Help! My Leaves Have Fallen & They Can’t Get Up!

Gazing out the back window of our home, I see an ever-thickening blanket of brightly-colored leaves covering our lawn. The leaves are slowly but continuously falling, like light snow flurries. And the grass is gradually disappearing underneath the growing accumulation of red, yellow, orange and brown “flakes.” Obviously, all of this freshly fallen foliage needs to be blown or raked to the curb. But it’s still coming down. And, even though it would be nice to think that I could get rid of it all in one fell swoop, I know this project out of necessity will have to be repeated more than once.

As the leaves have fallen, so have the temperatures. I guess that’s why we call this time of year “fall”, although its formal name is autumn. Actually, “fall” has come “late” for us this year…that is, in the sense of falling temperatures and falling leaves. Usually by this time of year all the leaves are down. But because of a warmer-than-usual September and October, the leaves hung on and changed colors late, peaking well into November.

I really love the four seasons we have here in Virginia. During the nearly 12 years that Sandy & I lived in Florida, we really missed the bright vivid colors of autumn as well as the cold starkness of winter & the emerging new life of spring. Although the Sunshine State has its own unique beauty & we certainly enjoyed living there, one does get a little tired of the seemingly endless summer. I like the variety of the four seasons. The seasonal changes seem to enhance the beauty of God’s creation, reminding the beholder of how wonderful it all really is—a truth that all-too-easily might be taken for granted otherwise. The changing seasons also are a colorful illustration of life itself, which has its own seasons of birth, growth, decline and death. The most beautiful aspect of all, however, is the way in which the seasonal cycle points us to the resurrection power of Jesus Christ and the life-changing spiritual renewal that’s always available through Him.

Yes, I love the changing seasons, but there’s still the matter of gathering up all of those loitering leaves now sprawled out on my lawn taking a nap. But I have to say that dealing with them is worth it when you come to realize the whole grand process of which they’re a part. And that’s also the way it is in regard to life in general. For each of us, there are challenges and difficulties that come our way in life. But those challenges are part of a much bigger process in which God is working for our good, to both grow our faith and build our character. When we can see it from that larger perspective, we can better appreciate those times of “leaf raking” we all have to periodically endure in our lives.

Well, my little congregation of leaves is still growing religiously with no end in sight. And as I watch yet another lonely leaf gently descend earthward to join his friends below, an old song keeps playing in my head. No it’s not a hymn or a spiritual—sorry to disappoint you. It’s an old Country song—this is going to really date me—from the early 1960s: “Please Help Me, I’m Falling”, one of the biggest hits of the so-called “golden era” of Country Music. It was sung by the legendary Hank Locklin, who today at age 89 is the oldest living member of the Grand Ole Opry. You may remember the classic love ballad from when it was dusted off and revived a few years back as the soundtrack for a series of Wal-Mart TV commercials. As Hank Locklin crooned in his high tenor voice, “Puh-leez help me I’m faw-haw-lin’ in lu-huv with you,” the television screen depicted images of falling prices at America’s largest retailer.

Interestingly, many years ago, not too long after we got married, Sandy and I went to the Grand Ole Opry—we have very eclectic musical tastes—and heard Hank Locklin sing his famous signature song. Then, several years later, Sandy and I were visiting Nashville on another occasion. My parents and our son Jordan were with us. We ran into Hank Locklin in a restaurant and began talking to him. He sat down at our table with us and conversed for a while. A very nice gentleman. He gave Jordan his autograph—although Jordan (a small boy at the time) couldn’t have cared less and certainly didn’t (and probably still doesn’t) know who this man was. While we sat there talking with the country music legend, he told us that he made a whole lot more money off the Wal-Mart commercials in the 1990s than he did from the song’s original release in 1960. That, in spite of the fact the recording was a huge crossover hit on the pop charts (one of the first) and also did very well in the United Kingdom and Ireland. It just shows you how times have changed in the entertainment industry.

So, as I stand here gazing at all of these lethargic leaves in my yard, postponing the inevitable task at hand, I’m just reminiscing about that old balladeer Hank Locklin. And that classic tune of his just stays stuck in my head. And I suppose it will still be there until the last leaf falls. But that almost sounds like another old country song, doesn’t it? Anybody ever heard of a guy named Freddy Fender?

Pastor Danny

Let's Talk Turkey

Some years ago, the associate pastor at my former church in Florida was talking with his young son about what he had learned in his mission group the night before. Their conversation went something like this:

“Dad,” the boy said excitedly, “did you know that there’s a country named Chicken?”

“What?”

“I said did you know that there’s a country named Chicken?”

“Son, there’s no country named…”

“Oh, yes, there is, Dad! We learned about it last night. Our teacher said there’s a country named…er, uh…wait a minute…it’s Turkey! That’s it! There’s a country named Turkey!”

Linguistically, the boy was in the right church but the wrong pew. He knew it was poultry but he had zeroed in on the wrong bird.

This week, a lot of turkeys are hoping that somehow they will be lucky enough to be misidentified as well. It’s that time of the year when many gobblers (quite reluctantly) will find their way into ovens and fryers all across America.

Thanksgiving and turkeys have this long association going back to the very origins of the American holiday tradition. In fact, many Americans think it’s absolutely unpatriotic or even sacrilegious to dine on anything other than turkey on the fourth Thursday of November! This Thanksgiving/ turkey connection in our national psyche has infiltrated even the highest levels of our federal government. One of the grandest traditions associated with Thanksgiving is the annual “pardoning” of the National Thanksgiving Turkey by the President of the United States himself. This year is the 60th anniversary of the hallowed Washington ritual, first conducted in 1947. On that occasion, President Harry S Truman, in a gesture of benevolence and goodwill, “pardoned” the first such bird-on-the-chopping-block, canceling its imminent date with destiny aboard a garnished platter. This yearly death sentence commutation has since become an important responsibility of our nation’s Chief Executive, continuing throughout eleven presidential administrations, up to the present day.

In recent years, the naming of the National Thanksgiving Turkey (as well as his alternate, should he be unable to fulfill the duties of his high office) has become a national event via an Internet poll. On www.whitehouse.gov, citizens are able to cast their ballots for their favorite pair of monikers. This year's options are Wing & Prayer, May & Flower, Gobbler & Rafter, Wish & Bone, Truman & Sixty, or Jake & Tom. The winner will be personally announced by the President at the “pardoning” ceremony. (I voted for “Truman” and “Sixty,” in case you’re interested. By the way, last year’s winners were Flyer & Fryer!)

What happens to the feathered friend that gets pardoned? An all- expenses-paid vacation to Istanbul (Turkey)? A trip to Colonel Sanders’ original Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant in Corbin, Kentucky (the city where Sandy Davis was born)? No. Something stranger than that. After the presentation, the honored fowl will be flown first class (!) to Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida, where he will be the grand marshal of Disney’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Afterward, the bird will join the resort's permanent live-animal collection. This is the first pardoned turkey to be sent to Disney World. Just think...all of those years that Sandy and I lived near Disney and we never got to see the National Thanksgiving Turkey! I feel so deprived! (By the way, last year’s winner was sent to the original Disneyland in Anaheim, California, just in case you were wanting to know.)

All of this turkey talk is making me hungry. Evidently it’s time to wrap up this blog. It’s also time to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving! Remember that Thanksgiving is far more than food, football and family. While your celebration may include any or all of those elements, please don’t forget the One to Whom we need to direct our thanks —our Creator, our Sustainer, our Provider, our God. For truly, because of God’s amazing grace, we as Americans— and even much more so as Christians— have SO MUCH for which to be thankful.

But just in case you don’t feel like you have anything to be thankful for, at least be grateful that our Pilgrim forefathers decided against serving cooked possum as the main dish that first Thanksgiving. If they had, I’m not sure you would be cleaning your plate this coming Thursday.

Pastor Danny

Pulpit Ponderings

Several people have been admiring the small wooden pulpit I’ve been using on Sunday mornings while we’ve been undergoing our recent sanctuary renovations. This attractive lightweight lectern was designed especially for me by our own Doug Stovall. Months ago, Doug had noticed that the old white lectern I had been using on Wednesday evenings was rather cumbersome and unsteady. So he decided to build a new one as a personal gift to me. He measured it to fit my exact height specifications. He even put a brass plaque on it to identify it as mine. He presented it to me back in the summer and I’ve been using it on Wednesdays ever since. And most recently, during our platform construction, it has come in quite handy on Sunday mornings.

Doug’s pulpit is truly a work of art, an exquisite piece of fine craftsmanship. He made it from the wood of an old walnut tree. Surprisingly, while he was working with that wood, he came across an old stray bullet fired from a Civil War-era rifle. The bullet had been lodged in the tree trunk for more than a hundred years. So my new pulpit comes from historic old wood baptized in the fire of battle!

Our larger, more formal sanctuary pulpit is getting a breather right now. It probably will be back in its familiar place soon. By the way, it also has a brass plaque on it. Right on its face, where the speaker alone can read it, it says: “Sir, we would see Jesus” (John 12:21). That simple but profound request was made two thousand years ago by a group of God-fearing Greeks seeking to meet the Messiah. For centuries, that same verse has appeared on numerous pulpits as a reminder to the preacher to always lift up Jesus when he speaks.

Pulpits historically have come in all shapes and sizes. Some are so massive they look like a barricade protecting the preacher against a possible assault. Others are so lofty one wonders if the pastor needs an oxygen mask because of the thinness of air at that high altitude. Some modern pulpits are made of clear Plexiglas that you can see through. Some contemporary churches don’t have pulpits at all.

Twenty some years ago, I preached at an associational meeting at West Main Baptist Church in Danville. The church had this high pulpit that the speaker literally had to climb up into. Several people spoke from it over the course of the two-day meeting. Some had difficulty with it, however, feeling awkwardly constrained by it or appearing too large for it. There was a new pastor in town that hailed from Texas. As he rose to speak, he commented that the pulpit made him feel like he was caught in a cattle chute at a rodeo. Then he let out a good ole Lone Star yelp, “Yee-haw!” The crowd roared. That’s really the only thing I remember from his whole sermon. Later, someone said to me, “You’re the only preacher that looked like you fit in that pulpit.” Then, it dawned on me that the pulpit had been specifically designed, no doubt, for the church’s longtime (but by then retired) pastor, Dr. Howard Lee, who happened to be about the same height as me—5’7”. Most everyone else looked like they were about to topple out of it.

When I first went to Florida back in 1995, we had this massive pulpit on our platform that looked like it could have withstood a grenade blast. It really didn’t fit the style of our worship center. In fact, it was much too large for our stage area. And I looked like a little boy hiding behind it! With my encouragement, we opted for a whole new look—a sleek, open, three-cross design, merging neatly into a narrow, single pedestal base. I got the idea from Dr. Bobby Welch at First Baptist Daytona Beach (who later would become president of the Southern Baptist Convention). Bobby had designed the tri-cross pulpit himself. I had first seen it on his weekly television broadcast and then went over to Daytona to take a closer look. With his blessing, we built a replica with just a couple of modifications. (Again, Bobby and I were about the same height, so this made it a good fit for me). The pulpit is still there at my former church today.

Where churches place their pulpits is also interesting. Some churches with a more liturgical worship style have what they call a split-chancel. The pulpit (from which the minister preaches the sermon) is off to one side. Correspondingly, there is another smaller speaking stand—the lectern—which is off to the other side. This is typically where the Bible (or scripture lesson) is read (often by a lay person). In our Baptist tradition however, we’ve always placed the pulpit right in the middle, at center stage, because we historically have placed such a high priority on the preaching of the Word of God. Our worship is Word-centered. The proclamation of God’s infallible truth is paramount.

Some people think the first mention of a pulpit is actually found in the Bible, in Nehemiah 8. But the “pulpit” used then by the prophet Ezra to speak to the nation was probably not a pulpit like we think of a pulpit (i.e., something he stood behind). Rather, it was a platform, something high and lifted up, upon which he could stand and be seen by the masses. And that was the whole point of it—visibility, not separation. Connectivity, not distance or remoteness. To enhance communication, not impede it.

Some old-time preachers refer to the pulpit as “the sacred desk”. I’m not sure where that phrase originated. I don’t think it’s the desk that is sacred so much as it is the message. The bottom line for me is this: I think a pulpit can have a nice symbolic appeal. But it doesn’t matter so much what a preacher stands on or what he stands behind, as much as what he stands for.

“Bully Pulpit” was a term coined more than a century ago by President Teddy Roosevelt, not to describe a literal podium on which the president stood, but to symbolically describe the unique power of the presidency to speak out on issues of the day. (The word “bully” back then did not have the negative connotation it has today. So this doesn’t refer to the president browbeating or intimidating people by being a big, mean bully. It was a positive word inferring that he could use his office to speak out for the common good of the people.)

By the way, getting back to this matter of standing behind the pulpit, old-time evangelist Billy Sunday had a hard time standing behind anything. In fact, the former major league baseball player had a hard time standing still at all, often running, jumping, leaping, and simulating a slide into second base during his sermons! (And I thought I’d seen some lively preachers!) Well, I obviously don’t move around like Billy Sunday. This coming Lord’s Day, you’ll see me positioned in my familiar spot behind my little pulpit. No, it doesn’t provide as much “protection” as those massive ones. But if the old adage, “lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place” applies to bullets too, then hopefully I won’t have to dodge any of them when standing behind that remnant of an old battle-worn walnut tree.

Pulpiteer Danny