Barclay on Baptism

Back in college, I recall one particular professor who decried William Barclay as a churchman who did not believe in the miracles of the New Testament. My reading of the enigmatic Barclay bears that opinion out. Nevertheless, I read something in Barclay's commentary on Colossians that sounds like it was written by Alexander Campbell. Here it is:

Baptism in the time of Paul was three things. It was adult baptism; it was instructed baptism; and, wherever possible, it was baptism by total immersion. [author's emphasis] Therefore the symbolism of baptism was manifest. As the waters closed over the man's head, it was as if he died; as he rose up again from the water, it was as if he rose to new life. Part of him was dead and gone for ever; he was a new man risen to a new life.

But, it must be noted, that symbolism could become a reality only under one condition. It could become real only when a man believed intensely in the life and death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. It could only happen when a man believed in the effective working of God which had raised Jesus Christ from the dead and could do the same for him. Baptism for the Christian was in truth a dying and a rising again, because he believed that Christ had died and risen again and that he was sharing in the experience of his Lord.

You go, Bill!

William Barclay, The Daily Study Bible Series: The Letters to the Philippians, Colossians, and Thessalonians, Revised edition, (Philadelphia, The Westminster Press, 1975), p. 140.

Northmen Sing!

My sons and I leave for our annual Northmen camping trip tomorrow. Part business, part pleasure, this trip is a great opportunity to connect with my sons, with ministry colleagues, and with great preaching. I'm especially looking forward to hearing Mark Scott preach. That guys always has something to say and a great way to say it.

My sons enjoy the event because they're out in the woods where they can "fart, scratch, and burp without mom yelling at them." Okay, okay, I admit it. That part of the trip doesn't bother me too much either.

Oh Be Careful Little Tongue What You Preach

Sunday morning, during a sermon on the power of the tongue and the care that must be taken to control it, I preached an error. How appropriate (or is that ironic) that I should have a slip of the tongue during a sermon about the tongue.

What really impressed me, however, were the number of people who caught it, and pointed it out to me. I have always hoped that folks were listening carefully enough to hear any doctrinal error that I might inadvertently put forward, and then have the courage to confront me. Sunday confirms that they do.

In an illustration about the destructive force of the tongue, I mentioned that Karen Carpenter, the alto-half of the seventies mega-duo The Carpenters, was driven to anorexia by the words a reviewer who called her "Richard's chubby sister." The theological mis-step I made wasn't spotted by many, but those who did know their stuff. What was the blunder? I told the congregation that The Carpenters recorded Muskrat Love. It was The Captain and Tennille. My bad.

For My Preacher Friends

With tongue in cheek, Paul Bailey writes: Not every pastor enjoys counseling. [Or, like me, I suspect they feel terribly inadequate - FW] But, other than skipping town, how can you decrease the demand? Here, based on specious clinical research, are a dozen methods guaranteed to keep counseling off your to-do list.

1. Recite tales of people who are a lot worse off, and call the counselee a cry baby.
2. Engage the counselor's mother-in-law as a co-therapist.
3. Don't put a door on your office.
4. Sing songs such as "Put On a Happy Face" and "Don't Worry; Be Happy" to counselees.
5. Step out of the office and start laughing uproariously.
6. Tell the counselee that although you can't figure out a solution to the problem, you'll bring it up in the sermon on Sunday and see if anybody has any ideas.
7. Casually catch up on your reading while counselees bare their deepest problems.
8. Tell the counselee you are videotaping the session for replay on the local cable program "Candid Clergy."
9. Put a bumper sticker on your car: I'D RATHER NOT BE COUNSELING.
10. Refer them to a helpful article in your favorite professional journal: the National Enquirer.
11. Suggest counseling by fax machine.
12. In front of the counselee, phone your spouse and ask for his or her opinion on what to do.

Church Camp

Enjoying the week at Lake James Christian Assembly. Here is a shot from tonight's "talent show" where Frank and the BCC crew air banded Audio Adrenaline's "Never Gonna Be as Big as Jesus."

The price of gold futures took a tumble today . . .

It seems Mr. T has divested himself of his gold chains to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina. Good for you, T. Why now? Why not after, say 9/11. Or why not after Oklahoma City. Why not after the great Christmas Tsunami of 2005?

Call me cynical, but is it possible that this revelation is connected to Mr. T's new television show set to debut in October?

Zizou 'Da Man

The Boston Globe is condemning the actions of French soccer star Zinadine Zidane for head butting Italian Marco Materazzi during last week's World Cup final. What a bunch of panty-waists. Hello Boston sportswriters. . . have you ever been to a Bruins game? Author Frank Dell'Apa opines that insults and harsh words are part of sports and Zidane should have ignored it. So is fighting. The Bruins have dropped the gloves plenty of times. So have the Celtics. Even the erstwhile, blueblood Bosox have dusted it up a time or two.

Soccer's stock went up in my portfolio last week with the head butt heard 'round the world. (The only direction is could go, by the way.) For me, this sport has been been reminiscent of Zuzu's petals. That image has been replaced by Zizou's pounding.

I know, I know, it was "too violent." It was "unsportsmanlike." But the dude called his mother and sister whores. And he retaliated. Where I come from that is called justice. Part of the world - the part that sings "I'd like to teach the world to sing . . . " - may condemn Zidane, but I'm holding him up to my boys as a man who defended the honor of the women in his life.

Am I wrong in this?

"Jane" Has Left the Building

My friend, "Joe", was telling me about a disgruntled woman who recently left his church. (Aside - if there is disgruntled, is there such a thing as gruntled?) "Jane" has been critical of Joe from the time he arrived. The music isn't right. The drums are too loud. Her husband should have been asked to chair a committee. On and on.

When asked by one of the church elders why she was leaving to attend a church in another nearby town (the preaching there isn't any better, by the way), she told him, "I'm not getting anything from Joe's sermons. They just aren't deep enough." This mature elder responded with one of the best answers I think I've ever heard. "Jane, I would hope they're not deep enough for you. You've been a Christian for nearly sixty years. I would hope that, by now, you're mature enough that Joe's preaching isn't nearly deep enough. If its deep enough for you, then he's over the heads of all the new believers we're seeing in our church right now."

God bless that elder and God bless Joe. And while He's at it, God bless Jane and her new preacher. He's gonna need it.

Trust God Tags

The Indiana BMV recently announced a new "In God We Trust" license plate option for motorists. At no additional cost, Hoosiers can purchase a faith-based plate. Click here to see the four options and to vote for your favorite. Of course, if you purchase these tags, you won't be able to speed, gesture profanely or honk your horn at the curb-hugger ahead of you without looking like a total hypocrite. That's why I got rid of my fish bumper-sticker, after all.

Funerals for the Faithless

Most preachers I know say they would rather preside over ten funerals than one wedding. Brides-to-be and mothers of brides-to-be make most weddings miserable for a pastor. The exception to that rule is the funeral of an unbeliever. Few exercises are more difficult for a minister than dancing around the reality of a pagan grandfather's final resting place. The pastor wants to give comfort to a grieving family while the prophet wants to warn those left behind to change their ways before their fate is similarly sealed.

I attended one such funeral yesterday. The preacher did an admirable job. His opening line was "_______ loved nature. _______ loved people." What a tragedy. God forbid that someone could ever say of me, "Frank loved nature, and Frank loved people," without being able to say, "Frank loved Jesus."

You can love nature all you want. You can be everyone's friend of years and friend of tears. But, if you don't love Jesus, death is no welcome friend.

I desperately hope that, sometime during our recently departed friend's brief illness, he was able to connect with Christ in a redemptive way. I don't know if he did; I guess I won't know until I meet Jesus face to face. I do know this: I'm not going to wait. I'm pleading the blood of Christ today and everyday. I count on Jesus' mercy and grace to forgive my sin.

When some pastor (perhaps my son) sermonizes on my burial day, it will be the easiest funeral he has ever preached. "Frank loved Jesus; he loved his family; Frank is in Heaven. Now let's go back to the church and eat ham and scalloped potatoes."

More Thoughts From Louisville

Dave Stone drove home the unity point once again tonight at the North American Christian Convention. He suggested that we don't have to be aligned on every point of doctrine in order to find ways to serve together. The single mother who is in desperate need of a house isn't nearly as concerned about my doctrine lining up with my brothers as she is about the two by fours of her new home lining up with each other.

One quote that Stone said stuck with me: My experience is that God never blesses animosity." For all you BCC folks, please refer to yesterday's posting. Are we harboring any bitterness in our hearts? If so, how can we expect God to bless our efforts?

Lessons From Louisville

Tis the season for church conventions, and I’m attending one of ‘em. Having just returned from the opening session of the North American Christian Convention in Louisville, Kentucky, I sit in the Galt House Hotel pondering what I’ve just witnessed. Historic is not nearly a descriptive enough term.

Tonight David Faust, the President of this year’s convention, detailed a tragedy that took place in 1906. 100 years ago, beneath the seemingly calm surface of San Francisco, a sudden shift took place in the earth’s tectonic plates. The resulting earthquake measured 8.3 on the Richter scale and tore the city apart. Far more destructive than the quake, however, were the fires that raged through the city in its aftermath.

1906 saw another tragedy: the division of the Christian Church. Fault lines had been forming for decades, but it wasn’t until that fateful year that the split was formalized. In the 100 years since, there have been other schisms, other conflicts. Generations have come and gone, many without even realizing they have Christian siblings they’ve never met. Like the Hatfields and the McCoys, the original combatants have all died, and their great-great grandchildren don’t have an inkling as to what the original fight was even about.

Tonight was the beginning of what will, hopefully, be the end of that division. Thousands of believers from the churches of Christ and the Christian Churches met together for an amazing worship service. It was a wonderful beginning to what promises to be an inspired week.

As I mentioned, this isn’t the only church convention taking place. Last week the Episcopal Church in the United States met. On the agenda: the controversy surrounding the decision to ordain practicing homosexuals and lesbians as Bishops within that fellowship. The week before, the Presbyterian Church (USA) met. They voted to receive a policy paper on inclusive language in worship. If the paper becomes policy, Presbyterians might alternately begin referring to the Trinity as “Mother, Child and Womb.”

The convention I attended tonight had none of that. I am so pleased that our church doesn’t vote on doctrine, but rather expounds it. I am so glad that, when I attend the NACC, we’re not haggling over changes to a Book of Discipline, but rather preaching and teaching from the Books of the Bible.

Oh, we’re far from perfect as a church. Tonight’s message on unity drove that home. We don’t even have unity in our little town of Butler. We’ve got two Christian Churches with 100 feet of one another, and they’ve yet to hold a worship service together. We sing the same songs, share the same heritage, and serve the same Savior, but for some reason we’ve yet to share a loaf of bread and a cup of juice. We send our kids to the same church camp, support the same missionaries, and evangelize the same lost people. We reach across oceans to share the gospel with a pagan, but we won’t reach across Main Street to share communion with a brother.

It is time for that to change.

This year marks the 100th anniversary of the split in the Christian Church / churches of Christ. It has taken 100 years for us to come back together. Next year marks the 10th anniversary of the split between Butler Church of Christ and Christ’s Church at Butler. Will it take ninety more before our great-great grandchildren do what we have not yet summoned the courage to do?

I hope not.

AOL Hell

Check out this post. This poor sap is trying to cancel his AOL account and runs into the "customer service rep" from hell.

Why We Don't Vote on Stuff

Ever pray in the name of the "Mother, Child and Womb?" If you're at a Presbyterian worship service, you may soon have the opportunity.

I am glad I am part of the Restoration Movement. Begun in the early 19th century, this revival sought to rid Christians of extra-biblical practices. For example, we have no creed but Christ, no book but the Bible. We don't call ourselves by any name other than "Christian", or in some cases, "disciples".

You might be thinking, "So what? Why the big deal?"

It is a big deal if your church wants to rename the Trinity.

That's what a new policy paper written for the Presbyterian Church (USA) recommends. The denomination rightly recognizes that God is neither male or female in a human sense. God is spirit. But the paper goes to far in jettisoning Biblical language for God - Father, Son and Holy Spirit - for PC terms like "Lover, Beloved, Love." The "PC" folks in the PCUSA all got together earlier this week and voted that the church receive the special paper.

Our church doesn't vote on what we believe. We read about it in scripture. Where the scriptures speak, we speak; where the scripture is silent, we are silent. In essential doctrines, we have unity; in opinions we have liberty; in all things we show love.

Isn't that the way it ought to be?

God help the Presbyterians.

Bubba's Bucketmouth

Caleb caught a really nice largemouth bass yesterday. It was 20 inches long. I didn't have scales, but it felt like it was four pounds plus. He's a better fisherman than his old man, to be sure!

More Good Deals at Goodwill

Mrs. Frankly and I hit the Goodwill and the Salvation Army earlier this week. I love those places! It was half-price day at the SA. I walked away with four Cutter and Buck polo shirts for $8! They normally retail between $30-60. C&B are the best polos for one reason: their button holes are horizontal instead of vertical, so they stay buttoned. (It's all about the second button!)

Shopping at thrift stores is like panning for gold. You have to move a lot of gravel, but when you find a gleaming nugget, it is a great feeling. I have pretty much decided I will never pay retail again. Either its on the clearance rack, at the second-hand store, or I aint buyin' it.

From the sick and twisted file . . .

The UK Mirror is reporting that a child born on 6/6/06 and weighing 6 lbs. 6 ounces was named by his parents (drumroll, please) Damien. Apparently mom and dad are big fans of The Omen. Sorry kid.

Oh . . . and mom was in labor for six days. That's just creepy.

In Praise of the Sour Cream Donut

Is there a finer food known to mankind
Than the favorite tasty donut of mine?
Its crunchy exterior covered with glaze
Propels me into a diabetic haze.
With milk, or with soda, or even with tea,
The sour cream donut my fav'rite shall be.
So bring on the donuts - one a day please,
For a donut a day keeps a pastor at ease.

Powerful prayers?

Atlanta's WSB-TV is reporting that an Alabama woman was struck by lightning as she stood praying in her kitchen.

I would love to have lightning strike our church during prayer time - the Holy Spirit kind.

While they were praying, the place where they were meeting trembled and shook. They were all filled with the Holy Spirit and continued to speak God's Word with fearless confidence. Acts 4:31 (The Message)

"At death, everybody fills a hole, not everbody leaves one."

Got this from a friend today. It is from Patrick Mead's blog. He is the Preacher at Rochester Church of Christ. Very good stuff . . .

Warning: I can be a very blunt individual. It may indicate a lack of kindness, but I hope that isn't the case. I prefer to think of it as one individual defined diplomacy: "warfare by other means." This column about children, church, and Christians might seem harsh... but I'm writing it anyway!

A couple was furious with our church. We had gone to see what happened to them after someone noticed they'd been gone from our worship assembly for some time. "We aren't coming back," the husband said. "That is an unloving, cold church that claims to care about people but doesn't." I asked him on what basis he made that judgment and he replied, "We were gone four weeks from that church before anyone there even noticed. What kind of church doesn't even notice something like that?"

I replied, "What kind of person are you, that you could be gone for four weeks and the no one in the church could tell?" They were shocked by this 'attack' so I pressed on. "What work suffered because you stopped your ministry? What mission work ground to a halt because you withdrew your funding, prayers and support? Could it be -- just imagine with me a moment -- could it be that you never really were a part of the church? Could that be why your departure was unnoticed?"

I tell people -- and mean it -- that the Rochester Church is the warmest, friendliest, and most talented congregation I have ever worked with... but we don't make it easy to be a member here. All who come to be a part of us are called into the ministry and work of this body. They are expected to give and live as disciples, to be deeply involved in our work, and to be available to any other member who needs prayer or backup.

Kami and I built this into our children at an early age. As I have written before, we would often end the day with two questions: "Where did you see Jesus today?" and "What did you do for Jesus today?"

Let me rephrase this: make your life necessary. When you die, as we all will, you can either fill a hole or leave it. Your choice. I have no interest in filling a hole. I have a great interest in leaving one. Make your life something that gives, serves, and leads in such a way that when you are gone, it matters!!! I ask my staff and my children -- but mostly I ask myself -- "what difference did it make that you lived today? In what way did you do something that would have remained undone without you? Did your life matter today?"

Did you pray for someone fervently? Did you sacrifice some money or pleasure for another's benefit? Did you offer kindness and courtesy to someone everybody else ignored? Did you look for those who have been robbed and beaten by life and offer to them everything you had to help them as did the Samaritan?

People ask me how we raised our daughter to be such a sweet, dedicated, serving Christian and how we raised our son to be a noble, honorable, courageous man who is headed towards the officer's ranks in the Marine Corps. We challenged them to make each day an opportunity to make their life count. My son has written extensively on why he is going to serve in the uniform of the Corps. I will not quote that extensively here, but the gist of it is that everyone lives, but not everyone matters. Everyone dies, but most never lived for something bigger than themselves first.

And everybody fills a hole at death, but not everybody leaves one.

Our Senator and Gay Marriage

The American Family Association reports that my United States Senator, Evan Bayh, is poised to vote against the Marriage Protection amendment.

My perspective and response to issues like this one changed quite a bit several years ago after reading Cal Thomas' book Blinded by the Might. Thomas devoted a big part of his early career to working with Jerry Falwell's Moral Majority. His basic thesis is this: after devoting decades and millions of dollars, the religious right has essentially failed to make substantive change via the legislative process. The only real change is made one heart at a time the way the church has been doing for hundreds of years - through evangelism.

I think I agree. We're not going to change hearts through legislation. Having said that, I think it is the right and the duty of each citizen to engage their political leaders. We should contact Senator Bayh. I did so some time ago on this issue, and he wrote me to say, essentially, that he was "studying the issue" and had yet to make up his mind.

For me, then, the response is one of engagement as a citizen, but in a limited way. My real efforts need to be directed at reaching people for Christ. This is hard because political power is a real siren song. I relish being involved in the process and have often thought I would like to one day run for office. What change could I make, though? Eternal change is only made by engaging in eternal pursuits. Where such visceral issues as homosexual marriage are concerned, legislation will never change the minds of those who oppose it, and protest will never change the minds of those who support it. The only thing that will ever change either of those positions is the regeneration that comes from having the mind of Christ.

That is harder than writing our Senator, but then again it is Christ doing the work and not me.

Yep . . .

Men Who Hate Going to Church . . .

Last week I sang on our worship team - a rare occurrence for me. I face the church each week and deliver a sermon, but it is not often that I can see our folks singing. I noticed something. I noticed that there were far fewer men singing than women. Many of the ladies worshipped with passion - eyes closed, hands raised, some with tears even. The men . . . well, many of them sat stoically with folded arms. Others sang listlessly. A few participated, but very few, I suspect, worshipped.

Why is that? I suppose there are several possible reasons. Some men just grew up in a culture that devalued singing. Not me. There was always music on in our home. I was encouraged to sing and did so. My dad, who is no Pavoratti, sang the great hymns of the faith with gusto. Maybe men don't sing because they don't know the words. Admittedly, we sing a lot of newer songs in our church, but even when we sang a couple "oldies-but-goodies," I noticed a disconnect.

I happened to pick up a new book this week as I've pondered this mystery. It is Why Men Hate Going to Church by David Murrow. Check out what he writes:

Church involvement is good for men. But since when do men do what's good for them? Men regard churchgoing like a prostate exam; it's something that can save their lives, but it's so unpleasant and invasive, they put it off. Others see the worship service as their weekly dose of religion, a bitter elixir one must swallow to remain healthy, but not something to look forward to.

I suspect Murrow is right. Sunday was evidence enough for me. I'm eager to read his diagnosis and prescription for the problem. Check back for details.

Remembering . . .

Sixty-two years ago next month, Donald Nelson found himself crouching in a landing craft speeding toward Omaha Beach. As the boat-ramp dropped in front of him, he staggered out of the craft beneath the 70 pounds of gear strapped to his back. He was the fourth man off the vessel. The third man didn’t make it; he died at the water line. Nelson stepped over his fallen comrade and fought his way into France.

Before the invasion of Normandy was secure, 29,000 Americans would die. So would 11,000 British soldiers and 5,000 Canadians.

Freedom isn’t free. It never has been. Today’s liberty was purchased by the blood of our fathers and grandfathers, and it is preserved by the blood of our brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters. Whenever and wherever tyranny is confronted, there is always a price to be paid, and that price is almost always paid in blood.

Two thousand years ago, Jesus Christ paid a price for our spiritual freedom. The Apostle Paul wrote,

When we were utterly helpless, Christ came at just the right time and died for us sinners. Now, no one is likely to die for a good person, though someone might be willing to die for a person who is especially good. But God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners. And since we have been made right in God's sight by the blood of Christ, he will certainly save us from God's judgment. For since we were restored to friendship with God by the death of his Son while we were still his enemies, we will certainly be delivered from eternal punishment by his life. So now we can rejoice in our wonderful new relationship with God—all because of what our Lord Jesus Christ has done for us in making us friends of God. Romans 5:6-11 (NLT)

Thank God for men like Donald Nelson who stood in the line of fire so we could be free. And thank God for His Son, Jesus Christ, who paid the ultimate price so we could be eternally free!

I Love This Place!

Manufacturer's Suggested Retail - $36.00
Clearance Price - $21.60
Final Markdown - $7.00
Price at Goodwill - $2.29
Panning for gold at Goodwill and finding a nugget - priceless!

Classic Jonah B.

My son Jonah spent some time cleaning his room yesterday. With him, it is a never ending battle to uncover carpet beneath the pile of dirty laundry, Playstation game cases, baseball equipment, and various toys. (Not unlike most boys his age, I suspect.)

As he trudged down the stairs and through the living room where Mrs. Frankly and I were reading, I asked, "Did you make your bed?" "No," he sighed. Then he brightened with inspiration and said, "I was going to, but today is the Sabbath."

The kid cracks me up.

Re-introductions

He stuck out his hand as a smile crossed his familiar face. "Hi, I'm Mike."

I knew that, of course. I've known Mike for over twenty years. My wife used to attend his church when she stayed with her grandmother during the summers. In fact, Mike officiated at Grandma's funeral. Oh, it has been a couple months since we've seen each other. I've started combing my hair differently to cover my nagging receding hairline. I shaved my beard. I lost 135 pounds. Other than that, I'm the same guy, so why didn't he recognize me?

When I stuck my hand out and said, "Frank Weller, nice to meet you, Mike," he let out an embarrassed laugh.

It's funny how you can know someone for so long yet fail to recognize them.

I sometimes do that with Jesus.

I've known Him since 1976, but there are still times when I fail to recognize His hand at work. There are occasions when I don't see what is obvious to others. I wonder why that is. Perhaps it is because I'm just not as familiar with Him as I ought to be. Maybe it is because the interval between the times we connect becomes to lengthy. Perhaps it's just because I'm not looking.

Whatever the reason, I clearly need to pay more attention. Do you?

Navy Chaplain Faces Court-Martial for Praying

Here is an update to the story I blogged about back in December, 2005. It is taken from KNBC TV in Los Angeles.

NORFOLK, Va. -- A chaplain stationed at Naval Station Norfolk said he could face court-martial for praying in uniform outside the White House.

Lt. Gordon Klingenschmitt said he prayed at a March 30 protest opposing Department of Defense rules forbidding military chaplains from invoking the name of Jesus Christ. He's accused of violating an order not to appear in uniform at news conferences in support of personal or religious issues.

The issue seems to hinge on whether his praying at the event was permissible participation at a bona fide religious service. Klingenschmitt is rejecting non-judicial punishment in favor of trial by court-martial.

In addition, he's filing a complaint against the Navy claiming the threat of punishment against him amounts to religious harassment and he's appealing to the White House to end what he claims are the military's attempts to take reprisals against a whistle-blower.

Copyright 2006 by The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

A Powerful Letter

This Sunday I am preaching "We are . . . Letters from Christ." It is taken from 2 Corinthians 3:3. As I was preparing, I came across these powerful words. They're taken from Martin Luther King Jr.'s Letter from Birmingham Jail:

There was a time when the church was very powerful. It was during that period when the early Christians rejoiced when they were deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society. Whenever the early Christians entered a town the power structure got disturbed and immediately sought to convict them for being "disturbers of the peace" and "outside agitators." But they went on with the conviction that they were "a colony of
heaven," and had to obey God rather than man. They were small in number but big in commitment. They were too God-intoxicated to be "astronomically intimidated." They brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide and gladiatorial contest.

Things are different now. The contemporary church is often a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. It is so often the arch supporter of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church's silent and often vocal sanction of things as they are.

But the judgement of God is upon the church as never before. If the church of today does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authentic ring, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no
meaning for the twentieth century.

Mrs. Frankly in Haiti

My lovely wife has been in Haiti since last Saturday helping out at Northwest Haiti Christian Mission. I miss her terribly, but I don't think I've seen her smile this big in a long time. I'm so proud of her!

Notice the drool on her right shoulder? I'm guessing that is the source of the smile as she has been assisting in the birthing center.

You can get more pictures from her trip by clicking here.

Vanity Plate Theology

Indiana, like most states, long ago figured out a way to extract more revenue from its license plate monopoly. The "vanity plate" is an established status symbol in the Hoosier state. You can learn a lot from a person’s "tags" as our southern brothers call them. "IAM4IU" means an Indiana University hoops fan is behind the wheel. The driver of the Buick with "IN D CAR" on the bumper would rather be whirling around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway than stuck in traffic on I-465. Or there is my personal favorite (which belonged to my brother-in-law): "4U2NV". And I did, by the way.

I’ll never own a vanity plate, partly because I’m too cheap, but mostly because there isn’t enough room to say what I want. If there were, my plate would read, "RU WHO U SAY UR."

I’ve pondered that question several times in recent days. My musing began when I read about seventy-six year old Floridian Philip Winikoff. Winikoff, who is a used-car shuttle driver for an auto dealership, got hold of an old doctor’s bag and began visiting suburban housewives posing as a physician. Claiming to represent a nearby hospital, Winikoff offered free breast exams. He twice succeeded before being nabbed by police.

Closer to home, a convicted child molester from nearby Ohio attended a handful of local high school baseball games posing as a scout for Indiana University. At one of the games, he managed to obtain the names, addresses, phone numbers, and even the email addresses of several students. While officials say there were no laws broken, I doubt the young men whose information he obtained or their families feel any less violated.

Which brings me back to my vanity plate query: R U WHO U SAY U R?

This is a critical question for every Christian, I think.

If Jesus had a chariot, and if that chariot had a license plate (humor me, okay), R U WHO U SAY U R is precisely what would have been stamped in the metal. To the religious leaders of his day Jesus said:

"You're hopeless, you religion scholars and Pharisees! Frauds! You're like manicured grave plots, grass clipped and the flowers bright, but six feet down it's all rotting bones and worm-eaten flesh. People look at you and think you're saints, but beneath the skin you're total frauds."

And for me, that is the rub. I’m a religious leader, or so they tell me. Am I who I say I am? Too often, I am not, as my children and wife can sadly attest. And yet, I suspect this is the bane of every Christian, for we aspire to be better than we are. We’re reaching for a perfection that is commanded by God ("be ye perfect as I am perfect"), yet is elusively unattainable ("that which I want to do I do not do, and that which I do not want to do I do").

And so I guess I’ll just abandon my lengthy license plate literature for something a little more realistic. Perhaps "IM TRYING." Come to think of it, that just might fit on a plate after all.

Immigration Intricacies

My friend, Mike Kjergaard, re-published an interesting letter to the editor in his blog yesterday. It points out, logically, the fallacy of supporting illegal immigration on the basis that illegals are willing to work jobs the rest of us won't. The problem is, this is not a logical issue.

I've seen Mexican poverty first hand. Working in destitute border towns, it is easy to understand why Pedro and Patricia want to move three hundred yards north so their children and their children's children can have the chance at a better life.

There weren't any immigration laws when European colonists planted their flags at Jamestown or Plymouth. They, like these same immigrants today, simply wanted a better life.

I agree that illegal immigration is . . .well . . . Illegal. But I have difficulty going so far as to say it is immoral. It certainly is no more immoral than allowing our Christian brothers and sisters to endure squalid conditions because they were born in the only area that Santa Ana managed to hang on to when Sam Houston wrested Texas, New Mexico, et al. from Mexican control.

It is not an easy problem, and there aren't any easy solutions because we're talking about issues of the heart. But, if my kid is living on a dirt floor beneath a cardboard roof and is picking through garbage dumps for food, I swim the river. And, I'm betting you would, too.

Fudge on Judas

My thirteen-year-old son came home from school yesterday asking about "The Gospel of Judas." It seems one of his classmates - a regular antagonist of Christians at Eastside Jr. / Sr. High School - told him about the National Geographic special that aired Sunday night claiming a vastly different historical perspective on Judas, the disciple who betrayed Jesus.

You can always count on the media to take shots at Christ every March or April, depending on when Easter occurs.

Church of Christ theologian and attorney Edward Fudge has an informative perspective on the "Gospel of Judas" at his website. The National Geographic special proclaimed the document to be "authentic," and for many folks, this translates as "the document is true." More accurately stated though, the ancient text is not a recent fraud. Frankly speaking it is an ancient fraud written, not by Judas the disciple, but by a Gnostic heretic living well after Judas' death. Early church fathers condemned it. At its earliest, it cannot be dated before 150 A.D., well after the apostles' deaths.

To read Fudge's analysis, click here.

Fudge also has an insightful follow up to his original post.

Thanks to Eric Riddle, Pastor of Christ's Hope Church, for pointing out this informative analysis.

Not Only Will You CBS, You Might Hear Some Too

My preacher pal Mike Kjergaard has a great Katie Couric post on his blog. Check it out.

The Yugo Confessional

Update

I have received some really interesting posts concerning my upcoming sermon series. I would still like to hear your "most irritating thing about Christians." You can click here to post your own comment. Thanks!

The Road to Health

A year ago I couldn't walk up a flight of stairs without huffing and puffing.

Yesterday I jogged 5,000 meters without stopping once.

I am so grateful to God for giving me the opportunity to become healthy again. My diabetes is under control without any medication. (blood sugar in the low 80s). My resting heart rate is hovering near 60. Nothing to brag about for an Olympian, but mine was in the mid-nineties. Best of all, I am feeling good. Frankly speaking, I never thought it possible. God is good.

ABC News: One More Reason Not to Watch

The Washington Post is reporting that ABC News producer John Green will serve a one month unpaid suspension following the Drudge Report's publication of a private email he wrote to a colleague. Eager to shame Green, fellow employees allegedly leaked the email to Drudge.

The language he used is hardly incendiary. "In one of the e-mails, written during the first presidential debate in 2004 and leaked to the Drudge Report, Green wrote to a colleague on his BlackBerry: "Are you watching this? Bush makes me sick. If he uses the 'mixed messages' line one more time, I'm going to puke.""

Between you and me, I disagree entirely with what Green wrote. But since when is a private email that is intended to remain between two co-workers fair game to be used in an unscrupulous attempt to pass someone on the corporate news ladder? Last I knew the 1st Amendment guarantees Green to say any stupid thing he wants.

ABC News jumped right in line with the other news outlets that proclaimed a Dutch cartoonist's right to publish caricatures of Mohammed just a couple months back. They were all for free speech then. Apparently they don't extend the same courtesy to their own.

Again, I don't agree with Green, but I do support his right to say it. This is just one more example of why network news has become nitwit news.

The Death of Secularism?

I came across this compelling Oz Guinness quote today:

Americans with a purely secular view of life have too much to live with, too little to live for. Everything is permitted and nothing is important. But once growth and prosperity cease to be their reason for existence, they are bound to ask questions about the purpose and meaning of their lives: Whence? Whither? Why? And to such questions secularism has no answers that have yet proved widely satisfying in practice. Few of the great thinkers of the twentieth century have remained loyal to secular humanism. Secularism in its sophisticated form rarely flourishes outside intellectual centers where the mind is the organizing center of life. In its more "popular" Marxist form, it is keeling over arthritically. The very emptiness of our secular age is its deepest spiritual significance.

It is even conceivable that our generation is standing on the threshold of a rebound of historic proportions. The collapse of the great counterreligious ideologies - Freudianism's failure to recodify the private world and Marxism's to recodify the public - clears the greatest obstacle to this possibility. Philosophical denials of faith have become affirmations that need denying. Social permissions have become constrictions from which we need liberating. Secular iconoclasms have become idols that need debunking. Moral inversions have become blind orthodoxies against which we need new heresies. Critical deconstruction has become destructiveness against which the need is to build and rebuild. Even secular humanism turns out to be, not the bogey its enemies fear, but an oxymoron its supporters regret - for secularism does not produce humanism; humanism requires, not secularism, but supernaturalism.

You might need to read that more than once. I did. And each time I read it, it made more sense than before.

Oz Guinness, The American Hour: A Time of Reckoning and the Once and Future Role of Faith (New York: Free Press, 1993), p. 398.

The Five Most Irritating Things About Christians

Later this summer, I'll be preaching a series of sermons about those things we find most annoying about Christians. At first, I thought I would just spend five weeks hashing over my personal pet peeves. But, of course, this series isn't all about me, its about what makes you itch. So, let me know - what irritates you about Christians? I want to hear from both believers and pagans. What rubs you the wrong way? You can click on comments below this posting to leave me a message.

Thanks!

Unbelievable!

Yesterday Mrs. Frankly Speaking frantically phoned my office to come home immediately. "It's important" she hollered.

I went. I wish I had not.

It seems that Vivian, the lovely Golden Hamster we bought two weeks ago came from the pet store with an unexpected surprise. Vivian had pups.

I wanted to buy the boy hamster, but the girl at Petsmart talked me into Vivian, the knocked-up hamster.

Stop laughing. This isn't funny.

Anyone want a pet hamster for Easter?

Bill Gates' Home Church?

Rejected

There sits, atop our coffee table, a forlorn bowl of jelly beans. Colorless, these are the rejects. The orange were first to go, even before the bowl made it to the table. My wife's favorites, she segregated them straight from the bag and hid them in her private "stash." Red and yellow soon followed. Too bright to avoid notice, our small group scarfed them down on Sunday night. Green is gone. Even purple (yuck) is absent.

All that is left are black and white. They'll stay there until a new bag is bought. Then, rejected, they'll be tossed in the trash never to be eaten.

Sometimes I feel like a jelly bean reject.

Going Home

I am ten years old, and it is the perfect spring day. I lie beneath the apple tree and stare at the pink tinged blossoms. In the distance, I hear the clatter of livestock eating. The pigs snort as they root in their feeder. The hens cluck and strut among the grass pecking for bits of corn. The thrumming of the tractor is louder then softer then louder again as my father weaves across the field plowing. The musty dirt shines as it is startled from its winter sleep, overturned, worms scrambling at the sudden eviction from their dark tunnels.

Later I climb the maple tree and "hunt" the barn cats as they yawn in the afternoon sun, their heads resting on pillows of crossed paws. I clamber to the barn loft and arrange the bales of hay into an impenetrable, itchy "Alamo." I’m Davy Crockett taking on Santa Ana. Once Texas is secured (and I am sufficiently martyred), I take a break for lunch. (Even John Wayne has to eat.) Mom yells out the back door, and I scramble down the ladder and through the alley-way past the wooden feed bin filled with dusty yellow hog feed. I turn right, run ten steps, leap over a fifty-year-old fence that long ago lost its last bit of paint, and dash across the barnyard and into the house.

I sit down to eat, but mom tells me to wash up and get ready to go to the field to meet dad. There is a mayonnaise jar on the table, and it is filled with ice water. Condensation trickles down its side onto the News-Sentinel beneath it. I wash my hands in the ancient porcelain sink while mom wraps the jar with news stories about a peanut farmer turned President and sets it in a bucket next to meatloaf sandwiches and a half-filled bag of Seyfert’s.

At the field, my sister and I wait with mom until our family’s bright green Oliver tractor completes its round and pulls up short of where I strain at mom’s hand. Dad shuts the motor off. Today, he has time to enjoy lunch. If there were rain clouds to the west, he’d just grab the bucket, eat on the run, and toss the leftovers to me the next time around. But the sun is shining, and both he and the tractor can use the rest.

He climbs down, and the four of us flop at the edge of the field, our backs to the rusty wire fence. We tussle and laugh. Dad makes up silly rhymes. He wonders out loud about the promise of this year’s crop. I am home.

At least, I am as close to home as I can be on this earth.

In the heart of every person, there is a longing to go home but not to the place of our birth or to the town where we grew up. While we pine for the places of our childhood, the longing for our earthly "home" is but a hint of the real yearning to which it alludes - the desire to go home to be with the Father.

Jesus said,

"There are many rooms in my Father's home, and I am going to prepare a place for you. If this were not so, I would tell you plainly. When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am." John 14:2-3 (NLT)

I guess I’m just a little homesick.

If Engineers Wrote Cookbooks . . .

Chocolate Chip Cookies

Ingredients:
1.) 532.35 cm3 gluten (flour)
2.) 4.9 cm3 NaHCO3 (baking Powder)
3.) 4.9 cm3 refined halite (salt)
4.) 236.6 cm3 partially hydrogenated tallow triglyceride (Crisco)
5.) 177.45 cm3 crystalline C12H22O11(Sugar)
6.) 177.45 cm3 unrefined C12H22O11 (sugar)
7.) 4.9 cm3 methyl ether of protocatechuic aldehyde (my guess vanilla flavoring)
8.) Two calcium carbonate-encapsulated avian albumen-coated protein (eggs)
9.) 473.2 cm3 theobroma cacao (cocoa)
10.) 236.6 cm3 de-encapsulated legume meats (sieve size #10)(nuts)

Method:
To a 2-L jacketed round reactor vessel (reactor #1) with an overall heat transfer coefficient of about 100 Btu/F-ft2-hr, add ingredients one, two and three with constant agitation. In a second 2-L reactor vessel with a radial flow impeller operating at 100 rpm, add ingredients four, five, six, and seven until the mixture is homogenous.To reactor #2, add ingredient eight, followed by three equal volumes of the homogenous mixture in reactor #1.

Additionally, add ingredient nine and ten slowly, with constant agitation. Care must be taken at this point in the reaction to control any temperature rise that may be the result of an exothermic reaction. Using a screw extrude attached to a #4 nodulizer, place the mixture piece-meal on a 316SS sheet (300x 600 mm). Heat in a 460K oven for a period of time that is in agreement with Frank & Johnston's first order rate expression (see JACOS, 21,55), or until golden brown. Once the reaction is complete, place the sheet on a 25C heat-transfer table, allowing the product to come to equilibrium.

Madeleine L'Engle on Creativity

From Madeleine L'Engle's book Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art . .

Finley Eversole, in The Politics of Creativity, writes,

In our society, at the age of five, 90 percent of the population measures "high creativity." By the age of seven, the figure has dropped to 10 percent. And the percentage of adults with high creativity is only two percent! Our creativity is destroyed not through the use of outside force, but through criticism, innuendo,

by the dirty devices of this world. So we are diminished, and we forget that we are more than we know. The child is aware of unlimited potential, and this munificence is one of the joys of creativity.

Those of us who struggle in our own ways, small or great, trickles or rivers, to create, are constantly having to unlearn what the world would teach us; it is not easy to keep a child's high creativity in these late years of the twentieth century.

Dumb Question? Maybe not . . .

Afterward Jesus returned to Jerusalem for one of the Jewish holy days. Inside the city, near the Sheep Gate, was the pool of Bethesda, with five covered porches. Crowds of sick people - blind, lame, or paralyzed - lay on the porches. One of the men lying there had been sick for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him and knew how long he had been ill, he asked him, "Would you like to get well?" John 5:1-6 (NLT)

For thirty-eight years this man was waiting for a healing. Thirty-eight years.

Jesus first question to the man? Not, "What happened to you?" It wasn't, "How long have you been here?" Jesus already knew that. Jesus first words: "Would you like to get well?"

My reaction to reading this: a very teenagerly "DUH!" The man had only been waiting for nearly four decades for a healing. He had hoped beyond hope that he might encounter miracle at the water's edge. Of course he wanted to be healed; that is why he was there! What was Jesus thinking?

But then I think about my prayers. I ponder the times when I ask Christ to remove some temptation, or help me overcome some difficulty. And I think I can hear Him whispering, "Do you really want to get well, Frank?"

After the man is healed, Jesus tells him to stop sinning. And there is the rub, I think. If I ask Jesus to heal me and He does, I think that means I will have to change. I can't hang on to my old identity. I may profess to dislike who I am, but the fact is I am comfortable in this skin.

The wife and I had our weekly "ER" date last night. One of the main characters in the television show, Carrie, walks with a crutch. She has a degenerative hip disease and has used the crutch her whole life. As her condition worsens, she schedules hip replacement surgery. The operation will relieve her pain, and it will also enable her to throw down her crutch - permanently. Surprisingly, Carrie cancels the procedure, not once, but three times before finally going under the knife. As she explains it to her friend Abby, her disability has become her identity. Without her crutch, she will have to re-learn who she really is.

I think all of us are a little that way. Without my gossip, without my addiction, without my anger, without my lust, (the list is endless) I have to relearn who I am - who I am in Christ.

And so Jesus comes to me in my desperation. He meets me right where I said I hoped He would and he asks, "Would you like to get well?"

I guess it isn't such a dumb question after all.

McChurch

Cell Phone Funeral

Today at Frances Carr's funeral it finally happened. Someone's cell phone went off during the closing prayer, right about the time I was asking the Holy Spirit to comfort the assembled in their grief. I say "went off" because nobody's phone "rings" anymore. They all play some insipid, badly produced electronic melody (not to be confused with, say, a song).

Of course it took forever for the owner to find it, and shut it off. Meanwhile, we were all treated to a melodic version of . . . and I'm not kidding here . . . When the Saints Go Marching In.

I guess if you're too big a redneck to shut your phone off at a funeral, that is an appropriate song to hear.

Who Knew?

I for one am shocked to find out that Barry Bonds uses more steroids than a Wisconsin Dairy farm. A new article in Sport's Illustrated Online details the upcoming cover story and the book by San Francisco Chronicle reporters Mark Fainaru-Wada and Lance Williams from which it is excerpted.

Between the Living and the Dead

"He stood between the living and the dead until the plague was stopped." Numbers 16:48 (NLT)

When the ancient Israelites rebelled against Moses, God struck them with a plague. As death spread across the camp, Aaron filled his incense burner and ran to stand between those who were dying and those who had not yet been infected. 14,700 people died that day. Myriads more were saved because of Aaron's and Moses' actions.

There is a word for standing between the living and the dead: ministry.

Following . . .

Two meteorological miracles enabled the ancient Hebrews to follow God's leading as they trekked from Egypt to the Promised Land. Numbers 9:15-23 reads:

The Tabernacle was set up, and on that day the cloud covered it. Then from evening until morning the cloud over the Tabernacle appeared to be a pillar of fire. This was the regular pattern—at night the cloud changed to the appearance of fire. When the cloud lifted from over the sacred tent, the people of Israel followed it. And wherever the cloud settled, the people of Israel camped. In this way, they traveled at the LORD's command and stopped wherever he told them to. Then they remained where they were as long as the cloud stayed over the Tabernacle. If the cloud remained over the Tabernacle for a long time, the Israelites stayed for a long time, just as the LORD commanded. Sometimes the cloud would stay over the Tabernacle for only a few days, so the people would stay for only a few days. Then at the LORD's command they would break camp. Sometimes the cloud stayed only overnight and moved on the next morning. But day or night, when the cloud lifted, the people broke camp and followed. Whether the cloud stayed above the Tabernacle for two days, a month, or a year, the people of Israel stayed in camp and did not move on. But as soon as it lifted, they broke camp and moved on. So they camped or traveled at the LORD's command, and they did whatever the LORD told them through Moses. (New Living Translation)

I wonder: If you and I so keenly followed God's leading, where would He take us?

The First Amendment

WANE-TV reported today on a study revealing that more Americans can name the five members of "The Simpson's" family than can name the five rights enumerated in The First Amendment. Let me think . . . Marge, Homer, Bart . . . that's all I know.

How about The First Amendment? Freedom of religion, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom to assemble . . . what was the other one? Four out of five. Does that make me dumber or smarter than average? Or maybe I am average

Here is the text of The First Amendment to the Constitution of The United States of America:

Congress shall make no law respecting the establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people to peaceably assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

The right to petition the government for redress of grievances! Of course! Now, what does that mean, exactly?