Back Home Again in Indiana . . .

Mrs. Frankly and I laid our heads down on our very own pillows at 3:30 AM Sunday morning following a 24-hour marathon trip from St. Louis du Nord, Haiti. We left the mission compound exactly 24 1/2 hours earlier. In between, we rode a bus, six airplanes, a train, a van and a car to get home. The mission trip was amazing. The people in Haiti are in such need, and the folks at Northwest Haiti Christian Mission are making such a big difference. I'm putting together a blog for the folks from our trip to share their pictures and stories. It will be located at www.myhaititrip.com Check back often to see the latest.

A New Take on an Old Prayer

David Gushee has an interesting take on the sinner's prayer in the online edition of Christianity Today. Here is what I had to say in response to his article:

"Radical trust calls for both belief and action." Gushee is right. If you take a look at the Greek word we generally translate "believe," you discover that it has three facets. Certainly belief, but also trust and response. In order to have a true biblical faith, I must believe - that is my head, I must trust - that is my heart, and I must respond - feet and hands. Therein lies the rub. For centuries, Christians have fussed over the question, "What is the appropriate response?" To be sure, the sinner's prayer is a response. But is it the most biblically correct response? I can't find it anywhere in the NT. So what is the biblical response? It is any number of actions - all of which can be found in connection with the Greek word(s) for salvation: repentance, confession, baptism, sanctification, and perseverance. The blood of Christ bought our freedom; we cannot earn forgiveness. But clearly there are actions we need to take to appropriate that for which Christ died.

Haiti, Here I Come

Leaving for Haiti for a mission trip this weekend. I checked out the 10-day forecast on weather.com and it looks like we'll be in the nineties the whole time we're there. Wow! I am ready for some warm weather!

Pray for us while we're working with Northwest Haiti Christian Mission.

Gotta Get Me One . . .

In this undated digitally altered image provided by the Topps baseball card company President Bush smiles and waves from the stands, right, and Mickey Mantle looks on from the dugout at left, as Derek Jeter swings his bat. A spokesperson for the Topps company said that somewhere between the final proofing of the card and its printing - when it was too late to stop it - someone within the company played a joke and inserted Bush and Mantle into the photograph.
(AP Photo/Topps)

God Deals in Cash

AP News is reporting that an Indiana man tried to cash a check from God at his local Chase Bank. Check it out:

HOBART, Ind. (AP) - Kevin Russell found out it's not easy trying to cash a check from God. The 21-year-old man was arrested Monday after he tried to cash a check for $50,000 at the Chase Bank in Hobart that was signed "King Savior, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Servant," Hobart police Detective Jeff White said.

Russell was charged with one count attempted check fraud and one count intimidation, both felonies, and one count resisting law enforcement, a misdemeanor. He could face prison time.

Police were called to the bank after Russell tried to cash the check, which was written on an invalid Bank One check with no imprint, White said. Russell had several other checks with him that were signed the same way but made out in different dollar amounts, including one for $100,000.

Russell struggled with police as they tried to detain him, White said, and then threatened police as they transported him to the Hobart Police Department.

"I've heard about God giving out eternal life, but this is the first time I've heard of him giving out cash," White said.

No court date has been set for Russell. He was being held Wednesday at the Lake County Jail on a $1,000 bond.

Maybe God will bail him out . . .

The Not So Sweet Smell of Spring

For some the first sign of spring is ground hog day. For others it is the sight of a robin pecking at the lawn in search of a juicy worm. For me it is, and has always been, spotting the first road-killed skunk of the year.

I eyeballed him in the center of US 6 this morning. Dead. Innards scattered across the center line. What a beautiful sight! Spring is almost here!

No Pain, No . . . Pain

I hit the gym hard Monday morning in an effort to tune up for our mission trip three weeks hence. (By the way, we could still use some funds for the trip. If any of you regular Frankly Speaking readers would like to contribute, please email me ASAP. - Thanks) Back to the gym.

I am using Bill Phillips' Body for Life. It has helped me shape up in the past, and I am confident that it will bring me around this time. Monday was upper body resistance training. I worked my pecs, biceps, triceps, shoulders, etc. It went really well. Until 3 AM Tuesday morning, that is. That is when I woke to a raging pain in my left arm and shoulder. I began slamming down the ibuprofen, and it is a bit better.

Yesterday was cardio. I loved it. Hitting the treadmill leaves me feeling energized - seriously. Today was lower body.

I have to tell you, I am praying my arm pain will subside some before I hit upper body again on Friday. Mrs. Frankly tells me, "you're not twenty-five anymore." I guess she is right.

Did I mention I am tanning, too. Now that is another story altogether.

Is This What Church Fights are Like?

Reuters carried this story today:

Fighting Surgeons Leave Patient in the Lurch

BELGRADE (Reuters) - A routine appendix operation in Belgrade went badly wrong when two surgeons started fighting and stormed from the operating theater to settle their dispute outside, the daily Politika reported Wednesday.

Surgeon Spasoje Radulovic was operating when his colleague Dragan Vukanic entered and made a remark that started a quarrel, said the anesthesiologist on duty.

"At one moment Vukanic pulled the ear of the operating doctor, slapped him in the face and walked out," she said.

Radulovic followed and an all-out fight ensued, resulting in bruises, a split lip, loose teeth and a fractured finger.

The operation was completed successfully by the attending assistant doctor.

Is it just me, or is that a picture of many churches you know? I don't recall who asked the question: "Is the church a museum for saints or a hospital for sinners?" Assuming it is the latter, what does it say when the physicians (believers) are so busy arguing with one another that the patients (unbelievers) are dying?

Jesus told his followers, ". . . I am giving you a new commandment: Love each other. Just as I have loved you, you should love each other. Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples." (John 13:34-35, NLT)

Do you suppose the converse of Jesus' statement is equally true?

Leaving the "Christian Cocoon"

I have been preaching about evangelism for the past three weeks in a series based on Bill Hybels' book, Just Walk Across the Room. Sunday, Bruce came up and told me this story about his brother-in-law. With his permission, I want to pass it along to you:

When Tom Michael went off to college, his parents, Wayne and Sue, were a little concerned about how he would handle his faith among the pagan world. After all he had never been out of his "Christian Cocoon" for any real extended time. Western Michigan University was a large college, and a long way from home. Not only that, but he was a bass player in a band that would be playing at night clubs or bars. Not the type of places that would make a christian mother and father comfortable. How would he handle the pressures of the world, his friends, and of course the temptations one has when you're away from home?

Well, Tom had an answer to all the questions. He was a young man who's faith in God was more important to him than anything else. But that was not good enough for him. No, he made sure that the people around him would see that his faith was strong. He wanted them to see that God's way of life was better than anything they had ever experienced before.

Having that kind of attitude made it very easy for God to use him.

By the time Tom graduated, he had led 17 people to the Lord. Had he not gone to Western Michigan, but a Bible college instead, I wonder how many non-Christians he would have reached. I've felt for a long time that a Christian's duty is to be friends of sinners. As you stated so well on Sunday, Jesus made it a habit to spend a lot of time with sinners.

Tom's career as a bass player took him from Western Michigan's Gold Company all the way to Nashville. His commitment to Christ took him all the way from small-town bars to big-city arenas playing bass for the Christian worship band Sonicflood. Frankly Speaking, Tom is a great example for you and me to follow, don't you think?

Choosing to Serve vs. Choosing to be a Servant

I am re-reading Richard Foster's book Celebration of Discipline as part of a leadership training course I am conducting with some guys in our church. I loved this quote from his chapter on service:

Right here we must see the difference between choosing to serve and choosing to be a servant. When we choose to serve, we are still in charge. We decide whom we will serve and when we will serve. And if we are in charge, we will worry a great deal about anyone stepping on us, that is, taking charge over us.

But when we choose to be a servant, we give up the right to be in charge. There is great freedom in this. If we voluntarily choose to be taken advantage of, then we cannot be manipulated. When we choose to be a servant, we surrender the right to decide who and when we will serve. We become available and vulnerable.

Foster is right on. There is a subtle, but significant difference between the two. The "way of Frank" is choosing to serve. But the "way of Christ" is choosing to be a servant. The farther I come, the more I realize I've got farther to go.

This World is not My Home . . .

Breitbart is reporting compelling story out of its Asian bureau today:

BANGKOK, Feb. 7 (UPI) -- A woman who boarded the wrong bus on an attempted shopping trip from Thailand to Malaysia has returned home after 25 years.

Jaeyana Beuraheng told her eight children she accidentally boarded a bus bound for Bangkok instead of Malaysia, and once there she boarded a second incorrect bus because she could not read or speak Thai or English, The Times of London reported Wednesday.

Beuraheng, who speaks only the Yawi dialect used by Muslims in southern Thailand, said the noise and traffic of the big city confused and disoriented her, leading her to board the second wrong bus to Chiang Mai, near the border with Burma.

The woman said she spent five years begging on the street in the city and was often mistaken for a member of a hill tribe because of her dark skin tone.

She was arrested in 1987 on suspicion of being an illegal immigrant and was sent to a social services hostel when authorities were unable to determine her origins.

However, last month, three students from her home village arrived at the hostel for training, and they were able to communicate with Beuraheng and help her find her way home.

My friend Brent Avery tells me that the longing every believer has in their heart is the longing to go home. To go back to the Garden, where the world was perfect, untainted by sin. To go back to that place where the Father is, that place we can truly, finally call home. Every person whose heart has yearned for that home understands what this dear woman went through. And every person who has been embraced by the Father understands the joy she must have felt at her reunion.

Dancing to the NFL's Tune

Because of the uproar over churches being able to, or not being able to show the big game on Sunday, our church complied with the NFL's requirements. I issued the following statement on Sunday morning:

As you’ve no doubt heard, the National Football League recently came out with guidelines concerning who can and cannot watch tonight’s big game. Consequently, we have prepared the following statement. . .

Earlier this week, the National Football League contacted an Indianapolis church to tell them that they could not continue with their longstanding tradition of a Super---- party. The church had planned a Super---- party to watch their beloved Colts take on the might Bears in Super---- XLI. Because the church planned to charge admission and watch the Super---- on their large screen projection system, the NFL objected.

Concern about the erosion of profits from the 2.6 million dollars they receive for each 30 second Super---- commercial prompted the league to ban such parties. The league laid down the following guidelines. First, churches are banned from using the word Super----. Second, the game may only be watched on screens measuring 55 inches or less. Third, churches may not give a Christian testimony at half-time.

Because of the league's decision, Butler Church of Christ has made the following adjustments to this year’s Super---- party. First, our video projection will be shrunk down to it’s minimum size. Second, we will not be charging for the food, but will rather suggest a donation which students may or may not make. Third, we will not use the word Super---- any further. Although we had inadvertently used the word Super---- in our publicity material (something we deeply regret), we will no longer use the word Super----.

Instead, we urge our sponsors, staff, and attendees to use the following alternatives when referring to the big game:

Super Sunday
Superbowl-o
Super-duper bowl
The big game
There was a church they had a bowl and game-o was its name-o
And finally . . . Supercalifradulisticexpialidcous-bowl.

Hopefully this clears up any concern about the legal standing our church has in connection with tonight’s Super-duper bowl-o event. We look forward to seeing you all back here tonight at 5:30 P.M.

A Great Leadership Quote

Read this today in John Maxwell's Developing the Leader Within You:

Leonard Lauder, president of Estee-Lauder said, "When a person with experience meets a person with money, the person with experience will get the money. And the person with the money will get the experience."

A Life WIthout Left Turns

Richard Minheart sent me this article. It is written by Michael Gartner in USA Today.

My father never drove a car.

Well, that's not quite right.

I should say I never saw him drive a car. He quit driving in 1927, when he was 25 years old, and the last car he drove was a 1926 Whippet.

"In those days," he told me when he was in his 90s, "to drive a car you had to do things with your hands, and do things with your feet, and look every which way, and I decided you could walk through life and enjoy it or drive through life and miss it."

At which point my mother, a sometimes salty Irishwoman, chimed in:

"Oh, bull——!" she said. "He hit a horse."

"Well," my father said, "there was that, too."

So my brother and I grew up in a household without a car. The neighbors all had cars — the Kollingses next door had a green 1941 Dodge, the VanLaninghams across the street a gray 1936 Plymouth, the Hopsons two doors down a black 1941 Ford — but we had none. My father, a newspaperman in Des Moines, would take the streetcar to work and, often as not, walk the 3 miles home. If he took the streetcar home, my mother and brother and I would walk the three blocks to the streetcar stop, meet him and walk home together.

Our 1950 Chevy

My brother, David, was born in 1935, and I was born in 1938, and sometimes, at dinner, we'd ask how come all the neighbors had cars but we had none. "No one in the family drives," my mother would explain, and that was that. But, sometimes, my father would say, "But as soon as one of you boys turns 16, we'll get one."

It was as if he wasn't sure which one of us would turn 16 first.

But, sure enough, my brother turned 16 before I did, so in 1951 my parents bought a used 1950 Chevrolet from a friend who ran the parts department at a Chevy dealership downtown. It was a four-door, white model, stick shift, fender skirts, loaded with everything, and, since my parents didn't drive, it more or less became my brother's car.

Having a car but not being able to drive didn't bother my father, but it didn't make sense to my mother. So in 1952, when she was 43 years old, she asked a friend to teach her to drive. She learned in a nearby cemetery, the place where I learned to drive the following year and where, a generation later, I took my two sons to practice driving. The cemetery probably was my father's idea. "Who can your mother hurt in the cemetery?" I remember him saying once.

For the next 45 years or so, until she was 90, my mother was the driver in the family. Neither she nor my father had any sense of direction, but he loaded up on maps — though they seldom left the city limits — and appointed himself navigator. It seemed to work.

The ritual walk to church

Still, they both continued to walk a lot. My mother was a devout Catholic, and my father an equally devout agnostic, an arrangement that didn't seem to bother either of them through their 75 years of marriage. (Yes, 75 years, and they were deeply in love the entire time.) He retired when he was 70, and nearly every morning for the next 20 years or so, he would walk with her the mile to St. Augustin's Church. She would walk down and sit in the front pew, and he would wait in the back until he saw which of the parish's two priests was on duty that morning. If it was the pastor, my father then would go out and take a 2-mile walk, meeting my mother at the end of the service and walking her home. If it was the assistant pastor, he'd take just a 1-mile walk and then head back to the church.

He called the priests "Father Fast" and "Father Slow."

After he retired, my father almost always accompanied my mother whenever she drove anywhere, even if he had no reason to go along. If she were going to the beauty parlor, he'd sit in the car and read, or go take a stroll or, if it was summer, have her keep the engine running so he could listen to the Cubs game on the radio. (In the evening, then, when I'd stop by, he'd explain: "The Cubs lost again. The millionaire on second base made a bad throw to the millionaire on first base, so the multimillionaire on third base scored.") If she were going to the grocery store, he would go along to carry the bags out — and to make sure she loaded up on ice cream.

As I said, he was always the navigator, and once, when he was 95 and she was 88 and still driving, he said to me, "Do you want to know the secret of a long life?" "I guess so," I said, knowing it probably would be something bizarre.

"No left turns," he said.

"What?" I asked.

"No left turns," he repeated. "Several years ago, your mother and I read an article that said most accidents that old people are in happen when they turn left in front of oncoming traffic. As you get older, your eyesight worsens, and you can lose your depth perception, it said. So your mother and I decided never again to make a left turn."

"What?" I said again. "No left turns," he said. "Think about it. Three rights are the same as a left, and that's a lot safer. So we always make three rights."

"You're kidding!" I said, and I turned to my mother for support. "No," she said, "your father is right. We make three rights. It works."

But then she added: "Except when your father loses count."

I was driving at the time, and I almost drove off the road as I started laughing. "Loses count?" I asked. "Yes," my father admitted, "that sometimes happens. But it's not a problem. You just make seven rights, and you're okay again."

I couldn't resist. "Do you ever go for 11?" I asked.

"No," he said. "If we miss it at seven, we just come home and call it a bad day. Besides, nothing in life is so important it can't be put off another day or another week."

My mother was never in an accident, but one evening she handed me her car keys and said she had decided to quit driving. That was in 1999, when she was 90. She lived four more years, until 2003. My father died the next year, at 102. They both died in the bungalow they had moved into in 1937 and bought a few years later for $3,000. (Sixty years later, my brother and I paid $8,000 to have a shower put in the tiny bathroom — the house had never had one. My father would have died then and there if he knew the shower cost nearly three times what he paid for the house.) He continued to walk daily — he had me get him a treadmill when he was 101 because he was afraid he'd fall on the icy sidewalks but wanted to keep exercising — and he was of sound mind and sound body until the moment he died.

A happy life

One September afternoon in 2004, he and my son went with me when I had to give a talk in a neighboring town, and it was clear to all three of us that he was wearing out, though we had the usual wide-ranging conversation about politics and newspapers and things in the news. A few weeks earlier, he had told my son, "You know, Mike, the first hundred years are a lot easier than the second hundred." At one point in our drive that Saturday, he said, "You know, I'm probably not going to live much longer." "You're probably right," I said. "Why would you say that?" he countered, somewhat irritated. "Because you're 102 years old," I said. "Yes," he said, "you're right." He stayed in bed all the next day. That night, I suggested to my son and daughter that we sit up with him through the night. He appreciated it, he said, though at one point, apparently seeing us look gloomy, he said: "I would like to make an announcement. No one in this room is dead yet." An hour or so later, he spoke his last words:

"I want you to know," he said, clearly and lucidly, "that I am in no pain. I am very comfortable. And I have had as happy a life as anyone on this earth could ever have."

A short time later, he died.

I miss him a lot, and I think about him a lot. I've wondered now and then how it was that my family and I were so lucky that he lived so long.

I can't figure out if it was because he walked through life.

Or because he quit taking left turns.

God Bless Brandon Stout

Great Lakes Christian College student, and Michigan National Guardsman Brandon Stout was killed in Iraq last Monday. The GLCC website made this announcement:

We received word that Brandon Stout was killed in Iraq on Monday. Brandon was one of our students who planned to continue his schooling after his tour of duty. No other details are known atthis time. Audrey, his wide, lives in Grand Rapids. Audrey is attending GLCC and was one of our assistant volleyball coaches. For more information you can contact Wendy Ickes, wickes@glcc.edu.

Channel 4 News in Detroit carried the following:

On Monday, Army Spc. Brandon Stout, 23, of Grand Rapids was killed when an explosive detonated near his vehicle in Baghdad.

Stout was assigned to the 46th Military Police Company, Michigan Army National Guard in Kingsford.Stout was a 2002 graduate of Kent City High School, about 20 miles north of Grand Rapids. After being activated in July, Stout deployed to Fort Dix, N.J., and reached Iraq in October. He was assigned to help Iraqi police with their duties, his mother-in-law, Laura Hinken, told The Grand Rapids Press.

Hinken, of Grand Rapids, said she regarded Stout as her own son.

"Oh, man, if I gave birth to him, I could not love him any more," she said. "You met him, and you liked him right away. He was the most wonderful husband that I could ask a daughter to have."

Her daughter, Audrey, who lives with Laura Hinken and her husband Gary, learned at the same time that her husband had died.

Audrey Stout said her husband joined the Guard in June 2003."

He just really felt called to serve," she said. "He had hoped to be a chaplain's assistant when he joined the Guard. But he was very proud to be an MP."

The pair met while attending Great Lakes Christian College in Lansing. They were married in May 2005 and she moved back in with her parents after he shipped out.

Stout's mother, Tracy Anderson, 39, of Kent City, said she was comforted by the fact that her son believed in what he was doing in Iraq.

"He knew it was his job and he was proud to serve," Anderson said. "He didn't complain. He didn't try to get out of it. He was very proud to want to go and serve."

Please join me in praying for Brandon's family.

Money, Money, Money, Money

I'm preaching on giving this week at Butler Church of Christ.
Do you suppose my sermon will be as good as this?

God is a Colt's Fan

Tom Brady , after living a full life, died. When he got to heaven, God was showing him around. They came to a modest little house with a faded Patriots flag in the window. "This house is yours for eternity, Tom" said God. "This is very special; not everyone gets a house up here." Tom felt special indeed, and walked up to his house. On his way up the porch, he noticed another house just around the corner. It was a three-story mansion with a blue and white sidewalk, a 50-foot tall flagpole with an enormous Colts flag, and in every window there was a Colts towel.

Tom looked at God and said, "God, I'm not trying to be ungrateful, but I have a question. I was an all-pro quarterback, I hold many NFL records, and I even won a few Superbowls."

God said, "So what's your point, Tom?"

"Well, why does Peyton get a better house than me?"

God chuckled, and said, "Tom, that's not Peyton's house, it's mine."

Is it . . . Manna?

Woke up this morning to a strange powdery white substance covering the ground. At first I thought . . . manna! But then I seemed to remember seeing something on the news about there being snow in Denver. Yeah, that's what it is. . . snow. The first snowfall of this winter in Northeastern Indiana. Glad I didn't go spend a load of bucks on a new snow blower.

Go Colts!!!!

This is the year for Manning and the boys. Go Colts! Beat the Patriots!

One Messed Up Church Potato

Heard one this week that makes me scratch my head. I imagine it makes Christ weep, though.

Seems an area church was dissatisfied with their preacher. I don't know the reasons. I don't know the situation. In any event, two weeks ago the elders of the church fired him. He then exercised a clause in his contract that allowed him to save his job by calling for a congregational vote of confidence. The vote took place last Sunday. A couple of observations:

1. Since when can the congregation of a church trump the God ordained leadership? If the overseers of the church decide it is time to go, then isn't it time to go? Somehow I can't see the church in Ephesus saying to Paul, "Hey we've took a vote on this Jerusalem trip you have planned, and we decided that you're not going."
   
2. What genius wrote up a contract with a clause in it that allows for the neutering of the church's leaders in the first place? Maybe the same guy that decided it would be a good idea to take a survey to see whether people prefer singing hymns or choruses.
   
3. What sort of preacher would think there is any way to come out of this situation with an effective ministry? Whatever the outcome of the vote, the congregation will be divided. This job ain't worth saving, methinks.
   

In case you're wondering (and I know you are) the vote was 38-36. In favor of keeping the preacher. So, the church is left with an emasculated eldership, a divided body, and a disgruntled pastor.

In their book, Simple Church, Thom Rainer and Eric Geiger compare the unity of the body of Christ to a Mr. Potato Head toy. (You've got to read the book to really get the metaphor, but stick with me here.) You remember Mr. Potato Head, don't you? When properly put together, he's one dapper tuber. But, as often happens, a youngster puts the nose where the arm goes, and the eyes where the feet belong, and Senor Patata Cabesa ends up looking . . . well . . . messed up. Were he a living sentient being, Brother Head would be in real trouble, unable to see, walk, talk, etc.

When the body of Christ lacks unity, they are messed up. I don't know who is to blame for the mess at our sister church, I really don't. But if my friends over there can't get it together, I suspect their going to find themselves knee deep in the mashed potatoes. And, that is truly sad.