average fan.

Jenkins cites the four Navy F-18s that flew over the stadium at the end of the National Anthem — over the domed stadium. At a taxpayer cost of $450,000. She observes that the state of Texas spent $31-million to host the football game while, at the same time, desperately making historic cuts in public education. Five thousand fans paid $200 each to stand in the rain in the parking lot! It’s just too much:

In the end, this Super Bowl taught me a lesson: Luxury can be debasing.

I’m telling you, it’s an excellent article. You can read the whole thing by clicking here.

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I’m leaving Sunday afternoon for Searcy, Arkansas to spend a couple of nights with my brother and his family. The ocassion? A full day on Monday with New Testament scholar and theologican Ben Witherington III. (Carley claims that’s a made up name.)

Witherington has written more than 40 books, including an excellent commentary on Revelation that we used as a textbook at Austin Grad. I had the great pleasure two years ago of attending three of his lectures on Revelation at the Austin Grad Sermon Seminar. He paints beautiful pictures with his words. He speaks big. Very big. Grand. He’s an orator of the highest class. A brilliant  and complex man who might even break out into song in the middle of a speech to illustrate a point. And now Harding’s College of Bible and Religion is bringing him in to lecture on the topic of Christian ethics. Witherington’s just written an 1,800 page, two volume book, The Indelible Image, about the relationship between theology and ethics in the New Testament. Three seminars, a Q&A, and a roundtable discussion await us on Monday. I’m hoping Dr. Keith Stanglin is able to get me a seat at the private dinner with Ben before the final session.

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Texas Longhorns offensive coordinator Emory Bellard drew it up on a napkin while he and Darrell Royal were having breakfast in an Austin diner in the summer of 1968. A brand new formation that included three running backs, a running quarterback, and offered them up to four or five options on every play. He called it the Wishbone. And it revolutionized football.

Royal used the wishbone to win the national championship in 1969. Bellard used it as a head coach at Texas A&M and Mississippi State. He beat Bear Bryant’s Crimson Tide with it and won a few conference titles, too. Won three state championships coaching high school ball, too.

After football, Bellard retired with his wife to a life of golf and fishing in Marble Falls. I met him in 1992. He was our backup color analyst  for the Mustangs high school football games on KHLB Radio. I worked two games with him in the booth. He was also the backup PA guy. When Dick Barkley, the legendary feed store owner, couldn’t make it, they called Emory. I had Emory on my talk show in Marble Falls several times to talk Longhorns and Aggies. He knew everything. All the history. Shoot, he WAS the history! He knew everybody — not because he called people and kept up with them, but because everybody called him and kept up with him. Extremely gracious.

Many times I called him to get some insight into a news story. When Chan Gailey was hired as the Cowboys coach in ’98, it was Emory who gave me the scoop first and then hooked me up with one of Gailey’s old high school girlfriends from Americus, Georgia. She, in turn, faxed me several pictures of Gailey from their high school year book and articles he had written at that time for the high school paper.

Helpful. Humble. Very “aw, shucks” about his place in football legend and lore. Generous and giving. What a great guy.

He died yesterday at 83. A great man. I was always proud to say I knew him. God bless his sweet wife, Susan.

Peace,

Allan

I feel sorry for those more than 400 people (even the Steelers fans) who spent thousands of dollars, paid for their Super Bowl seats, traveled hundreds of miles, booked hotel rooms, and otherwise rearranged their lives only to be denied access to the game. I hurt for those folks who lived and died with their teams every week — some of them putting in hard time for years and years — who were anticipating the thrills of cheering that team on in person at the ultimate game, and who did everything in their knowledge and power to insure it would happen only to be told, “We’re sorry. Your seats are not ready. You can’t go inside the stadium.”

“Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God… For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.” ~Colossians 3:1-4

Praise God we are not dependent on ourselves or Jerry Jones or the NFL to hold our reservations. Praise God we are guaranteed to be clothed in the glory of our Lord on that blessed day. Thank God that the risen Son is holding our tickets, he’s keeping them in a safe place, right there at the right hand of the Father. And when it’s time, our seats will be waiting for us.

When Christ comes, when the renewal of all things is at last accomplished, when all of creation is finally restored, when heaven joins earth on that last day, when God’s will is ultimately fulfilled, we’ll be there. And we won’t just be in the front row on the 50-yard line. We’ll be on the field. Celebrating with our Lord. Making snow angels in the confetti. The trophy will be ours.

And that’s a holy promise that can never be taken away.

Peace,

Allan

Four days of sub-23-degree temperatures. Glacier-esque (to describe just how slowly it’s eroding; there’s no melting going on here) ice still on all of the roads. We haven’t had a lick of precipitation since Tuesday, but the schools have been closed for four days. Rolling blackouts that had us in the dark for about 30-minutes twice yesterday. Lows in the lower teens, highs in the upper teens all week. Church services and Bible studies canceled. Meetings postponed. And this morning we wake up to a fresh three-inches of snow on the ground. And it’s still coming down!

Coming into work this morning, driving very slowly on Mid-Cities Boulevard, when I attempt to turn left on Martin to go in the back way (I’ve tried the front entrance off Mid-Cities twice this week; I’m oh-for-two — that’s steeper than it looks). And here it comes just over the hill. Something, I daresay, has never been seen in this zip code. Ever.

A snowplow. (Is that one word, or two? I honestly have no idea.) A snow plow on Mid-Cities! I could have turned in front of it. I had plenty of time. But I just didn’t want to. I wanted it to go by me. I wanted to watch it. I wanted to see it up close. I was mesmerized. I couldn’t take my eyes off this thing. Here it came, in the far left lane, right at me, a mountain of snow and ice being shoved to the shoulder in front of it.

I rolled my window down to get a good look at the driver as he passed. Had they imported a guy from Pittsburgh or Green Bay? I’m sure nobody around here has ever driven one of these things. At the very least this operator has to be from Pampa or Amarillo. No, it was actually an employee of the City of North Richland Hills, wearing his official green city-issued coat. I smiled — almost laughed, actually — and shook my head in wonderment and even a bit of amusement as he went by. Our eyes met for a brief moment.

He was not smiling.

I love it.

No apologies. I really do enjoy this. It’s wild. It’s unprecedented. It’s extreme. It’s new. It gets everybody excited. It makes everybody hyper. It really heightens the senses when you’re driving around on / in it. And it breaks up the monotony.

But, seriously, tonight we’ve gotta get out of the house. We’ve watched movies together, we’ve cooked together, we’ve stayed up late and slept in together. We’ve played Uno, Phase 10, Apples to Apples, Skip-Bo, and even a few made up games. And we’ve all got a bit of cabin fever. It’s not gotten to the Jack Nicholson – Shelly Duval point in The Shining yet. Not yet. But we’re definitely going to go do something else tonight.

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So our Small Group is getting together Sunday evening to watch the Super Bowl. Michael sent an email to all of us a couple of days ago claiming that one cannot attend a Super Bowl party and not have a rooting interest. He wanted to know which team we were each pulling for. Here was my reply:

If the Steelers were playing the devil himself and an army of demons from hell, I’d root for the devil. I would have to. Cheering for the Steelers to win a Super Bowl is evil incarnate. In fact, if anyone at our Small Group party is pulling for Pittsburgh, I believe it will cease to be a Christian gathering. I’ve lost 15-pounds already this week because I vomit everytime the TV shows the Steelers logo painted in the end zone at Cowboys Stadium.

On the other hand, how can any of us legitimately root for the Packers? If it weren’t for Jerry Kramer and Bart Starr the Super Bowl hardware would be called the Landry Trophy instead of the Lombardi.

Sunday is truly about finding the lesser of two evils. I’m firmly convinced that’s Green Bay.

I’ve reconciled all of this by choosing not to pull for either of these two hated franchises. I’m merely rooting for the Steelers to lose. It’s the only way. My brain and my heart have found peace with that.

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My favorite quote from Super Bowl week came a couple of days ago from Troy Aikman.

When asked about the awful weather in DFW, Aikman blamed Roger Staubach. “He’s the one with the direct line to God; at least that’s what I’ve been told all these years.”

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My friend Dan Bouchelle, the director of Missions Resource Network, has written a great post today on his blog Confessions of a Former Preacher. (He used to be one of us.) Dan pens some great insights into the burden of the church a preacher carries. But I especially like his observations on the relationship between preaching and community and worship and community. It’s good stuff. Click here to read it.

Peace,

Allan