God said that?

Saw this inspirational billboard on the way home from work the other night. Tell that to King Saul. Or to Eli's sons Phineas and Hophni. The fact is, there are times when God fires his apprentices.

I suspect the billboard's sponsor was trying to point out that God said he will "never leave us or forsake us," and he is right in doing so. Nevertheless, the Bible is pretty clear that we can reject Him. And when we do, God will write Ichabod over our ministry and find someone else to do the work of the Kingdom.

Band-a-maniacs

My son Caleb joined the Grand Ledge High School band when we moved to Michigan this fall. This 195 person ensemble is amazing. Under the direction of 32 year veteran band director Michael Kaufman, the Marching Comets have become one of the premier bands in Michigan. Here they are performing the Grand Ledge Fight Song at last Friday night's football game. Turn up the volume!

Crazy busy . . .

This week has been incredibly busy! Tonight Caleb's band is in exhibition with several other mid-Michigan bands AND the Michigan State Marching Spartans! I'll write more about it later.

Spider Web Apologetics

I wonder if Cheryl Hayashi’s mother taught her, “The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout”? If she did, it was an investment that paid off. Hayashi, an Associate Professor of Biology at the University of California / Riverside, received a MacArthur genius award this week. Along with the prestige of being named a MacArthur Fellow, Hyashi received a $500,000 grant that will enable her to continue her research.

The subject of her studies? Spider silk. According to the foundation’s website, Hyashi is “a spider silk biologist revealing the architecture, properties, and function of spider silks and the possibilities of developing new synthetic materials.” What she teaches about spiders is simply amazing.

For instance, Hayashi has concluded that “Some species of spiders produce as many as six different silks, each with specific mechanical properties and functions . . .” Some of these compounds have tensile strength and elasticity greater than that of modern steel cables. Other spider silks are more durable than carbon fiber.

Her research is increasing our understanding of spiders and has “. . . the potential to influence the development of biomimetic material for a variety of applications, from biodegradable fishing lines to medical sutures to protective armor cloth.”

All from the posterior end of an arachnid.

There’s something else I wonder. I wonder if Cheryl Hayashi believes God created spiders, or that they are the result of evolution. If she is like the vast majority of biology professors that teach at our major universities, she has staked her tent firmly in the evolution camp. I don’t pretend to know anything about biology. Frankly, I struggle to handle theology, and it is my field. But for the life of me I can’t figure out how someone, anyone really, can look at a creature so complex that it can create six different types of silk based on the mix of chemicals secreted from it’s backside, and not think, “This creature is divinely designed!”

A spider web played a faith-building role in the life of Nien Cheng, a Chinese woman jailed in 1966 during Mao Zedong’s “Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution.” Locked in a small damp cell, Cheng shared her space with a tiny web-spinner. Huddled in the corner of her cage, she watched as the spider “swung out on a silken thread, attached the strand to the base of the bar, and swung another, then another. It worked with purpose and confidence weaving a web of intricate beauty.”

Cheng later wrote,

I had just watched an architectural feat by an extremely skilled artist . . . My mind was full of questions. Who had taught this spider to make a web? Could it really have acquired the skill through evolution, or did God create the spider and endow it with the ability to make a web so that it could catch food and perpetuate its species? . . . I knew I had just witnessed something that was extraordinarily beautiful and uplifting. Whether God had made the spider or not, I thanked Him for what I had just seen. It helped me to see that God was in control. [Charles Colson, The God of Stones and Spiders, (Wheaton, IL: Crossway Books, 1990), pp. 18-19]

Maybe I’ll think of Hayashi and Cheng next time I see something with eight legs rappelling from the ceiling on its self-made silk rope. Instead of swatting, perhaps I’ll stare and ponder the amazing God who created such a complex and wonderful creature. Until my wife sees it, that is. Then I’m afraid the itsy bitsy spider will have to go after all.

A year's worth of rules

New York author, A.J. Jacobs just invested an entire year trying to keep every command in the Bible. MSNBC details his rule-keeping regimen. Following regulations included the simple - not cutting hair - to the difficult - not coveting his neighbor's flat screen.

Grace is a much preferred path, I think.

Stretch run

The Cubs are 1.5 games up with eight to go. If we can get past the Pirates we have the cellar dwelling Florida Marlins followed by Cincinnati.

Meanwhile, the Brew crew faces must-win St. Louis and wild-card hopeful San Diego. God is good.

Sam, Scott, did I just jinx the whole thing?

Nine games left!

With nine games left, the Cubs are one game up on the Brewers. I've never prayed for a baseball team before, and I'm not going to start now. I can't help hoping, though, that God is a Cub fan!

A Response to Freeganism

Southie Rod Bisher was moved to eloquence by my freegan post. His inspiring response, abbreviated here, is well worth the reading. To read his complete response, email Frankly Speaking at the link to the right of this page.

People have the right in this country to make choices and our people, in military, and government fight for those freedoms. However, in this internet age of information, when people who are citizens of the United States, promote this type of socialism, these incidences stir me to my core.

Many of you know my son Patrick is in training as a Navy S.E.A.L. We have a number of people here at SLCC who have either served their country in the military or have loved ones serving currently. Also, we have people who have served in positions at the state or federal level, as owners of companies and small businesses or CEOs in the corporate sector, all kinds of professionals and people who work for an honest day's wage. All of whom understand some basic tenants that people like these "freegans" refuse to recognize. They were given a birthright of freedom, but because they refuse to take ownership, do the work, and take up the mantel of responsibility, they, like Esau, they have sold it for bread and a bowl of stew.

The last line of the Navy S.E.A.L creed reads,

"Brave men have fought and died building the proud tradition and feared reputation that I am bound to uphold. In the worst of conditions, the legacy of my teammates steadies my resolve and silently guides my every deed. I will not fail."

Charles Colson wrote, "The root of duty is the gratitude for what others have done." But these "freegans" seem to have given up on the ideal which is America, and do not recognize the duty that others have done. They choose a life of escapism instead of participation in life. They haven't chosen to study the great successes of our country or the people in it, people who started with nothing, and because the cared about others first, became great influences and had much prosperity.

Contrary to a lot of advice they may have heard out there on how to live successfully, or perhaps build a prosperous business, integrating compassion for your fellow man with lucrative opportunities is the real secret to security and happiness. It's the knowledge that what you're doing is making a difference that makes you feel worthy of the privilege as a U.S. citizen and even the comfort of wealth. But even long before the wealth comes, having a compassionate attitude along with sound business acumen (which can be learned) goes a long way towards increasing your chances of attaining dreams, and/or wealth, and influence. . . .

The ideals held by people who are bent on living socialist values are the ideals that continue to plague any free society. Not only here at home, but all over the world, the United States is constantly fighting for social freedoms, economic freedoms, property and ownership freedoms, and religious freedoms.

If one searches the scriptures, one can see that capitalism is a Godly system, socialism is man's corruption of it and Satan's twisting of the truth. Capitalism and free enterprise are the opportunities that are carried on the winds of freedom. . . [In] the free wind of freedom, the Stars and Stripes still wave, and by the grace of Almighty God 'we will not fail'.

You can say "no"

Wally turned me on to a news story about a German man who is turning down his recent $4 million lottery winnings.

The idea blows me away. Of course, there are plenty of folks who reject a far greater gift - salvation. We can say "no" to God. Unless you're a Calvinist. In which case you can't say "no," or you can't say "yes." Apparently the whole thing is out of your hands. I think. Maybe.

The cat lady

I learned that our Administrative Assistant, Micki, has ten cats. Cool. Her "secret sister" gave her this nifty "Crazy Cat Lady" action figure today.

A freegan by any other name . . .

My buddy Erick gave me the 411 about a group of folks who have taken vegetarianism to a whole new level. They call themselves "freegans."

What is a freegan? Glad you asked. According to their website,

Freegans are people who employ alternative strategies for living based on limited participation in the conventional economy and minimal consumption of resources. Freegans embrace community, generosity, social concern, freedom, cooperation, and sharing in opposition to a society based on materialism, moral apathy, competition, conformity, and greed.

Sounds reasonable, right? Unpack their nice little definition, though, and you will find folks dumpster diving for food and freeloading off hard-working folks.

They practice "eco-friendly transportation" (hitch-hiking), "rent-free housing" (squatting), and "voluntary joblessness" (unemployment). My father's generation called them "bums." You can call them whatever you want, as long as you don't call them late for supper. And its free. And doesn't contain meat. Good luck with that.

South Pole (barn)

South is finishing up a new pole barn. Just outside my window, a dedicated crew of Southie volunteers have been working for about two (or is it three) weeks to build it. We'll be using it for storage, mostly. Rod asked me to post it here so fellow "Southies" can check it out.

Rutgers fans shame on you

My blood is boiling after reading Mark Diiono's column about the Rutger - Navy football game last Saturday. After you read it yours will too. Apparently, the future white-collar workers of America got all liquored up and, from the safety of the stands, harrassed the Navy players. Okay. Fine. That is football.

But Saturday they crossed the line from fan to fanatic by personally attacking men who, following graduation, will be protecting their right to be jackasses at football games.

I sent an email to NCAA President Miles Brand asking him what he intends to do about it, and I urge readers of Frankly Speaking to do the same.

Progress at GLCC

It is ironic that, on a day devoted to remembering the destruction of two iconic American symbols and those who perished in New York, Washington, D.C., and a Pennsylvania field, steel began being hung for Great Lakes Christian College's Doty Center.

Those who perpetrated the hateful acts of six years ago cannot withstand the onslaught of the Church of Jesus Christ, and those being prepared for ministry at GLCC.

Thank God for the work of Great Lakes and for this new tool in the education of student leaders for the church of today and tomorrow.

Colts roll . . .

The Colts absolutely dismantled the New Orleans Saints last night. I told my buddy Fred that this is the finest team to take the field in the 21st century. He says its early in the season. He's right, I guess. But then again, his Michigan Wolverines just got beat by. . . well, let's not talk about that.

My cultured ear

So it turns out I like classical music. It surprised me, actually. I never saw it coming.

As I anticipated my move to Lansing, I looked forward to listening to Lansing's Christian radio station. WBCL was what we listened to back in Butler, and I wanted to continue a steady diet of CCM. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy listening to Smile FM. I especially enjoy hearing Rob Dale's weather forecast. (Shameless plug for a fellow "Southie.")

Nevertheless, I find myself listening to more and more classical music on WKAR. There is just something . . . soothing about their music. Their announcer (it seems wrong to call him a "DJ") exudes calmness as he intones:

And now the 23rd symphony by Italian composer Aldente Rotini. The prime number symphony. Rotini composed this symphony during his dissipation years, and for that reason the 23rd is sometimes referred to as the Baccardi overture. Here performed by the Prague National Symphonic Orchestra under the direction of Marco Polo.

Ahhhh.

The announcers on WKAR don't even try to "hit the post." DJs make "hitting the post" - trying to fit as many words as they can in before a song's lyrics kick in - an art form. A good platter spinner can give you the time, weather, traffic, stock tips, relative position of the moon to the earth and the solunar table before Garth or Carly or Bono ever spits out a word. Its all so hurried. Contemporary radio, including CCM is rushed, intense even.

Not classical radio. To talk over the music is unthinkable. Its not real time.

So I'll order my Taco Bell and hurry back to the office, careful to avoid exceeding 35 mph on Miller Road. I may even make a call on my cell if I have to. But by the time I get back to 6300 Aurelius, I'll be feeling pretty good. Because whatever I'm having for lunch, I know I'm dining on Rotini (or Haydn or Mozart).

Who knows. Maybe I'll even contribute a few bucks to WKAR's annual fund drive. Now if I could just get past that thing with NPR.

Commitment versus Surrender

Going through my journal entries from May of this year, I came across something Larry Carter preached at South: "Commitment means I am still in charge. Surrender means letting God be in control."

I preach commitment all the time. Larry is right, though, and that means I need to refine my vocabulary a bit. And while I'm at it, perhaps I need to refine my thinking and my acting some, too.

Chocolate

Mrs. Frankly brought home a giant chocolate bar from our bank earlier today. There was a mix-up with our checking account and, after straightening it out, our "personal banker" told Tracy, "You need this." It's nice to have a banker that understands our needs.

The whole chocolate thing reminded me of something that my buddy Erick Riddle wrote to me yesterday:

A good piece of chocolate has about 200 calories. As I enjoy two servings per night, and a few more on weekends, I consume 3,500 calories of chocolate in a week, which equals one pound of weight per week.

Therefore...

In the last 3 1/2 years, I have had a chocolate caloric intake of about 180 pounds. I weigh only 165 pounds, so without chocolate, I would have wasted away to nothing about three months ago!

I owe my life to chocolate.

Erick, I can completely relate.

My favorite month

September is here - my favorite month. For my DeKalb County, Indiana friends, the reasons are obvious:

• The Auburn-Cord-Dusenberg Festival. 100,000 people descend on my home county to buy and sell classic cars. Since my cousin married into the Kruse auctioneering family, I've been blessed to have some free tickets to the festival come my way over the years. They've been worth every penny someone else paid for them. (And much appreciated.)
• High School Football. The Eastside Blazers opened play and I wasn't there to see their collision with the mighty Garrett Railroaders. I did see the Grand Ledge Comets play and it was a ton of fun. Still, I miss Chuck cheering "First down! Move those sticks!"
• The National Football League. The Colts open Thursday night against the Saints. Back to back? I think so.
• The DeKalb County Free Fall Fair. My home county's fair is the last in the State of Indiana. This year, for the first time in many years, I won't be working the morning grill at the Bar None Saddle Club. I plan to stop in on Friday, though, and enjoy the great food and fine company.
• Deer season. The quest for a big buck begins with the Michigan youth hunt later this month. Perhaps we'll bring home a wall-hanger this year. But even if we don't, we'll bring home plenty of good memories.
• Color. The leaves, they are a changin'. I'm actually looking forward to the drive to and from work each day as I enjoy the splash of autumn hues that dot the roadside.

Yep. September is my favorite month. Sure glad it's here again!

James' fears confirmed

Our youth minister, James Pahl, sent me a clip of South Carolina Miss Teen. She proves, he says, that our culture does indeed value looks over brains. Really? I didn't realize that. Then again, James might just have fallen in love? Here she is . . .

Jonah's Game-O-Rama

Saturday morning Jonah participated in Grand Ledge's version of a sixth grade football jamboree, the Game-O-Rama. They played four mini games against Dewitt and Waverly. The first two games were uneventful for Jonah. During the third game though, while on defense, Jonah woke up and turned into a one-man wrecking crew.

The carnage began when the quarterback dropped three steps to hand the ball off on the left side to the half-back. Only the half-back wasn't there. In a panic, the QB spun around to the right and met Jonah head on. It was the hardest hit I've ever seen him make. All the dads went "whoa!!!" All the moms sucked air.

After that Jonah went on a run of five straight tackles behind the line of scrimmage, including the sack you see here. The opponents finally decided to double team him. One play saw J get hammered - it was pretty cool, really. That didn't stop him, though, and by the time the game was over, Jonah chalked up about a dozen solo tackles. The J-man is a sledge hammer!

Press the play button below for highlights . . .

Skunked!

Wally sauntered into the office today and informed us we had trapped a skunk. If you’ve looked out back behind the church building, you’ve noticed the construction of a pole barn. Lloyd and his crew have been working hard to create a place for storage. One of their first tasks was to dig several holes on which the building’s posts will rest.

A lonely skunk found one of the holes. I wonder what happened. Did he fall in? Was he . . . pushed? According to Wikipedia, “Although [skunks] have excellent senses of smell and hearing — vital attributes in a nocturnal omnivore — they have poor vision. They cannot see objects more than about 3 metres away with any clarity, which makes them very vulnerable to road traffic.” Apparently also to holes.

On hearing the skunk’s plight, James and I grabbed the digital camera and ran out to the hole giggling like schoolgirls. The plank that Wally tossed in it so the skunk could climb out made it easy to locate. Naturally the little fellow was too nearsighted to see the board. As he clawed away at the side of the hole I stood above snapping pictures of his (or was it her) furry, striped little body. Eventually the critter turned a tail to us, and we turned a tail to it, scurrying off to the safety of the church building before suffering the consequences of crossing the fine line between spectator and participant.

Sitting here now, I wonder how often I am like that skunk. Okay, okay, I know what you’re thinking. All jokes about baked beans and clumsiness aside, I’m afraid I am like him more often than I would like to admit.

Believe it or not, this preacher sometimes falls into holes. Morally. Emotionally. Spiritually. I cruise through life, merrily on my way. Suddenly the bottom drops out, gravity takes over, and I plunge downward. A billboard with an immodestly dressed woman catches my eye and, rather than averting my eyes, I linger. Someone criticizes me or I feel taken for granted and my self image plummets. Or, I get so busy doing ministry that I neglect the God for whom I minister. Before long I find myself at the bottom of some chasm staring up at a sky that seems all but unreachable.

Lying there, as I am, at the bottom of my self-made self-pity abyss, what do I do? Too often I dig around, scratching and clawing, looking for some way out, when all along God has placed the means of my escape right there beside me. Or worse – when God peers down to see if I’ll get a clue and crawl out of the pit – I become frightened, turn tail, and stink things up.

Like me skunky friend, my response is completely irrational. I mean, holes happen. Aside from learning to dig less holes on my own, there is little I can do about it. Even if I could stop my own excavations (unlikely as that is) I’ll still stumble into pits dug by other people or even just uncontrollable circumstances. Holes happen. And when they do, I need to learn to stop trying to dig my own way out, look up, and let a far greater being than I can possibly fathom reach down and pull me out from the miry clay of my humanity. And, frankly speaking, maybe you do, too.

Hilarious

Jeremy Brummel posted this bit on his blog.

Qantas' Pilot Gripe Sheet

After every flight, Qantas pilots fill out a form, called a "gripe sheet," which tells mechanics about problems with the aircraft. The mechanics correct the problems; document their repairs on the form, and then pilots review the gripe sheets before the next flight. Never let it be said that ground crews lack a sense of humor. Here are some actual maintenance complaints submitted by Qantas'

Pilots (marked with a P) and the solutions recorded (marked with an S) by maintenance engineers.

By the way, Qantas is the only major airline that has never had an accident.

P: Left inside main tire almost needs replacement.

S: Almost replaced left inside main tire.

P: Test flight OK, except auto-land very rough.

S: Auto-land not installed on this aircraft.

P: Something loose in cockpit.

S: Something tightened in cockpit.

P: Dead bugs on windshield.

S: Live bugs on back-order.

P: Autopilot in altitude-hold mode produces a 200 feet per minute descent.

S: Cannot reproduce problem on ground.

P: Evidence of leak on right main landing gear.

S: Evidence removed.

P: DME volume unbelievably loud.

S: DME volume set to more believable level.

P: Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick.

S: That's what they're for.

P: IFF inoperative.

S: IFF always inoperative in OFF mode.

P: Suspected crack in windshield.

S: Suspect you're right.

P: Number 3 engine missing.

S: Engine found on right wing after brief search.

P: Aircraft handles funny.

S: Aircraft warned to straighten up, fly right, and be serious.

P: Target radar hums.

S: Reprogrammed target radar with lyrics.

P: Mouse in cockpit.

S: Cat installed.

And the best one for last..................

P: Noise coming from under instrument panel. Sounds like a midget pounding on something with a hammer.

S: Took hammer away from midget

Smoke 'em if you got 'em

Meet Winnie Langley. She just turned 100 years old. She celebrated by firing up her 170,000 cigarette. Marlboro man my . . . patootie.

My friend Scott sent me this poem that was attributed to Maya Angelou. Actually, Angelou never wrote it. Rather, someone named Carol Wimmer penned it. The newer anonymously edited version is better, I think, that the original. Here it is:

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not shouting "I'm clean livin'."
I'm whispering "I was lost,
Now I'm found and forgiven."

When I say.. "I am a Christian"
I don't speak of this with pride.
I'm confessing that I stumble
And need Christ to be my guide.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not trying to be strong.
I'm professing that I'm weak
And need His strength to carry on.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not bragging of success.
I'm admitting I have failed
And need God to clean my mess.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not claiming to be perfect,
My flaws are far too visible
But, God believes I am worth it.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I still feel the sting of pain.
I have my share of heartaches
So I call upon His name.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not holier than thou,
I'm just a simple sinner
Who received God's good grace, somehow!

Spider pig, spider pig . . .

Son number two and I stopped by Celebration Cinema tonight to take in The Simpson's Movie. I'll admit, I've never been a big fan of Bart and company. Fact is, I don't think I've ever seen an episode on television. Obviously I would never see so impious a movie were I not interested in better understanding the postmodern cultural phenomena. My take on the flick?

In short, it was hilarious.

There are plenty of folks who will, no doubt, decry a preacher seeing the movie. They're probably right in some respects. Still, I was surprised by several aspects of the film.

First, Ned Flanders, the stereotypical Simpson's Christian, was not so stereotypical. In fact, the writers portray him as a good father, and an admirable friend to Bart and his family. I wish all Hollywood were so kind to Christians in the cinema. Flanders is such a good dad that Bart . . . well, I don't want to spoil it for you.

There was also one scene that confirmed to me that these folks know human (and dare I say it, Christian) nature. As doomsday approaches, the church folks and the patrons of the adjacent bar all run out into the street and look up at their impending ruin. As if on cue, the bar folks run into the church to pray while the church folks run into the bar to play. That is so 21st-century-western church it is scary.

Ultimately, the movie is a story of a man who rises above his incompetence and sacrifices himself for the good of others - not exactly The Passion of the Christ, and yet a story of redemption nonetheless.

I give the movie two and a half donuts.

What's in a name?

MSN is reporting that a Catholic Bishop from Amsterdam is suggesting that, in order to ease tensions between Muslims and Christians, we all begin calling God "Allah."

A better idea, I think is to rename God "Frank."

And why not? I've often felt quite a bit of tension with the name Frank. Think about all the television buffoons you know. They're named Frank. Consider Frank Burns, the inept, bumbling surgeon of MASH fame. Although he wasn't hated by his peers, he was incessantly made fun of and mercilessly picked on. Then there is Ray's dad Frank from Everybody Loves Raymond. What a bonehead.

There might be better understanding between Christians and people named Frank, if we renamed God "Frank." Anybody agree?

Then again, we could just stick to calling God "Yahweh." Or "I AM." Now there's an idea. Call God by his own name. Hmmmmmm. That might just work.

Whatever we call God, I suspect the best we can do is to honor His name by the way we live. In Malachi 2:2 God said,

Listen to me and take it to heart. Honor my name," says the LORD Almighty, "or I will bring a terrible curse against you. I will curse even the blessings you receive. Indeed, I have already cursed them, because you have not taken my warning seriously.

Someone needs to tell our Dutch Catholic brother that he is out of line - way out of line. But while we're excoriating him for his sacrilege, we'd better make sure we're not profaning God's name by our sin.

Which is worse, after all: to get God's name wrong, or to wrong God's name?

Creepy

Am I the only one who is creeped out by Chris Angel? His television show, Chris Angel, Mindfreek is amazing. His illusions, floating from one building to another, for example, are . . . unbelievable.

According to wikipedia, Angel claims to not have paranormal abilities, and even says he does not believe anyone has supernatural ability. Nevertheless, he carefully cultivates his image as a mysterious sorcerer.

As I said, creeeeeepy.

I'm a bad dad

Last night my friend Deputy Sheriff Johnny Lopez stopped by the house. He works the late shift for Eaton County, Michigan. Johnny and I became acquainted this year at church camp. What a great guy. As we stood in the garage chatting while waiting for my son and daughter to come home from the youth group movie outing, his police cruiser was parked in front of the house. I expected them to arrive at about 11:30. Abby's friend Chelsea, whose father is a Lansing Police Department Inspector, was driving them home.

I thought to myself, "lets have a little fun with the kids!" "Hey Johnny," I said, "When the kids pull up, lead me out of the garage with my hands behind my back like I'm being arrested."

That's exactly what we did. When Chelsea and the gang drove up I walked out of the garage. My head was down to keep them from seeing the smirk on my face. Jonah came flying out of the car yelling, "Dad, dad, dad." Abby went hysterical. It took me a good five minutes to calm her down, even after she recognized Johnny and pretty much slapped me silly.

Some things seem funny in the garage, but they lose their humor by the time you get to the end of the driveway.

Baptism? Ya' sure . . . we teach dat

At last week's Northmen men and boy's rally, one of the speakers (from the righter wing of The Restoration Movement) made a veiled reference to "Bible colleges that don't teach baptism." I am so glad that he wasn't talking about my Alma mater, Great Lakes Christian College.

From time to time folks question whether or not GLCC teaches immersion as essential for salvation. I decided I would ask James Pahl, our church's youth minister, what he learned at GLCC. I was surprised to learn that James didn't come from a Christian Church background. He grew up Free Methodist and was unimmersed when he came to GLCC as a freshman. Through the teaching of his professors in Life of Christ and in Acts, (more specifically the scripture to which they drew his attention) James came to the understand that he needed to be baptized to be saved.

That is what James now teaches at South Lansing Christian Church.

Whenever a school, such as GLCC, admits students from other faith traditions, they open themselves to the accusation "your students don't believe in baptism." Even though the professors teach immersion as an integral part of the salvation experience, there will be students who will leave the classroom disagreeing.

But, as in the case of James, there will be others who, like Apollos, learn the gospel "more adequately." Because of GLCC, James Pahl is entrusting the gospel to reliable students who will also be qualified to teach others. And that, friends, is good news!

Nope . . . not here

Drove past The Family Motorcycle club today on South Washington. The sign above the draw about made me wreck my car.

"If you're not sure you're welcome," it read, "you're not!"

I'm gonna drive back around tomorrow just to see if I read it right and maybe snap a picture for the blog.

I wonder - do we communicate that in our churches?

If we're not intentional and diligent in welcoming people to our assemblies, aren't we communicating to them in some implicit way, "you're not welcome"?

South Lansing has a fantastic team of greeters on Sunday mornings. Jerry Rountree and his crew do a great job of helping South become "A Place for You." Every church needs a handful of Jerrys Otherwise, we communicate "This is a place for us."

Ahhhh, porcelain!

My sons and I returned early this morning from The Northmen. It was a great week filled with good friends, good food and some good preaching.

To be completely honest, I didn't agree with everything I heard from the pulpit. I found some of the men's sermons to be offensive, even. That is always the case for me and the Northmen. There are some pretty far-right preachers who come there. But even those guys, when I've sifted through the chaff, give me plenty to think about and several grains of truth.

Here are a few kernels:

Referencing Isaiah 6, Kerry Allen preached, "Sometimes worship isn't a warm, fuzzy; sometimes worship is a painful experience that results in reformation." He also said, "Kingdom people, sometimes, never hear the voice of the King, and that is tragic."

From Greg Dill: "We don't have a right to change the message; our job is to deliver the message."

Fred Rodkey, Preaching Pastor of Chapel Rock Christian Church preached "You look like Jesus when you're searching for the lost, more than any other time in your life."

Ron Otto, the former minister at South Lansing gave, in my opinion, the best sermon of the week. He told us that 1 out of every 1000 doors we knock on results in a conversion to Christ. 1 of every 9 people we invite to church becomes a Christian, but 1 of every 3 people we invite into our home will make Christ their Lord.

Dick Chambers preached, "Salvation is free, but discipleship costs you everything you've got."

On Thursday morning, Harry "Bud" Yoder told us, "You can teach people how, but until you teach them why, they'll never be disciples.

J. Allen Cook delivered one of the best sermons I've ever heard on the parable of the prodigal son. he told us, "Your church reflects either one of two spirits. It reflects the prodigals willingness to celebrate and come home, or it reflects the older brother's spirit of judgment." He also said, "Prodigal sons sin gregariously; older brothers sin tastefully. They both sin. Prodigals are just on the accelerated plan." He concluded by preaching, "Older brothers, don't forget you have a past; prodigals, don't forget you have a future."

Of course, Mike Kjergaard preached a dandy. Speaking on the parable of the unmerciful servant, he said, "As a forgiven people, we need to be a forgiving people."

The week was rounded out by Lee Mason. I don't always agree with what Lee writes, but I've yet to hear him preach a clunker. He did not disappoint last night, either. He preached, "A man's life does not consist of what he possesses, but of who possesses him." He also told us a Spanish proverb that puts material possessions in the right light: "There are no pockets in a shroud."

All in all it was a great week, and I look forward to returning to the North woods on August 5-7, 2008.

Houghton Lake Heaven

It's 1:30 AM and I am sitting in the living room of my buddy Mike Harrison's Houghton lake cottage. Tomorrow morning (or later this morning, actually) my sons and I are headed to The Northmen men and boy's rally out in the woods of northern Michigan. My friend Mike Kjergaard and Ron Otto, the former preacher from South Lansing Christian Church, are both scheduled to preach. It should be a great week.

Receiving the baton

This morning Larry Carter and George Brown passed South Lansing's baton of ministry to me. It was a humbling experience, coming from the two men for whom I have such immense respect.

When I read names like Lee Doty and Bob Palmer and Ron Otto on the baton, I am reminded of the heritage which I inherit and the responsibility that comes with so sober a charge. I hope I am worthy of that with which I have been trusted.

Geeked!

Tomorrow is my first sermon as South Lansing's Senior Minister. I am more than a little excited. Tonight came over to the church and helped the youth group set up chairs for tomorrow. With each chair I laid down I said a quick prayer for the person that would be worshiping there tomorrow.

Still, my enthusiasm is tempered a bit. Last Sunday during worship I glanced over at Mrs. Frankly and tears were trickling down her cheeks. I mouthed the words, "what's wrong?" She reached over and wrote in my journal "Butler." She misses folks, and I do, too.

Yet the turning of this page in our life has been made so clear by the Lord. God has opened this door, and that makes it alright to walk through it. In fact, it is better than merely alright, it is awesome.

What will God accomplish in the coming years? I can't wait to find out.

Even!!!

With last night's victory over the Phillies, the Cubs are tied for first place!!! Go Cubs!

Politically correct baseball . . . what's next?!

New England television station WBZ TV carried an interesting story about a minor league baseball team that played a "politically correct" baseball game recently in an effort to boost attendance.

While the Lowell Spinners and Brooklyn Cyclones played the game, the announcers struggled with terms like "first baseperson," and "vertically-challenged stop." All in all, a pretty hilarious evening.

What would happen if political correctness came to church, I wonder?

Oh yeah, the TNIV.

Sorry, Wally. I just couldn't resist.

A great blessing

I love this blessing, found in Psalm 144:

May our sons flourish in their youth
like well-nurtured plants.
May our daughters be like graceful pillars,
carved to beautify a palace.
May our barns be filled
with crops of every kind.
May the flocks in our fields multiply by the thousands,
even tens of thousands,
and may our oxen be loaded down with produce.
May there be no enemy breaking through our walls,
no going into captivity,
no cries of alarm in our town squares.
Yes, joyful are those who live like this!
Joyful indeed are those whose God is the Lord.

Seven words in a sermon. . .

Sunday, one of my college professors, George Brown, preached at South. George is one of my favorite writers - a real word smith.

His sermon title was, "The Cost of Confession." He explored Peter's confession of Christ as Messiah in Mark 8. George told us, "Death is a choice of style. We cannot choose if we will die, but we can choose how." "Why would anyone choose to follow the bloody path which He marked out with his own death," George asked, "except that He is the Christ?"

That's not all George said. I kidded with him after the service. He used seven words that I have never before heard in a sermon. Here they are, along with their definitions (for those of you who attended DeKalb High School - you know who you are):

1. dissuaded - past tense, to turn from something by persuasion.
2. inculcate - to teach and impress by frequent repetition or admonitions.
3. untenable - not able to be defended or occupied.
4. paradox - a statement that is seemingly contradictory or opposed or opposed to common sense and yet is perhaps true.
5. ignoble - of low birth or common origin; characterized by baseness, lowness, or meanness.
6. heinous - hatefully or shockingly evil.
7. neoplatonic - the philosphy which conceives of the world as an emanation from an ultimate indivisible being with whom the soul is capable of being reunited.

Of course, George uses thse words like I use "the" and "if." They roll of his tongue with an ease that gives testimony to - not only his learning - but to his authenticity.

Afterward I began thinking about other words that I don't hear much in sermons. Words like "holiness," and "sin." It has been a while since I head the word "hell" in a sermon. When was the last time you heard the word "gluttony" in a sermon? Or the word "pornography"?

Chances are, there are a lot more words that I could and should be using in my sermons. Of course Dave Stone writes, "I'd rather see a sermon than hear one any day." Those of us who live and die behind the "sacred desk" each Sunday are challenged to do both. To speak the right words and to live them.

Frankly speaking, that is one tall order.

Battling boxes

Spent the day unpacking the forty plus boxes in my new office at South Lansing Christian Church.

I had no idea how many books or how much stuff I have. Whew! It is a lot. Later this afternoon the folks from DISH network came by to install our DISH system. I was really geeked about it because the Cubs are on tonight at 7 P.M. They're only 1/2 game out of first place, and I was all primed to watch 'em win. Alas! The DISH guys need to call "Miss Dig" to get permission to drive the post into the ground. Lame! No Cubs.

So, I'm sitting at a Beaner's Gourmet Coffee cafe checking the line on the game and blogging on my new MacBook Pro. Very cool.

An evening at the Lickety Split

We're moved into our new home in our new hometown, Grand Ledge, Michigan. It seems like a nice place, so far.

Last night my sons and I rode our bikes to the Lickety Split for an ice cream cone. Grand Ledge is the sort of place where residents argue - good naturedly - about their ice cream. There are two summer stands where folks can buy frozen treats: the Lickety Split and the Corner Cone. Grand Ledgeians (is that the right word?) seem divided over which is best.

We enjoyed our cones from "the split." The only reasonable thing we can do now, though, is to stop by the corner cone and decide for ourselves.

Born again . . .

It's a simple act, really. Plunged beneath the waves, sins are washed away. The Holy Spirit comes to reside within. The promise of eternal life is secured.

It is simple, but it never fails to fill me with awe and reverence. At the conclusion of camp last week, I was privileged to baptize Brianna Mausteller.

She who is young enough to be my daughter has now become my sister.

A Tough Day

I preached my most difficult sermon ever at Butler Church of Christ this morning - my last. After ten incredible years, our family is answering God's call to move to Lansing, Michigan.

The church held a potluck today in our honor. It was really great as so many BCC'ers offered kind words. There were many tears. We shared lots of hugs and handshakes.

I'm really going to miss Butler Church of Christ. The faithful here have worked their way into my heart. As I prayed this morning, I leave with a "Butler Church of Christ shaped hole in my heart."

While that void will eventually be filled, only BCC is the perfect fit. I am excited to move on to what God has planned for us at South Lansing Christian Church. Nevertheless, I leave with bittersweet feelings. While leaving is hard, I know that God has greater things planned for both me and for BCC. I can't wait to see what they are.

Out at old Lake James

I'm investing a week at Lake James Christian Assembly, working with 8th and 9th grade students. This is my last week as the minister of Butler Church of Christ. It somehow seems appropriate that I spend it here, one of the first places where I learned to love Jesus and was exposed to the idea that I, one day, might be involved in vocational Christian service.

Now that I'm headed to Rock Lake country, I'm growing more and more nostalgic. This is a great camp!

Martha's popcorn

Mrs. Frankly and I stopped in at Martha's popcorn stand last night for some caramel corn and a visit with Jack Randinelli. Martha's is an icon.

In 1940, Martha went to visit Jack's grandfather. She had recently lost her job at the Auburn Motor Company and decided to open a popcorn stand. A loan officer at the Savings and Loan, Mr. Randinelli, Martha hoped, would loan her enough to go into business. At the time, the S&L only made loans on real estate. Although the bank couldn't help her, Mr. Randinelli made her a personal loan and a tradition was begun.

Several years ago, as Martha's health began to fade, so did the fortunes of her popcorn stand. It looked, in fact, like the tradition might be lost. Enter Jack Randinelli, the grandson of Martha's original benefactor. Jack bought the popcorn stand, and his wife and daughter continue to operate it today.

On Wednesdays and Thursdays, you can buy a dollar bag of hot popcorn in either butter flavor or caramel until 9 P.M. But come early. As we sat and visited with Jack last night, I'll bet there were at least a half dozen folks who were disappointed to find they arrived after closing time. (On the weekend, the shop stays open until 11 P.M.)

With the recent exhibition of Sculptures on the Square, Martha's has become an even better family destination. For only $5, you can grab the family pack - four bags of popcorn and four cans of soda pop. You won't find a better deal anywhere in DeKalb County. Stop in on west 9th street next to The Evening Star building and get your popcorn fix.

(Check out Chad Gramling's and some other guy's memories of Martha's.)

Brothers of another mother?

Matt stopped in on the Frankly Speaking porch last night for a visit. I didn't catch his last name.

Reading his bio reminded me of an event over twenty years past. It was the summer before my senior year at Garrett High School. I drove to Ft. Wayne and took the ACT exam. I had one of those out-of-body-in-the-zone type of testing days. It is the best I ever did on any test. I scored a 32 out of 35, which is one of the highest ACT scores I've ever heard of. (Before you get too excited about my intellect, realize I pretty much tanked the SAT.)

Anyway, with such a high test score, I got an offer for a full ride scholarship at a school in Tennessee - some place called David Lipscomb University. I was a Church of Christ boy (and still am), and they were a church of Christ school, so I thought, "let's check 'em out." But like any good Church of Christ boy, I asked a couple respected elders in our church about the college. One elder I esteemed considerably (he has since gone on to be with the Lord) told me, "They're not one of our schools. Steer clear." So I did.

Turns out they are one of our schools, they just don't have pianos.

No regrets, though. My Alma mater Great Lakes Christian College was a fine place to learn ministry. It is also where I met my wife, some of my best friends, and will be within a few miles of our new home when we move to Michigan next month.

So all's well that ends well.

Oh, and Matt. Next time I'll come to your place.

Last library board meeting

Tonight was my last library board meeting as President of Butler Public Library. The board and staff prepared a nice meal in my honor and presented me with a lovely plaque. I have been privileged to serve with some incredible staff and board members. I will miss each one.

Pray for rain . . .

Our area of Indiana is as dry as I can ever remember it. My lawn is dead. My flowers are parched, despite daily watering. Our farmers are beyond nervousness. One I spoke to on Sunday told me that he estimates his yield is already 25% lower than it should be. Without rain, that number will quickly climb.

I was reading Psalm 65 the other day, and I thought perhaps we ought to pray that Psalm for our community. Here it is:

What mighty praise, O God, belongs to you in Zion. We will fulfill our vows to you, for you answer our prayers, and to you all people will come. Though our hearts are filled with sins, you forgive them all. What joy for those you choose to bring near, those who live in your holy courts. What joys await us inside your holy Temple. You faithfully answer our prayers with awesome deeds, O God our savior. You are the hope of everyone on earth, even those who sail on distant seas. You formed the mountains by your power and armed yourself with mighty strength. You quieted the raging oceans with their pounding waves and silenced the shouting of the nations. Those who live at the ends of the earth stand in awe of your wonders. From where the sun rises to where it sets, you inspire shouts of joy. You take care of the earth and water it, making it rich and fertile. The rivers of God will not run dry; they provide a bountiful harvest of grain, for you have ordered it so. You drench the plowed ground with rain, melting the clods and leveling the ridges. You soften the earth with showers and bless its abundant crops. You crown the year with a bountiful harvest; even the hard pathways overflow with abundance. The wilderness becomes a lush pasture, and the hillsides blossom with joy. The meadows are clothed with flocks of sheep, and the valleys are carpeted with grain. They all shout and sing for joy!

Let's pray for rain. And, when it comes, let's remember to thank the maker of the rain.

Zoo day

Grandpa Frankly took the family to the Ft. Wayne Children's Zoo last week. If you've never been to this premier zoo, you're missing out. It is one of the finest in the Midwest. They recently tore out their African Veldt and are completely retrofitting their African habitat. Part of the redo is a great cable car ride that spans the lot where the new display will be located when it is complete.

I was surprised, in spite of all the construction to see a bobcat in its native environment. Check it out:

My favorite exhibit of the day, however, are the three monkeys I snapped in this pic:

A good day . . .

Today was a great day. We started off with a dynamite worship service this morning. The worship team selected some of my favorite songs that really complimented my sermon. Sunday service was followed by Sunday lunch with Abby's friend Michelle and her family.

The piece de resistance was a night on the lake with our small group. We grilled out a pork loin and a big old slab of beef. Just hanging out with our small group was really good.

Nicer boomers, Butler!

The Frankly family enjoyed watching Butler's Heartland Festival fireworks display earlier tonight. It was, once again, a fantastic display.

Way to go Butler! We're sure going to miss it. . .

Closed!

The Wellers are homeowners . . . times two! Our closing went according to plan on Friday, so our new home belongs to us (and the bank!). Thanks to all who prayed that it would go smoothly.

Now we need to sell our current castle! If you're looking for a great old home in Butler, Indiana, check out this beauty! She has great maple trim, a new kitchen with custom maple cabinets, a double lot that is fenced and beautifully landscaped. The basement is guaranteed dry, and there are a number of great updates including some new carpet and lots of new paint (thanks to my brother-in-law Marty).

Call Alan at 260-337-0337 to schedule a showing! End of commercial. Thanks for indulging me . . .

Just a thought . . .

This week's issue of Christian Standard raises some interesting questions about the blending of patriotism and faith - questions that I asked myself during church last Sunday.

Each year our congregation turns the auditorium red, white, and blue for the month of July. While I absolutely love the decorations our worship folks create the rest of the year, I must admit that I am uncomfortable with this month's patriotic motif.

Why? Simply, because God is not an American. When the church comes together to worship on Sunday our sole focus should be on God and on him alone. While it is certain that God has blessed America, it is less clear that we, as Americans, have blessed Him.

This was especially keen in my thinking this past Sunday. My missionary sister was in the congregation and I couldn't help wonder if she saw the juxtaposition of old glory and "glory to God" as a bit anachronistic. I wondered: "Do they have Guinean flag backgrounds in Guinea?" When my sis lived in France was there a blending of French patriotism and Father-worship? Or what about her Venezuelan friends. Do they as easily blend faith and national fervor?

I love our country. I get teary-eyed when I watch our soldiers marching on the battlefield. I don't for a second take for granted the sacrifice of so many who have made our freedom a reality.

I know I am not alone in these feelings. Britons, no doubt, get a lump in their throat when they reflect on Dunkirk. Still, I can't imagine they use the Union Jack as the background for their worship choruses. If they did, frankly, I would be more than a little offended by them so doing.

I wonder, are they offended by my flag-waving worship?

Happy Independence Day!

A happy 4th to each of you, Frankly Speaking readers.

The Frankly family is enjoying beautiful Jordan Lake and shooting off a boatload of Indiana fireworks to celebrate our nation's independence. Hopefully your family is enjoying one another, too!