Thirty-five years ago today, Carrie-Anne and I drove in my blue Ford Ranger pickup to Amarillo, from my efficiency apartment in Pampa where I was working my first job out of college at KGRO-KOMX radio, and flew to Las Vegas and eloped. We got married at 11:45pm, Saturday November 25, in the basement of the Clark County courthouse, by a sheriff’s deputy who was playing a game of checkers with a co-worker when we arrived. We weren’t the only ones getting married at the courthouse that night, but we were the only ones who weren’t drunk. The “ceremony” lasted less than two minutes. It was more about deputy Myers confirming our identities and making sure we signed on the correct lines. We stayed at the Fitzgerald on the Vegas strip, ordered Domino’s Pizza delivered to our room, and got up at 6:00 the next morning to fly back to Pampa because I had to be at work Monday for my adult contemporary hit morning show.
Even today, I have no idea what we were thinking. Carrie-Anne and I have made a lot of impulsive decisions together over the years, but that was by far the biggest–it probably set the tone for our behavior together as a married couple. And, it is, I should note, by far the best.
Sometimes my head and my emotions still think the mid-30s is the age of my dad, not my marriage. It’s hard to grasp the idea that I’m old enough to have done anything for 35-years, much less be married. But most of the time, it feels like Carrie-Anne and I have always been together. Always. You know what I’m talking about, like I can’t even begin to imagine my life without her. Actually, it’s not really my life, it’s more like our life. Our life together. I don’t really think in terms of “me” or “my” anymore; it’s “us” and “ours.” Always.
Being married to Carrie-Anne for 35-years is an indescribable blessing from our God and an undeserved honor from Carrie-Anne.
Thirty-five years ago today was the first time I ever flew on an airplane. We had a short layover in Denver on the way to Vegas and bought matching Broncos sweatshirts in an airport gift shop. We got married at the courthouse because it was just a ten dollar fee and the Elvis chapels were all between $75-150. Everything about that weekend was an impulse. Or insanity. Or instinct.
Best decision I ever made and the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.
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At the end of last night’s 4 Midland Thanksgiving service, Darin Wood, the pastor at First Baptist who hosted us so graciously and generously, asked everyone to stand and hold hands across the aisles while he led us in a closing prayer. We were at the end of 65-minutes of worship together across our denominational lines. The combined choir was made up of worship team members from all four of our churches: First Baptist, First Presbyterian, First Methodist, and GCR. We sang a few familiar hymns like “Fairest Lord Jesus” and “Majesty” and a couple of songs I’d never heard before. Each of the four preachers got about nine minutes to remind the almost one thousand Christians in attendance how special this is, how blessed by God we are, and how important a witness it is to our city. We poked fun at ourselves and laughed, we clapped and cheered at the experience of our unity in Christ and the desire for even more expressions of it going forward, and we sang at the tops of our voices. And then, at the end, Darin asked us to hold hands together across the aisles.
I don’t have a picture of it. Not yet. I’m working on it. Surely somebody took it. The only photograph I have in my possession right now is this one Ryan took from the front row. It’s of us four pastors, holding hands in front of our churches. Or, more accurately, in front of God’s Church.
The real scene was in those pews. The physical act of embracing our unity in Christ, the literal movement across aisles and toward one another in Jesus, the visual experience and expression of God’s will for us in Jesus, was overwhelming to me. I confess, my eyes were not closed during that prayer. I can’t be sure my jaw was not on the floor in amazement and awe at what our God is doing in and through our four churches in Midland.
The day began with a preacher swap. I opened my sermon at First Baptist by just looking at the congregation for about 20-seconds, silently, and then saying, “You think this is weird? We’ve got a Methodist in our pulpit today over at the Church of Christ!” Meanwhile, Steve Brooks was telling the folks at GCR a story about his decision to become a pastor, and how he never dreamed it would ever lead to him preaching at a Church of Christ! There was also a little texting stunt that blew up my phone–our church at GCR seems to be easily influenced by outside sources. And, yes, I did stumble off the first step of the stage at First Baptist while I was preaching. I was mortified. Embarrassed and shocked. I tried to make a joke about it, but it was lame. One guy told me after church he was glad I caught myself because their insurance isn’t very good. I was told last night they edited my misstep out of the video version that will appear on their website. Grace.
There’s a lot to talk about and think about as it relates to our 4 Midland events yesterday. I’ll make just two observations right now.
One, we four pastors never once talked about what we were going to talk about in each other’s pulpits. Seriously. We have lunch and pray together every month, we’ve been planning this special Sunday together for almost a year, we’ve been emailing and texting about this for a long time, but none of us felt compelled to talk about what we were going to talk about. Nobody questioned anybody with a, “Hey, you’re not going to say this, are you?” Nobody cautioned anyone with a “Make sure you don’t say that.” It never happened. The friendship we share among us has led to a growing trust that makes those kinds of conversations completely unnecessary. We see our relationships as a partnership in the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which has led to a mutual trust and respect for one another and for our four congregations, so that it never occurred to any of us to preview one another’s sermons. Can you imagine a kind of love and trust for each other, a kind of unified understanding and sense of purpose, that would lead preachers to invite other preachers from different denominations to speak to their congregation on a Sunday morning like that? Without insuring they won’t bring up a controversial issue or say the wrong buzzwords?
That’s the power of relationship and grace.
My hope is that by modeling that kind of trust and respect and love and honor between us pastors, our churches will learn to exhibit those same behaviors with other Christians and other churches and, by God’s grace, eventually some kind of Gospel movement might happen in our city.
Secondly, I must acknowledge that while we were worshiping together with the 4 Midland churches last night, not one person was focused on the issues that historically have divided us. Nobody was thinking about the nuanced differences in our baptism theology or our communion practices. Nobody was distracted by our different church leadership structures, our different views on ordination, or what we call the preacher and the auditorium / sanctuary / worship center. None of that mattered last night. We were in a room with a cross, a table, and water. We were with baptized disciples of Christ who claim Jesus as Lord. What else is there, really? Nothing else mattered last night. Which tells me, none of those other things really matter much at all.
People keep telling me that last night was a little glimpse of heaven. Yeah, none of those things we argue about are going to matter there, either.
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It took the worst special teams game in NFL history for the Cowboys to beat Washington yesterday and end their five game losing streak–two kickoff returns for touchdowns, two missed PATs, three missed field goals, and a blocked punt. The two teams combined for 41-points in a wildly entertaining fourth quarter. They gave us a year’s worth of crazy highlights in a single half of football. They gave us some energy, finally, in a rivalry that was once the best in football but has been dead now for about 20 years. They gave us a heart-stopping finish. But they didn’t give anybody any illusions that the Cowboys were somehow about to right a sinking ship.
Peace,
Allan
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