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.