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Category: Preaching (Page 13 of 25)

Not My Church

September 14, 2011 / / 5 Comments

As I move around the oldest parts of this church building at Central — up and down stairs, in and out of rooms, through back hallways and across wide open concourses — I realize more and more that this is not my church. As I search for quiet places in this building to pray and to read the Scriptures — in the worship center balcony, the back of the chapel, the prayer room, outside in the shade at 14th and Jackson — I see very clearly that I’m in way over my head here.

Seriously. This is a different deal.

At Legacy, I was blessed to walk into a church building that was only six years old. All of it. Brand new location. Brand new building. New everything. Yes, there was a history. Legacy had been established as the Pipeline Road Church back in 1959. But Legacy wasn’t Pipeline. And that was fine. We were blessed to build and open a brand new 1,500 seat worship center in my second year there. I helped decide on some of the furnishings. I fought for a communion table. The current baptism practices and traditions at Legacy were started in that brand new room in the summer of 2008. I was the first and only Legacy preacher in that room. And if I’m really honest with myself, looking back, I think I actually felt some kind of ownership there. Maybe not always in the healthiest way.

It’s different here. Central was established by fourteen people in October 1908. They met in the downtown county couthouse. One hundred and three years ago. The very first Church of Christ in Amarillo. The first building this church owned was at 10th Street and Fillmore. But that was only until 1930. That was the year the Central Church of Christ, over 700 strong, held their first Christian assembly in this beautiful chapel that we still occasionally use today. Same stained glass windows. Same pews and light fixtures. Same pulpit. I walked in there with 81-year-old Scottie Witt yesterday and he pointed to the baptistry.

“That’s where I was baptized, right there,” he said. “1943. I was thirteen years old.”

And Scottie will be in there listening to me preach this Sunday night! In that same room! He’s listened to 16 other Central preachers before me. He’s heard them all. He can tell you how and where they stood, their favorite gestures and phrases, something memorable or funny about each one of them.

There’s rich history in this sacred space. Every room has stories, every staircase has a tale, every pew has a testimony to the faithfulness of God with his people.

This is not my church.

I have landed in a place where God has been working in and through his people for over a hundred years. Faithful men and women have been doing good deeds in the name of Jesus, serving others in the manner of Christ, worshiping God in the Spirit at this place for more than a century. Who do I think I am, coming in here and pretending to be able to speak to them a word from our Father?

I’m merely number seventeen, the latest in a long, long list of faithful men who have stood in these rooms and dared to preach the Word. From F. L. Young and  F. B. Shepherd at the turn of one century through Dick Marcear and Dan Bouchelle at the turn of another. I suppose I should preach at least one sermon first but, eventually, they’re going to put my picture up on a wall among pictures of the likes of Robert Jones, Silas Templeton, and M. C. Cuthberson. It’s so incredibly humbling. And dreadfully frightening.

If I think too long about it, I can get overwhelmed with a true sense of inadequacy. I’m wholly inadequate for this task. I’m not qualified for this gig. I don’t have the ideas or the abilities, the smarts or the skills, to do this. I’ve been pushed into something that’s so much bigger than me. God’s been doing great and miraculous things here for 103 years! And I’m going to stand up Sunday after Sunday here and preach?!? I’m not sure I can do this. I don’t fully understand how I’m going to do this.

And, upon further review, I’m certain that’s exactly where my God wants me: wholly dependent on him to do the job he’s called me to do; fully recognizing that all-surpassing power is from him, not me; and understanding that any competence I may have is a gracious gift from above.

Central is not my church; it belongs to God. It’s not mine to lead; that is the job of our Father.

Whew!

Allan

Consider the Lilies

September 12, 2011 / / 1 Comment

Emily Dickinson once wrote that “Consider the lilies of the field” is the only commandment she never broke. I’m trying to do better and better about keeping that command.

This huge big sky in Amarillo makes the sunrises and sunsets seem so much more dramatic, more beautiful, than I remember. This sky with all its brilliant colors and shades that seems to go on forever was created by my Father to remind me of the boundless nature of his love. That love also manifests itself in many forms and hues and, like the expanse above me, has no end.

The butterfly that Carley can’t quite catch is sent by my God to make me smile. The chimpanzees at the zoo that make Valerie laugh are evidence of our Maker’s sense of humor. The thunder and lightning that make Whitney jump in my lap are proof of his great power.

Bluebonnets in the spring witness to God’s eye for beauty. An overdue rain shower in August testifies to his faithfulness. Falling leaves in October speak to our Father’s sovereignty. Little squirrels eating stored up nuts in the dead of winter remind us of God’s great provision. His concern for his creation. His care for the things and people he loves.

Even the wildfires that are ravaging parts of the state I love and profoundly impacting people I love remind me that our God is sovereign over his creation. He cleanses and restores, he purges and purifies. He destroys and makes new again. He does it to his world. And he does it in me.

Slow down. Look around. Spend some time today considering the lilies and the trees and the prarie dogs. Even the weeds growing up through the cracks in the sidewalk have something to say about the determination of our God to give life to what is dead, to bring light out of darkness.

I’m beginning to question the leadership capabilities of the shepherds here at Central. Why in the world would they schedule Jerry Taylor to preach here for a full month and a half before my first sermon? I told Jerry three weeks ago that if he really wanted to help me out, he could deliver a couple of real clunkers in his last few visits. Throwing out a real stink-o would be his last gracious act to me as Central’s new preacher. I’m afraid I’m going to get up there this Sunday and, after just five minutes or so, most of the church will be wondering, “When is Jerry coming back?”

My great friend David Byrnes emailed me this morning and, among other things, said, “May the Lord bless those poor people at Central this Sunday who will have to endure a preacher who’s been bottled up for over a month!”

I’ll be sure to include a couple of intermissions.

Peace,

Allan

The Stakes Have Never Been Higher

September 7, 2011 / / 1 Comment

“In the front pews the old ladies turn up their hearing aids, and a young lady slips her six-year-old a Lifesaver and a Magic Marker. A college sophomore home for vacation, who is there because he was dragged there, slumps forward with his chin in his hand. The vice-president of a bank who twice that week has seriously contemplated suicide places his hymnal in the rack. A pregnant girl feels the life stir inside her. A high-school math teacher, who for twenty years has managed to keep his homosexuality a secret for the most part even from himself, creases his order of service down the center with his thumbnail and tucks it under his knee. The preacher pulls the little cord that turns on the lectern light and deals out his note cards like a riverboat gambler. The stakes have never been higher.”

                                                                        ~Frederick Buechner, Telling the Truth

I’ll forever be amazed by the great mystery of preaching. I have very little idea how it works. I don’t know how God’s Holy Spirit overcomes my inadequacies, my shortcomings, my sins, and consistently delivers the Word directly into the hearts of the people who need to hear it. I’m not sure how our Father uses the proclaimed Word to comfort people, to challenge people, to transform people more and more into the perfect image of his Son.

But I’m humbled to be in the middle of it.

The stakes are high every single time I dare step into that pulpit and attempt to speak a faithful word from God. There are people leaning in to listen whom I’ve never met. There are people present who are only there because they mustered up every piece of physical and emotional strength they had to make it; and they might not be back. There are angry people who believe God is mad at them. There are proud people who are hiding sin. There are hopeless people desperate for a word of grace, dying for a glimmer of redemption.

And I’m going to say something to them that will make an eternal difference in their lives?

No. No chance. It’s impossible.

I mean… yes, of course. Absolutely. It happens every Sunday.

By the grace of our God and the truth of his Word and the power of his Spirit, it happens. And I am humbled. And forever amazed. And trying desperately to be worthy of it all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t want to jinx anything. I know it’s early. And things aren’t nearly as certain as they were this time last year. It’s terrifyingly close. Too close. But we’ve got to start keeping track of the magic number.

The Rangers’ magic number is 17. Any combination of Rangers wins and Angels losses that add up to 17 will give the Rangers their fifth division title in franchise history and send them back to the postseason. According to coolstandings.com, the Rangers have a 91% chance of making the playoffs. And the way they’re playing right now, I believe it. Ceej got his first ever complete game shutout last night for his 15th win of the year. The Rangers have now broken their club record for shutouts in a season with 18. Murph and Kins are smashing the ball all over the field. And it’s starting to look like Mike Adams is this year’s Cliff Lee.

Seventeen. And counting…

Peace,

Allan

Mind the Gap

September 6, 2011 / / 5 Comments

During our 26 hours in London last summer on our return home from Kharkov, Ukraine, Carrie-Anne and I became quite comfortable riding the underground trains. Everything was clearly labeled, simple to find, not that big of a deal at all. I found myself especially intrigued by the “Mind the Gap” signs that were everywhere: in the stations, at the ticket counters, along the turnstiles, in the que, and even on the trains themselves. “Mind the Gap.” The friendly female voice on the recorded information messages reminded us at every stop to “mind the gap.”

See, there’s a gap between the train platform and the train itself. It’s no more than three or four inches across. It’s nothing really. I don’t think I ever would have noticed if it hadn’t been pointed out to me. Sometimes there’s a two or three inch difference in height, too, where the platform and the train come together. And, apparently, people were tripping on the gap and hurting themselves. So, a public service announcement program was born.

“Mind the Gap.” T-shirts. Billboards. Signs. Coffee mugs and computer mouse pads. “Mind the Gap.” Pay attention to the gap. Don’t forget the gap. Watch out for the gap. Don’t trip up on the gap.

There’s a gap between what we’re attempting to do in corporate worship each Sunday morning and what we’re actually doing. There’s a serious difference between who we are and who God is. When we gather to worship, there’s a canyon of contrast, a black hole of incongruity when it comes to what we think we’re doing and what’s actually taking place.

For a couple of weeks now, Kevin (Central’s amazing worship minister) and I have been planning my first Sunday. We’re less than two weeks away. We’re planning the songs. We’re planning the Scripture readings. We’re planning the prayers. The order. The communion service. The elders’ charge to me as the new preacher here. The appreciation we plan to show the search committee. We want it to be perfect. We want it to flow seamlessly. We want everything to work. We pray over it. We worry about it. We work it and re-work it together. Song and sermon and prayer and holy communion. God must be glorified and his children must be inspired. Song and prayer and sermon and communion. Do it again. We must take our people straight to his throne. We must pour ourselves out to our Father. Song and prayer, Word and table.

Even as we meticulously plan, I’m mindful of the gap.

What must our worship efforts look like to our holy God? Are they pitiful? Misguided? Sad? Shallow? Tragically funny? Do we miss the point entirely?

Annie Dillard wrote, “In two thousand years, we have not worked out the kinks. We positively glorify them. Week after week we witness the same miracle: that God is so mighty he can stifle his own laughter.”

I am always mindful of the gap. As I prepare sermons and dare to speak a Word from God to his people, I think about the gap. As I attempt to tie our table time directly to that Word each Sunday with a neatly composed prayer or a perfectly placed passage of Scripture, I remember the gap.

It’s there. I’m aware of it. But because of God’s matchless grace, I will not be tripped up by it. I won’t let it stop me from doing my best to please him and to encourage his people. Our Father smiles at our best and honest efforts, no matter how eternally foolish they may ultimately be. Mind the gap, yes. Be aware of it. But do not allow it to be a hurdle or a barrier between us and God. His patience is unlimited. His grace is beyond measure. His love for us is too great to adequately describe. And it renders the gap powerless against us.

Peace,

Allan

Weary of Holding It In

August 29, 2011 / / 6 Comments

“His Word is in my heart like a fire,
a fire shut up in my bones.
I am weary of holding it in;
indeed, I cannot” ~Jeremiah 20:9

Sunday was torture. The past two Sundays, in fact, have been impossibly difficult for me. For two Resurrection Days in a row I have found myself sitting near the front of the worship center, surrounded by my brothers and sisters in Christ — my church; my church family! — and listening to someone else preach the sermon.

Now, please don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t enjoy listening to Jerry Taylor, the esteemed ACU professor who’s preaching here at Central every Sunday between now and when I start on September 18. I love listening to Jerry Taylor. Jerry’s powerful, authoritative, smooooooooth delivery combined with his expert’s grasp of the Scriptures fueled by the energy of God’s Holy Spirit makes for just about the best preaching anybody could ever hope to hear. I could listen to Jerry for hours. For days.

It’s not at all like what John Bailey says about sitting through some sermons: If I’m going to listen to mediocre preaching, I’d rather be the one doing it.

That’s not it at all. It’s that this is my church and these are my brothers and sisters and I’m their preacher! I’m the preacher here. And I’m supposed to be preaching.

God has given me things to say. Our Father has opened my eyes and my heart to truths in his Holy Word that must be revealed, that must be proclaimed by me. God has brought me here, he has pushed me here, to speak his will and to proclaim his purpose. He’s led me here to comfort and console, to provoke and challenge and upset, to exhort and encourage from his all-sufficient Scriptures.

Construction workers dig holes. Linebackers make tackles. Texans say “y’all.” And preachers preach.

I was made to preach. Called to preach. Equipped and empowered to preach.

I was completely on board with the initial time line that had us moving to Amarillo on August 12, getting unpacked and settled in, registering the kids for school, getting my study set up, and getting to know people before I dove into the preaching. It sounded great. Time to refresh. Time to rejuvenate. Time to meditate and revive, to get my head right with God and his Word. Time to pray. Time to worship with my new church family. Just worship. Time to meet people, to get to know my staff, to form a few relationships before attempting to speak to them a word from our God. What a gracious gesture on behalf of Central’s shepherds. What a nice big-picture view of our partnership together. What a clear indication of their love for and appreciation for their new minister. Yes. Thank you. Wow. I really appreciate it. Yes, it’s been perfect. Honestly, it’s been great.

Until last Sunday. And again yesterday.

God, grant me patience. I’m weary of holding it in.

Peace,

Allan

On The Church Directory

August 24, 2011 / / 3 Comments

We were sitting together that afternoon on a third-or-fourth-hand couch in my office behind the fellowship hall at the Marble Falls church. Jim Gardner had just announced he was leaving to begin preaching at the Woodward Park congregation in Fresno. I had just taken the preaching position at Legacy. And we both had just received copies of our new churches’ pictorial directories. We were flipping through the pages together, checking out the pictures of the good brothers and sisters to whom we would soon be ministering. Among the pages and rows of young families and widow ladies and old men and babies, Quincy’s picture jumped out at me.

Now look at Quincy. Look at him. That’s a face that has a story. There’s some pain there. Something happened. And the evidence is right there. This man deals with things most people never endure. He suffers.

My very first thought upon seeing Quincy’s picture — and I’ll never forget it — was to wonder in what ways I would be able to minister to this man. How am I going to serve him? How am I going to comfort and encourage him? How is God going to use me to help this guy?

As most readers of this space know, Quincy, of course, wound up ministering to me. He served me. He comforted me and encouraged me. He helped me more than I can possibly put into words.

Quincy’s faithful trust in God strengthened my own faith. His selfless, sacrificial attitude matured my own outlook on congregational life and the world. His prayers delivered me straight to God’s throne for healing and forgiveness, mercy and grace. His phone calls lifted me up and kept me going strong. Quincy’s love for me sustained me in many ways. When I needed a minister, when I needed a faithful friend, when I needed affirmation, Quincy was my guy.

Quincy and I would talk all the time about Legacy Morning Prayers. We lamented the lack of congregational participation. We prayed together that God would bring more people to our prayer time, that God would fill the prayer room with our brothers and sisters so we would all be changed to become more like Christ. Why won’t people come to pray? We couldn’t understand it.

And then at the end of May, it happened. Teenagers!  High school seniors and college freshmen. Young people from our church and young people from the NRH community. Fifteen-year-old, 17-year-old, 20-year-old boys and girls. Kids with faithful Christian parents and kids who are spiritually on their own. They started showing up this summer. Four and five and sometimes six or seven at a time. Teenagers! Praying with Quincy. Talking with Quincy. Being formed and shaped by God through Quincy. Being changed by Quincy’s prayers. Being matured by God’s Word through Quincy’s reading.

Quincy and I had prayed and prayed that the prayer room would be full. But we never once thought God would bring us teenagers!

Every morning this summer Quincy and the teenagers prayed together for an hour. He ministered to them. He helped them. He encouraged them. He loved them. I would show up to work in the mornings and listen at the prayer room door as I put my Diet Dr Peppers for the day in the staff refrigerator. Quincy ministering to a room full of teenagers. More than I could ever possibly ask or imagine. God’s always doing weird and wonderful things like that.

For the past four weeks I’ve been thumbing through and praying over the pictures in my new Central directory. Well, it’s not really new; it’s four-years-old. I might be praying for and studying the names of people who died a long time ago or who don’t even belong to Central anymore. But my experience with Quincy has forever changed the ways I look at these pictures and names.

I still wonder about the ways God is going to use me to minister to this man in a wheelchair or to that single mom with four kids. I still pray that God will bless this widow lady and that guy with cancer. But, mostly, I wonder how these people are going to minister to me. How is God going to use this person to encourage me? How is our faithful Father going to use that lady to mature me in my faith? What’s this man in this picture going to do that’s going to change my life and make me a better disciple of Christ?

There are people in these 48 pages of pictures who are going to have an eternal impact on me. Some more than others. Yes, a few of them are going to make me crazy. But many more will become my greatest friends. I know I’m here to help them. But I’m just as certain our God is going to use these people to help me. And that gives me great confidence.

Peace,

Allan

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