My One Sermon

I need your help—especially if you’re familiar with my preaching. Last week a pastor-friend and I engaged in an email dialogue around an article on preaching my friend had read and forwarded to me. Growing out of our dialogue was a discussion over something I had read in Eugene Peterson’s book, Pastor: A Memoir. Peterson wrote that his minister-son once told him, "Dad, you only have one sermon." For the longest time that troubled Peterson. He thought about his hours of preparation, the variety of biblical texts he employed, his openness to the text and the Spirit, his applications to the local congregation. In Peterson’s judgment, it sure seemed like he had a lot more than one sermon in his almost three-decade repertoire. But some years later, it struck him what his son meant—essentially this: most preachers who preach their own sermons have one dominating theme no matter the text. It might be grace or the cross or judgment or moral codes or something else, but there's something inside us pastors, created by life-experience and our relationship with Christ and the Bible, that seems to find its way in content or tone or spirit into our sermon pretty much every time we preach. I think I buy that. 

 And it got me to thinking about what my “one sermon” might be. My one sermon is probably, “Give more money!” With all the building campaigns I’ve endured in thirty years of pastoring, it sometimes feels like it. But, no, that's not it. It's something else. As I was pondering this “one sermon” thing, a past conversation came to mind. In one of my last Sundays at First Baptist Church of Greenwood, Missouri, a church I served for more than thirteen years, one of the leaders of our congregation approached me after the service. “I’m really going to miss your preaching,” he said. “I’ve been listening to you preach for years, and no matter what your text or topic, no matter whether you challenge us or comfort us, you always leave us with hope.” Someone listening in to the conversation was quick to agree: “Yes, you always leave us with hope.” I think he meant that before I put the amen on my sermon, I try to leave people with hope in Christ, hope that God is bigger and better than we know, hope that God loves us and God is for us and God is with us, hope that God isn’t finished with us yet, hope that past sins and failures don’t define our lives forever, hope for a new beginning and a fresh start, and even the hope of heaven when we take that last breath on earth. The more I reflect on my preaching, I think he’s right. And I’m okay with that. 

 So, here’s where I need your help: if you’re familiar with my preaching, what do you think is my one sermon? Did the guy in Greenwood get it right, or do you hear some other more prominent theme underneath my preaching? I’ve never used my blog to get evaluation, but what the heck. I’ve been thinking about this for a few days. I’m interested in your thoughts. You can make your comments either in the “comment section” on the blog site or on the Facebook link. Fire away, my friends, and thanks in advance for your investment in my ministry. Who knows? Your feedback might even make me a better preacher. And pretty much everybody who’s heard me preach would agree that that would be a good thing.

Of Presidents and Pastors: Harry Truman and Leadership

One of my favorite biographies of all time is David McCullough’s Truman: the life story of President Harry S. Truman. I read that shortly after it was released, in part, because I’ve always enjoyed history and biographies and presidential stuff. I had a special interest in Truman because at the time I was living in the Kansas City area. Truman lived most of his life in that area—Independence, Missouri, in particular. I’ve visited his library a couple of times. I’ve seen his house near downtown Independence. I was very familiar with many of the places Truman once walked and campaigned and worked. It was a great read.

But I have to admit one of the things that struck me most in my reading was the way that being a president and being a pastor share some of the same burdens. I’m not saying that being a pastor is as difficult as being the president. I don’t have to worry about terrorism, nuclear proliferation, the economy, and trying to get stuff done with a group of people, half of whom, want to see me run out of office at the next election. (Well, maybe that last one does apply to pastors from time to time.) Pastoral work is not as difficult, the burdens not as heavy, the consequences of my decisions and actions not usually so far reaching. Still, reading Truman showed me there are some similarities. Let me highlight four.

Here’s the first. In November, 1947, Harry Truman wrote his sister and told her that no man in his right mind would ever wish to be President if he knew what it entailed. What he wrote about the presidency often rings true with the pastorate. Listen to what he wrote her: "Aside from the impossible administrative burden, he has to take all sorts of abuse from liars and demagogues … The people can never understand why the President does not use his supposedly great power to make 'em behave. Well, all the President is, is a glorified public relations man who spends his time flattering, kissing, and kicking people to get them to do what they are supposed to do anyway." Sometimes the pastorate feels like that. While the church at its best shows herself to be the bride and the body of Christ, she can also be a royal pain in the rump. Someone once said that being in the church is sometimes like being in Noah's Ark: “If it weren't for the storm without, we could never stand the smell within.” And yet that is the outpost to which pastors are called—the church in all its beauty and mystery, its ugliness and pettiness, its divine and human elements. And sometimes pastors feel like no man in his right mind would ever wish to be the pastor of a local church if he knew what it entailed. That’s the first similarity.

Here’s the second. Harry Truman earned the nickname “Give ‘em hell” Harry. When asked why people called him that, Truman said, “I never gave anybody hell. I just told them the truth, and they thought it was hell.” Sounds like a lot of preaching a pastor has to do. It’s a pastor’s task to speak the truth whether people like it or not, whether it’s popular or not, whether it’s gets him a raise in his salary or a boot out the door. So that’s the second similarity.

Here's a third. In writing to Harry Truman about the Kennedy White House, Dean Acheson penned these words about their preoccupation with image: “This is a terrible weakness.  It makes one look at oneself instead of at the problem.  How will I look fielding this hot line drive to short stop?  This is a good way to miss the ball altogether.”  Pastors who are so overly concerned about what others think of them that they try to project an image rather than be true to who they truly are can stand this reminder: be yourself and focus on issues rather than appearances.

Now here’s the fourth. One of the issues that fell into Truman’s presidential lap was the random, senseless violence and blatantly unfair treatment against blacks. In trying to deal with the issue Truman was fighting strong opposition from the South, and even fighting his own prejudices. But he came to this conclusion, as written to one of his critics: "I can't approve of such goings on and I shall never approve of it, as long as I am here … I am going to try to remedy it and if that ends up in my failure to be reelected, that failure will be in a good cause." It’s been unusual in any age of politics for a politician to put principle ahead of popularity. We pastors could learn to do the same thing. Of course, like presidents, pastors are wise to pick their fights. If a pastor’s going to die trying to take a hill, it better be a hill worth dying on. But that element of courage is as important in pastoral work as it is in a president’s work. And the underlying integrity of such courage seems to be crucial to a pastor’s overall character.

So there you have it. There are other similarities, like Truman’s “The Buck Stops Here” placard on his desk; his wife’s distaste for, discomfort in, and dislike for being a president’s wife; following a popular president who had just been elected to his fourth term and then died in office; and Truman’s refusal to believe he was ever anything other than a common man. Those things also speak to the pastoral life. But I’ll save those things for another day.

I don’t know much about Truman’s religious faith. I do know he was thought to be a Baptist, and he did attend First Baptist Church in Independence now and then (it was only a block from his home). Apparently, his language could be a little salty. But if you don’t think a pastor’s language can be a little salty too, you’ve never played golf with one. Still, whether Truman was a committed Christian or not I’ve learned a lot from him. So on this President’s Day, I’m thankful for all our presidents. But today I’m thankful most of all for President Harry S. Truman who taught me how to be a better pastor.

To All the Pastors I've Loved Before

One of my favorite stories is about Jesus walking along one day when he came upon a man crying and he said, “My friend, what’s wrong?” The man replied, “I’m blind, can you help me?” Jesus healed the man and he went on his way.

Jesus continued along and came upon another man sitting and crying. “Good friend, what’s wrong?” The man answered, “I’m lame and can’t walk, can you help me?” Jesus healed the man and they both went down the road.

As Jesus continued on he came upon a third man crying. Jesus said, “Good friend, what’s wrong?” He answered, “I’m a minister.” And Jesus sat down and wept with him.

You may or may not be aware of this, but October is National Pastor Appreciation Month. I guess somebody decided that if mothers and fathers and grandparents each get a day each year to be appreciated, pastors ought to get a month. Not sure I grasp the logic, but many church people do seem to buy into it and shower their pastors with cards and notes and even a gift or two. It’s thoughtful.

Here’s my problem with it, however: I don’t have a pastor to appreciate. I am a pastor. Oh, I certainly can and do appreciate our staff pastors who coordinate and oversee various ministries within the church. But none of them are my pastor. I feel quite like the atheist who in a weak moment feels overcome with gratitude for the blessings and good fortune of his life and yet has no one to thank for them. What can I do for Pastor Appreciation Month?

How about this? I can use this forum to express appreciation for all the pastors I have had in my life. In God’s providence he has put pastors in my path that have had various levels of influence on my life. Even a bad detective could find the fingerprints of every one of them on my 30 year body of work as a pastor. So here’s to the all the pastors I’ve loved before.

I don’t even remember the name of my first pastor. That church is no longer in existence and both my parents are dead, so I don’t know how I would find his name even if I wanted to. But he was pastor of St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church in Little Rock, Arkansas. I was just a little kid when we attended that church. I do remember that he had black hair, a five o’clock shadow, and was not an exceptionally big fellow. I remember the black robe he wore in worship. And I remember he didn’t seem to mind that on my way from Sunday School to the sanctuary I would stop at the church library and check out a Dr. Seuss book to help me get through big church with minimal wiggling and fidgeting. I remember he noticed me at the door and shook my hand too as we were leaving the church. I don't think I was just a face to him; I think he considered me part of his flock too.

I don’t remember the name of my next pastor either. I was in third grade, and we were members of the Presbyterian Church in Ozark, Arkansas—where we lived for only six months. It was a small church. I don’t remember much about the pastor or his family except this: when my mother fell out in church and was hospitalized for a couple of weeks, my brothers and I spent a lot of that time in our pastor’s home. It seems like it was most every day after school. If pastors are supposed to be hospitable, this pastor and family fit the bill.

My next pastor was at the Presbyterian Church in Branson, Missouri. His name was Byron Price. He was a God-send to our family. My mom left my dad and took us boys to Branson to live with our grandmother. Pastor Price came alongside and really ministered to our mother and to us. Her new disability kept her from driving, and there were multiple occasions when Pastor Price and his wife drove my mother to Springfield to see her psychologist. Pastor Price was from Texas and he gave me a homemade slingshot with the state of Texas carved into its handle. It was a pretty cool gift for fifth-grade boy. I really liked the Price family—had a secret crush on his daughter Mary Beth who was my age. And I remember being very sad when the Lord called them to a different place.

The pastor who followed Byron Price at our church was Sammy Shrum. He and his wife had a couple of kids younger than I was. I remember him taking my younger brother and I out with him and his son to look at land. I remember playing cowboys with him around the big rocks on the land he was checking out. He was a good speaker according to everyone’s report, though all I remember of his sermons through my teenage years was his use of the phrase: “What the world needs now is love, sweet love.” Honestly, I mostly passed the time in worship up in the balcony avoiding the stare of my mother from the choir and filling in the o’s and p’s and d’s and b’s and q’s in the Sunday bulletin. (Rarely were there any q's, but if they were there, I filled them in too.) I also played a lot of hangman and the dot game to pass the time. Another thing that stands out about Pastor Shrum was his kindness to me when I made a big goof in church. At an end of worship business meeting, when, for some reason, the youth were sitting at the front, the vote came up on the pastor’s annual salary raise. “All in favor, say aye.” I said, “Aye.” "All opposed, no." And horror of horrors, I said, “No”—the only voice in the sanctuary to do so. Honestly, I wasn’t paying attention and was just following orders: "Say aye; say no." My mother and grandmother were mortified and sunk down in their seats in the choir. My youth leader thumped me on the head. And Pastor Shrum smiled a great big smile, looked right at me and said, “I think we’ve had a little slip of the tongue up here.” And that was that. My youth leaders never let me forget it, but Pastor Shrum never said another word. It was like he understood.

My next pastor was a Baptist. I made the move to First Baptist Church in Branson at the end of my senior year in high school. (No, I wasn’t run out of the Presbyterian Church for accidentally voting no.) I made a conscious choice to become a Baptist. That pastor’s name was Gary Fenton. Gary took a real interest in me. He baptized me. He encouraged me. He helped me process my call to ministry. He gave me the opportunity to preach my first sermon and created a position of Summer Campground Minister on the church staff so I could work for the church in the summer after my freshman year in college, preaching in local campgrounds and assisting the staff in the day to day duties of ministry. What a learning opportunity! Gary talked ministry and commentaries with me. A couple of years later, when Gary had left Branson, he invited me to preach a weekend youth revival at the next church he pastored in Windsor, Missouri. Gary came back to Branson to preach my ordination sermon a bit later as well. When she was a teenager, my wife Dayna babysat his children, so I felt close to Gary. I remember him looking in on my wife and I when we first moved to seminary. Things that stand out to me about Gary is that he is a very good preacher; he is very good with people; and he is a very hard worker. I learned a lot about ministry and preaching and people-skills from Gary. Even though he was only my pastor for year or so, he has had profound influence on me. We still stay in touch. I still learn from him.

The pastor that followed Gary to Branson was a man named Gilbert Spencer. I worked two summers at the Branson church with Gilbert. He also took an interest in me and helped me grow in my ministry. Gilbert wore these crazy-loud sports jackets he got from his missionary father-in-law from Singapore. Didn’t care for the jackets, but I sure enjoyed his preaching. It was so full of passion, so straight-forward. I don’t remember hearing a sermon that left me bored or rendered me semi-conscious. He was able to engage me every time. His passion was magnetic. You knew he believed to the depths of his core what he was preaching. Gilbert also gave me opportunities to preach at Branson and at the next church he served in Nixa, Missouri. He was a blessing to me on many levels. He was the pastor who tied the knot for Dayna and me.

My college pastors were also an influence on me. My college church was the First Baptist Church of Fayetteville, Arkansas. My first pastor there was Paige Patterson. Paige took a real interest in college students who were going into ministry. He spent time with us. He gave us a list to build a good minister’s library. He gave us copies of a couple of commentaries he wrote. He was dynamic and very sure of himself. I don’t think he was as good a preacher as Gary or Gil, but he was dynamic and used a lot of big words. These days, he’s much too dogmatic for my taste, but for a college freshman, new to a serious faith and new to ministry and theology, I needed a person like him who spoke with such certainty on issues. God used him in my life.

And God used the pastor that followed him too: Nathan Larry Baker. Dr. Baker took me under his wing early on his ministry at Fayetteville. He gave me a little $50 a week job sorting out his files and visiting new residents in the community to invite them to church. When our Youth and University Pastor left to further his education, Dr. Baker gave me that job—my first regular staff position in a church. He was patient with me, coached me, helped me on many levels. I learned a lot from Dr. Baker. He left FBC, Fayetteville, to go teach at Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Kansas City. I had planned to go to Fort Worth, Texas to seminary, but changed my mind and followed Dr. Baker to KC. Even there, he gave me opportunities. I was his grader. I got to spend some time with his family in their home. He helped me get my first ministry job as a seminary student too. I owe a lot to Dr. Baker. Dayna and I were so grateful for the way he helped me get started in ministry, that we named our son Nathan after him. We still stay in touch as well.

The last pastor I had was Bob Meade at First Baptist Church of Lee’s Summit, Missouri. In the summer of ’79 I was hired to be a summer youth minister there. That became a permanent Associate Pastor job when summer was over. Youth ministry was my primary focus but I got to do a lot of hospital work and preach for him occasionally too. He was not a very popular pastor in the church. Folks complained about him a good bit—some didn’t like his preaching, others didn’t like the way he ran things or the way he handled his schedule. Others complained that he played favorites with certain members of the congregation. And eventually, the church basically forced him to resign. That was a painful time for all of us—my first experience with how mean churches and Christians can be. Bob told the other staff member and me that we should resign along with him. We loved him, but we didn’t feel God leading us to do that. I think he understood. But he turned bitter over that whole episode. I learned a lot from that experience about church and about ministry. And I got the opportunity to preach every Sunday morning for almost a year during that interim period until I was called to my first pastorate. But here’s what I like to remember most about Bob. He knew I didn’t have much money. He knew I didn’t have a winter coat. He took me to the mall one day and bought me one. He did the same thing on another occasion to get me a sports coat. He was always kind and generous to me. He was always supportive of me. He believed in me. Bob died about five or six years later from a nasty stomach cancer—I think in part from the bitterness over the way things ended at Lee’s Summit. He deserved better.

So there you have it: my tribute to all the pastors I’ve loved before. I know this is long and probably not a very interesting read for most of you. But I guess I didn’t really write this for you; I wrote it for me—as a way to say thanks to God and to these faithful men who were my pastors along the way. I don’t have any gifts to give them. I won’t be sending any cards. But here’s my hope: that if by providence they know something of my ministry across the years, they can take great pleasure in knowing that any fruit I’ve born for the kingdom of God has been greatly influenced by the seeds of love, teaching, encouragement, and example they sowed into my life. Thank you, pastors. My life and ministry is better on earth because of your life and ministry. And if I gain any rewards on the other side, you share in those too. “Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain” (1 Cor. 15:58).

15 Years and Counting

As of June 1 it has been my privilege to serve the First Baptist Church of Hot Springs for 15 years. That’s a long time in pastor-years. It was mentioned this morning that in our 173 year history I now have the longest pastoral tenure by five years. That’s hard to believe—especially with a church that has been so stable for so long.

Some have asked me what the secret is to long pastoral tenure. (I was in my first pastorate for almost 14 years before I came to Hot Springs so folks think I must know something about this subject.) Well, I’ve thought about that question a lot, and I don’t know that I really have any answers. I did hear one answer from a long-tenured pastor. He said the secret to long tenure is this: no pulpit committees. It has to be more than that, but I don’t know that I can put my finger on it. Perhaps, however, these things have helped:

• I try to keep fresh in my relationship with the Lord so that I’m working in His power instead of my own.

• I try to love the church family as they are and not as I wish they might be.

• I try to bring it every Sunday.

• I try not to let either the criticism or the praise I receive linger in my heart and mind.

• I try to show up each day even when I don’t feel like it.

• I value church unity.

• I try to deal with church problems rather than sweep them under the rug.

• But at the same time, I try to pick my battles wisely.

• I try to assemble a good team of staff and volunteers.

• Rather than doing the same year of ministry every year, I try to make sure we’re always doing something in the church that keeps us moving forward in some way or another.

• I’ve always hated packing and moving.

And that’s pretty much it. You’d think someone with my experience would be wiser or more profound, huh? Sorry. That’s about all I got on the subject. But it seems to be working, and God seems to be using me, and the church seems glad I’m still around.

Today, as people were leaving several said, “I pray you’ll be here 15 more years.” To which I replied, “No you don’t. In 15 years I’ll be 68 going on 69 years old and you’ll be thinking, ‘Is that old man ever going to retire so we can get some young blood in here?’” I worry about that a little—knowing when it’s time, knowing when I’ve quit growing and started coasting, knowing when I’m a liability rather than an asset for the church. But I’m not going to worry about that today. Today, I'm giving thanks to God for allowing me to serve a church that loves my family as we are and that treats us better than we deserve. Today is celebration day because it’s been my great joy and privilege to have served the good family of First Baptist Church in Hot Springs for 15 years, and, God willing, for many more years to come.