A Little Baseball Wisdom for Pastors and Churches

Opening Day!  Woo-hoo!  This should probably be a national holiday … just saying.  I’m ready to root for my Baltimore Orioles for the next six months and, fingers crossed, just a little bit longer.  My beloved O’s are in the toughest division in baseball, but on opening day everything is possible.  We do currently sit atop our division in a tie for first place.  So on this opening day, I thought I'd connect two of my loves—Orioles baseball and ministry—and reflect on pastors and churches through a baseball lens.

The pastor is a player-coach.  He leads by word and example.  He doesn’t ask others to do things he wouldn’t do himself.  He doesn’t just pontificate; he is also in the thick of the game.  So after almost four decades in the ministry, more than three of them as a senior pastor, I want to share some of the wisdom I’ve accumulated.  Though I could have done a lot better at my job over the years, God has blessed and I have learned a few things along the way.  A caveat: you won’t see a lot of supernatural references in these little quips; God’s overarching providence and power are assumed.  So with that in mind, here goes.

·         The team belongs to the Owner; the coach’s job is to manage and develop the team.

·         The coach is going to take some criticism.  He needs to learn what he can from it and let the rest of it go.  His primary job is to please the Owner.

·         Our opponent is a tough out.

·         Coach the team up, not down.

·      There are no roster limits—you can’t have too many players on your team.

·         I’d rather go down swinging than take a called third strike.

·         Laying down a sacrifice to advance a teammate is a worthy at bat.

·         Sometimes you’ve got to play small ball to manufacture runs.  Small ball = don’t swing at bad pitches, a walk is as good as a hit, bunt for a base hit, sacrifice to move the runners, take the extra base every chance you get.  Small ball is neither flashy nor glamorous, but it gets the job done.

·         A long fly ball to the warning track is still an out.

·       Every player and every team is prone to a slump now and then—coaches too.

·      If you bat .300 in sharing Christ with others, you are an all-star; if you share your faith at all, you’re a starter on the team.

·         Don’t forget to thank the bat boys, the grounds crew, and the folks who clean the locker room—they’re part of the team too.

·          Pound the strike zone.

·         Even though you’ll probably never change the call, it’s okay to argue with the umpire once in a while on behalf of your team (see Job, Jeremiah, and the Psalms).

·         Everybody makes an error now and then, so lighten up.

·         Make sure the team gets plenty of practice.

·         The positions are different but every position matters.

·         Shuffle the line up every now and then; change the batting order once in a while.

·         The guys in the bullpen need to get their innings.

·        Don’t lose touch with the players on the Disabled List; they’re still part of the team.

·      Talk with each other in the field so there are no collisions and we don’t hurt ourselves.

·         The guy who scores and the guy who knocks him in count the same.

·         It’s okay to let a player rest and sit out a game now and then.

·         Work to maintain unity in the dugout and the locker room.

·         When you’re on a serious losing streak, a team meeting may be in order to clear the air and get refocused on the goal.

·       Don’t let the guy on the bench who would rather watch than play soak up all your energy; give your best attention to the ones who take the field.

·         Don’t be afraid to bring up the guy from the minor leagues and give him a shot at the big-time.  He just might become the rookie-of-the-year.

·         Most every team member thinks he’s a free agent, and some of them will leave your team to join another.  Don’t worry too much about that; you’ll probably grab your share of free agents too … whether you want them or not.

·         When team members get too old or infirm to play and have to take a seat in the stands, tip your hat to them now and then and honor them for all they’ve done.

·    In the course of a long season, some games are more important than others.  It’s important to discern the difference.

·         When on a winning streak, stay humble and stay hungry.

·      And no matter what happens with the team, remember this: the Owner always has your back.

So there you have it: a little pastoral/baseball wisdom on MLB’s opening day.  If you’re a pastor, I hope this encourages you a little bit.  If you’re a team member, I hope this helps you see some things through your coach’s (uh … pastor’s) eyes.  And if you’re either and you want to add a little pastoral/baseball wisdom of your own, please do so.

Go O’s!  Go Pastors!  And go Church!

He Turned Out Okay

Maybe in some ways I’m just a starry-eyed idealist, but I believe with all my heart that people can change, that anybody can change.  And why can’t they?  I believe in a God who saw fit to include in His Bible these words: “If anyone be in Christ, he is a new creature; old things pass away, all things become new” (2 Cor. 5:17).  People can change.  God is in the transformation business.  The man who wrote that Bible verse was once Church Enemy #1 yet became the church’s greatest missionary.  Being a pastor in a local church, I get a ringside seat to watch God change people.  I’ve watched the fearful find courage, the greedy turn generous, lost people found, haters learn to love, and sinners become saints.  Watching people change for the better is one of the great joys of my life.  And it reinforces my faith that God can change anybody.     

I was reminded of that just today.  I called to check on one of our church family who is stricken with Alzheimer’s.  Her memory is pretty much all gone now.  Life consists of spending a few hours each week at The Caring Place and staying home the rest of the time.  When I called to check on her, her son answered the phone.  Her son—a man who spent much of his life in trouble or in jail or both, a man who was so messed up and checked out that his parents had to raise his son.  I had a lot of agonizing conversations about him with his mom and dad who never gave up on him or never stopped loving him.  Sadly, his dad died some years ago, still praying and hoping for his son to change.  

Anyway, this son and I had a nice chat on the phone about his mother.  She lives with him now.  He takes care of her.  He keeps a steady job.  He’s changed.  He’s a different man in the same body.  Just before we hung up, he said something that struck me deeply.  And he said it with the tone of lingering regret: “I only wish dad could see how I turned out.”

“I suspect he knows,” I said.  “Somehow, I suspect he knows.”

Now the Bible is not clear on whether people in heaven can see us down here on earth, and it's also unclear about what they might know of what’s happening in our lives down here.  But this we know for sure: God sees, God knows.  And after all the prayers this man’s father offered up for him over the years, I suspect when his son changed, God let his dad know about it.  Approaching him with the wry grin of a man who was about to give someone a gift, God must have taken as much joy in telling him as the man did in hearing it: “Clay, you know your son you prayed for for years?  He turned out okay.”

Praise God who can change us all!

Of Presidents and Pastors: Ronald Reagan and the Importance of a Sense of Humor

Because I am something of a history buff, I’ve enjoyed reading a few presidential biographies across the years.  I enjoy people’s stories, and I’m always looking to learn from presidents things that might help me be a better pastor.  I posted on Harry Truman and leadership a few years ago (http://johnmccallum.blogspot.com/2011/02/of-presidents-and-pastors.html).  On this Presidents’ Day 2014, I’m thinking of Ronald Reagan and the importance of a sense of humor. 

While presidents and pastors deal with serious matters (and for pastors even eternal matters), a sense of humor can help us build relationships, reduce stress, make points people will hear, and change the tone of awkward moments.  Because preaching on money and marriage speak to areas of life that can create tension for our parishioners, a sense of humor comes in especially handy for topics like these.  A sense of humor can ease tension in an uncomfortable conversation too.  And it can also change the tone of a difficult business meeting.  Some pastors have a knack for this—it’s natural to them.  Others have to be more planned in their use of humor lest it come off contrived and flat.  Trial and error is the only way to figure this out.  But it’s worth the trying.  God doesn't call pastors to do stand up comedy, but a little humor in the right way at the right time can get some things done.

As presidents go, Ronald Reagan was known for his sense of humor.  Here are two stories that highlight how Reagan could use humor to diffuse tense moments and put people at ease—which, of course, usually helps people perform their functions at a higher level.

The first story comes from that March day in 1981 when Reagan was shot by a would-be assassin outside the Washington Hilton.  As Reagan was moved from the stretcher to the operating table, he looked at the team assembled around the table and quipped, “Please tell me you’re all Republicans.”  Not only did his comments draw a chuckle in a stress-packed, even life and death situation, that simple comment put the surgical team at a certain level of ease and focus.  Dr. Joseph Giordano, a liberal Democrat in his own politics, was even provoked by Reagan’s quip to answer in reply, “Mr. President, today we are all Republicans.”  We pastors could learn how just a little quip at the right time in the middle of a stressful meeting or conversation can ease tension for everyone in the room.  That’s one story. 

Here’s a second.  It’s a bit longer, and it's told by Peggy Noonan in her Reagan biography, When Character Was King.

Once, in 1981, the president and Mrs. Reagan gave a formal state dinner for the president of Venezuela, Luis Herrera Campins.  They had asked Frank Sinatra to take charge of the entertainment.  Sinatra, of course, was a veteran of such things—he’d put together JFK’s inaugural gala and had helped the Reagans before.  But this time Sinatra thought he’d do something different, jazz things up a little.

He asked Robert Goulet to be the evening’s main entertainment.  Goulet, the former Broadway star who played Vegas and other venues, was honored to be asked but had never sung at the White House and wasn’t quite sure what kind of material he should do.  He asked Sinatra what would be appropriate.

Sinatra told him these people at these formal parties have had enough with strings and cellists, let’s swing, do your act.  So Goulet did his act, singing a certain kind of sexy love song of the get-down variety and swinging his mike toward the Venezuelan president’s wife and crooning to her.  It was … a little cheesy, a little vulgar for a state dinner at the White House, but everyone was good-humored about it and applauded.  Then, in his between-songs patter, Goulet told of touring recently in Lake Tahoe.  The audience there was a bunch of stiffs, he said, but there was one gorgeous girl, a stunner standing in the back.  Tall, statuesque, a real fox.  So he pitched all his songs to her, and flirted.  And it was only later, he now told the dinner guests, that he found out that the beautiful woman was the biggest transvestite in Tahoe.  Then he joked that it all worked out, “He writes me every week!”

      There was mildly embarrassed silence.  Goulet then sang another song and left the stage, and Sinatra finished up.  Soon President Reagan rose to thank everyone for coming.  He thanked Sinatra for all his efforts arranging such a show, and then he said, “And thank you, Bob Goulet, not only for entertaining us with your wonderful voice but for remembering our night in Lake Tahoe.”  (Noonan, 231-232)

      The whole audience let out a gust of pent-up laughter and side-long glances.  It allowed everyone to acknowledge what had been said, and laugh at it, and the dinner went on and was a success.

It’s been my experience across well over three decades of pastoring that few things ease tension, build relationship capital, and open stopped up ears like the proper use of self-deprecating humor.  Too much of it gets old in a hurry and sounds like false humility.  Too little of it and the pastor comes off a bit stuffy and arrogant and one who takes himself/herself too seriously.  But just the right amount makes for a better pastor and preacher.

So on this Presidents’ Day 2014, while I’m thankful for all of our presidents (well, most of them anyway), I’m especially thankful today for Ronald Reagan who helps me learn how to use a sense of humor to be a better pastor.

My Tribute to The Beatles

Unless you live in a cave, you know that Sunday, February 9, was the fiftieth anniversary of The Beatles first appearance in America on The Ed Sullivan Show.  CBS aired a salute to The Beatles in honor of that anniversary last night. Wow! I loved it. The Beatles are my favorite band of all time. So how can I join the celebration and offer my tribute? Here’s what I decided: I would try to mingle my passions for ministry, the church, writing, and The Beatles by telling a minister story into which I’ve woven the titles of 66 Beatles’ songs. Early in their history, The Beatles covered a few songs written by others who were influential in their development, but I’m only including in this story the titles of songs written by John, Paul, and George. 

Now, if you like The Beatles, I encourage you to see how many of the 66 titles you can find in the story. While a title or two may show up a couple of times, I’m only counting it once. You ready? Go for it, and let me know in the Facebook comments section how many you found.

__________

His name is Lennon McCartney. People call him Len for short. And this is the story of a day in the life of this faithful pastor. And not just any day, but his first day on the job as the new pastor of the Little Faith Baptist Church in a small, rural town in the south. 

But first a little background. Prior to coming to Little Faith, Pastor Len had served a large suburban congregation for many years. The church grew by leaps and bounds under his ministry. He loved the work. But it was demanding: to many 12-hour days sometimes followed by phone calls and emergencies he had to tend to in the wee hours of the morning. He had a hard day’s night more times than he could count. Len more or less let his congregation know that they could call him any time at all. To his wife Prudence and their little girl, Julia, it seemed like Len was working eight days a week. Len was going so much that their conversations weren’t much more than “Hello, goodbye.” Even Len felt like the congregation expected him to be here, there, and everywhere. It started taking a toll on him—sleeplessness, irritability, he’d find himself weeping at the littlest things. But there was something in him that drove him to go even harder. 

The people who loved him noticed first. His mother talked to him often. She first noticed signs of burnout when she visited him on his birthday. She could tell through their conversations on the phone that something was wrong. “I’ve got a feeling all is not well with you, Len,” she said. To which Len replied, “I feel fine.” Mom wasn’t buying it: “Your mother should know when something’s wrong with her son. You’re working way too hard. You’re neglecting your family. You can’t do that. Prudence is trying to be as patient and understanding as she can. She loves you, but if you don’t get your priorities straight, you’re going to lose that girl.” Len wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, and he still couldn’t admit or understand the helter skelter emotions rumbling in his soul …

Until one day when it all came to a head. Feeling neglected by her dad, his little child was acting out for his attention. His wife wasn’t happy with him either. They followed him to his car that morning, “Can’t you spare just a few more minutes to have breakfast with your family before you go to work?” He made quick eye contact with Prudence, “Please, don’t bother me right now,” he said to them as he slammed the door to his car. He cranked the engine. His tires squealed as he backed out of the driveway, nearly plowing over their mailbox. And off he raced to the church building. “Maybe I can get a little peace and quiet at the office,” he thought to himself. But as he walked toward his office he heard the noise of a handyman inside fixing a hole in the wall made by an angry husband during a marriage counseling session two days before. Len remembered that angry husband’s words before he left in a huff: “This ain’t working Brother Len. And I’m counting on you to fix this marriage. Don’t let me down!” Len felt he had let him down. 

So, Len stopped in his tracks. His head drooped. His shoulders slumped. Tears welled up in his eyes. And he whispered the only prayer he could say in that broken moment, “Help.” He crumpled to the floor in the office hallway and sobbed like a baby. A couple of the staff members heard him. They didn’t know what to do. The youth minister sat down beside him, and then, as the the secretaries looked on from down the hall, another staff member knelt down, and then another. “Call Dr. Robert,” the youth minister said to a watching secretary. Len raised his arm, composed himself a bit, and said, “No. The same thing happened yesterday. Just please help me get home.” Len reached in his pocket and handed his keys to his associate, “Would you drive my car? I don’t think I’m up to it.”     

One of the church secretaries alerted Prudence to what was going on. She met Len in the driveway and threw her arms around him, mingling her tears with his. The associate took their daughter Julia for ice cream so Len and Prudence could have some time alone. They sat next to one another on their worn green sofa—its fraying edges an image of Len’s fraying soul. They sat in silence. “Please, hold my hand,” he said. “I want to hold your hand.” She gave him her hand, and he collapsed into her lap. “Hold me tight,” he begged. So she held him and rocked him on that couch. “Cry, baby, cry,” she whispered. “Let it go. Let it out.”

“Dear Prudence,” he whispered, “I’m so tired. I’m down. I don’t think I can do this anymore. I don’t feel like a pastor. I can’t carry that weight anymore. I feel lost. I feel like a real nowhere man these days. I feel like I’m a loser. What am I going to do?”

“You mean, ‘What are we going to do?’” she corrected him. “I’m in this with you. We’ll come together, the two of us. We can work it out. And PS: I love you.”

“Really?” Len said with a hopeful look in his eyes. “After all I’ve put you through, will you really stick with me through this?” 

“Yes” she said as she stroked his head. “I will. It’s going to be all right, Len. Jesus is with us. Jesus will see us through.” 

"You're right," Len replied. "With God, you, and with a little help from my friends, we will get to a better day. Do you want to know a secret, Prudence? When I proposed to you, when I said, I got to get you into my life, and you said, 'Yes,' God gave me a great gift. Thank you, God, and thank you, girl."

God gave Len and Prudence everything they needed to make important changes in their lives. Len resigned the big suburban church. He pulled out of ministry for more than a year. He got some counseling. He started to heal. And it was as if one day the fog lifted and the depression cleared. “Good morning, good morning,” Len said to Prudence and Julia. He had a smile on his face and a spring in his step. “I’m getting better. I just know it.” That’s when Prudence decided it was time to break the news to Len, news she hoped would make him happy. “Len, I’m pregnant.”

Len opened his eyes as round as saucers. “Really?” He grabbed Prudence and began to dance her around the room. He twirled her and leaned her into a dip as Julia giggled and their collie looked up from chewing on an old brown shoe in the corner. Prudence said with a gleam in her eye, “Tell me, sir, do you like to dance with all the girls?”

“Nope,” Len replied, “I'm happy just to dance with you. And you know what else? I hope we have another girl. The only thing that could make this day better would be to get a call to pastor another church.” They had talked in counseling about when the time might be right to seek another pastorate. At first, Len said, “I won’t do it again, not a second time.” But as the months passed and as he began to heal, Len was ready to get back to being a pastor again. He’d sent his resumé out to a few churches. At first he received no reply from most of them. He did hear from a couple of churches. That encouraged him. “I hope it happens soon,” Len said to Prudence.

“God is on the case,” replied Prudence. “I bet it won’t be long.” 

And it wasn’t. Within a couple of months Len, Prudence, and Julia moved into the parsonage of the Little Faith Baptist Church in Outback, Arkansas. It was a town known for their strawberries. And instead of the suburbs where it was house after house after house, their new town looked like strawberry fields forever. Outback, Arkansas, seemed clear across the universe from their suburban home. This was a small church in a small town. Len and Prudence believed there would be less pressure here. This would be a good place to see if Len was up to the pastorate again. A number of the congregation met them on the day of their move. The people brought fried chicken and fresh vegetables. It all tasted good, but maybe their favorite dish was the wild honey pie. That was the specialty of an aging Russian immigrant, Sveta, who married a serviceman and moved here shortly after the war. When Prudence asked for the recipe, she said that it was an old family recipe she learned back in the U.S.S.R. But she would translate it from Russian to English and share it with Prudence.

Len walked from the parsonage to his church study on his first day of work. He marveled at a large oak full of birds. He noticed a cardinal, a blue jay, a variety of finches, a blackbird, and, of course, a couple of squirrels playing chase from limb to limb. This was a gentler, more pleasant journey to his office than when he lived in suburbia. He took a deep breath and offered a prayer of thanks. His church office was smaller. The only other paid staff member was a church secretary. “Good morning,” she said, “I’m Mrs. Rigby, Eleanor Rigby. And you’ve already got a visitor waiting in your office.”

It was the Chairman of Deacons, Jude Harrison. Len stuck out his hand, “Hey, Jude,” he said. “Thanks for giving me your time today.” 

“Welcome, pastor. I guess I’m a little early but I know you want to see your new ministry field and meet some people today, and I was so excited to show you around, I couldn’t wait to get here.”

“I’m ready,” said Len. “Where do we start?”

“Well, there’s a place downtown we can grab some coffee and a sweet roll and visit with some of the locals. That would be a good place to start. Then, I thought we’d go visit the matriarch of the church. She lives out on Penny Lane.”

“What’s her address?” Len asked in an effort to get the lay of the land.

“Well, it’s 910 Penny Lane, but kids keep knocking down her mailbox with her house number on it. So, she likes to tell people that her house is the one after 909.” Len smiled. He liked her already.

While they were making the rounds, Len pointed to an isolated house high on a mountain up the long and winding road. “Who lives there?” Len asked. Jude frowned. “That’s mean Mr. Mustard. He hates everybody. Ever since he was unjustly accused of stealing Maxwell's silver hammer, he's been mad at the world and holds a grudge against the whole town. People in Outback refer to him as the fool on the hill. We all try to avoid him, and it works out better for everybody.”

Len enjoyed the day. He enjoyed meeting people, and he enjoyed putting a few books in the shelves of his office bookcase—a beautiful bookcase made from dark, rich Norwegian wood. Late in the day, as he organized his office, he gave quiet thanks to God for the counsel of the deacon chairman. He shared with Len some things that people might be ready to change. And he was also able to point out a particular matter that needed changing but that the people weren’t quite ready to change just yet. “We’ll get that changed when the people are ready," he said, "but for now, I recommend we let it be.” Not anxious to add unneeded stress to his life, letting it be was fine with Len. “Besides, pastor,” said Jude, “when you think about it, when it comes to doing church, all you need is love. Love God, love one another, love the world. That seems like enough.”

And that first pleasant day was the first of many pleasant days for Len and his family. This church didn’t offer the same kind of opportunities as his first church, but they enjoyed the people, the setting, and the pace. Len’s family grew. They added another girl and named her Michelle. The church grew. They decided to change their name to the Great Faith Baptist Church.  Len even reached out to Mr. Mustard and eventually led him to Jesus and the church. It was a pleasurable and fruitful ministry. God was glorified. Len and his family were satisfied. Len served that church through its up and downs for thirty years. On his twentieth anniversary of serving the church, Len told them, "I think I might want to retire when I'm 64." He worked a couple of years beyond that. And on his last Sunday as pastor, the church thanked Len and his family for their much blessed ministry. Now an old man, Jude Harrison, said to Len, "I still remember what you told us on your very first Sunday. You said, 'I'll follow the Son, and if we all do the same, God just might do a great work here.'" Len stood in the pulpit. He thanked the church for taking a chance on a burned out young pastor all those years ago. He thanked them for their patience and their love, for the way they cared for his family, and for the way they served God together in Outback and, through numerous mission trips, all around the world. “Thank you,” he said, “for making this the best pastorate in my life.”

__________

Hint: if you need to access titles to The Beatles’ songs, you can find an exhaustive list here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_songs_recorded_by_the_Beatles

Bless the Children

I try not to brag on our church family too much because none of us would want to rob God of His glory.  But can I tell you how proud I am of what some of our folks are doing to care for children in our community? 

Recently, the Arkansas Department of Human Services gave a plaque to a group of people in our congregation who work with the foster child program.  The ministry is called Pure Commitment.  The goal of the ministry is to provide care packages for kids who, because of some crisis in their own homes, enter the foster system.  The group also ministers directly to the children and provides some respite care for foster parents.  Booyah!  That’s taking Jesus to the kids—a group among whom Jesus is very much comfortable and at home.

Another group in the church works in our weekly after-school program with older children from the Hot Springs School District.  This is the second year for this ministry.  Our workers help them with their school work, provide casual mentoring and encouragement, feed them and good supper, and move them into the Wednesday evening children’s programs in the church with the rest of our kids.  God is using this to allow us to have an impact on these children and their families.  Some of these children are at-risk kids and need all the positive influence and love they can receive.

The reason I’m sharing this is because of something I stumbled across in my files in the last couple of weeks about children.  Amy O’Neal, who has spent much of her life caring for her own special needs daughter and other special needs children, shared this with me a few years ago.  It reminds us of our blessings and our responsibilities to the children of our world.  It’s called We Are Responsible for Children.

We are responsible for children

who put chocolate finger’s everywhere,

who like to be tickled,

who stomp in puddles and ruin their new pants,

who sneak popsicles before dinner,

who erase holes in their math workbooks,

who can never find their shoes.

But we are also responsible for those

who stare at photographers from behind broken windows,

who can’t bound down the street in a new pair of sneakers,

who never “counted potatoes”,

who were born in places we wouldn’t be caught dead,

who live in an X-rated world.

We are responsible for children

who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,

who sleep with the dog and bury the goldfish,

who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money,

who cover themselves with band-aids and sing off key,

who slurp their soup.

But we are also responsible for those

who never get desert,

who have no safe blanket to drag behind them,

who watch their parents watch them suffer,

who can’t find any bread to steal,

who don’t have any rooms to clean up,

whose pictures aren’t on anybody’s dresser,

whose monsters are real.

We are responsible for children

who spend their allowance before Tuesday,

who throw tantrums in the grocery store and who pick at their food,

who like ghost stories,

who shove dirty clothes under the bed and never rinse out the tub,

who get visits from the tooth fairy,

who don’t like to be kissed in front of the car pool,

who squirm in church and scream on the phone,

whose tears sometimes make us laugh and whose smile sometimes make us cry.

And we are responsible for those

whose nightmares come in the daytime,

who will eat anything,

who have never seen a dentist,

who aren’t spoiled by anybody,

who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,

who live and move, but have no being.

We are responsible for children

who want to be carried and for those who must,

for those we will never give up on and

for those who don’t get a second chance,

and for those we smother and

for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind enough to offer it.

In 1971, the Carpenters sang the theme song from the movie Bless the Beasts and Children.  I’m all for blessing beasts, but by all means, let’s be sure and bless the children in our world.  If we don’t, who will?  And even more, let’s do it in the love and name of Jesus who said, “Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God” (Mark 10:14).

Love at Second Sight

This January has been a family emphasis in our congregation as we’ve launched a new generational ministry initiative.  This past Sunday we devoted our attention to marriage.  I preached a sermon for those who have been married awhile called Love at Second Sight.  (I’ll put a link below if you want to check it out.)  The gist of the sermon encouraged couples to keep plugging away at marriage and provided some ways to do it.  It’s a sad, sad thing when a marriage loses its fire for a season and husband or wife decide they should just chuck their marriage for a stab at it with someone else.  Isn’t it wiser not to look so much for the right person to marry as it is to work to become the right person once you are married?  We talked about stuff like that in the sermon.

But like all sermons, I have to leave some things out that could have been helpful.  In my preparation process I came across a poem by Ella Wheeler Cox that describes so vividly the way a marriage dies, particularly the way a husband drifts apart from his wife.  It’s called "An Unfaithful Wife to Her Husband."  It’s powerful.  It’s emotional.  It’s too often the truth.  Read at your own risk:

Branded and blackened by my own misdeeds

I stand before you; not as one who pleads

For mercy or forgiveness, but as one,

After a wrong is done,

Who seeks the why and wherefore.

                                                          Go with me,

Back to those early years of love, and see

Just where our paths diverged.  You must recall

Your wild pursuit of me, outstripping all

Competitors and rivals, till at last

You bound me sure and fast

With vow and ring.

I was the central thing

In all the Universe for you just then.

Just then for me, there were no other men.

I cared

Only for tasks and pleasures that you shared.

Such happy, happy days.  You wearied first.

I will not say you wearied, but a thirst

For conquest and achievement in man's realm

Left love's barque with no pilot at the helm.

The money madness, and the keen desire

To outstrip others, set your heart on fire.

Into the growing conflagration went

Romance and sentiment.

Abroad you were a man of parts and power—

Your double dower

Of brawn and brains gave you a leader's place;

At home you were dull, tired, and commonplace.

You housed me, fed me, clothed me; you were kind;

But oh, so blind, so blind.

You could not, would not, see my woman's need

Of small attentions; and you gave no heed

When I complained of loneliness; you said

"A man must think about his daily bread

And not waste time in empty social life—

He leaves that sort of duty to his wife

And pays her bills, and lets her have her way,

And feels she should be satisfied."

                                                                             Each day.

Our lives that had been one life at the start,

Farther and farther seemed to drift apart.

Dead was the old romance of man and maid.

Your talk was all of politics or trade.

Your work, your club, the mad pursuit of gold

Absorbed your thoughts.  Your duty kiss fell cold

Upon my lips.  Life lost its zest, its thrill,

                                                          Until

One fateful day when earth seemed very dull

It suddenly grew bright and beautiful.

I spoke a little, and he listened much;

There was attention in his eyes, and such

A note of comradeship in his low tone,

I felt no more alone.

There was a kindly interest in his air;

He spoke about the way I dressed my hair.

And praised the gown I wore.

It seemed a thousand, thousand years and more

Since I had been noticed.  Had mine ear

Been used to compliments year after year,

If I had heard you speak

As this man spoke, I had not been so weak.

The innocent beginning

Of all my sinning

Was just the woman's craving to be brought

Into the inner shrine of some man's thought.

You held me there, as sweetheart and as bride;

And then as your wife, you left me far outside.

So far, so far, you could not hear me call;

You might, you should, have saved me from my fall.

I was not bad, just lonely, that was all.

A man should offer something to replace

The sweet adventure of the lover's chase

Which ends in marriage.  Love's neglected laws

                   Pave pathways for the "Statutory Cause."  

If this strikes too close to home, someone in your marriage needs to raise a hand, call time, and focus on getting that thing back together.  It will be worth it.  I can tell from more than 36 years of experience that love at second sight is even better than the first time around.

Link to video: http://www.fbchsark.org/media.php?pageID=6

Link to manuscript:

http://storage.cloversites.com/firstbaptistchurchhotspringsarkansas/documents/Love%20at%20Second%20Sight.pdf