Blessing Buckets

Throughout the month of February, our children’s mission groups led the way in challenging the rest of our church family to get involved with a very important ministry project. It was an effort to tangibly partner with God’s Pit Crew (http://www.thegodspitcrew.org/), a Danville-based Christian ministry that makes a rapid response to people in crisis situations. (For example, most recently, God’s Pit Crew arrived in West Tennessee just hours after a series of violent tornadoes tore through the region displacing hundreds of people. They quickly provided basic necessities to individuals & families that had lost virtually everything.) Our project in February was to fill “blessing buckets” that would be distributed by God’s Pit Crew when they arrive on the scene at disaster sites like storm-ravaged Jackson, Tennessee. These large plastic buckets (comparable to big 5-gallon paint cans) were stuffed with various personal care items & necessities like soap, toothpaste, diapers, baby formula, etc. Personal notes to the recipients also were included.

Our kids volunteered to buy goods & fill buckets. Then they challenged the rest of the church family to do the same. So far, 105 buckets have been turned in. This past Wednesday night, Randy Johnson & other representatives from God’s Pit Crew were on our church campus to pick up the buckets, do a presentation for our children, and personally thank our church family for partnering with them in this effort.

After Randy Johnson shared photos of the devastation in Tennessee & told of the families being helped through our generosity, church member Gary Caldwell—who spearheaded this project for us—led in a brief dedication service for the buckets that were going out. He told our kids that this whole endeavor was truly a picture of the Body of Christ working together. Our children’s mission groups were the “hands” that gathered the goods for the buckets and now God’s Pit Crew would be the “feet” that would deliver those buckets to people in need.

Following Gary’s remarks, the children all stood to pray over the buckets. As each child stood silently over the specific bucket they had filled, they prayed for the individual that eventually would receive their bucket. It was a very moving ceremony, one that I hope makes a lasting impression on our children. Afterward, all of the kids physically carried the heavy buckets out to the God’s Pit Crew truck and loaded them on board. Then, for fun, they one-by-one got to climb behind the steering wheel of the God’s Pit Crew race car. (But, I promise you, none of our little Jeff Gordons actually drove the car!)

A special “hats off” to Randy Johnson & God’s Pit Crew for their selfless ministry of caring for others! I’m indeed glad that our church is a ministry partner with them. And a big "thank you" to our Mount Hermon Baptist Church "Bucket Brigade" for giving so generously and for being a blessing themselves.

Pastor Danny

Motley Memories

The other day I drove up to Lynchburg to visit a church member in the hospital. As I made my way up Highway 29, I saw the exit sign for the small community of Motley. The sight of that name on the sign stirred up some old memories.

The first time I ever laid eyes on Danville, Virginia was back in November 1984. I was in my last semester as a student at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary in Wake Forest, North Carolina. During my seminary days, in order to gain some desperately needed pulpit experience, I tried to take advantage of as many preaching opportunities as I could. I was on the seminary’s pulpit supply list, but honestly, the calls to be a fill-in preacher at a local church were few and far between, like two or three times a semester at best. So, I was really happy when I got the call to preach in this mysterious place called Motley, Virginia. First of all, I had never preached in Virginia before. And, on top of that, I had barely even been to Virginia. Indeed, except for one other seminary trip to Newport News, the only other times I had ever been to Virginia were back when I was in high school. Once a year, the first Saturday of October, my high school band from the mountains of eastern Kentucky always traveled to Bristol, Virginia for a big marching band competition. So, other than those annual treks to one of the westernmost points of the Old Dominion, I had minimal personal exposure to the Commonwealth. Again, I was happy to be able to preach in Virginia. (Actually, I was happy to be able to preach anywhere!) At that point, I had only preached in my home church back in Kentucky as well as in a handful of churches in North Carolina that were relatively close to the seminary. (By the way, those Tar Heel churches that suffered under my early preaching were so delighted to see me go out of state for a change, rather than subjecting them to more pain.)

On the Sunday I was to preach at Motley, I left home early that morning. Sandy did not go with me. We had found it to be quite challenging for her to join me on these longer preaching expeditions with a 3-year-old in tow. So, I made this particular trip on my own.

Driving up Highway 86 and crossing the state line into Virginia, I very soon came upon this city called Danville. I made a wrong turn at one point, however, and rather than connecting with Business 29, I wound up on Main Street and drove the length of it. I went past “church row” downtown and past all the old historic Victorian homes. I crossed the river, past the old textile mill with the big “Home of Dan River Fabrics” sign. As I made my may through the slumbering city early on that quiet Sunday morning, a feeling of peacefulness came across me, and I thought, “Danville, Virginia…Hmm, this seems like a nice city…a nice place to live.”

Ultimately, at the end of North Main, I wound up on Highway 29 and made my way northward to Motley, to a small country church. The only thing I remember about that Sunday was the grand introduction I received. A very sincere but inarticulate chairman of deacons was charged with conducting the service that day. When he stood to introduce me, I was surprised to see him reach into his suit coat pocket to pull out a rolled up copy of my personal resume that the seminary had mailed to him. Unbelievably, he proceeded to read haltingly through the entire document, stumbling over words as he went. In the process, he shared with the church family vast amounts of critical and pertinent data about me, such as my place and date of birth, my brief stint working as a busboy for a Holiday Inn restaurant back in the summer of ’73, and my first job out of college as a bank teller/ loan collector! I’m sure all of this was absolutely riveting to everyone else in attendance, but for me it was about as fun as a botched root canal job. By the time he finished and I finally got up to preach, I was sweating bullets and the small crowd was so glazed over that I doubt they even heard a word I said.

After the worship service ended, I left Motley and made my way back through Danville, stopping somewhere along Piney Forest Road to get a Coca-Cola. Again, I thought, “Hmm, this seems like a nice place.” Then I got back in my ’78 Chevy Impala—the one with a classic baby blue exterior and black vinyl seats—and proceeded back home to North Carolina.

It’s interesting what happened next. I was graduating from seminary that December, which was just a few weeks away. So, at that time, I had resumes all over the place, trying to find a church that would be willing to take a chance on me. An older pastor friend of mine that lived in Newport News had sent my resume to a number of places. The only one of those places that ever even acknowledged receiving my resume was some entity called the Pittsylvania Baptist Association in (whoa!) Danville, Virginia! Rev. Donald Harlan, then-PBA Director of Missions, wrote me a nice typewritten letter on PBA letterhead just a few weeks after my trip to Motley. He stated that there were not many pastorless churches in the association at that time, so he couldn’t really offer me much encouragement about possible ministry opportunities. After I read his letter, I immediately turned to Sandy and said, “Well, there’s one place in the world now where we know we’re NOT going…and that’s Danville, Virginia.”

It’s funny how God works, though. Not very long after that, I get a call from the chairman of the pastor search committee of a church named Melville Avenue Baptist Church in—“Where did he say?”—Danville, Virginia! They had received my resume--not from Don Harlan, but from another source. (No, not the guy in Motley with the rolled up copy! Actually, they got it from the seminary.) Soon thereafter, Sandy and I came to Danville and met with the search committee. They heard me preach. One thing led to another. And by Easter Sunday 1985, I was the pastor of a church in—of all places—that nice city I had first driven through just five months earlier when I was on my way to a preaching assignment up in good ole Motley.

This week’s trip to the hospital in Lynchburg for some reason prompted me to recall that long ago moment in time. And it also reminded me of a good God who, as part of His divine plan, first brought Sandy and me to Danville in 1985 and then back again in 2006. And yes, after more than 23 years, I can say that first impressions are true. The Danville area IS a nice place to live. It was back then and it still is today.

Pastor Danny

Away in a Monastery

Last November, at the annual meeting of the Baptist General Association of Virginia, I was the winner of a drawing for a free spiritual retreat at LivingStone Monastery in Newport News. (The last time I won any kind of drawing was at a bankers’ convention in Cincinnati for two free tickets to a National League Championship baseball game, but that was more than half my life ago, long before I was a preacher, and back when the Cincinnati Reds used to have good teams. But that's a whole other story.) This past week, I finally claimed my prize from LivingStone, which provided me with three days and two nights free room and board, as well as a quiet spiritual atmosphere conducive to personally connecting with God.

I had never stayed at a “monastery” before. Actually, LivingStone is an extended ministry of Hope Community Church, a young Baptist church in the city of Newport News. The actual facilities were originally built in the 1950s, as the home of the Order of Poor Clare, a cloistered community of Catholic nuns dedicated to a ministry of continual intercessory prayer. In 2004, when the nuns finally decided to vacate their increasingly urbanized surroundings for a more placid, country setting, they put the property up for sale. But they would only sell it to a Christian ministry that agreed to perpetuate the longstanding intercessory prayer tradition of the location, a proposition to which Hope Community Church readily agreed. Hence, LivingStone Monastery remains a citadel of intercessory prayer. And the monastic tradition continues on as eleven workers of the ministry actually make the facility their full-time home. The facility also serves the larger body of Christ by providing opportunities for personal and group retreats. And their extended campus serves as “home” to six different churches of varying flavors that worship there throughout the week, as well as a food bank, a thrift shop, and a ministry providing weekly hot-cooked meals for the needy.

For my personal spiritual retreat at LivingStone, I decided against bringing a lot of things to read. Just my Bible (two translations, actually—the New International Version, from which I preach, and The Message) as well as one devotional book—the classic Spurgeon’s Morning & Evening Devotions. I have been on personal retreats before. Sometimes they have been more study-oriented. This one was much more prayer focused, which was intentional on my part. That’s why I didn’t want to bring too much reading material. I didn’t want to spend time reading that I really needed to spend praying.

I spent the bulk of my time either in my tiny room, or in the chapel, or walking the grounds praying. I also participated (with the resident workers and the handful of other guests) in LivingStone’s daily corporate prayer times. The monastery operates on a daily “rhythm” of prayer. Three times a day, everyone stops whatever they’re doing to gather in the chapel for brief prayer services at 7 AM (just before breakfast), 12 Noon (just prior to lunch), and 9 PM (to close out the day). There’s no preaching, but a lot of scripture is read aloud responsively. And there are a number of recited (as well as spontaneous) prayers of adoration, confession, thanksgiving and supplication offered to the Lord. It was more of an ancient, liturgical or contemplative approach to prayer & worship, rather than what one might regard as a typical “Baptist” approach. But I found it very refreshing.

Interestingly, throughout the day from 7 AM to 9:30 PM, the Prayer Chapel is open for people to come and go as they may. Praise music can be heard echoing from the chapel throughout the day. Sometimes, it’s in the form of a CD recording. Sometimes, there’s a live singer/ guitarist, leading gentle praise unto the Lord. People come and pray and worship privately as the music is played. Artists, seeking godly inspiration for their artistic expressions, come quietly to the chapel and set up easels and paint or draw images in worship unto God while others are praying.

As I’ve already noted, the history of this place is deeply rooted in prayer. For more than a half-century, the St. Clare nuns would offer intercessory prayer around the clock. Interestingly, there is another chapel that is separated from the current prayer chapel. The only thing that links the two is a pair of lofty, massive, swinging doors, high above the altar area. These doors can be opened so that sounds of worship can emanate from one chapel to the other. Yet, anonymity is maintained as persons on either side of the wall remain hidden from each another. For years, the nuns would pray in the interior chapel, out of view of the general public. Yet, the public was free to come into the outer chapel (the current prayer chapel) and listen to the prayers of the nuns, day or night.

I had set some goals for my personal spiritual retreat, and all of them were met within my almost 48 hours on site. Some of the prayer goals were personal—things that I needed to bring before the Lord during a time when I could give them a long, concentrated, uninterrupted focus. But one of my prayer goals was to intercede for our local body of Christ in an exhaustive, comprehensive way. Thus, during my retreat, I prayed for our entire church family, individually, personally, by name. I prayed through our church directory. I prayed through the most updated version of our church prayer list. I prayed through the many names and addresses I have recorded in my day timer. I prayed for all the people whose phone numbers I have stored in my cell phone. (Thus, this prayer effort extended far beyond our Mount Hermon church family to include friends, family, churches I formerly pastored, as well as many mission partners around the world.) The point of me telling you this is to let you know that, if you are reading this blog, in all likelihood, you were prayed for. All of you were prayed for at least once. And some of were prayed for multiple times during my stay.

It’s a four hour drive from Danville to Newport News. But the trip was well worth it. I was there at the monastery from approximately noon on Monday to noon on Wednesday. It was a timetable that proved to be just right for what I had hoped (and needed) to experience. God truly blessed me by providing me with the gift of this unique opportunity. Perhaps, Lord willing, I’ll go back to LivingStone again sometime. But I'll definitely continue the practice of periodic personal spiritual retreats, whatever the venue.

Pastor Danny

A Super Bowl Never to Be Forgotten

It rarely happens, but this year’s big game really lived up to its hype. It was a classic showdown: the undefeated New England Patriots—one of the greatest teams ever to play the game—facing off against the surprising wildcard New York Giants. Super Bowl XLII—(That's 42 for you non-Romans out there)—was an epic David & Goliath confrontation, pitting the pursuit of perfection against a potential miracle upset.

For the mighty Pats, under the masterful leadership of the handsome & heroic Tom Brady—that golden boy with the golden arm—this would be the last notch in their gun belt. Yes, that final stop in their magnificent quest for a perfect season, an accomplishment so rarified that it had only been achieved once before in the long, hard-hitting history of the NFL.

For the Giants—whose team name seemed a gross misnomer in this potentially lopsided affair—it was the opportunity for young (& often erratic) Eli Manning to prove himself. The “Prince Harry” of the Royal House of Manning, Eli has always stood in the long shadow of legendary dad Archie and Crown Prince Peyton, the successor to the throne.

Absolutely nobody expected the Giants to be in this year’s big game. They had sorely disappointed their fans last year, falling far short of expectations. And when their gifted & glamorous running back (& UVA alum) Tiki Barber decided to hang up his cleats & retire early, no one thought the Giants would accomplish anything notable this season. But when it was all said & done, that scrappy gang from New York was the last team left standing to take on the glorious Patriots & perhaps deprive them of their seemingly inevitable date with destiny.

Many fans, in search of history, were rooting for New England to climax their pristine, record-setting season with a bold exclamation point, dismembering, decapitating and disemboweling the hapless Giants on their way to 19-0 elegance. But some folks (like me) enjoy rooting for the underdog. Rather than joining the bandwagon on the way to a coronation, some of us believe that the game still has to be played before the crown should be bestowed. (Hmm. Can anybody say “Barack” and “Hillary”?)

Anyway, as the great contest finally got underway, little Eli, like a young shepherd boy armed with only a slingshot and 5 smooth stones in his hand, valiantly took the field against the seemingly unconquerable foe. For 3 quarters of the game, a strong defensive battle ensued. The Giants had trouble scoring, but—gasp!—so did the invincible Pats. For the longest time, the score surprisingly remained frozen at 7 to 3, Patriots.

But then, in the game’s final quarter, when it appeared that Eli and company might never get the ball across the goal line, they scored a clutch touchdown and took the lead. But knowledgeable Giant fans breathed none too easy. For every credible armchair quarterback in America knew that cool Tom Brady would never roll over and play dead. General Tom marched his army down the field and quickly reversed the Giants’ fortunes with a quick score of their own. The Patriots were back in control, and things looked grim for young Eli. Surely, there was no way little Manning could do it again. But just when it seemed the tiny Giants’ hearts were about to be squashed into the turf, Eli literally escaped the clutches of his potential captors and lofted an unbelievable desperation throw that put his team within striking distance. Seconds later, he threw his second touchdown pass of the quarter. Suddenly it was 17-14, Giants. Only seconds remained on the clock. Tom the Great & his gladiators mounted a final assault. But their last ditch effort fell short. The Touchdown King’s last pass was incomplete. Grown men wept. Women screamed. New England fans rent their clothing, donning sackcloth and ashes. There was no joy in Patriotville. The mighty Brady had struck out.

Without a doubt, Super Bowl XLII was a great game with tons of drama, emotion and heroics. And the truth is: Heroic feats inspire us. They touch us deeply. They remind us of the God-given potential within any of us to rise up and courageously meet the challenges that come our way in life.

Lest we forget, however, life’s greatest heroes are not those who play with a pigskin on a gridiron, but rather those who know and do the will of God each day. Thus, while you may never have the chance to lead your team to the Super Bowl, you can still be a hero as you walk by faith and allow your life to be shaped according to God’s plan. Anybody that does that is pretty super in my book.

Pastor Danny

P. S. Jordan, I'm sorry your boys lost.