Monday, February 26, 2007

Gray Metal Folding Chairs

Believe it or not, after 100 days as pastor of Mount Hermon Baptist Church, I still can get lost when wandering through our facilities. You can’t believe how many times I’ve either had to ask people for directions or, more often than not—like a typical guy—refuse to admit that I’m lost and just keep searching until I belatedly stumble upon the room I was seeking.

Recently, I was upstairs making my way through one of our classroom areas, when I happened upon an unexpected blast from the past. It was a roomful of old gray metal folding chairs, the sudden sight of which triggered some warm, positive memories. OK, OK, I know what you’re thinking. “Poor Pastor Danny…he must really lead a dull life if he gets all emotional about metal folding chairs!”

But, please, bear with me just a minute. Here’s the deal. You’ve probably never thought about this, but most standard metal folding chairs, for whatever reason, are beige or tan. In fact, every church I’ve ever served as pastor has had tan or beige metal folding chairs. I imagine that decades ago some unknown church chair czar mandated that tan or beige would forever be the official color of all heretofore-produced church chairs. Until recent years, very few chair manufacturers dared to deviate from that hallowed tradition. Except for one wildly adventurous entrepreneur that at some point decided to boldly produce some chairs in—of all colors—gray!

The last (and only) time I ever saw gray chairs was some twenty years ago. At the time, I was serving as pastor of Melville Avenue Baptist Church here in Danville. I had a good friend that was the pastor of a tiny mission church in a remote corner of West Virginia. Mark Partin had a big vision for his little church in mountains. For a long time his fledgling congregation had struggled, moving from place to place, meeting only in rented facilities. But then Mark challenged his small band of believers to acquire land and build a building—a God-sized challenge for this little group—which they did, with the generous financial assistance of a number of mission-minded churches in the South along with the volunteer labor of several visiting mission teams. My church—Melville Avenue—decided to assist them as well.

At one point, we were in the process of gathering some supplies to take up to them. One of their specific needs was metal folding chairs for their new classrooms. They couldn’t afford to buy any, so our church decided to see what we could do to help. Although we didn’t have the funds to buy them either, we did have a number of old chairs in storage that weren’t being utilized. So, we determined that we could spare them for the sake of a sister church in need. But our contribution alone was not enough to meet their entire need.

One of our members—a former Mount Hermon member—suggested that Mount Hermon might have some older folding chairs they would be willing to donate. I contacted David Barrett, Mount Hermon’s pastor at the time, and he came through for us. The church donated several of its extra chairs to help out this young church in West Virginia. When that happened, I remember Sandy and me driving out to Mount Hermon with a rented U-Haul trailer hooked to the back of our ’78 Chevy Impala. We loaded it with chairs.

I remember those chairs vividly. They were light gray and had a distinctively different appearance than the other chairs we were taking, which (obviously) were tan or beige. Once we loaded them up, Sandy—yes, Sandy! For some reason I couldn’t go with her at the time—drove our old battle-hardened sedan, towing the loaded trailer along winding mountain roads, all the way up to the northwestern part of West Virginia. (The car actually died on the way up and Sandy had to go to a garage and find a mechanic to work on it. Don’t ever ask Sandy about that old Impala. It had a lovely powder-blue exterior with a stylish black vinyl interior. But, for some reason that I never fully understood, it was—to say the least—her least favorite car of any that we’ve ever owned. She affectionately referred to it as "The Blue Bomb". Back in those days to call something a "bomb" was not in any way a compliment. Later on, Sandy actually wound up selling this car while I was out of the country. But that's a whole other story.)

Anyway, when Sandy finally made it to her destination with the precious cargo in tow, the Partins and their young congregation were absolutely ecstatic. You would have thought it was Christmas morning! They were so proud of and so thankful for those donated chairs. All of a sudden, their barren classrooms were filled with much-needed seats…and soon those seats would be filled with people.

The other day, when I walked into that upstairs classroom at Mount Hermon, and saw some of those same old chairs still in use, it reminded me of those other chairs that made the trek up to West Virginia so long ago. I had forgotten all about that small mission project until then. Interestingly, this is yet another personal connection from my past with Mount Hermon Baptist Church. And this whole unsung story is yet another connection that Mount Hermon has with unselfish missions giving and the cause of Christ.

Donating a few used chairs might not seem like such a big deal to you, but to a small church in West Virginia those chairs meant everything. A lot of time has passed since then, but I suspect that if you and I were to take a little road trip up to West Union, West Virginia, and we were to visit the town’s First Southern Baptist Church, we’d still find some of those old durable chairs in use.

As we approach the upcoming Easter season, and our annual Southern Baptist offering for North American Missions, I thought you might like to know how Mount Hermon—my present church—and Melville Avenue—my former church—long ago pooled their resources to help out a small mission church in need.

I believe that God smiles on things like that. God absolutely loves it when we partner together for the good of the Kingdom and for the advancement of the Gospel. Truly, that’s what missions are all about…whether it means reaching out to West Africa, West Virginia, or Westover Drive.

By the way, if you’ve ever wondered whatever happened to that favorite chair of yours that suddenly disappeared from your Sunday School classroom twenty years ago, now you finally know the rest of the story!

Pastor Danny

Monday, February 19, 2007

Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road

They say that one’s memory is strongly tied to one’s sense of smell. It’s been proven that certain aromas can carry with them a strong association to events from our past.

Driving down Franklin Turnpike this past week, I couldn’t help but recall Loudon Wainwright III’s offbeat pop hit from the 1970s entitled “Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road.” That musical memory was triggered by the distinct aroma I smelled as I passed the black and white striped carcass straddling the highway’s center line.

Actually, I saw the immobile polecat before I smelled it. “Hmm,” I thought, “That looks like a dead skunk in the middle of the road. Funny, but I don’t smell anything.” No sooner had those naïve thoughts crossed my mind than the unmistakable fragrance of Pepe Le Pew invaded and saturated my car. All of a sudden, I felt like a soldier on the field of battle suffering the initial effects of chemical warfare. In order to save myself, I pressed down on the accelerator in order to flee from the lifeless (but still lethal) form. As my car sped down the road, I hurriedly rolled down my windows—in spite of the cold temperatures—both to free myself from the trapped noxious gasses and to inhale some urgently needed fresh air. After a few seconds of gasping oxygen, I finally recovered, the crisis was averted, and life returned to some semblance of normality.

It had been a long, long time since I had smelled a skunk. That’s why it caught me so unawares. You see, in Florida, we didn’t see many of those critters. No, there we had armadillos, which are kind of like odorless skunks in a helmet and flak jacket. Often, the Florida roadside would be littered with the remains of dead armadillos, their armor no match for the speeding tourists and snowbirds on Florida’s roadways. Usually, buzzards would scavenge off their remains. And sometimes there would be a pungent odor from the decaying carcasses. But, in terms of smell, we’re talking Little League when compared to the Hall of Fame fragrance of the skunk.

This whole episode caused me to do some spiritual reflection. Did you know that God is concerned about how we smell? I know, you’re thinking about the old adage “Cleanliness is next to Godliness." But I’m not talking about matters of personal hygiene. Actually, I’m referring to something much deeper.

2 Corinthians 2:14-16a says “But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him. For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life.” Clearly, God wants us that are Christians to carry forth the sweet fragrance of Christ. To those that are perishing in their sins with no regard for Christ, it will be a reminder of their own death sentence. But for our brethren in Christ, as well as for those in search of hope, it will be the smell of life.

In the Old Testament books of Leviticus and Numbers, when instructions were given regarding various burnt offerings that were to be presented to the Lord, we repeatedly come across the phrase “an aroma pleasing to the Lord.” That’s what God still desires from each of us, even today. We followers of Christ are to be a living sacrifice and our lives should be a sweet aroma that pleases the Lord and brings glory to Him.

The problem is, in the living of this life, we so easily can pick up the stench of the world when we dabble in things that are not God-honoring. Just like getting too close to a dead skunk, visiting a hog farm, or walking in a cow pasture without minding our step, the odious smell of the world can attach itself to us before we even realize it. And no matter how clean we may appear to be on the surface, our repulsive odor will be the one thing that other people will most remember about us. And it will be a big turnoff to them.

How do you smell? Maybe you look like a Christian, but do you smell like one? Have you gotten too close to some things that have inwardly corrupted you and/or tainted your witness for Christ? Maybe it’s time for a good bath. Soak yourself again in the Word of God. Saturate yourself with the things of Christ. Immerse yourself in worship and prayer. And experience a fresh cleansing from on high. I’m sure that God will just love your fresh, clean scent. And you will, too.

Oh, and by the way, the next time you see a dead skunk in the middle of the road, please just leave it there…and hurry on by.

Pastor Danny

Monday, February 12, 2007

Eggs on the Expressway

Lots of bizarre stories made the news this week. Anna Nicole Smith, the dysfunctional drama queen, former pinup girl, and ex-reality TV star—one of those people that are famous simply for being famous—died suddenly and unexpectedly at the age of 39, her tragic tabloid life coming to a tragic tabloid ending. Former Orlando Magic reserve center John Amaechi, the first British player ever in the NBA, made headlines by coming “out of the closet” and declaring himself a homosexual. Strangely, with this one act, the obscure ex-player suddenly attained a measure of fame he could never achieve on the court. This and this alone is what his brief basketball career will now be remembered for. And then, there’s astronaut Lisa Nowak who overnight became a household name when she seemingly spaced out, donned a wig and trench coat, and drove some 900 miles from her Houston home to Orlando International Airport. Her mission? To confront a woman she perceived as her rival for the affections of a male space shuttle pilot. The troubled Nowak was arrested for attempted murder.

In the midst of all this heavy news, however, here’s another story you may have missed. Early Saturday morning, along Northern Virginia’s Capital Beltway, a tractor-trailer overturned, spilling out its entire contents of 165,000 eggs. Yes, that’s right, 165,000 eggs! As you can imagine, there was a lot of egg-citement afoot as rescuers scrambled to the scene. A Virginia Department of Transportation official described the mess as looking like “a large omelet.” The broken eggs reportedly made their way to a drainage ditch, where they created “a river of yellow yolk.” An exit ramp and one lane of the highway had to be closed for several hours.

Strangely, in addition to the runny eggs, officials also had to contend with a runaway driver. For whatever reason, the driver of the rig fled the accident scene before the police arrived. Reportedly, law enforcement officials were using a helicopter that morning to try to locate this hard-boiled fugitive from justice.

DOT officials, trying to keep their sunny side up, noted that it was a good thing the accident didn’t occur in the summer, because the mess likely would have been much worse. Due to the cold temperatures, however, workers avoided using water to clean the pavement for fear of freezing the eggs on the roadway. (Although, if they had only thought of it, I’m sure they could have called in Jimmy Dean, as he has a great deal of expertise with frozen breakfast foods.) Instead, the cleaning crew used 250 pounds of kitty litter (of all things) to absorb the massive omelet before sweeping up all the debris.

This story reminded me of something that happened over twenty-five years ago when I was a young loan officer at a small town bank in Kentucky. One of our customers at the time—a hog farmer—was taking a load of pigs to market in Knoxville, Tennessee, when he wrecked, overturning his truck on I-40. This was when Knoxville’s highway system was undergoing dramatic upgrades in preparation for the 1982 World’s Fair. The week prior to the wreck, the farmer had driven the very same route without incident. The night he crashed his hog truck, however, he simply tried to take the same exit he had taken before. That’s when he discovered, much to his surprise, that it was no longer there. A wall had been erected in its place. When the truck hit the wall and overturned, swine were splattered all over the pavement. The distraught pigs that survived the impact, however, raced wildly across the lanes of traffic, much to the astonishment of many an oncoming motorist. The unsuspecting drivers had to swerve and slam on their brakes to avoid turning their cars into cans of Spam. The flow of traffic was halted for quite some time that night as volunteers and law enforcement officials sprinted after the panicky porkers. This strange incident actually made the front page of the next day’s edition of The Knoxville News-Sentinel, complete with news photo. This whole episode kind of reminded me of that story in the Bible where those crazed, suicidal, demon-possessed pigs plunged over a cliff to their doom.

Anyway, I thought about that crash of long ago when I read about Saturday’s egg accident. Just think, if those two bizarre roadway collisions had occurred at the same time and place, the world would have been treated to the biggest ham and egg breakfast it had ever seen!

Now, what does all of this have to do with anything?

Well, here’s another tale you may or may not have heard before. Supposedly, a pig and a chicken were discussing the possibility of making a sacrificial gift to some worthy cause. (Now, just so you know, I fully realize that pigs and chickens don’t talk, but please humor me here.) The chicken boldly declared, “I can lay some eggs and you can provide the ham. Together, we can make a hearty breakfast.” To which the pig replied, “Hey, wait a minute! Before you go off volunteering us both for this assignment, might I point out the inequity of your plan? In regard to yourself, all you’re talking about is making a little donation, but, as for me, you’re asking for a total life commitment!”

Now there’s some food for thought. Think about it. Which are you, a laying hen or a pig on his way to the slaughterhouse?

Remember, Jesus isn’t looking for a simple donation. He doesn’t want you to merely tip your hat to Him by giving Him a couple of hours on Sunday. He wants all that you are, your whole life, 24/7, fully and totally surrendered to Him.

A lot of folks live out their entire life and never understand what life is all about. That sadly includes the Anna Nicole Smiths of this world. But it also unfortunately includes some people that attend church every week. They hear it, time and time again, but they just don’t get it. Their “faith” stays securely nestled in the safety of their pew, never moving beyond that to impact how they live from day to day.

Don’t be a big chicken. Surrender your all to Jesus. Remember, it’s only when we learn to die to self that we really begin to live the way God intended. And that’s no accident!

Pastor Danny

Monday, February 05, 2007

This One Was Truly Super!

No, it wasn’t the best Super Bowl game ever played. My vote for the best-ever Super Bowl goes to the January 2000 match-up between the St. Louis Rams and the Tennessee Titans, which went right down to the wire. If you remember, Tennessee’s dramatic final drive down the field culminated with Steve McNair’s last-second completed pass which—unfortunately for Titans fans—came up literally just a foot shy of the goal line. What an incredible finish!

This year’s game had none of that high drama on the field. There was plenty of pre-game drama, however, with speculation about whether the great Peyton Manning could finally win the big one (He did!) and whether the erratic Rex Grossman would be up to the task (He wasn’t). There also was a good deal of attention given to Tony Dungy and Lovie Smith, the first African-American head coaches to lead teams to the Super Bowl in the championship game’s 41-year history. Adding to the drama, the two coaches also happened to be good friends and former colleagues. (Smith had been an assistant coach under Dungy at Tampa Bay some years ago.) When it was all said and done, however, Dungy’s Indianapolis Colts won the big game, defeating Smith’s Chicago Bears, 29-17, in a contest much more lopsided than the final score indicated.

But, in my mind, there was a much larger victory that transcended the actual game on the gridiron. And the real winner was not a particular football team, but the cause of Christ.

Colts head coach Tony Dungy said it best when, on national television, he received the coveted Lombardi Trophy on behalf of his victorious team:

“I'm proud to be the first African-American coach to win this...But again, more than anything, Lovie Smith and I are not only African-American but also Christian coaches, showing you can do it the Lord's way. We're more proud of that.”

You see, Dungy and Smith share a lot more than friendship, coaching football and making Super Bowl history together. Both are men of authentic Christian faith and character who consistently and unashamedly live out their beliefs every day…at home, in the locker room, and on the playing field.

I’ve admired Tony Dungy for years, ever since he became the head coach of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers back in 1996. Dungy built the perennial doormat Bucs into a viable contender and one of the greatest defensive teams in football history, before being unceremoniously and ungratefully fired by Tampa management in 2001, simply because he hadn’t produced a champion fast enough. Ironically, the team he built won the Super Bowl the following season under first-year coach Jon Gruden. They’ve never been back since.

During Dungy’s stint at Tampa Bay, he was adored by the Christian community. He graciously made himself accessible to Christian radio stations like Moody Broadcasting’s WKES in St. Petersburg, which began covering the Bucs because of Dungy’s faith. The busy coach would regularly grant the station telephone interviews the Monday morning following each game. I admired him for taking the time to do this.
Christians across the Bay area and throughout Central Florida would cheer for the Bucs and pray for Dungy because of his high profile Christian witness, and the unique platform God had given him to touch so many lives. I never had the opportunity to meet Tony Dungy, but my wife Sandy used to talk to him on the phone when he first came to Tampa Bay. At the time, she was the administrative assistant to the Florida statewide director of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. Like many other believers in Florida, Sandy & I were saddened when the Bucs dumped Dungy, but were delighted when he wound up in Indianapolis with Peyton Manning. We knew then that a Super Bowl championship would only be a matter of time.

Life has not all been a bed of roses for Tony Dungy and his wife Lauren. Fourteen months ago, their world was rocked by the shocking suicide of their 18-year-old son James. Since then, the Dungys have been greatly comforted by their faith in God, which has enabled them to weather this extremely painful storm. The grace and faith they have exhibited during this difficult season of their lives has been a powerful testimony to the sports world as well as the world in general.

When Dungy’s Colts won it all on Sunday, a television sports anchor said, “I know it’s an overused cliché, but truly, truly, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.” That speaks of the universal admiration this godly man has garnered from fellow believers and unbelievers alike. Former baseball great Leo Durocher was once quoted as saying, “Nice guys finish last.” Honestly, it’s really refreshing to see a nice guy finish first for a change.

Tony Dungy’s personal faith in Jesus, which he daily lives out in his role as an NFL football coach, reminds me of the need to live out my own faith 24/7. I hope his example challenges and encourages you as well. Just think, if all Christians were like Tony Dungy--consistently living out in the workplace what they claim to believe--that really would be something super!

Pastor Danny