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It’s the Little Things

February 18, 2011 / / 1 Comment

That little note your husband left for you on the dining room table as he went to work. “I love you! Have a great day!” It means so much. It may mean more to you than the expensive diamond ring he gave you on your wedding day or the cruise you took together on your anniversary.

That little vase of flowers your friend brought to you while you were in the hospital. “Thinking of you.” It means so much. It probably means more to you than the Christmas gift or the birthday present she gives you every year.

The pat on the back in the crowded hallway. The wink across a busy room. The text message in the middle of the day. The unexpected card in the mailbox.

The little things mean so much because they stand for and point to the really big things. They are tangible proofs of the eternally massive and hugely important things in our lives. The note and winks are reminders of the love your husband has for you that is grand and limitless. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off in your lunch box reminds you that your mother loves you selflessly. Sacrificially.

And it means the world.

God’s little blessings, his everyday graces, mean so much because they point to his incomprehensible love for us. They remind us of his great promises. They are proof of his undying commitment to us. The rainbow. The budding of the trees. A toddler’s laugh. A grandmother’s prayer. Your coffee fixed by a friend just right. Holy communion. Your dog’s loyalty. Congregational singing. They all point to God’s eternal presence and his “great and precious promises.”

Remember the little things. Pay attention to the little things. Practice the little things. Because they mean so much.

Peace,

Allan

Super Bowl, Ben, and the Bone

February 11, 2011 / / 0 Comments

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

Eight Days Before Spring Training

February 9, 2011 / / 3 Comments

In 1994, the Chicago Bulls and New York Knicks were tied at 103-103 in Game Three of the Eastern Conference Semi-Finals. There were 1.8-seconds left. Bulls coach Phil Jackson called time out and drew up his team’s last play, designed to get Toni Kukoc the final shot. Chicago forward Scottie Pippen didn’t like it. He wanted to be the focus of the play. He wanted to take the last shot. He barked at Jackson. The coach barked back. And then Pippen slammed himself into a seat on the bench, refusing to take part in a play that didn’t center on him. The team needed Pippen out on the floor. It was critical that Pippen draw the attention of New York’s defenders so Kukoc could get a good look. But Pippen refused. He sat on the bench and pouted as Kukoc made the game-winning shot.

In July 1999, the Detroit Lions were counting on league MVP Barry Sanders to remain the center piece of their franchise while they built around him and new quarterback Charlie Batch. The Lions had made it to the playoffs four of the past six seasons, including a conference championship game appearance in ’91. And Sanders, regarded by most as the game’s best rusher, was in his prime. But one day before Lions training camp was to begin for the ’99 season, Sanders quit. He quit. He faxed a retirement announcement to his hometown newspaper in Wichita. He was done. One day before training camp. No reason given. No explanation.

February 2011. Eight days before Texas Rangers pitchers and catchers report to Surprise for spring training. Four days after General Manager Jon Daniels and team president Nolan Ryan tell the newspapers they’re set for the season. Third baseman Michael Young has been moved to the full time DH spot to make room for Adrian Beltre, a clear upgrade at the crucial corner. The plan is for the aging Young to DH and play a “super utility” role. He’ll hit every day and fill in at each infield position when they need him. Young’s versatility is invaluable. His clubhouse leadership is critical. The Rangers are coming off their first ever appearance in the World Series and they believe they have the team now to take that next step and win a championship. But now Young has demanded a trade. He’s forcing a trade. He’s publicly characterizing Daniels and Ryan as less-than-honest. He’s telling the media he’s been cheated and lied to and he’s not going to play here anymore.

Eight days before spring training.

I love Michael Young. But this is high treason. This is selfishness of the highest order. This is quitting on your team. This is demanding your way and your will over what’s best for the group.

Eight days before spring training.

Two years ago the Rangers, in a gracious act of loyalty and appreciation, signed Young to an incredible five-year, $80-million dollar extension, the second-largest contract in franchise history. The move was universally blasted by experts as unnecessary and foolish. Young was 32-years-old! But the Rangers wanted to show their gratitude to the man who’d been there through thick and thin, who’d sacrificed so much, who’d played so hard, and who’d turned into such a valuable team leader. They wanted to reward him. So against better judgment, they did.

And eight days before spring training, with the roster completely set, Young has quit on the Texas Rangers.

Young was going to play third base when Beltre needed a day off. He was going to fill in at first base when Mitch Moreland goes into one of his inevitable hitting slumps. He was going to play second when Ian Kinsler goes on the DL. He was going to fill in at shortstop when Elvis Andrus gets tired. Michael Young was really the glue that was going to hold everything together all year. The ultimate team player. The ultimate team-first guy. The ultimate sixth-man. The one sure fire guarantee against disaster.

They asked him to play a different role. Not a less important role. A different role. To make the team better. To get all of them to where they all so desperately want to be.

And he quit.

I would expect this kind of attitude from 99-percent of the professional athletes out there. I would have never expected this out of Michael Young. I’m very disappointed. Sad, even.

I don’t know how this is going to turn out for Texas. Nobody’s going to want to trade for a 34-year-old below-average-defensively third baseman. Not at those contract numbers. Young ripped the rug out from under the Rangers. This is a sucker punch. If the Rangers do manage to trade him, they’ll wind up paying a big chunk of his salary. That’ll be bad. If somehow things get patched up and Young remains in Arlington, that’ll be even worse. He’s not your clubhouse leader anymore. He publicly insulted team management.

And he quit.

He quit on everybody.

Eight days before spring training.

Allan

Reserved Seats

February 8, 2011 / / 1 Comment

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

Snowplow on Mid-Cities!

February 4, 2011 / / 0 Comments

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

Trust the Word

February 1, 2011 / / 0 Comments

[Allow me just a couple of more postings about Dietrich Bonhoeffer from Eric Metaxas’s latest biography.]

Preach the Word. Preach the Word. How many times I have been told, “Preach the Word!” Jimmy Butler here at Legacy exhorts me with, “Preach the Word, brother!” at least a couple of times every week. People write that to me at the ends of cards and letters and emails. I’ve written it and said it — even texted it —  to my preacher friends countless times. In California, I’ve heard it shouted from the congregation as a preacher takes the pulpit.

Preach the Word. Yes. That is our call as ministers of the Scriptures. Proclaim boldly and courageously the Holy Word of God. Faithfully. Without compromise.

Bonhoeffer certainly pushed his students to preach the Word. But he encouraged them to a deeper understanding of what it means to be a Christian proclaimer when he urged them to “trust the Word.”

In 1932, Bonhoeffer told his young seminarians at his illegal underground training school at Finkenwalde, “We must be able to speak about our faith so that hands will be stretched out toward us faster than we can fill them. A truly evangelical sermon must be like offering a child a fine red apple or offering a thirsty man a cool glass of water and then saying, ‘Do you want it?’ Do not try to make the Bible relevant. Its relevance is axiomatic. Do not defend God’s Word, but testify to it. Trust the Word. It is a ship loaded to the very limits of its capacity.”

Trust the Word. What a powerful idea.

We must understand that when the Word of our God is presented it will shake people, it will wake people, it will completely undo people. The Word of God has the power within itself to cause people to see their great need for salvation from God in Christ. If the Word is truly preached, the answers to the deepest needs of mankind will be received without all the baggage and camouflage and add-ons of “religion” and false piety and denominational hogwash. The grace of God, without filters and arguments, will touch people.

We don’t have to try to make it relevant. It is eternally relevant!

We don’t have to worry about it being powerful. It is supremely powerful!

And we preachers need to trust it. Trust the Word.

The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob has promised us that not one bit of his proclaimed Word will ever return to him empty. Trust that great promise. Trust the Word.

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The Packers and Steelers arrived in North Texas yesterday and brought snow and ice and temperatures in the teens and minus-zero wind chills with them. The roads are all completely iced over after an all night sleet and freezing rain and flurry fest. Schools are out today. The church offices are closed. Ditches are littered with abandoned cars. Tree limbs are snapping. Power lines are sagging. Nobody’s outside.

It was sunny and 75-degrees Saturday and Sunday. It’s 16-degrees right now, snowing, with 30-mile-per-hour north winds. I’m really interested to watch all the national shows tonight and read all the national press tomorrow to see how DFW fares in the eyes of the global sports media.

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I’ve added another great link to the “Around the Table” page on this blog. It’s a click to several communion meditations by Jay Guin. I recommend checking them out. Instead of beginning your table talk this Sunday morning with, “When Howard called me last night and asked me to do the Lord’s Supper…” how about starting it with some theology? Some inspirational Scripture? A short illustration that ties what’s happening at the table today with Jesus’ meals from two thousand years ago or that great wedding feast of the Lamb to come? I invite you to read these meditations. And use them.

Peace,

Allan

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