George & Edith

George, age 94 and Edith, age 92, had been seeing each other for two years when they decided that life was too short and they might as well be together for the rest of their lives. Excited about their decision to become newlyweds, they went for a stroll to discuss the wedding and what plans needed to be made. Along their way, they found themselves in front of a drugstore.

George said to his bride-to-be, "Let's go in. I have an idea."

They walked to the rear of the store and addressed the man behind the counter.

"Are you the owner"? asked George.

The pharmacist answered, "Yes, sir. How can I help you"?

George: "Do you sell heart medications"?

Pharmacist: "Of course we do."

George: "How about a support hose for circulation"?

Pharmacist: "Definitely."

George: "What about medications for rheumatoid, osteoporosis and arthritis"?

Pharmacist: "All kinds."

George: "How about waterproof furniture pads and Depends"?

Pharmacist: "Yes sir."

George: "Hearing aids, denture supplies and reading glasses"?

Pharmacist: "Yes."

George: "What about eye drops, sleeping pills, Geritol, Preparation-H and ExLax"?

Pharmacist: "Absolutely."

George: "You sell wheelchairs, walkers and canes"?

Pharmacist: "All kinds and sizes. Why all these questions"?

George smiled, glanced shyly at Edith and replied to the pharmacist, "We've decided to get married and we'd like to use your store as our bridal registry!"

Eat at the Fair

Next week I'll be putting in my annual work-a-real-job week at the DeKalb County Free Fall Fair. I'll be working the morning shift cooking breakfast at the Bar None Saddle Club.

The great church ladies of our congregation (along with their men) will serve something like six to eight thousand meals in the next seven days. It will be incredible! If you've never been to our county fair, you've got to come and check us out. If you have been, I know you'll be back. And if you stop in to the Saddle Club for breakfast next week, look back in the kitchen for Big Frank. I'll be the sleepy one.

On the Rocks

Those who know me accept that I have a streak of LOCD - "Lawncare Obsessive Compulsive Disorder." I won't let people park on it. I holler at kids who walk across it. Yard sale? Forget it! For years I have stewed over folks cutting the corner with their cars. The city, in its frugality, didn't put in curbs when they repaved some years ago. On my corner, a steadily growing pit began to overtake the turf.

I first addressed this by backfilling the corner, reseeding, and putting in reflector stakes. They were stolen. I next put in small posts and linked them together with a yellow rope. They were ran over. Repeatedly. Finally, I asked a farmer from my small group to drop off some large rocks. I reasoned that, if someone tried to run over these he wouldn't get very far.

I was right.Here is what really amazes me: this young man was at the stop sign turning right. In a front-wheel-drive car. Noting that he is on top of all four really big rocks, either he a) never slowed down at the intersection, or b) got a John Force type hole-shot coming off the line. He was a nice kid, though. He said (and I'm not kidding about this), "Let me know if any of your rocks were damaged, and I'll make it right."

Buckle Up, Or Burn in Hell?

According to his blog, fellow preacher and pal, Mike Kjergaard (don't feel badly, it took me years to learn to pronounce it, and Hooked On Phonics really won't work for you on this one) was recently cited for not wearing his seat-belt. This made me wonder . . . suppose you were killed in a car accident while not wearing your seatbelt. Now, you've broken the law which is a sin, and you've died, presumably without the opportunity to repent and ask God's forgiveness for the aforementioned transgression.

Therefore, you will burn in hell for not wearing your seatbelt.

Nice job, Mike.

Now, before you regular readers of Frankly Speaking go blowing a theological circuit breaker, I don't believe any of that. (That doesn't mean I can't tell my kids that, though.)

Joke O' the Day

My attorney friend sent this to me today. As many lawyer jokes as I tell, he's earned a few megabites on Frankly Speaking.

A minister parked his car in a no-parking zone in a large city because he was short of time and couldn't find a space with a meter. Then he put a note under the windshield wiper that read: "I have circled the block 10 times .. If I don't park here, I'll miss my appointment. Forgive us our trespasses."

When he returned, he found a citation from a police officer along with this note, "I've circled this block for 10 years. If I don't give you a ticket, I'll lose my job. Lead us not into temptation."

Wrigley Field Trip

The Frankly boys skipped work and school yesterday to head to Chicago to study the ivy-laden habitat of the native bear cubs of Wrigley Field.

Oh . . . the Cubs lost. . . to the in-last-place-until-playing-the-Cubs Pirates. The Cubs really suck this year.

Batting practice was a highlight, though. Juan Pierre threw a ball to my son, Jonah. And a BP dinger had me stretching out over the screen. I got leather on the ball, but dropped it! Pitcher Will Ohman made fun of me and nearby fans booed before Ohman tossed me the ball, which I caught with both hands. He tossed one to Caleb, too, after Caleb said "please." The guy was kind of a jerk, stopping during warm-ups for an outfield chat with a Pittsburgh player where they agreed they were counting down the "24 days left" until the end of the season.

In spite of the Cubs' loss, we enjoyed a three-generation day. I got to take my sons and my father to their first Major League Baseball game. The weather was great, the food was good, the company was exceptional. We even made it on TV when Pittsburgh center fielder Chris Duffy led off the game with a homer that landed close enough for my buddy, Sam Sprunger, and my son, Caleb, to wrestle with other Cub fans for the right to toss it back onto the field. The day was perfect - it was only the baseball that was mediocre.

With the Cubs in the NL Central basement and heading to Atlanta to face a Braves team that is battling to get back into contention for a wild card berth, we'll have to start singing the same old "Maybe next year" song. Maybe. If we get a new coach, a new GM (we should be so lucky), and a new owner (would that the baseball gods should so smile on us).

Memo to grandparents: you can buy a photo of the Frankly Speaking crew at yesterday's game by clicking here.

The Death of Customer Service

It is with a heavy heart that I report to you the death of customer service. While I had heard several rumors of his demise, it was not until I went shopping for shoes for Frankly, Jr. that I viewed the cadaver first hand. The corpse was spotted in several locations at the mall. Observe:

The fun began at shoe store number one, a well-known sporting goods store that bear's the first name of its founder. I mention this because, after shopping there, I began to wonder if the name above the door was an adjective describing the employees who work in shoes.

Son number one and I walked into the department and began looking at tennies which, by the way, cost more than the monthly rent on my parent's first apartment. An adolescent salesman, I'll call him Andy Acne, walked over and stared at us as if he was seeing an alien species for the first time. Just as Master Acne looked like he was about to start throwing peanuts to the monkeys, I ruined his fun by asking him to check my son's shoe size.

He stared at me blankly.

I asked him again. He walked over and pulled a shoe off the rack and said, "what size did you need?" I asked him a third time, "I need you to size his foot so we know." "Oh, okay." I waited for him to call me "dude," but he merely bent over and thrust Bubba's foot into the metal shoe sizer thingamabob. "Looks like it's eight and a half." "Let's go Bubba." I walked out of the shoe department with Caleb hopping on one foot trying to yank his shoe on in strange chicken dance fashion. Bubba walked in wearing a six and a half. No way was he an eight and a half.

At shoe store #2 we asked a polite young lady to size the boy up. She did - seven and a half. So far so good. When she went off to attend to another customer we asked another "associate" to see a particular size in seven and a half. After waiting several minutes for the salesperson to rummage around in the back room, take a bathroom break, call his bookie, and grab lunch he returned . . . empty handed. "We don't have it in that size, but we do have it in a mis-matched pair. One's an eight, the other is an eight and a half," he said. Just who, I thought, has the other mis-matched pair, and what makes this fellow think my son is equally deformed? We selected another style and, after finding it in the right size, asked them to hold onto it while we did some more shopping in the mall. A much too made-up, barely-out-of-high-school, should-have-gone-to-college-but-I'm-making-such-a-big-difference-selling-shoes person popped off, "We'll only keep it one hour. After that we put it back on the shelf."

Ooookay.

Down the hall, down the escalator and into another sporting goods store. We asked to see a particular shoe in a size seven and a half. He disappeared into the bowels of the store and returned momentarily. "We don't have it in that size, but we do have it in an eight," he said. I wondered, why didn't he trot out the size eight to see if it might fit? "Okay, then what about this one?" He simply looked at me - not the shoe - and said slowly, "I . . . don't . . . think . . . so," and returned to checking items off his clipboard and ignoring the source of his store's income.

After an hour of looking for kicks, we came in under the sixty minute deadline, bought the pair and left - thank you Jesus!

I was still simmering in the juices of my ill customer service treatment when I drove to the big home improvement store near my home to purchase a light bulb for our microwave. I don't want to besmirch the name of this fine retailer, so it will remain nameless (they're really, really orange, by the way, and spend their customer service training funds to sponsor Tony Stewart's NASCAR).

I walked to the appliance department (in the back of the store), where I originally purchased the microwave, and asked the gal there for a bulb. "You need to go up to lighting for that." I walked back to lighting (in the front of the store). A smock wearing gentlemen asked me what I was looking for, so I showed him the paper with the bulb number written on it and told him. He replied, "This isn't my department, but let me see if I can help you out." Thoughtful. Good beginning. Maybe things will be different. "Let's go check in appliances," he said, and before I could tell him I just came from there he was off and running with me several paces behind.

Arriving in appliances (at the back of the store) he unscrewed the bulb cover on the nuke, took out the bulb and headed back toward lighting (in the front of the store). There, he stood, arm extended, bulb in hand, comparing the bulb in his digits with those on the display. After a while he intoned, "Looks like we don't have it. Perhaps you can special order it."

Off to the service counter I went, where I stood in line for fifteen minutes while a woman ordered flooring for her daughter's bedroom. When it was finally my turn, I explained to the fellow behind the computer that I needed a light-bulb for my microwave. "Appliance bulbs have to be special ordered back in appliances . . . "

He continued speaking, but faded from my hearing as I made my way to the front door. . .

Days of Elijah

Mrs. Frankly and I went to the great metropolis of Edon, Ohio last night to worship with Robin Mark. You might not know the name, but I'm guessing you've sung the songs. He is the author of Blessed Be the Name, and Days of Elijah, and countless others. This guy has the goods!

Oh for crying out loud!

I received news today that my blood tests came back okay - with one abnormality. My cholesterol level wasn't normal. Acceptable levels for cholesterol fall within the 140-199 range.

Mine was 128!

I was dancing a jig, planning to eat a pound of bacon dipped in butter when I came across an article about the risks of low cholesterol. THE RISKS OF LOW CHOLESTEROL!!! Isn't that like writing about the risks of using seat belts, or the danger in looking both ways, or the hazards of not running with scissors?

As it turns out, researchers have linked very low cholesterol - that's what I've got - with increased risk of depression anxiety and something called hemorrhagic stroke. Great. I finally get my HDL and LDL under control only to find I might get freaked out, bummed out or stroked out!

Health isn't everything its cracked up to be . . .

The Sistene Chapel it Ain't

Check out the ceiling mural on this workplace's new smoking room:

PAPA Prayer

I'm reading Larry Crabb's book The PAPA Prayer. Here is a great excerpt from it:

Petitioning without relationship - that's what our praying so often amounts to, even though it's well disguised. No matter how piously we couch our requests and no matter how passionately we declare our confidence in the Giver's generosity, we stay in receiving mode. "Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!" It's all about us.

Our prayers of communion and worship sometimes have more to do with staying on God's good side in order to get more blessings than with building our relationship with Him. The idea of knowing God and being known by Him just doesn't seem that important.

For some, it's irrelevant. Children during a long, hot summer may know the ice cream man's name and may even greet him warmly and enjoy his smile, but the point is the ice cream. When my grandkids sit on Santa's lap in the mall, they have yet to ask Santa how he's doing, if maybe he's getting a little tired of all these kids. They hop on his lap, recite their list of desired gifts, and hop off. We Christians call it prayer.

Frank & Ernest

Why I am Faith Only

“If you would like to receive Christ into your life, just pray this prayer with me, and you will be saved,” intoned the speaker at our state-wide youth convention. I knew right away that there would be trouble. Sure enough, before the “amen” was spoken, I was confronted by an angry minister. “What is he doing?” demanded my friend. “It sounds to me like he is leading them in the sinner’s prayer,” I responded. It was not my first encounter with those who hold a “faith only” position for salvation, and it has not been my last.

Fact is, I’ve become faith only, too. No, I haven’t decided repentance is unnecessary, that confessing faith in Christ is superfluous, or that baptism is merely an “outward expression of an inward grace.” What has changed is my understanding of the word “faith,” and what it means. Still, it’s easy to see why there is such disagreement between our fellowship of churches and denominations over this issue. After all, faith only has been the predominant protestant position since the sixteenth century.

“Faith only” as Luther saw it
In his tower office in Wittenburg, Martin Luther read Romans 1:17, “The righteous will live by faith.” From that text, Luther developed his sola fide doctrine (Latin for “faith alone”). As a monk, Luther had witnessed first-hand the attempts at faithful Catholics to be justified by good works. Attending mass, reciting prayers, making pilgrimage to Rome, and even purchasing “indulgences” which promised forgiveness of sins in exchange for money were all means of obtaining righteousness in Luther’s day. Luther came to believe that many of these practices were not merely unnecessary but were abuses of power by the church. Luther determined that scripture – not the Pope – would be his sole authority in matters of faith and practice. These two beliefs, sola fide and sola scriptura, became Luther’s legacy and the defining doctrines of the Protestant Reformation.1 Our convention speaker’s prayer was evidence of Luther’s enduring influence.

Faith defined
A website for a translation services company details some of the funny mistakes that well-meaning translators sometimes make. A sign in a Scandinavian airport reads, “We’ll take your bags and send them in all directions.” This sign hangs in a Hong Kong dentist’s office: "Teeth extracted by latest methodists."2

When translating from one language to another, some of the original meaning can be lost. Such is the case with the Greek words that are translated as “faith.” Pisteuo (pronounced pis-tyoo-oh), and its root word, pistis, are translated predominately two ways in most modern translations – as “belief” and “faith.” But like many English words, “belief” and “faith” are somewhat inadequate translations for pisteuo and pistis.

According to Kittel’s Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, pisteuo carries with it more than one connotation. It can mean a) to believe; b) to obey; c) to trust; d) to hope and e) as faithfulness.3 Faith, as understood by Paul’s readers, was (and is) a multi-faceted concept.

Faith is belief
“Faith is about believing certain things are true. . .,” writes the British apologist Alister McGrath. When a person says, “I believe in God,” often what they mean is something like, “I believe there is a God.” In that sense, faith is a mental affirmation or cognitive assent to a fact or set of facts.4 Affirming my belief in God is somewhat akin to saying “I believe in George Washington.” Although I have no first-hand knowledge that he lived, based on the evidence presented me by my first grade teacher, Mrs. Parks, I believe that the father of our country existed.

Sadly, this is as far as some people ever come. They mistakenly believe that an acknowledgement that God exists is a faith that is sufficient to save. James 2:19 shows the folly of that sort of “faith.” “You believe that there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that--and shudder.” Obviously, merely assenting that God exists isn’t enough, for if it were, demons would be saved. There must be something more to faith.

Faith is trust
Fifteen years ago, my wife and I vowed to each other that we would love, honor and cherish one another until parted by death. We accepted each other’s promises; we put our faith in one another. We trusted each other.

Trust is the second facet of faith. Merely believing God exists is not enough. We must also trust that He is able to do that which He says He can do. Both Paul and Peter quote the prophet Isaiah: "See, I lay in Zion a stone that causes men to stumble and a rock that makes them fall, and the one who trusts in him will never be put to shame."5 Trust is part and parcel to faith. Many believe that God exists, but, for whatever reason, they are unable to trust Him. Maybe their trust has been violated by a parent or a spouse. Maybe someone in authority abused their trust, and although they believe God exists, they never manage to trust Him. Without trust, there is no faith. But is trust enough? While many say, “yes,” scripture indicates that faith has a third facet.

Faith is response
Faith is also response. “Trust and obey,” sings the old hymn, and rightly so. In his commentary on the book of Acts, Gareth Reese points out five reasons why faith requires obedience. Most of them require an understanding of Greek grammar. Suffice it to say that the original Greek supports the idea, and that in several scripture passages, belief and obedience are synonymous. Reese writes: “There are at least two places in the New Testament where ‘belief’ and ‘disobedience’ are contrasted, and these show convincingly that the faith that saves includes obedience as one of its constituent elements.”6

Belief alone is not enough. Demons believe, but are not saved. Trust is not enough. Trust is necessary, but without action, it cannot save. Only faith which includes belief, trust and an obedient response is sufficient to save.

McGrath uses a medical analogy to explain the nature of saving faith. Imagine that I am suffering from deadly blood poisoning, and that the cure, a bottle of penicillin is available to me. I have three options. First, I can believe that the bottle of penicillin exists. This requires no great leap. After all, seeing is believing, and I am looking at the bottle of pills. Second, I may trust that the medicine is sufficient to cure my illness, which would quite probably kill me otherwise. But, third, unless I respond by taking the medicine, I will die, “believing and trusting, but having failed to benefit at all from the resource which could have saved me.”

Faith requires a response, or it is not faith. If my denominational brothers and I can agree on this principle, then the gap in our doctrine becomes much more narrow and focused. Instead of debating what is or what is not necessary for salvation, the debate shifts to “what is the biblical response?”. Is it praying the sinner’s prayer? Is it raising a hand or coming forward during the altar call? Is it signing a commitment card? These are all responses and are acts of faith. Yet none of them are found in scripture. The only scriptural response that accompanies belief and trust is repentance, confession and baptism. That is the response saving faith requires.

Yes, I am faith only – if we are talking about the faith that is believing, trusting and responding. Given that definition of faith, I suspect I am not alone.

[1]Earle E. Cairns, Christianity Through the Centuries: A History of the Christian Church (Grand Rapids: The Zondervan Corporation, 1954-1981) pp. 289-290.
[2]http://www.transperfect.com/tp/eng/badxlate.html
[3]G. Friedrich, Theological Dictionary of the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1968), 6:174-175.
[4]Alister E. McGrath, Intellectuals Don’t Need God and Other Myths (Grand Rapids: Zondervan Publishing House, 1993), pp. 48-52.
[5]Romans 9:33 & 1 Peter 2:6.
[6]Gareth L. Reese, New Testament History: A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Acts (Joplin, Missouri: College Press Publishing Company, 1976): pp. 604-605.

Better Panda than Person

The Chinese People's Daily newspaper recently reported that 12 year-old Panda Ying-Yang gave birth to twins. This is her fourth pregnancy, all resulting in twin deliveries. For those of you who struggle with math, that is 8, e-i-g-h-t babies.

Apparently you're better off being a Panda in China. Humans are restricted to only one pregnancy. Those who become pregnant a second time are forced to have an abortion. If they somehow avoid the population police, they can lose their home, job, and liberty. Does this strike anyone else as amazingly absurd?

It's about as absurd as a country legally protecting bald eagle nests and eggs, but allowing otherwise healthy human babies to be aborted. Oh wait . . . that's us, isn't it.

Larry not Dennis

I received this email today. It was incorrectly attributed to Dennis Miller, of Saturday Night Live fame. Actually, it was written by columnist Larry Miller. I'm not surprised that Dennis didn't write it. I am amazed at how clearly it elucidates the conflict in the Middle East.

A brief overview of the situation is always valuable, so as a service to all Americans who still don't get it, I now offer you the story of the Middle East in just a few paragraphs, which is all you really need. Don't thank me. I'm a giver. Here we go:

The Palestinians want their own country. There's just one thing about that: There are no Palestinians. It's a made up word. Israel was called Palestine for two thousand years. Like "Wiccan," "Palestinian" sounds ancient but is really a modern invention. Before the Israelis won the land in war, Gaza was owned by Egypt, and there were no "Palestinians" then, and the West Bank was owned by Jordan, and there were no "Palestinians" then. As soon as the Jews took over and started growing oranges as big as basketballs, what do you know, say hello to the "Palestinians," weeping for their deep bond with their lost "land" and "nation." So for the sake of honesty, let's not use the word "Palestinian" any more to describe these delightful folks, who dance for joy at our deaths until someone points out they're being taped. Instead, let's call them what they are: "Other Arabs Who Can't Accomplish Anything In Life And Would Rather Wrap Themselves In The Seductive Melodrama Of Eternal Struggle And Death." I know that's a bit unwieldy to expect to see on CNN. How about this, then: "Adjacent Jew-Haters."

Okay, so the Adjacent Jew-Haters want their own country. Oops, just one more thing. No, they don't. They could've had their own country any time in the last thirty years, especially two years ago at Camp David. But if you have your own country, you have to have traffic lights and garbage trucks and Chambers of Commerce, and, worse, you actually have to figure out some way to make a living. That's no fun. No, they want what all the other Jew-Haters in the region want: Israel. They also want a big pile of dead Jews, of course-that's where the real fun is-but mostly they want Israel. Why? For one thing, trying to destroy Israel — or "The Zionist Entity" as their textbooks call it — for the last fifty years has allowed the rulers of Arab countries to divert the attention of their own people away from the fact that they're the blue-ribbon most illiterate, poorest, and tribally backward on G-d's Earth, and if you've ever been around G-d's Earth, you know that's really saying something. It makes me roll my eyes every time one of our pundits waxes poetic about the great history and culture of the Muslim Mideast. Unless I'm missing something, the Arabs haven't given anything to the world since Algebra, and, by the way, thanks a hell of a lot for that one.

Chew this around and spit it out: Five hundred million Arabs; five million Jews. Think of all the Arab countries as a football field, and Israel as a pack of matches sitting in the middle of it. And now these same folks swear that if Israel gives them half of that pack of matches, everyone will be pals. Really? Wow, what neat news. Hey, but what about the string of wars to obliterate the tiny country and the constant din of rabid blood oaths to drive every Jew into the sea? Oh, that? We were just kidding.

My friend Kevin Rooney made a gorgeous point the other day: Just reverse the numbers. Imagine five hundred million Jews and five million Arabs. I was stunned at the simple brilliance of it. Can anyone picture the Jews strapping belts of razor blades and dynamite to themselves? Of course not. Or marshalling every fiber and force at their disposal for generations to drive a tiny Arab state into the sea? Nonsense. Or dancing for joy at the murder of innocents? Impossible. Or spreading and believing horrible lies about the Arabs baking their bread with the blood of children? Disgusting. No, as you know, left to themselves in a world of peace, the worst Jews would ever do to people is debate them to death.

Mr. Bush, G-d bless him, is walking a tightrope. I understand that with vital operations coming up against Iraq and others, it's in our interest, as Americans, to try to stabilize our Arab allies as much as possible, and, after all, that can't be much harder than stabilizing a roomful of supermodels who've just had their drugs taken away. However, in any big-picture strategy, there's always a danger of losing moral weight. We've already lost some. After September 11 our president told us and the world he was going to root out all terrorists and the countries that supported them. Beautiful. Then the Israelis, after months and months of having the equivalent of an Oklahoma City every week (and then every day) start to do the same thing we did, and we tell them to show restraint. If America were being attacked with an Oklahoma City every day, we would all very shortly be screaming for the administration to just be done with it and kill everything south of the Mediterranean and east of the Jordan. (Hey, wait a minute, that's actually not such a bad id ... uh, that is, what a horrible thought, yeah, horrible.)

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.