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Category: Preaching (Page 14 of 25)

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

Secretary Ministers

August 22, 2011 / / 2 Comments

One of our shepherds at Legacy took me to lunch three weeks ago as sort of an informal exit interview. Once the sandwiches arrived at our table and the thanksgiving prayer had been offered, he got right down to business.

“Allan, if I don’t accomplish anything else today,” he began, “I need to talk to you about the ladies in the church office. They really love you. They are very loyal to you. They would do anything for you. They defend you, they protect you, they say wonderful things about you, they really enjoy working with you. Your relationship with them is uncommonly good. And it’s not like that at all churches. Sometimes the preacher and the secretaries don’t get along at all. There’s usually some kind of tension. Sometimes they don’t even like each other. But Jackie and Suzanne and Bonny all think you’re the best thing ever and they’re absolutely devastated that you’re leaving.”

“Now,” he continued, “that’s something we want to keep going with the next preacher. We want to keep that same dynamic between these ladies and the next minister here. So, tell me…

…what’s your secret?”

What’s my secret? I was a little surprised by the question. My secret?

There’s no secret.

I tried to explain that we had always openly and honestly shared our lives together in that office. We were completely transparent with one another. We knew one another’s strengths and offered constant support and encouragement. We knew one another’s weaknesses and practiced patience and understanding. We laughed and we cried together. We talked about our children, we went to each other’s family funerals, we played practical jokes on one another. We prayed together. We read God’s Word together. For over four years we worked together side by side, day after day, in a difficult environment. We depended on one another. We genuinely needed one another. There’s no secret. We really just grew to love one another.

But the elder persisted. He wanted more.

“What was your strategy, though? How did you make that happen? How do we make sure the next guy we bring in here is going to make it happen?”

I struggled to give him what he was looking for. What is it about honest respect and genuine trust and mutual encouragement and selfless sacrifice within a team that I could put into a nuts-and-bolts plan or formula? For some reason my explanations sounded abstract. He wanted practical. So I tried again.

I always treated the church secretaries as equals.

Always.

I recognized around the table at staff meetings, in the hallways, and in our offices that the church secretaries are Christian ministers, too. Absolutely. In fact, in many ways they are more on the front lines of congregational ministry than the preachers in the back offices and the elders in the board rooms. These are the ladies who answer the door, answer the phone, schedule the building, make the appointments, collect and compile all the information and communicate it to the church. They have the most daily contact with the members of our church. They have more opportunity to show God’s grace. They have more chances to extend God’s mercy and forgiveness, more times to share God’s eternal perspective on daily matters, more occasions to reach others with our Father’s great love. They are often the first point of contact with our church members and with people in our community who are hurting or grieving or doubting or depressed or seeking our Lord. Those ladies do more Christian ministry in a day than some of our “ordained” ministers do in a month! And I know that. I acknowledge that. And I treat them with the great respect that deserves. I value their input. I treasure their opinions. I depend on their evaluations and advice. I trust their judgment. I need them.

I told this shepherd that day that I really believe Jackie and Suzanne and Bonny and I would all four run through brick walls for each other. We would move heaven and earth to do anything for each other. And I think it’s because I always treated them as equals.

(And then I added that in a lot of churches there is tension between the ministers and the elders. Unfortunately, it seems to be unusual for elders and ministers to really get along, to really trust one another, to really love one another and be on the same page together. And if a board of elders really wanted that to happen, they might consider treating ministers the same way I treated those ladies in the office. As equals. Treat your ministers as equals. Show them respect. Value their input. Weigh seriously their opinions. Depend on their evaluations and advice. Trust their judgment. Whatever you do, don’t kick them out of your meetings. Don’t ever send the message to them that, when it comes time to discuss really important matters or make really big decisions, they don’t have much of anything to offer)

Suzanne, you showed me every day how to be compassionate. You treated everyone with dignity and respect. You constantly reminded me that, even when people are being rude on the phone or demanding in the office, our job is to show them the love of Christ. You modeled that perfectly. And I’ve never met anyone with a bigger heart for the weak and the marginalized. You inspire me.

Jackie, you always kept me grounded in the big-picture view of God’s Kingdom. You taught me great balance. You never allowed me to get too caught up in the specifics of temporary issues or too bogged down by temporary trials. You modeled for me a faithful trust in the sovereignty of our good and holy Father.

Bonny, you made me a better preacher. You equipped me by telling me what works and what doesn’t. You empowered me by your constant encouragement. You told me when I said or did something that helped you or changed your outlook. And you never held back when I said or did something that maybe I shouldn’t have. You didn’t let me get away with anything. And you challenged me to be everything God has called me to be. Because of you, the Gospel of Christ was proclaimed more clearly at Legacy.

Now, there’s a whole new set of ladies in my life who are “breaking me in.” Connie, Gail, Elaine, and Vickie. And I don’t know them yet. I don’t hardly know them at all. I don’t know their stories. I don’t know their strengths and weaknesses, their triumphs and trials. I don’t know what makes them tick. And I’m certain they’re wondering about me, too. I’m secretly terrified that Bonny, Jackie, and Suzanne might try to contact them in some way to give them some advice. Or warning.

But I expect us to become close friends. I expect us to grow to love one another. I expect God to work with us and through us together. I anticipate marvelous relationship. And why not? We’re all ministers.

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

We were so blessed to take Tessa to lunch on Friday and eat watermelon with her house parents and housemates at High Plains Children’s Home. We were also privileged to meet Tessa’s pig, Wilbur. It’s part of her FFA project. For those of you who know Tessa, you’ll be thrilled to hear that she’s doing great. Her life has changed. It’s been turned completely around. Thank God. And thank Legacy.

Jack and Charlotte Chambers were here at Central yesterday. I also finally met Stephanie’s Aunt Suzanne.

I rejoice in the baptism of Marshall. And Hayleigh. Our God is still saving and rescuing. He is still robbing hell. What a joy to witness it up close!

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

The girls started school today. Carley is a 6th grader at Bonham Middle School. She stepped out of the van this morning and right into a sea of what looked like a million middle schoolers. She just disappeared. Valerie is a lowly fish at Amarillo High, and Whitney is a Senior Sandie. Yeah, they’re Sandies. Amarillo High School is the home of the Golden Sandstorm. I’ve told the girls that you have to be pretty good to get away with a mascot like that. We’ll see beginning this Friday night when AHS takes on Midland in the football season opener.

Go, Sandies!

Allan

The Gifts of Preaching

August 1, 2011 / / 2 Comments

I’m cleaning out my study at Legacy today. Boxing up books. Packing the commentaries and knick knacks. Pulling the pictures down from the walls and throwing away a bunch of stuff, too. It’s taking me longer —  a whole lot longer — than it should to pack up and clean out a 17′ x 11′ room. That’s because I keep coming across the gifts.

The framed autographed photo of Steve Martin taken from a scene in “The Jerk.” Todd D gave it to me a couple of weeks after I had referenced the scene in a sermon on the distractions of material possessions. Plus an original promotional booklet for the movie “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World,” also presented to me a couple of weeks after I compared Ethel Merman’s character to Peninnah in 1 Samuel. Todd D is also the same guy who snail mails me an envelope full of random cartoons every couple of months. I’ve found several of them today. My favorite is the old lady behind the counter at a sidewalk kiosk proclaiming to passers-by, “…and I’m wearing a thong!” The caption says, “The Too-Much-Information Booth.”

A tiny little three-eyed alien from Toy Story sits on top of my tape dispenser, a gift from our Children’s Minister, Jennifer. She had used the little guys in a staff devo one morning to remind us that just as the toys are chosen by The Claw, we are chosen. We are chosen by God. We belong to him. We are his.

A roll of Life Savers with a note attached: Preacher Timer – Upon reaching pulpit, place one unit in mouth; when Life Saver disappears, so should the preacher! Howard C gave that to me a couple of years ago.

A bar of goat milk cheese given to me by Salvador Cariaga, our missionary to the Philippines. The Christians there are becoming economically self-sufficient by the grace of God as he works in and through all those goats. I joked from the pulpit one Sunday while Salvador was in town that I was glad our elders didn’t pay me with a goat. The next morning, I was greeted in my office by a live goat, courtesy of Jack’s Sunday morning Bible class!

There’s a big white posterboard on the door to my study that declares me “the best preacher ever.” It was made and colored and scotch taped there by Camryn and Brighton, two of the sweetest little girls at Legacy. It fell a couple of weeks ago. I taped it back up.

Here’s an electrical outlet spray painted gold hanging from a string of electrical wire and couplers. Keith R gave this to me after installing five ceiling fans in my house and discovering up close how un-handy I am with and around electricity.

The wooden carving of the old pioneer preacher was given to me by Steve P. Dana J gave me the beautiful crown of thorns that I used during our four week sermon series leading up to this past Easter. Joe A gave me a framed copy of our first family picture for the Legacy pictorial directory. Dawson B gave me the little miniature Homer from his Simpsons happy meal. Wayne S took and framed a picture of Whitney and Carley and me standing in a long line in the Academy parking lot at midnight to buy T-shirts celebrating the Rangers’ American League Championship victory over the hated Yankees. Paul Dennis just gave me this copy of Yancey’s Soul Survivor: How My Faith Survived the Church, figuring it might be good reading right about now. And the picture of Quincy and me at his naturalization ceremony sits to my left among photos of my kids.

Gifts. My office is filled with gifts. Every wall, every shelf, every corner contains a gift from somebody here at Legacy. And it takes me longer to pack this stuff because each gift is connected to a person. A story. A relationship.

Those are the real gifts.

It’s not the wood carving; it’s praying with Steve and Pat in their home while he endured multiple foot surgeries and amputations and prosthetics and rehab related to his diabetes, crying with Steve as he recounted the kindness shown to him by his brothers and sisters at Legacy who remodeled most of his home to accomodate his wheelchair.

It’s not the poster; it’s Camryn’s deep friendship with my youngest daughter and Brighton’s really loud comment to a crowd the Saturday night before my last sermon here: “Preach for two hours, Allan, and if anybody has a problem with it, they can come see me!” It’s my love for both of their families who have encouraged me and supported me and loved me unconditionally for every moment of my ministry here.

It’s not the bar of soap; it’s getting to know Salvador’s son and encouraging him in his studies and his Christian ministry; it’s being there for the funeral of Salvador’s father-in-law; it’s praying with him for the poor people in the Philippines and then being inspired by his life of selfless service.

It’s not the little green alien; it’s remembering that Jennifer always tells me — usually right before or after prayer together, sometimes through tears — church work and ministry is not supposed to be easy. If it were easy, it wouldn’t take faith.

It’s not the book; it’s being there at his house within an hour of Paul finding out his son had been killed in a car accident; it’s the huge bear hugs and his tears and his sensitive heart. And his great pain. His unspeakable pain.

It’s not the Homer toy; it’s knowing that I’ll be there to tell him how proud I am of him when Dawson puts on our Lord in baptism this next Sunday.

It’s not the pictures and candies and crowns and cartoons and books. It’s the lives. Those are the gifts that are handed to preachers every day. The gifts of people’s lives. They open them up to us. They give themselves to us. They pour themselves out in front of us. Every day they share themselves with us. They say things to us they would never say to anyone else. They confess sin to us. They dare to dream really big dreams with us. They make promises. They express concerns. They cry. They pray. In front of us. For us. They are vulnerable with us. They give and give and give to us. Nobody else gets gifts like these. And we get them every day!

What a blessing. What a burden. What a beautiful and amazing thing it is to receive these kinds of wonderful gifts.

That’s why it’s taking so long to pack up my study.

Peace,

Allan

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