Caleb's first deer

My son, Caleb, shot his first deer during last weekend's Michigan youth hunt. Admittedly, this isn't the biggest deer in the woods. When the adrenaline is pumping and the deer is out there all by himself, though, it's a bit tough to estimate the size - especially when its your first time looking at brown through a scope.

This little button buck will taste pretty good, and Caleb is hooked on hunting for life, I think.

Jonah got a shot at a nice 6-point, but the jitters took over and he missed. It was a great weekend that primed the Weller men for November 15!

When pumpkins drink . . .

Dave said . . .

During last week's Bob Russell retreat we had a chance to sit down with Dave Stone, the Senior Pastor of Southeast Christian Church in Louisville, Kentucky. As we introduced ourselves, Dave asked each of us what was one issue we were currently working through in our church. I told him we were transitioning to become a church that "seeks, studies, and serves God." I explained that inculcating the congregation with this mission and paring away everything that was not "Seek, Study and Serve," was our highest priority.

I really like it when Dave said, "I noticed your email. Seekstudyserve.org - very cool." I confessed to Dave that we developed the mission after hearing about it indirectly from Southland Christian Church. I told him that we purchased ".com", and ".net" as well as our website's ".org." Dave frequently has contact with Jon Weece, the Senior Minister at Southland, so I jokingly told him, "When you talk to Jon, let him know we'd be happy to sell him one of the URLs we're not using." Dave retorted, "For just a week's worth of offering, right!"

A week's worth of Southland's offering? I'd say that oughta 'bout cover it . . .

As you requested

Mark Christian preached in my absence this past Sunday at South. Kris Bargan made a little video to introduce him to the congregation. It was a hoot! Several have requested to see it, so here it is:

Retreat, Day Three

I enjoyed another great day at Country Lake Retreat Center in Henryville, Indiana. We heard from Bob Russell again today as he taught us about preaching. I'd heard much of it before at Preaching Summit, but it was good stuff, nevertheless, as we were able to interact with him and ask questions.

Three of Bob's elders also talked with us about how the eldership functions as Southeast. These guys are sharp, and they reminded me a lot of our elders at South Lansing Christian Church. We have an excellent group of elders there. Not only are these men committed to Christ and his church, but they are supportive of our staff and good leaders. I really apprecaited them. Southeast is planning a second eldership retreat next fall that I hope our guys can attend. I want them to experience the same refreshing that I have this week.

We also heard from Dr. Kevin Ezell, a Baptist megachurch pastor from Louisville. He talked with us about some of the early struggles he faced at his church. He had to fire, for instance, 23 staff people in a 24 month period when he arrived at Highview Baptist. He was a stictch and had us laughing until our sides hurt.

From there we drove to Southeast to visit with Dave Stone and to take a tour of their facilities. Amazing. Huge. But also quite complex. As we discussed their men's ministries, their women's ministries, and all their other ministries, I thought about our efforts to become a Simple Church. I'm convinced that we're on the right track. Just three things folks: Seek, Study, and Serve God.

One thing that Southeast is doing that is light years ahead of South Lansing is in connecting first-time attenders and new members to the church. Their assimilation process is specific, defined and hums along like a Swiss watch. I especially like that they're connecting new members and attenders to a five week small group as soon as they join (something Wally, our Associate Minister, and his team has been pushing for). I think we need to send Wally and his team down here soon to learn the ins and the outs of a system that could pretty easily be adapted for South Lansing Christian.

We rounded out the day by bowling with Bob and then eating dinner at Bob and Judy Russell's home. What a great day.

I am looking forward to coming home and implementing what I've been learning!

Retreat, Day Two

I'm spending another night at Country Lake Retreat Center north of Louisville, Kentucky tonight. Bob Russell Ministries is sponsoring a retreat for preachers. Eight guys in a room with Bob. Fantastic. We're learning about church leadership from a legend of leadership. Earlier today we had a private tour of Louisville Slugger with the owner's son-in-law, Bill Clark. Bill is an elder at Northeast Christian Church in Louisville.

He talked about the importance of "swimming with the fish." It is a metaphor that basically means we need to connect with the people our church is trying to reach to get their reactions. A question he recommends we ask them is, "What in our service helped you draw closer to God?" Also, "what was an obstacle?"

Excellent, excellent stuff.

Dinner tonight was at Ruth's Chris - I had the T-bon - Wow! We'll be touring Southeast tomorrow and meeting with some of their elders and Senior Minister Dave Stone. What a great retreat.

My buddy Fred is going on this retreat in November. To all my preacher buddies - you need to go to Bob's website and apply for this retreat!

Oh - the fish. One of the guys at our retreat, a Baptist preacher from Mississippi who is a chaplain on the pro bass fisherman's tour caught this eight pounder this morning right down in front of the lodge. It was his third cast. He threw it back, though. So much for once-a-keeper, always-a-keeper.

Cubs win! Cubs win!

Post-season, here we come!

Looking out the window

A couple months back I preached a sermon about Cain and Abel in which I suggested Cain's problem was that he looked out the window to point out his brother's deficiencies rather than looking in the mirror and taking personal responsibility for his own. We all do that, I think, to some extent. It is easier to look out the window than in the mirror. Less self-confrontational. It enables us to avoid facing the harsh reality that we need to change.

The window / mirror concept comes from Jim Collins' book, Good to Great. Collins teaches that "level five leaders," that rare breed of individuals that reach the pinnacle of leadership, have mastered this concept. When looking to assign credit they look out the window. When looking to assign blame, they look in the mirror. That is real leadership, says Collins.

By comparison, leaders who were in charge of companies that failed, ". . . did just the opposite. They'd look out the window for something or someone outside themselves to blame for poor results, but would preen in front of the mirror and credit themselves when things went well."

Consider then, Collins comments in light of the blame being either accepted or deflected by the men and women who lead us in Washington:

Speaker of the United States House of Representatives, Nancy Pelosi
According to The Hill, "House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, when asked Tuesday whether Democrats bear some of the responsibility regarding the current crisis on Wall Street, had a one-word answer: 'No.'" Apparently there are no mirrors in her office.

Republican Presidential Nominee, John McCain
McCain comes a little closer to getting it right. At a Florida rally, McCain said, "As for the Congress, members in both parties must accept a share of the responsibility." According to the AP McCain said, "America is in a crisis today . . . The economic crisis is not the fault of the American people. Our workers are the most innovative, the hardest working, the best skilled, the most productive, the most competitive in the world. ... But they are being threatened today ... because of greed and corruption that some engaged in on Wall Street and we have got to fix it."

Democratic Presidential Nominee, Barack Obama
U.S. News and World Report writes, "Democratic nominee Barack Obama in a statement called it 'the most serious financial crisis since the Great Depression.' He laid the blame squarely on the policies of the Bush Administration, and suggested his Republican rival, John McCain, would provide more of the same."

Real leaders man up and accept their share of the blame. Congress is responsible, and that includes Senators McCain and Obama. President Bush is culpable. Wall Street shares some of the blame. I am partly responsible for contributing to the problem by buying into the buy-now-pay-later culture.

You'll hear a lot of talk over the next few weeks about "blame isn't productive, let's focus on a solution." Well, the first step in finding a solution is recognizing my share of the blame. Real leaders do that. Hopefully one will reveal himself so we can elect him in November.

I conducted a funeral today for a MSU alumnus and lifelong Spartan fan. There was a Spartan flag draped across the casket. The family talked about their dad attending the Frozen Four and the Rose Bowl. They made mention of him watching basketball games with his neighbor. He saw some of the great Spartan players - Magic Johnson, Steve Garvey and the like.

At one point in the service they played the MSU alma mater, "MSU Shadows." It was amazing to watch the congregation. Tears that had been held in for most of the service flowed as the lyrics of the song brought back memories - not just of Mr. Stewart - but for his children and grandchildren who are fellow State alums.

It made me think about my Alma Mater, Great Lakes Christian College. I don't ever recall seeing anyone get misty-eyed as they sang, "'Neath the azure dome of Heaven . . ." There is something visceral and palpable about the love that State fans have for their university that seems to be missing among my generation of GLCC grads.

I think I might know at least one reason why. I play basketball with John who works for the University. About a month ago John had to miss a game - something he almost never does. When he showed up the following week I asked him where he had been. He told me that each year, when incoming Freshman arrive on campus, John gives a talk. Because there are thousands of freshmen, John gives the talk dozens of times. I've since learned that "the talk" is legendary. The title: "What it Means to be a Spartan." John shares MSU traditions with the students. He explains to them that they are inheriting a legacy, and that they are keepers of this legacy for succeeding generations of Spartan alums. MSU has such profoundly loyal alumni because, in part, they learn to love the university the very first week they are on campus.

I don't recall ever hearing a talk titled "What it Means to be a Crusader." To be sure, I learned something of what it means to be a GLCC alumnus. Indeed, I do tear up when I sing the Alma Mater because I recall Dr. Brant Lee Doty, its author. I wonder, though, if this year's freshman even know the song. (State Freshman are required to learn theirs.) I wonder if they have heard of Dr. Doty or if he is just another faceless name, a bit of trivia, or a post-card thought that some of their alumni parents occasionally mention.

My wife and I and many others have bemoaned the anemic alumni involvement at our college. Frankly, there have been instances where we contributed to that problem. I am wondering, though, if part of the solution begins by teaching incoming freshman just how special a legacy they're entrusted with. By reminding them that they're receiving a gift from the college and that the time will come when they'll be expected to give back in equal measure . . .

Props to a YouTube-er

I'm preaching from Acts 17 tomorrow making the case that we seek God because only He can fill the void in our heart that His absence creates. Huge props to TRIPPISME for allowing me to use his video rendering of the Athens Parthenon. It is a way cool video. The Apostle Paul mush have had some major . . . nerve . . . to go into so intimidating a city and deliver the message of Jesus Christ. Athena's statue in the Parthenon was thirty-nine feet tall, but not nearly so tall as Paul.

You're welcome - not!

Julio is a young guy that has been using our gym on Tuesday nights for pick-up basketball. Let me first say that he's a good guy. So nice, in fact, that the game has blown up from the original ten or twelve ballers to over twenty gym rats. The place is so busy on Tuesday nights that you're lucky if you can get on the court for one game out of every three.

In an effort to reign in the eager hoopsters, Julio posted this sign on the front door last week:One of our elders saw the sign shortly after is was taped to the front door and freaked out (rightfully so, by the way). We stress, over and over, that South is a "place for you." We are inclusive not exclusive. For Julio - who doesn't attend our church - it was an honest mistake.

Yet I've been around many churches and many Christians that have exactly this attitude. Church starts growing. New people start coming. The "establishment" begins to realize they might lose control and they freak out. (Sound familiar Fred?) Maybe they don't post signs on the door, but it is made clear in other, not uncertain ways, that "If you don't know me and I don't know you, you are not welcome."

My friend, Terry, was fired from a church in Kentucky for this very reason. The church grew. "Our people" were threatened by "those people." Undesirables (read, "sinners") began coming to church bringing their habits and heartaches right along with them. Solution - fire the preacher. My buddy Mike went through the same thing. He started inviting skateboarders to church. Kids with more ink than a Kinko's starting mixing with the Bible Bowl crowd and Mike's phone began to ring. Parents were concerned that their "good kids" might become "infected." (Perhaps because they were never properly inoculated?) When over 100 such kids started showing up on Sunday nights, it was time for Mike to go. Bye bye, Mike. Oh, and bye bye youth group. And, I suspect, bye bye to a generation of kids in that town who have one more reason to hate the church.

The thing is, these churches usually get exactly what they want. A small, close-knit group of believers that know each other, and each others' business. Forty people who come together on Sunday morning and play church the way you and I used to play house with our siblings and neighbors in the yard barn out behind the grape arbor. People stay away and the church slowly atrophies. The building becomes an antique mall and the member or two that has to sign at closing takes some small consolation in knowing that the money realized from the sale of the building went to help the church camp or the Bible college.

There is that problem of the great commission being ignored. There is the little thing about Acts 1:8 being overlooked. "Go ye into all the world." Fine so long as the world don't come in here. "You will be my witnesses in all Jerusalem." As long as the Jerusalemites don't have different color skin or funny hair or tattoos or, or, or, or.

I have to talk with Julio tonight. Hopefully I can help him understand that our church has a different understanding. Some have suggested its time to nix the Tuesday night open gym altogether. I wonder, though, if a better plan might be to "plant" some Southies in the gym as covert witnesses of Jesus Christ. Maybe we can do a little guerrilla evangelism once a week.

If that happens, maybe Julio and his crew - none of whom are members here at South - will begin showing up here for something other than ball. Who knows, maybe we'll have to deal with all Julio's guys coming on Sunday morning and sitting in "someone's seat."

Frankly, I can't wait for that to happen.

The hype that is Skype

I just installed Skype on the MacBook Pro. My missionary sister wants to be able to talk to her kid brother on the cheap so we're trying to set that up. I just wonder, are there any Frankly Speaking readers out there that have experience with Skype? What can you tell me about it?

Medals, metals, and mettle . . .

Dan Wetzel, writing for yahoo.com, explains that the United States had better get used to being beaten out by the Chinese in the medal count. In China children are taken from their parents and trained in the sport most appropriate to their body types, so it seems likely that he is right.

Here in the states, athletes leave college and go to the NFL or some other professional league and make millions. Chinese athletes don't have that option. According to Wetzel, they're state property. What is more, the Chinese have targeted solo medals rather than the team sports. It takes fifteen softball players to win one gold, but dozens of gymnasts, swimmers and weight lifters can each take medals home.

The end result: the USA had better get used to being second in the medal count.

So I propose a new method of accounting medals. Simply take the total medal count from the mint - every medal they stamp - and divide them accordingly. So, when the men's hoops team wins gold, we'll put 12 gold medals in our column. When 14 . . . er . . . 16 year-old He Kexin wins gold on the uneven bars, we'll place one tally in the Chinese column. We do the same for each individual and each team sport.

I would be interested to know how the US fares with that sort of accounting. Given our dominance in many of the team sports, I suspect we'll win the medal count, or at least hold our own.

If not, we'll have to hope that the Chinese decide to stop being the new East Germany, in order to keep up.

Frankly funny . . .

Some of the funniest satire I've read in a while . . .

Tithing from the lottery

Wayne Smith, a well-known preacher from our brotherhood of churches, was once asked, "Wayne, what would you do if someone won the lottery and wanted to give the money to the church?" Wayne thought a moment and replied, "I don't care about money's pedigree, just it's destination."

I feel certain that there have to be some genealogical connections that would force us preachers to reject a donation. I wouldn't, for example, want to take funds that were received as a result of anything illegal. The question is: should the church accept funds from something that is merely immoral, if not illegal? And, who is the arbiter of morality in such cases?

First Baptist Church in Orange Park, Florida has been wrestling with that very issue. When one of their members, Robert Powell won $6 million in the Florida Lottery last month, he decided to tithe ten percent to the church. The church, however, rejected the $600,000 donation. Pastor David Tarkington politely declined the offer because he believes and teaches that gambling is wrong.

Others are not so sure. Pastor Dr. Lorenzo Hall, who leads a nearby inner city ministry said, "I'm against the lottery, but if one of my members won the lottery, I wish and I hope he would give 10% to the church, we could do a lot of things with that money."

I've often wondered what I would do if confronted with the same dilemma / opportunity. I've even wondered what I would do if I found myself on the giving end of such a problem. From time to time my father-in-law will buy a lottery ticket and designate it for my wife and I. We've even received lottery scratch-offs from my cousin as a Christmas gift. What would I do if I won? It is a problem that I would prefer to explore, not just in the abstract, but in the concrete in case you're wondering.

In the meantime, I'll continue to counsel and preach tithing to the saints at South Lansing Christian Church. Lot's of folks are listening, too. South has been incredibly generous in 2008. In state racked by recession and job-loss, Southies have given more to the work of the church than at any other time in the church's history. Their generosity is incredible. As we grow in this discipline of giving, I look forward to the day when all the members at South tithe. Then we'll have more than enough money to fund all our ministries, grow the church, and pay off our church's mortgage early.

I read an old preacher story recently that sums it up nicely:

Dr. Hugh McKean of Chiengmai, Thailand, tells of a church of four hundred members where every member tithes. They receive a weekly wage of forty stangs (less than twenty cents] and their rice. Of this meager existence, each gives a tenth every week. Because of this, they have done more for Christ in Thailand than any other church. They pay their own preacher and have sent two missionary families to spread the gospel in a community cut off from the outside world. They are intensely interested in all forms of Christian work, especially work for unfortunates of every kind; and their gifts for this kind of work are large. They have not only accepted Christ, but, having found Him good, they are making Him known to others.

Oh, by the way, this church of all tithers is also a church of all lepers--every person has leprosy.

Not according to plan

I heard a preacher say recently, "Ask 'what' not 'why' then wait and apply." I've been doing that today.

Had to take Abby to the eye doctor because her left eye was in pain and really, really red. Turns out she has "multiple corneal ulcers." We spent the next hour finding a pharmacy that had the medication the optometrist prescribed in stock.

Jonah had his eye doctor appointment, too. But with Abby being squeezed in, his was pushed back, meaning I didn't get into the office until 2:30 PM. Now I am headed out to East Lansing to drop Jonah off at the physician's office for his sports physical.

I'm not whining (am I?), just explaining that the whole "waiting thing" I talked about this last Sunday applies to preachers, too. God wants to teach me patience, just like the rest of us.

Oh . . . Abby has to wear her glasses for the next month. She's hating that . . .

Back from Northmen

The Weller men made their way back to Grand Ledge from The Northmen. Our time at the men and boy's rally was great! The preaching was good, but even better was the time spent around the campfire and in the Manistee River.

Now, back to work.

This Sunday Intern Jonathon and I are preaching about Abraham and Sarah. The sermon is titled, Hating the Waiting. I hope to inspire everyone at South to Ask "what" not "why," then wait and apply. All too often, when God has us in the waiting room, we ask "Why me, God?"

A young couple struggles to conceive. A son watches his parent slowly suffer a debilitating terminal illness. A single adult watches as friend after friend marries and wonders how long the wait will be before God reveals her life companion. A teenager wonders is she will ever turn eighteen and be free from her parents' abusive anger. Waiting. We all hate it, I think.

I'll admit, I've been blessed. I've not had to wait as long as some folks. Good thing, really. I'm not too patient - certainly not as patient as many I've met. When I do wait, though, I have learned the importance of asking "what?" What is it you want to teach me, God? What change do you want to make in my character? What are you going to reveal about Yourself to me through this circumstance?

Asking, "why?" never really leads to anything productive or useful. Asking, "what?" though - that's altogether different. Not easier, mind you, just more useful.

Tonight's Figure Eight School Bus Race Crash

Took the fam to Spartan Speedway in Mason, Michigan tonight, courtesy of Ken Coutler, crew chief for the Number 9 JD Wisner Electric School Bus of Tomorrow. It was our first time at the figure eight school bus races, and it is one we'll never forget.

Ken always fields a strong bus and this year was no exception. The victim of a bad draw, Ken's bus was forced to start near the back of the pack for the twenty-five lap feature. Within two laps, Ken's driver, Steve, was already moving up when he got into a scuffle coming off turn four. The 9 bus was wedged in between the Number 3, driven by the Mayor of Mason, and the Kitsmiller RV entry. At last year's September race, the Kitsmiller bus rolled Steve on his side. Steve returned the favor this year, dumping the Kitsmiller bus and breaking it's drive shaft. In the fracas, the Wisner bus began losing water.

By the time the green flag flew again, Ken's entry was running without any coolant. Just prior to the restart Ken told his driver, "It's a diesel engine and has new oil. I think she'll hold together for another twenty-three laps. " The Wisner Electric cheering section held its breath and crossed its fingers. The next fifteen laps were a dual between the Culligan Water entry and the camo painted Beacon Sales bus. But when they two of them crashed into the wall, the Wisner bus took the lead and began steadily pulling away.

With just two laps remaining and with a slower bus ahead of him, Steve looked like he would cruise to victory lane. But it was not to be. The big diesel motor seized up just short of the win. Our hopes were dashed! Nevertheless, we enjoyed a great night of racing with our friends the Coulters, the Maltzans and the Sleights and many others that we've just met.

We plan to be back at Spartan September 5 for the final showdown of this year's figure eight school bus races! With crashes like tonight's (shown here in the video below) you can see why!

The Dark Knight

Caleb cracked open his lawn mowing piggy bank tonight and paid for movie tickets for the three Weller men. He and Jonah cashed in our pop bottles, too, providing for candy and popcorn. Our choice of screenings: the new Batman flick.

I'll admit that I was skeptical about it. The whole world has been going to see the film. As one who, from time to time, swims against the tide, I assumed I wouldn't like it. Wrong. It was an engaging and tense drama that kept us glued to our seats from beginning to end. Heath Ledger was great. His effort eclipsed the rest of the cast. I can't actually tell you who played the Caped Crusader, in fact.

The boys said that the movie was better than Ironman, and better than Hancock (which they liked quite a lot). I'll have to take their word for it.

The best part of the movie for me: escaping for a bit into the land of make believe. Shame the lights had to come back on at the end of the night . . .

Why I go to camp . . .

One week ago tonight I was privileged to baptize Rodger at Lake James Christian Assembly. He is a fine young man who will, I believe, make a difference for the Kingdom.

Mending, sort of

I've heard about elders that give their preachers black eyes, but I always assumed it was metaphorical. Before today, that is. As you can see from the photo, I am recovering from my surgery quite well. Before South Lansing Christian Church elder, Dana Allen, (not that I am naming names or anything) gave my this shiner with with his pointy elbow.

Dana has what is, arguably, the ugliest jump shot I have seen. Ever. He makes sure he is just behind the three-point line and then throws his six foot six inch frame forward, thrusting his right arm (or is it left) out and upward toward the basket. The other arm not so much guides the ball, but provides the necessary ballast to ensure he doesn't topple over. The thing is, more often than not his ugly shots go in.

I D'ed up on Dana this afternoon at lunchtime. He threw up another nasty looking three and I dove in underneath his shot to try and throw him off a bit. As he came down his pencil sharpened elbow caught me on my orbital socket. Pain. Swelling. No big deal - or so I thought. After showering I walked up to the office and Sue said, "What's with the shiner?" Sure enough I have a black eye that is reminiscent of the old cigarette ads. You know the ones - "I would rather fight than switch!" Way to go Dana!

On the other hand, it has given me the opportunity to point out to anyone who asks that the stitches in the forehead and the bruised eye were given to me by my wife for coming home too late. She loves that. Come to think of it, I better lay off the husband beating humor before she provides some fist-induced symmetry to my already battered melon.

Under the knife. . .

Frankly Speaking took to the road Monday morning traveling to Ingham Regional Medical Center for the excision of a lipoma from the mid forehead.

I was awake for most of the surgery. The nurse anesthetist, Jane, gave me a little sleepy-sleep to keep my mind off of the numbing medication that they were injecting into the surgical site. When I woke up a few minutes later, Dr. Supanwanid had already made his incision and was excising the tumor. He used a bovie - an electrical scalpel of sorts - that cuts and cauterizes at the same time. I could see smoke curling up from my eyes as he cauterized the little bleeders that saturate the forehead. Assisted by scrub nurse Natalie, and surgical tech Jennifer, he and Jane made quick work of it.

The whole thing took less than thirty-five minutes and, surgically speaking, everything went according to plan. They cut that little dude out and stitched me up good as new. I see the doctor again next Monday. I am anticipating that I will be getting some pictures from Dr. Supanwanid. He snapped away with his digital camera before, during, and after the procedure. I'll be posting them here for you all to enjoy!

Just the best group ever . . .

I invested the whole week in these amazing students at Lake James Christian Assembly. Several of them rededicated their lives to Christ. One, Roger, is going to be immersed into Jesus later this afternoon. I had a good conversation with one of them about giving her life to full-time Christian service, too. It was a week well spent . . .

Me in hell

Walked through hell tonight at Lake James Christian Assembly. I was a demon. Here I am. I sure am glad to get my normal lovely face back.

Missing you all at South. See you next week. In the meantime, Dean Trune will be preaching on Sunday. His sermon, Change Changes Me, will teach about how change affects our character.

Out at OLD Lake James

As I stood waiting to give my campfire talk last night it occurred to me. I am the oldest guy on faculty at LJCA Senior High camp this week. I am that guy. You know . . . the guy that all us young buck youth ministers used to look at and think, "I'm never going to be like that old guy." I am now him.

On the one hand, I am greatly encouraged to know that there are so many great younger people who are committed to ministering to our students. On the other hand I wonder if there aren't some older wiser people from whom our students can better learn. If I am the oldest man on staff here, I wonder if maybe we don't need someone with more gray hair than myself to give students a more complete perspective on life and life with Christ.

Then again, maybe I just don't want to be the "old man" of the camp . . .

There's a camp that takes the banner . . .

Our first full day of Sr. High week at Lake James Christian Assembly is in the books. What a great day! Our students were challenged today with a time of personal reflection. Who are they? How goes their relationship with the Father? They heard about grace from Dan Smith, and tonight I challenged them to consider how small they are in relationship when compared to the Father's enormity.

God is big!
I am little.
He loves me.
I love Him!

That is what I hope to drive home this week during my campfire talks.

Headed to camp

The three little Franklies and I are headed to Lake James Christian Assembly this week. Mrs. Frankly is staying back to go to class. She should enjoy the peace and quiet time to study. As for us, we'll be blessed by the week of camp!

Here is something to make you smile while I am away . . .

It's 7 PM. Do you know where your preacher is?

A BBC story about a pastor that disguised himself as a tramp reminded me of a sermon by Mike Breaux. Seems that, years and years ago, Brother Breaux disguised himself as a homeless person. He wore old army clothing, a nasty wig and a beard. Sunglasses and a couple of paper grocery bags into which he had stuffed his "belongings" completed the ensemble. Oh yeah, there was also the smell. He had deliberately stunk up his clothing to make himself seem as though he had been on the streets for some time.

He was scheduled to preach for the Sunday night worship service at his church. (Remember when we used to have Sunday night church?) He arrived about the time the service was to start and made his way into the "sanctuary." Nobody spoke to him. Mother's drew their children close. Hostile stares greeted his walking down the aisle. He chose a seat about half way toward the front.

At the conclusion of the song service, the worship leader sat down. The congregation began shifting in their seats wondering where Pastor Mike was. Had he forgotten? Was he somehow detained? Then, the "bum" rose from his seat. He slowly made his way toward the pulpit, shedding the wig and clothing as he went. Brother Mike related that, by the time he stepped to the pulpit, he was sick to his stomach by the insensitive way he was ignored. So, as he tells it, was his congregation at the realization of what had just taken place.

I wonder how South would react in similar circumstances. Would we embrace the un-embraceable? Would we welcome the unwelcomed? Would we draw in "the least of these" or would we suggest a church down the street where they might be "more comfortable?" I hope (and I believe we would) be Jesus to whomever comes to our door.

From the land of Ur, I mean ER

Its half past midnight and I'm hanging out in the Sparrow Pediatric Emergency Room. Abigail busted her melon tonight at youth group during a game of steal the bacon. She felt kind of woozy at first but then quickly recovered. Later, at the movies, she began to feel nauseated and had a huge headache.

On the advice of a doctor friend we stopped by Sparrow to have her checked out. The folks here tell us she has a "grade 2 concussion." Short term memory blips, trouble concentrating, headache, the pukes. Frankly, it sounds a little like finals week at Grand Ledge.

So we're hanging out waiting for CAT scan results. As soon as they come back we're headed home. Till then, Abby sleeps and I blog and wait.

Headed to Haiti in 2009

Plans are shaping up for our medical mission trip to Haiti on March 13-21, 2009. Our OB/GYN team will perform surgeries all week long while others in the team work with Haitians ranging in age from infants to the elderly. My wife, Tracy, is leading a team from our church and is looking for medical professionals as well as anyone with a heart to serve Jesus.

That means that, while doctors, nurses and other caregivers will be coming along, so can students, teachers, farmers, factory workers and anyone else who is willing to be used by God. There will be plenty for everyone to do: construction-related projects, helping with the nutrition program, cleaning, rocking babies, and just blessing the Haitian folks.

If you're interested in joining our team, or if you would like more information, click here to email Tracy.

While you're contemplating that, take a look at some video reflections of Tracy's trip from March of this year:

Happy Independence Day

Enjoying the day at Jordan Lake with Fred and Mariah and family. Went tubing and drank about thirty gallons of lake water. Tons of fun!

Hope your 4th is great, too and, if you see a veteran, remember to thank them for keeping our freedom.

The spice in my sermons . . .

Two nights ago my son, Jonah, and I watched the Disney animated flick Ratatouille. Fun movie! I love the part where the little rodent runs around the kitchen tossing in a bit spice here, a clove of garlic there. He cooks up a sopa de dia to die for.

My sermon preparation often resembles that. I teach aspiring preachers a method of sermon preparation that I call the "Eureka Method." I pile all the language tools and commentaries on my desk. I open my Word Search program to several different translations. I've got dictionaries and encyclopedias piled around my desk. And then I dive into it all. After a while, an outline begins to emerge from the haze. Then, at some point, (I never know when that will be. Sometimes it happens quickly; other times it is painfully slow) I have this "aha" moment where I sit up and say "that's what it is!" That is my Eureka moment.

From that point on, the sermon writing takes on a life of its own.

Often times the cherry on top of that ice cream sundae is a video clip from SermonSpice.com.

A few weeks back, for instance, I was preaching on the relationship between husbands and wives. I showed a clip to make the point that women need leadership and comfort from their husbands. It had a powerful impact. More recently, I used a clip titled "Alone in a Crowd" to demonstrate that, in spite of us having many acquaintances, too few of us have really deep friendships.

While considerably more expensive than, say, BluefishTV.com, SermonSpice has nevertheless become an important "club" in my homiletics golf bag.

Here I go again . . .

It's that time of year - time for my annual church+flag=syncretism rant. The last time I blogged in this vein the link to my blog was deleted from at least one website. Hopefully I will communicate with a bit more grace this time around.

I opened the latest issue of a nearby church's newsletter today. On the cover was a picture of a large American flag with this poem, written by an unknown author:

O flag of our Union,
To you we'll be true,
To you red and white stripes,
And your stars on the blue;
The emblem of freedom,
The symbol of right,
We children salute you
O flag fair and bright!

Where to begin . . . First, let me say, once again, that I love my country. I thank God that I was born in what I believe is the best country on earth. I am grateful for the sacrifices that men and women have made throughout our nation's history to ensure our freedom. I celebrate Memorial Day and Independence Day along with my fellow patriots. Whenever our family gathers, we pray for our fellow Americans who are separated from their loved ones because their military service has them posted in some far off land - something my Navy-veteran father modeled for his children.

Having said that, can we as the church recognize that Christ's Kingdom is not of this world? Can we understand that it is not the US flag that is the symbol of freedom, but the cross? Can we at least admit that a flag is not the "symbol of right"; that our nation has been wrong occasionally.

Are we more right than other countries? Certainly. Is our ideal of freedom based on a government "of the people, by the people and for the people," the gold-standard of political freedom throughout the world? I believe it is. But, as the Church, we need to recognize that, when we proclaim freedom we need to focus - not on the freedom we have as Americans - but on the freedom we have in Christ!

We who are Christ-followers live in two worlds. We are Americans, yes, but we are Christians first, and blending the two is walking up to the line of idolatry. Proclaiming on the cover of one's church's premier publication that "we'll be true" to the flag is leaning over the line so far that I one is in danger of tumbling over.

Like many believers I know, I struggle with the tension that results in being faithful to Christ and loyal to my nation. I'll be the first to admit that I don't always balance that tension quite right. Indeed, I often find my thoughts and feelings on the subject ebbing and flowing. Having said that, I remain aware that, if I allow the church to simply reflect the patriotism of our flag-waving culture, I am in danger of, as Greg Boyd puts it in his book The Myth of a Christian Nation, reducing the cross to "the pole upon which a national flag waves."

PS - I welcome your thoughts and comments. I'd rather we at least dialog before my link is exiled to cyber-Siberia.

Hamming it up

Graduation open house season 2008 is finally in the books. Tracy and I attended several. I've said for years now that we should publish a newsletter with a ratings system for open houses. You know:

The Smith open house featured a wide assortment of appetizers and free Pepsi products. There were yard games for everyone, but regrettably they were monopolized by the extended family. In particular, the young cousins were loud and Uncle Buck's cigar smoke somewhat tainted the atmosphere of an otherwise fine party. While the punch was a bit heavy on ginger ale, that was more than compensated for by a graduation cake consisting of, not two, but three flavors - chocolate, white and spice cakes. We give it three and a half diplomas.

We traveled to several open houses. Of course we didn't get invited to Amanda's. (Knew I'd throw that in there didn't you Amanda. That's okay, you're future father-in-law will still pay for your rehearsal dinner.)

Tracy took this pic at Megan's open house. Her dad, Jeff, and I have a sort of (not to be read as sordid) bizarre relationship. He's a great friend, and we're all proud that he and Beth have successfully graduated two of three fine young adults. That still leaves Rebecca. We're expecting her to turn out just as well - especially since we're planning on having her for a daughter-in-law someday . . . Hey a dad can dream, can't he?

Seriously, though . . . I really want to know

When I wrote about a recently discovered tribe of indigenous people located in the remote Brazilian rain forest last month, I had no idea that the story behind their existence was so, well, mundane. The tribe's existence was touted as an amazing discovery of a hitherto unknown group of native Brazilians. It seems, however that we've known about this tribe's existence for decades. Well, not me and you, but the sociologist types who study these things.

According to a recent internet report, the tribe has been monitored since before the first World War.

Here, again, is my question: "What, if any, responsibility do Christians have to reach this "lost" tribe with the good news of Jesus Christ?" How is it possible that four (or more) generations of these people have died without a saving knowledge of God's Son?

Seriously, I want to know. Should your church and my church be doing something about this?

Headed for the border

Son #1 and I are headed to Mexico tomorrow for a week-long mission trip. This is Caleb's first mission trip and first time traveling outside the United States. I am looking forward to our time together doing Kingdom work with brothers and sisters that are different from me and mine.

My good friend Lee Bracey, the Executive Director of Woodburn Christian Children's Home is preaching at South on Sunday. He is a good man and a good preacher. We're going to show this video to introduce Lee and WCCH.

Great neighbors

The Weller home in Grand Ledge was smacked by the storms that ripped through central Michigan on Saturday night. I stood and watched from the shelter of my garage as the neighbor's cottonwood whipped back and forth. I thought, for sure, it was going to go over. As it happened, it was our cottonwood that did not make it.

The twenty-five foot, twenty-five year old tree blew down across the entrance to our subdivision blocking our only way in and out. We were blessed that it did not land on (or perhaps in) the house. In the morning, as I left to go to church, I found myself unable to leave. My son and I grabbed the bow saw and hacked a few branches off to allow our car to squeeze through.

I left church expecting to come home to a cleanup chore. The neighbors, though, had it pretty well in hand. The tree was nearly completely cut up when I got home.

We fared well compared to many Grand Ledge residents. Coming back from an afternoon wedding on Sunday we were unable to get into town on M-100. Jenne Street remains closed. They did manage to clear Degroff Street so we were able to get home. Thankfully our power was restored by about 9:30 P.M. I know many others who were without power yet this morning.

The power of God in nature overwhelms me. When I realize that the wind and thunder and lightning are not even a fraction of God's omnipotence I am humbled.

Welcome home, Stanley

Jonah and I traveled to Detroit today with my buddy Fred to hang out at Hart Plaza celebrating the Red Wing's Stanley Cup victory. It was a blast! The day started with us hanging out at the Joe watching players arrive for the parade. Fred was able to get a great shot of Chris Draper hoisting the cup just a few feet away in the Joe Louis players' parking lot. Then we headed to Hart for the big rally. There were gazillions of people there. (Crowd estimates were several hundred thousand).

My favorite moment of the day, though, was when Detroit mayor Kwame Kilpatrick took the stage to offer his congratulations to the Wings. When I first saw him on the state, I leaned over and told Fred, "The question isn't if they will boo the mayor, the question is: will they stop?"

The answer is "no."

From the moment Kwame was introduced, the crowd screamed their boos and cat-calls, and didn't stop until he left the podium. I was only fifty yards from the stage, directly in front of the speakers, and I couldn't hear a word of what he was saying.

It's time for the mayor to get a clue and move on.

Sole custody of the maple tree

My buddy Mike told me about a guy he knows whose wife recently separated from him. Despite their marital difficulties the husband remained hopeful they might work through it. Then his wife hired a team of people to come to their home and dig up the hosta plants and azalea bushes she had planted. Shortly thereafter a giant tree mover rolled in and extracted the twenty foot tall maple from the front lawn and carted it away leaving a gaping hole in front of the house.

Mike's assessment: this thing ain't gonna blow over.

Seems like there is a metaphor for divorce somewhere in that maple tree's roots, eh Kjergaard?

More from Dave Ramsey

Mrs. Frankly and I went to lunch today at bd's Mongolian Barbecue. Very tasty! Since our birthdays are only fifteen hours apart, and since bd's offers free lunch on your birthday, we were able to eat for only the cost of our two soda pops and the tip.

While there, I engaged our server, Jonathon, in conversation. I mentioned that I am preaching about Jonathon this Sunday. He asked what church I preach at and, when I told him South Lansing Christian Church on Aurelius Road, he knew it right away. "I drive past there on my way to work in Ionia every day," he told me.

"What are you doing driving to Ionia?" I asked.

"I manage a Walgreen's there."

"Then what are you doing waiting tables here?"

His response: "This is my Dave Ramsey job."

Tracy and I looked at each other and cracked up. We went on to talk about FPU and the recent car repair he had that cleaned out his emergency fund. He told me that he bought life insurance recently and, when the salesman tried to sell him whole life, he insisted on term. The insurance salesman pressed him to get whole but when Jonathon stayed true to FPU the guy said, "Wait a minute. You're in that class aren't you?"

"What class?"

"The one with that radio guy."

"You mean Dave Ramsey?"

"Yeah that's the one. You're not going to buy this policy are you?"

"Nope."

Way to go Jonathon. And way to go Dave. Thanks for helping Tracy and I work through our financial challenges. So far, we've paid off over $4,000 in debt and have about $500 in our emergency fund. We're on week seven and moving along strong. I've got my own "Dave Ramsey job," too, and we're looking to become debt free - to live like no one else so we can give like no one else.

WWDRD?

The Seattle Post-Intelligencer is reporting that a Milwaukee farmer found $1700 in dry-rotted depression era cash stuffed in a rusted metal box in a shed he was tearing down on his farm. Apparently, rumors of the cash have floated around for years. Dan Deming, the farm's owner, began searching around the farm about three years ago when he received a metal detector for his birthday.

Hmmmmmm. Cash stuffed in a box in an old shed back in 1935. What would Dave Ramsey do? Well, $1700 invested in a decent mutual fund in 1935, with interest compounded would now be worth $342,424 today. Guess that farmer blew that one, huh.

Thanks, Dave . . .

Breitbart carried a story today about a woman who lived for 58 years in an "iron lung" machine. Stricken by polio at age 3, she lived to the age of 61 when, earlier today, she passed away due to a power failure and her family's inability to start up their backup generator.

She graduated High School, received an honorary college degree, and wrote a children's book, all in her confined condition. Amazing.

People shaping people

I am beginning a new sermon series, Making David, this Sunday at South Lansing Christian Church.

Imagine Michelangelo walking around the stone that would become David. The six-foot high slab of marble awaits his chisel. Blow by blow, bit by bit, this master artisan shapes the shapeless into a masterpiece. Surrounded by shards of stone, he lays down his tools and stares in wonder at the form that has emerged. It is finished, perfect, a work for the ages.

God shapes us into who he wants us to be, too. The artist’s medium is stone or maybe clay; God works in flesh and blood. The artist uses his hands, a mallet, chisels of various shape and size; God uses people in our lives to make us into who he wants us to be. Our relationships – both those that are good and those that are bad – shape us and mold us. It is unlikely that David would have become “a man after God’s own heart” without the people he experienced – and in some cases endured.

I think of some of the people who have helped shape me into the person I am today. I remember being fired from one of my first jobs. I baled hay for my uncle Miles. He told me to be at the farm at 10 AM but, because of problems with the baler, the first load didn't arrive until well after lunch. When it came time to settle up, I complained about not being paid for the time I wasted waiting. Big mistake. Uncle Miles never called me to bale again. The lesson: choose very carefully when and if you plan to confront the boss.

I remember the encouragement of Pearl Gerner and Mary Pearson in my early years and Lloyd Mealer in more recent years. They helped me to find and follow my calling. I am grateful for friends like Fred and Mike and Mike and countless others who stand beside me whether they've been next door or in the next state.

There have been a couple of Nathans in my life, too - people who've lovingly but firmly confronted me when I messed up. I once planned a church-wide, month-long prayer emphasis while the Senior Minister was out of town. He returned from vacation to find out his Associate Minister had committed him to preach on prayer for the next few weeks. Gary was really cool about it, but he made it clear that I needed to communicate better.

All of us have people in our lives who have helped shape us. Who has helped shape you?

Way down in Kokomo

Headed back to central Indiana on Sunday to preach at the Judson Road Christian Church. Tracy and I were really blessed to begin full-time ministry with the gold folks at Kokomo Church of Christ, as they were then known. Dr. Gary Carpenter was my "boss," mentor, and encourager. Gary is still preaching at Judson Road. He is, quite simply, one of my favorite preachers. Gary is away on a well-deserved sabbatical.

Tracy and I are looking forward to seeing the McCartys, the Russells, the Snows, the Kuhns, the Baers, and regular Frankly Speaking reader "Bruce," and dozens of other people who played a huge role in our early ministry years. We might even cruise through Highland Park to see "Old Ben." It oughta be a great time!

He touched me . . .

Since switching to the Mac, I've struggled to find a PDA that played nice with the Apple. Finally, with the acquisition of an iPod Touch, I've landed on a solution. The Touch is basically and iPhone without the phone or the camera. It keeps my contacts, my email and my calendar. the early review: I love it!

The best part of the deal is we were able to do so without costing the church any bucks - thanks to the creativity of Wally Lowman. We sold the old PDA on eBay and transfered the phone service from the Treo to the Razor. Chad gets the Treo, Frank gets the iPod, and Wally gets a big wet kiss.

Truth versus falsity

Spoke today from 1 John 4:1-6 about how we as believers can know the truth from falsehood. Had a bit of a technical problem with the video I planned to show. So, for all you Southies, here is what you missed:

Every time I think I've seen it all . . .

Read tonight that some dude is selling Gideon's Bibles on Craigslist. Bibles that he freely admits he took over the years. In all fairness, he's willing to sell them at a discount . . . if the bidder is a Gideon.

Only $50 for 67 King James Bibles. Hurry while they're still available.

Click here for the listing.

UPDATE
I emailed the seller of the Bibles yesterday to ask him how he could, in good conscience, sell Gideon Bibles. That he stole . . . er, received . . . for free from the hotels where he lodged. Here is his reply:

Hey there Frank, thanks for your interest in those bibles. Their a good deal as you can tell.

Let me know when you can come pick them up. I can't let my ex wife know about the sale cause I owe her some money and don't want her to get any of this, you know where I'm coming from.

The bibles are in her basement so we would have to go over when she is at work. My car is in the shop so I can't bring them to my house.
Let me know when you can meet me there.

You can't make this stuff up . . .

Back on the market . . .

Our family just returned from Butler, Indiana. We spent the day cleaning our old home at 205 W. Oak St. We sold it late last year to a young couple. They purchased the house on land contract but, sadly, they moved out recently. Consequently, we find ourselves needing to sell the home again.

It is a real beauty, and priced to move. If you know someone who is looking for a nice home on a quiet street in a great little town, please send them my way. You can email me by clicking on the link to the right.

You can also click here to see our Craig's List listing.

An olfactory buffet

Went for a jog tonight. The spring colors were amazing. Pink and lavender crabapple trees in full bloom lined Degroff Street. Purple lilacs are blossoming. The tulips are hanging on, as are the few forsythias that haven't turned green. Even the magnolia trees seem unready to cast their blooms just yet.

The most amazing thing about the run, though, was the plethora of smells. At every turn there was some new sweet scent wafting across the humid evening breeze.

Absolutely beautiful. . .

True Identity

This morning I am preaching about our identity in Jesus Christ. 1 John makes it clear that we are children of God.

Yesterday my son got his United States Passport in the mail. He intends to put his first stamp in it on a mission trip to Mexico this June. He is a documented United States citizen now. He has certain rights and privileges. He can live and work here. He can freely cross our nation's international borders. He can run for President when he is thirty-five and try to clean up the messes that this year's candidates are likely to leave when they walk away from the Oval Office.

As believers in Jesus Christ, we have rights and privileges, too. John wrote that, "he who has the Son has life." Our belief in Jesus provides us with a passport, so to speak, that enables us to cross far greater borders than are here on earth. With Christ, we cross over from death to life!

A man's gotta do . . .

Several have asked aloud why my posts to Frankly Speaking have been less frequent of late. The simple truth of the matter is this: I've taken on a temporary part-time job.

Tracy and I are participating in our church's Financial Peace University class. Many are familiar with this great money management class that is taught by Dave Ramsey. In it, he teaches students to take "baby steps." Baby step one is simple: get $1000 in an emergency fund. So, when the opportunity arose for me to take on a three week gig grading standardized tests for a company named Pearson, I jumped at it. The job will enable me to bank about $750 in three weeks and will put me well on my way to starting a healthy emergency fund.

Regrettably, the job is five days a week from 6-10 PM. This has been less than ideal for me and my family.

Still, I can't help but feel a little like Pa Ingalls heading off to the rock quary to find work after the failed wheat harvest. (For those of you in the You Tube generation, that was a Little House on the Prairie reference.) There are times in life when a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, and going the extra mile to ensure my family's financial peace is one of those times.

Then again, when I think of the sacrifices that mothers and fathers all over the globe make for their children every day - going without food, working twelve hour days every day, serving in the military far away from home, giving up their lives - my working an extra shift for three weeks seems like nothing. The more I think about it, in fact, the more grateful I am that God gave me the opportunity.

So much for the Charles Ingalls analogy . . .