tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12166920984787053132024-03-13T06:25:12.210-04:00WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COMMUNION JUICE!The Musings, Rants and Wisdom of a Small Church Pastor and Church Culture Observer. Kickin' Over Sacred Cows and Challenging the Status Quo and The Extremeism in the Crazy, Extrabiblical Trends in the Urban Church Culturesaint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-77649899675728547682012-12-13T15:11:00.000-05:002012-12-13T15:16:45.850-05:00An Alternative Way to Celebrate Christmas<br />
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It's been a very long time since have decided to post on this blogl. I really should get back to it. Here is another one of my musings; I hope it makes some sense to you,<br />
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I'll be glad when Christmas Season is over. Heres why: The hype of the season and day never lives up to the planning and the spending and the pomp, etc., I haven't genuinely enjoyed Christmas Day since I was about 12 years old. Back then all I had to do was wait in anticipation for the day and get new stuff, eat and start vacation from school.<br />
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Life has become a little more complicated since then. While I am not truly Ebenezer Scrooge or a Grinch, I do wish that things were just more simple. I agrre that the holiday has become too comercialized. That's factual; no real argument can be made against it. People claim to abhor the presence of Christmas advertisements right after Halloween, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah, and yet they participate as if they are powereless to resist the lure of Black Friday sales, Cyber Monday seductions and Small Business Tuesday, ugh. I will not participate in any event that begins with people being knocked down, shoved, stomped and trampled for an inanimate object. Insanity and greed run amuck. I have made the decison to celebrate the holiday in the simplicity in which the Savior came; to humble people via humble means, of no reputation, in the form of of a servant.<br />
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This year, If I cannot make the gift, I won't be giving it. I love the idea of giving gifts but trolling the malls, shoppes, stores, catelogues and on-line sites for the "perfect" gift annoys me. It is not necessary. I am not condemning those who will do it I just want to be free from all of that pressure. I find it telling that we need to remind ourselves repeatedly thyat "Jesus is the reason for the season!"<br />
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I cannot see how this exhorbitant spending and indebtedness in celebration of the holiday represents Christ or the purpose for which he came. I am choosing to make financial gifts to two charitable organizations that in my estimation do the work of Christ on a daily basis. One feeds the hungry on an international level and the other takes in the homeless, addicted, hungry and sick in Boston, MA. I do this not to tout some superior spirituality or to claim a higher sensibility but becaue I think it more truly represents the character of Christ as I understand it. Perhaps my sharing this may free someone else from the cultrural pull that starts in late October and begins again on December 26th with all the crap that is now on sale that folk spent top dollar for 2 days before!<br />
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This year, on Christmas Eve, I will light my candle, read the nativity story, hug my grandchildren, kiss my wife and go to sleep glad for the incarnation of the Christ who came to make all men free.<br />
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God rest ye merry gentlemen let nothing you dismay<br />
Remember Christ our Savior was born on Chritmas day<br />
To save us all from Satan's pow'r when we had gone astray<br />
O Tidinigs of Comfort and Joy Comfort and Joy!<br />
O Tidings of Comfort and Joy!<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-85155653495909691072009-11-10T15:48:00.005-05:002011-08-19T19:13:36.298-04:00UGH!I really can't stand <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Christianese</span></span>! You know what that is don't you? It's the weird way some Christians talk to each other about life and spiritual things. Like saying "Praise the Lord" as a replacement for "Hello and how are you?" Ugh! I never did appreciate that. Sometimes I speak <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Christianese</span></span> because it is expected of me as a minister and pastor. I do it but I'd much rather just speak to people in normal every day words.
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<br />One Sunday afternoon I was in a local <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">eatery</span> that is frequented by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Christians</span> after their church services. As I sat at my table with a bite of chicken in my mouth a woman I know who calls herself "Evangelist" as a part of her name (UGH!) approached me wearing her best Sunday garb.
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<br />Praise the Lord!, she said. I responded by saying, "Hello." <strong><em>"I said, Praise the Lord!",</em> </strong>she smiled an annoyed smile as she forced the issue with me<em>.</em> <strong></strong>I responded again with my previous greeting. "I'm going to teach you how to greet the saints", she replied with more than a hint of indignation. As I tried to enjoy my dinner she proceeded to lecture me on the high importance of the use of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Christianese</span></span> when speaking with other believers. UGH! On her way back to the buffet she saw my wife and informed her of the impromptu workshop she subjected me to. She ruined my dinner! I have never been back. I try to avoid places and gatherings where Christians find the need to create a world of language, tradition and behavior that makes sense only to the group.
<br />It's not that I can't appreciate the need for <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">camraderie</span> and group thinking but I have always found it a little, um..., er... <em>weird; </em>that's all. It is just not a way I choose to live my life.
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<br />I also eschew buttons, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">bumper</span> stickers, religious coffee mugs, magnets, pens, T-shirts and a host of other gadgets and trinkets marketed to Christians. I am not inclined to paste the name of the GOD I serve on objects. I don't condemn people who do I merely resent it when they <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">insist</span> that I do.
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<br />Another pet-peeve of mine is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">fashionese</span></span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Fashionese</span></span> are the non-clerical garb worn by church people that has no function outside of church services or functions. We've all seen these garments. Hats, dresses, suits for men and women that just scream "<strong><em>INAPPROPRIATE SELECTION!" </em></strong>in any venue other than a black church. These are not clothes one can wear to work or for a day on the town without a dozen side glances and more than a few muffled giggles. It just makes me <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">uncomfortable</span>; that's all. If that's your thing, carry on and <em>do</em> <em>you, </em>as they say. Just don't expect everyone to do it.
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<br />I don't t<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">hink</span></span> GOD wants all his children to become <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">conformists</span>. You know what I mean; everyone one of us does all the same things in the very same way looking all the same as we do them. I believe in transformation not mandated conformity. I believe that the Holy Spirit works in each of us <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">according</span> to the purpose for which we were created. I love the diversity of personality and tradition within church people and respect that there is something to be gained by observing other people's traditions.
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<br />If you never see me wearing a Christian button or <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">hear</span> me answer my phone with a scripture don't assume I am less devoted than you. I simply choose to let my life and living speak for me. I hope you understand. If not, all I can say is <strong>UGH!</strong>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-84662682648994939462008-08-14T20:07:00.005-04:002009-11-30T16:54:25.761-05:00The Bearded AngelWhen my eldest grandson was 4 years old he was asked by his Children's Church teacher to make a replica of an angel; a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">messenger</span> of GOD. Dylan drew a male angel with wings and a full beard and mustache. He was 4 years old. He showed it to me at home and I was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">surprised</span> to see that Dylan had drawn an angel with a very dark, beard and a mustache that not at all colored like the rest of the angel which was light blue. I asked him why he drew the angel with such an unusual face. He tipped his head and examined the angel and said: "I dunno Pop Pop, I think that must be what an angel looks like." Long after the time Dylan ran off to go to bed, I looked at the angel again. It became clear to me. Dylan's view of GOD was deeply impacted by his relationship with his grandfather, the pastor. The mustached and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">bearded</span> angel's manicured facial hair very closely resemble my own trademarked facial decor. He infused into his drawing the closest thing he knew to GOD. His grandfather. I was humbled and afraid. I never really <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">experienced</span> any flattery from his attribution. I knew far too well how far I was from being in the image of Christ. I am certainly a work in progress. The gospel song, "<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Please</span> Be Patient with Me God Is Not Through with Me Yet" could very well be my theme song.<br /><br />For children and for other grown folk who don't know GOD through Christ Jesus, we are the main <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">piece</span></span> of scripture they'll know. The only church service they see. It's how they will view GOD until they come to know Him for themselves. Just like Dylan knew GOD through his Pop Pop.<br /><br />Jesus said, "Let your lights so shine fore men that they might see (observe and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">contemplate</span>) your good works and (in turn) glorify your father in heaven." In this saying Christ gives to his followers an obligation to correct, loving, righteous behavior in the view of those who are not <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">followers</span> or disciples of Christ.<br /><br />I have tucked the angel away with a number of cards, notes and drawings he made for me. Every now and then I'll pull the angel out and look at it. I am always stricken with the need to be an exemplary man, grandpa and minister in before him.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-3298717753106075482008-08-14T19:57:00.010-04:002011-05-23T14:22:10.058-04:00FATHER PAIN AND FORGIVENESS"When I moved in here I gave you five thousand dollars!" These were the indignant words of my father in response to my request that he replace a deeply sentimental gift to my wife I had made. I gave the gift on the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">occasion</span> of my wife's gift to me of her kidney after mine had failed from diabetic complications. The gift was a replica of the statue called The Kiss. It is a famous sculpture of a man and woman locked in a nude embrace, passionately kissing. My wife and I called it The Kidney. When my grandson <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">first</span> saw it he was 6 years old. He looked at it studiously and looked up at me with his eyes fixed on mine. He looked at the statue again and circled it in wide eyed <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">amazement</span>, He said; "Pop Pop, why is this in the house?" I laughed and explained to him the reason I purchased it. I asked him if he thought it was a bad thing and he said he didn't know. Despite my grandson's reservations the artwork was a symbol of love, fidelity and sacrifice for my wife and I. It was prominently displayed in our entry way, fittingly so.<br /><br /><br />In an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">act o</span>f carelessness my father broke the statue and attempted to glue it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">together</span> in a crude and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">haphazard</span> manner. When I saw it I was shocked and disappointed. He didn't mention the broken piece of sentimentality. He waited for me to say something to him about it. When I asked him how it was broken he gave an answer that caused me more disappointment and disgust. He had broken a clear house rule and the result was the destruction of a piece of art that held emotional and historical significance for Lynette and I. He quickly told me he would replace the broken sculpture. Okay, it won't truly replace it but, well, okay. It took me a few weeks to determine how much the replacement cost would be.<br /><br /><br />When I informed my father of the cost he became visibly angered. It was at this point that he mentioned the alleged five thousand dollars he gave me. It was actually two thousand dollars and that was not unreasonable considering he got a large heated room, kitchen privileges and off street parking. He would have to pay that for a lesser living quarters almost anywhere in the city. My first response to his indignation was anger. How dare he mention what he gave me when he moved into my home? He never paid a dime in child support, rarely even saw me as a child nor did he ever inquire as to my well being! I very briefly contemplated telling him that whatever he gave me was 45 years late and still insufficient! I controlled my temper and told him his attitude was obnoxious and intolerable. A yelling match ensued. Though I didn't tell him that he needed to relocate. I knew <em>he knew</em> it was time to go. It was a relief. For three years he had disregarded house rules, privacy, courtesy and general respect, repeatedly and unrepentantly. I was tired and so was my wife. When he finally told me he had found a place to go <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">relief</span> morphed into exultation. I would have my life and home back.<br /><br /><br />The relationship with my father was always difficult for me. Before it was difficult it was hardly existent. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Though a</span> big personality and hugely <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">popular</span> character in Boston and Cambridge, to me he was a ghost. A figure that quickly appeared and disappeared at <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">different</span> stages of my life. He never knew my birthday. When I was a child he honored the day once. He gave me his white 10 speed white racing bike for my 13<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span></span> birthday. I had already been given a emerald green, chopper bike with a mile high sissy bar earlier in the week. We never really clicked or bonded. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">We</span> never had father and son time alone when I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">was</span> a kid, or teen. I always shared him with his woman or girlfriend for the day or the weekend. I never really got to know him and he certainly never really got to know me; his son. When I was married I asked him to be my "best man" as an act of respect and generosity. The relationship remained strained and distant.<br /><br /><br />At the time he moved into our home he was at a low point in his life. His health and circumstances had taken a nose dive. I felt sorry for him. I felt guilt about knowing he needed a place to stay and not wanting to offer him to share my space. Though he wasn't much of a father figure to me he was funny and could be fun to be around. I considered him a friend. I truly felt that the time for us as father and son was long gone. There had been too much time, too little regard for his absences and far too many hurts to be repaired. The only hope I held was one of forgiveness and friendship. He immediately became a member of my church and set about to helping me grow the church numerically. He worked tirelessly as a bus driver and unofficial evangelist. He introduce many people to the church and ultimately to the gospel through his charitable acts. At one time he collected food that would have been discarded by a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">renowned</span> eatery and distributed it to homeless and needy people in the street.<br /><br />In retrospect the way my father handled the broken statue is the way he handled many issues in his life. He attempted to make things right by his version of glue; humor, money, favors and half hearted apologies. Somewhere deep inside, in a place I don't think he ever really visited, he was in a lot of emotional pain. Whatever or whomever had created whom he was had left a very wounded boy who had grown into a wounded man who created his own wounds on his son. He was never able to have a transparent and real conversation with me about what his absence in my life had cost <em>me.</em> All I ever really wanted from him was acceptance of responsibility for his actions. Because he couldn't do it a gulf existed between us. It was cordial. It was friendly. It was loving but it was a gulf. I tried hard to maintain an attitude of forgiveness about it but it took a lot of prayer and acceptance. Forgiveness is not often a one time event when dealing with family issues or people. We are flawed. We make mistakes. We have good intentions but we so often miss the mark in our attempts. My very difficult relationship with my father did teach me that forgiveness is not merely a principle but a commitment to a truth that can challenge your rhetoric and your faith. I didn't experience much change in the relationship but there was some change in me. I had never intended to forgive my father for his abandonment of me. In some ways my anger around that issue fueled my desire to do what he didn't do but that is really negative in it's impetus. Living with my father forced me to deal with my anger on a daily basis. Would I live with the bitter attitude or would I live out my faith and just accept who he was. It was easier to do the latter and more to the point it was right and righteous.<br /><br />My father is now dead and gone to his eternal reward. Living with forgiveness while he was living made his passing an easier transition for me. I didn't have all the regret, anger, and angst that can accompany a death without forgiveness and resignation. The years and experiences that I did not have with my father will never be. I don't think there is a healing for that. I think there is redemption for it. GOD is able to make all things work out for the good of them that love Him. I have a compassion and connection for others who have similar pain. I work for the betterment of children who also have missing parents; especially fathers. Therein is the good from out of the bad. By the way, he never replaced the statue. All that remains where the object once stood is a scarred wall with bits of glue. Someday I will repair and patch the wall; paint it. Redeem the site.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-39481569397113425402008-06-19T19:44:00.006-04:002008-07-17T18:09:39.872-04:00THE OTHER DAY I CRIEDI cried the other day. I was at a planned work appointment. The appointment was arranged to be on a ship on the historic waterfront of Boston. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Charlestown</span> Shipyard is a beautiful place. The weather was very hot; in the 90's. I thought the breeze would be a welcomed reprieve from the heat. I arrived early. I did so for two reasons. I am notorious for running behind the appointed time for a meeting and I did not want to be one of the minority Negroes who kept the boat waiting. The second reason and the most important one is this: I have a disability. My ambulation has been compromised by the long term side effect of diabetes. I have nerve damage in my feet and severe arthritis stemming from another diabetic condition. I have to be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">planful</span> about walking. I arrived early to check out the area and to give myself enough time to negotiate the terrain. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Charlestown</span> is full of cobblestone walks and streets. Cobblestone is beautiful and quaint but it is hard to walk on.<br /><br />Proud of the fact that I was the first to arrive I stationed myself under a shelter and awaited the arrival of my co-workers. Eventually they arrived in a festive mood. I, on the other hand, was apprehensive. I wanted to know how far the walk to the ship was. I had already struggled with the walk from the parking garage to the meeting place and as I've already explained it was <strong><em>hot.</em></strong> After a few moments of chit-chat and formalities we all began the trek to the ship. I lagged behind. I am used to moving a little more slowly these days. I've adjusted. What is hard for me is to take the gentle kindnesses of people willing to assist me. I guess it's a pride thing and probably a man thing too. I am both. A very gracious woman and friendly colleague sidled up to me and said quietly; "Let me take your bag". I insisted that I had it all under control and gently refused her offer. My colleague said in a firm and determined voice just above a whisper (in a voice I have heard many women of African descent use so many times before); "Give me the bag". I acquiesced and she carried the bag for me to the ship. I struggled to keep a pace that was relatively swift while others occasionally asked me about my progress and well being. I waved them on and said I'd catch up. I felt old. I felt embarrassed. I was uncomfortable.<br /><br />An office mate of mine stayed behind with me to ensure that I was not left alone in the oppressive heat with my feet struggling to carry my load over the uneven sidewalk. I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">misstepped</span> a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">couple</span> of times and I prayed that I would not fall. I finally arrived at the gate to the plank like ramp that would lead to the deck that would lead to the ship. I braved the ramp. It is no small feat to walk a ramp at a 45 degree angle with a cane. I did it, walking on my heels because my feet cannot grip as they once did. Once on the narrow and floating deck I was even more uncomfortable. The deck wavered with the water and I panicked. I did not want to fall over in the water on either side of the deck. Another co-worker had <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">just</span> pointed out that the water was filled with jelly fish. I peered over the left side to see more jelly fish than I had ever seen in my life at one time! Nervous, embarrassed, I continued on cautiously. I was offered a wheel chair to assist me (<strong><em>get away from me with a wheel chair!). </em></strong>What I needed was a deck that didn't waiver.....or a meeting that was closer to the shore...or a new pair of feet; but none of these were immediate options. I continued on the deck until a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">small</span> wave moved the deck for the third time. I temporarily lost my balance, quickly regained it and stopped walking altogether. I determined that I was through trying to navigate this walk of horrors and decided to return to my vehicle and go back to my office. I announced my intention and turned around to make the trek back. I asked for someone to get my briefcase and I made it back to the parking lot. I was driven to my car by the co-worker who lagged behind with me. She was sweet to do that.<br /><br />When I finally paid my parking fee which was $9.00 for 90 minutes. I sat in my car and wept. I cried because I was embarrassed, I cried because I was angry. I cried because I felt humiliated and defeated. I cried because I felt sorry for myself. I cried because I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">felt</span> that my needs were not considered in the planning of the meeting. I cried because I was mad at myself for not following my instinct the night before to cancel my appearance at the meeting believing the walk would be prohibitive. I was mad at the doctors who didn't catch the diabetic <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">syndrome</span> happening in my feet and discharged me from the hospital with a broken foot that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">collapsed</span> two days later, (That's a whole '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">nuther</span> story boys and girls). I was even a little mad at GOD for a minute. I don't know why, really. I guess I needed someone to blame and HE seemed convenient. I quickly repented and asked HIM what I could learn from the incident. I am not sure. I am thinking about it. I know that my own disability has made me much more aware of other people's struggles with architecture; stairs, hallways, the lack of seating in public places, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">etcetera</span>. It has made me a more <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">compassionate</span> person. Isn't that what our troubles are designed to do in a sense? <strong>2 Corinthians 1:4 </strong>says that we comfort others with the same comfort with which we ourselves are comforted; That comfort comes from GOD. Some experiences are not for us. They happen to us but they are not <em>specifically for us. </em>Is is possible that my disability has a greater reason than diabetic complications or an arrogant doctor's error? I think so. I never paid much attention to the fact that so many churches with the sign "ALL ARE WELCOME" under the church name have made no provision for the elderly, the sick or the disabled to enter those buildings. I am now acutely aware. I am more patient as people cross the street while I wait at a light. I notice high curbs and have assisted others in managing them. I once saw a man struggling to get his wife from her wheelchair into their car. My heart was touched and I (along with my cane) assisted the elderly gentleman in his task. I was his hero that day. It reminded me of how GOD's grace works in us. We are not perfect; no not at all, but what HE has deposited can be a blessing to someone else.<br /><br />For the Christian our troubles work within us a work that is far greater than the immediate happening of trouble or disaster or disability. If we are wise we will allow the work of the Holy Spirit to transform us on the inside. I am indeed different on the outside but I am much more transformed on the <em>inside</em> because of the lessons I've learned through the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">adversity</span> I've experienced over the past 10 years or so. Like the old saints used to say; "I wouldn't take nothin' for my journey."<br /><br />I've stopped feeling sorry for myself and I am in a more reflective mood. In my refection I can see the hand of GOD at work on my behalf in the two women who assisted me. They were like goodness and mercy that morning. I thank GOD for them and today they are in my prayers of thanksgiving. I feel blessed. It's my turn to comfort someone else. Thanks for listening.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-29805168984942515482008-03-31T13:03:00.011-04:002009-12-31T17:24:23.478-05:00House Dresses and Cigarettes....Confessions of a well meaning, religious bigotAs a very young pastor I attended a national pastor's conference designed to support pastors whose churches are located in the inner city. I was expectant, excited and full of zeal. The first year was a life changing event for me. I was able to meet and hear a message from a pastor that I greatly admired. Pastor E.V. Hill whose approach to preaching had deeply influenced my own was a guest speaker. The entire weekend was a magnificent experience for me. I wept the entire time as the LORD did so many wonderful things in my heart and life.<br /><br />What a difference a year makes. The following year I attended the same conference. This time a discouraged, depressed, tired and sick pastor attended the conference. I declined to attend with friends this time; preferring to travel alone so I could think, meditate and pray. I could also be there without the distraction of my friend's desire to shop, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">sight see</span> or visit friends.<br />I kept asking GOD to please make sure someone was there to minister to me. I needed support. At the time my denomination had no routine means to support, train or counsel <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">pastors</span> or ministers on the local level. There was an annual conference but you could die of spiritual thirst waiting on that yearly meeting. My whole prayer was for the LORD to arrange for someone to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">minister</span> to me.<br /><br />I arrived at the first meeting on time but not in time to get a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">preferable</span> seat. As I stood surveying the building an usher approached me and escorted me to the front of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">congregation</span>; first row; right side of the church. As I took my seat, I noticed a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">rubenesque</span></span></span>, woman with a pleasant <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">demeanor</span> and a perm that needed a touch up <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">desperately</span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">The</span> most remarkable thing about this woman was the fact that she was wearing a shift. For those of you too young to know, a shift was a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">house dress</span> with no sleeves and a simple wrap-style or plain buttoned down front. These dresses were typically worn around the house as one cleaned, cooked or enjoyed leisure time. I immediately thought; "Who is this lady in this <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">great</span> big <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ol</span></span></span>' meeting in a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">house dress</span>?" She smiled as I took my seat directly in front of her. At some point during the service I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder and heard <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">indiscernible</span> words in a clear pattern of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">fervent</span> prayer. Someone was praying for me. I turned to see it was the lady in the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">house dress</span>. After the service this lady made a point of speaking to me and asked my name. That evening in my hotel room, I prayed with tears for the LORD to send someone to me to encourage me, give me a "word" or some sign that He was still with me in this role of pastor. I suppose I wanted one of the internationally famous pastors to recognize my need and say something that would transform my life and ministry. Didn't happen.<br /><br />The next day I was again led to my seat by an usher. I was seated this time directly in back of the lady with the bad perm. She was wearing another <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">house dress</span>. In this morning session. The speaker encouraged the people to share prayer needs with those around them. Immediately the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">house dress</span> lady turned to me and she took my hands and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">asked</span> what I would like to pray about. I couldn't even speak. I closed my eyes and just froze. The tears seeped through my closed lids as I tried to formulate words that could <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">explain</span> my needs to this stranger. She began to pray. Her prayer addressed the needs of my life. Her prayer was a balm for my pain and disillusionment. I also prayed for her and we embraced. The following day I was seated before her and she sought me out. As we began to talk, I realized that it was through this very <em>different</em> lady (at least from my perspective) that GOD has answered my prayer for someone to minister to me. My expectation was entirely different; foolish, limited and bigoted. In my interactions with that lady and her very real compassion for me that I saw very clearly the beauty of Jesus. Through this woman of GOD my soul was lifted and I was hopeful and refreshed in the Holy Spirit. GOD used this white woman from New York to bless a black man from Boston. In doing so he addressed a bias I had regarding clothing and judging the value of people based on appearance. Through this experience He also revealed the limited view I had of the sources of the grace of GOD.<br /><br />Another instance of GOD correcting biases and false expectations was my reluctant attendance to a three day conference at a catholic conference site by a beautiful lake in <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Massachusetts</span>. I initially resisted the invitation because, well.... they were catholic. I had visions of statues, Mary veneration, smoke and rosary beads. My friend assured me that the meeting was multi-denominational and was not strictly catholic but I didn't want to take the risk. I never really made up my mind to go until I was actually in the car heading towards the southern part of Massachusetts with the friend that invited and eventually demanded that I attend. Too late to change my mind, I wondered as I peered over my sunglasses peripherally a<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">t</span> my excited friend. Yeah, too late came the response from my conscience and we careened on to the "reluctant weekend".<br /><br />The first hour of this new experience was extremely uncomfortable. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">No one</span> there looked like me. I was the speck in the cup of milk as we say in my collective community. A colloquial reference to being the only Black/African American in a roomful of White folk. Some of the songs that were sung I knew, the scripture references were familiar, of course. I was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">surprised</span> to see that during free time that was allotted for the prisoners, oops, I mean, participants to get to know one another there were more than a couple of people who were smoking cigarettes. I thought: "Don't these heathens know they are in a church function on a church site for a spiritual retreat?"<br />As soon as my thought was complete one of this ill-informed people walked up to me with cigarette in mouth uttering a greeting. I pretended not to understand what I had heard in order to signal to him that he should remove the offensive <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">sign</span> of his spiritual immaturity. We then introduced ourselves. During this little get-to-know-you attempt the man claims that he has a "word from the LORD" for me. My mind immediately put up a barrier! "<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">You</span> ain't got no word for me with that cigarette hanging out of your mouth <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">brother</span>!, was my initial thought. He immediately began to speak of things that he could certainly not know about me from a very brief introduction. It soon became clear to me that the LORD was using this man to encourage me abut the weekend. The unlikely prophet also foretold some things that came to pass in my life. Hmmmmm.<br /><br />I believe Elijah, the prophet also had a similar experience as recorded in scripture . He is running from the death threat issued to him by Jezebel the Queen and wife of Ahab the wicked king of Israel. He eventually ends up depressed, hiding in a cave with a warped perception of his ministry and whom the LORD was using. Elijah's ministry was one that was accompanied by signs and wonders. Just before the death threat he called down fire from Heaven in a battle between the Priests of Baal and the Prophets of the LORD. We find Elijah in the cave having an expectation of GOD's presence in his life to be like it always was. There was a lightening storm, an earth quake and a hurricane while Elijah was in the cave. The Bible says each time one of those great events happened Elijah went to the mouth of the cave and expected to hear GOD's voice; like he always did, in the great wonders. GOD was not in any of those experiences. It wasn't until a gentle breeze came by the cave that Elijah finally heard the LORD's voice. When he heard the voice of GOD it put in perspective his misperception of who was being used by GOD. ("I alone am left as a servant of Jehovah! <strong>1 Kings 18:22, 19:10</strong>"). I think also, it must have broadened the vision of Elijah's ministry. He found out there were 7 thousand other faithful people still serving the LORD! In the direction recieved he was given instruction concerning his nation, another nation and the next generation; his mentor, Elisha.<br /><br />Being open to the Sovereignty of GOD is somethimes a hard thing to do. He keeps switching things up. Just when you think you 've got HIM in a box he breaks the box and your perceptions. He does this so you can trust in HIM and not methods, and what worked "the last time." Our relationship with the LORD keeps unfolding. Sometimes that is very uncomfortable. It continues to be revelatory and expanding to our hearts and experiences. I continue to try to be open to the way the LORD wants me to take. I try to learn from the people he places in my path; though sometimes I feel like some of them are just in my way. (Smile) The experiences I had with the lady in the house dress and the smoking prophet enlarged my understanding of the Body of Christ. They also opened my heart to those who were not like me. I'm also learning HIS ways are not my ways! I'm in a learning mode and the lesson is making me exactly who my Heavenly Father wants me to be and with that I am comfortable.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-35102442112226599382008-03-13T18:23:00.012-04:002010-07-15T18:38:02.550-04:00I MISS YOU CLARICEI Miss my friend Clarice. Clarice <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Winbush</span></span> Thousand. I can see her now. Tall, stately, a mess of silver hair worn as a crown, mouth open, smiling, or talking or fussing or praying or getting somebody told. Clarice was my friend. In many ways a role model, a mentor and a confidante. She was a mother and a big sister to me. I met Clarice Thousand 21 years ago. I was introduced to her on the phone. We spoke briefly and made a time and date to meet and visit a church in Western, Massachusetts. I didn't know what I was in for. Clarice was funny and comfortable to be around. She immediately started calling me Jim. I hate that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">nickname</span>. I never allow anyone to call me that.....<em>ever.</em> I can't explain why but I allowed my new friend to call me......"Jim", ugh!<br /><br />Clarice was, er... um, how can I say this...? Oh, okay, she was bossy; with a capital <strong>B</strong>. Initially, this proved volatile. I can be quite ah, um, <em>directive, </em>myself and not at all inclined to be told what to do. In the early stages of the development of our friendship we had many arguments. We argued about scripture, people we knew in common, social issues, religious beliefs and the time of the day. It was a part of our dynamic. She liked to argue and so did I. The hard part was that neither one of us wanted to be wrong. This eventuated several phone call hang ups and mutual bad tastes in respective mouths. Funny thing though we always came back to each other in love and mutual respect. I respected Clarice and she respected me.<br /><br />Clarice and I were not close in age. Clarice was the same age as my deceased mother. In fact, My mother, Mary and Clarice had a similar vocal cadence. It felt familiar. Clarice had a habit of talking so long when she was making her point that she ran out of breath on the last few words and had to force them out. She and I had a simpatico that I am sure few understood. I started calling her "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Motherfriend</span></span>" and she started calling me her son. She also <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">embraced</span> my family. She became friends with Lynette. They had many tearful conversations about life as women in the ministry. Clarice was a great encourager to Lynette or "Annette" as she sometimes called her. She always inquired about my children and I inquired about her son, Jason.<br /><br />Clarice was a real evangelist. I know this. Clarice never went anywhere without telling somebody that Jesus loved them. She did it by showing love. Clarice loved the people on the street. As she told me, one of the great frustrations of her life was her belief that the church had failed to reach out to the common person on the street. I had visited Clarice's home many times and observed her interactions with the residents of her very large apartment building. Clarice appeared to be the building chaplain and minister-at-large. She was the resource lady, the sunshine lady, the building counselor and the building mother and grandmother.<br /><br />I had several hospitalizations over the years when she visited me and took over the care of her son by giving directions to the nurses and several doctors. If questioned, she replied with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">haught</span> and clipped speech; "<em>I am a retired nurse...when will you have this done?" </em>It was too funny to watch her in action. Once while in the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">rehabilitation</span> hospital in Cambridge, the city of Clarice's residence, I was on heavy pain medication. I tried all morning to pray but kept falling <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">asleep</span>. I couldn't gather my thoughts to pray. Lying <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">flat</span> on my back, the tears of frustration and pain ran down the sides of my face and disappeared into wet spots behind my ears. <em>"LORD, I'm trying to pray and I can't. I'm trying to get to you and I can't , please help me." </em>I drifted off to sleep. I was awakened by Clarice coming in to my room with gifts. She brought books, diabetic candy, tapes, and a portable communion set. She told me that she had planned to come and see me the following day but that GOD spoke to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">her</span> and told her to come that day. Clarice was my intercessor that day. She prayed in my stead and then prayed for me. She served me communion and chastised the nurses for leaving me on my back for so long. Just what I needed.<br /><br />When Clarice was hospitalized with a very serious block in her carotid artery I visited her the evening before the surgery. I brought her a book by her favorite author, Max <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Lucado</span>, a card and some flowers. We talked and prayed and sang praise songs in her hospital room. I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">asked</span> her if she was scared and she acknowledged some fear. We prayed together again. Clarice sent me home with , <em>"I'll see you in the morning!"</em> I worried all night whether she meant that in the literal sense or in the sense that so many faithful believers in Christ have used that phrase. I worried that I may have seen Clarice for the last time. I prayed for her and I cried at the thought of losing my close friend. Clarice pulled through and recovered. I later told her of my concern over her final words to me. We laughed and breathed a sigh of release that GOD had answered both of our prayers and the prayers of so many more her knew and loved Reverend Thousand, as she was known.<br /><br />Clarice loved crafts. She loved to decorate and make things for people. She made baskets for special days and got joy out of making people happy. The year before she died I made a commitment to give Clarice money for gasoline for her car. Gas was expensive and she loved to drive and she deeply valued her independence. <em></em>Clarice chastised me by telling me I didn't need to give her money so often. I told Clarice she was not in charge of my benevolence choices and to shut up and take the money. She smiled and we embraced, laughed and caught on on things, advised and encouraged one another. In her later years Clarice became a true source of encouragement. She visited my church, preached in my stead during illness, gave me her observations, and advised me wisely.<br /><br />In the last few months of her life I became very aware that Clarice was not well. She was again <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">hospitalized</span> for retention of fluid. I questioned her about her kidney function since we were both diabetic. Clarice down played the correlation between her hospitalization and her kidney function to me. Deep in my heart I knew something was wrong but I wanted to believe otherwise; so I did. Soon after that, I saw <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Motherfriend</span> in my office at my work place. Her countenance was very dark, her gait was unsteady and she seemed to struggle for breath. Again, I asked Clarice if she was really alright. She proclaimed her belief in GOD as a healer and tried to allay my concerns. She was not successful. I presented to Clarice the gift I had called her to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">receive</span>. It was a large basket of items I had handmade especially for her. Much of it was in her favorite scent; Lavender. Clarice was so excited to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">receive</span> the gift and the other little <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">surprises</span> tucked inside. Again, we talked for a very long time and we parted as always; embracing and professing our mutual love. Before she left she told me I needed to lose some weight. "I'm gonna tell Lynette not to even mess with you until you lose that belly!" She fell out laughing and walked down the hallway. That was the last time I saw Clarice. Lynette and I called her on her birthday and sang to her but I never heard from her again. I saw her again at her funeral but it <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">really</span> wasn't her. No animation, no humorous commentary. Even though it was Clarice's service. She was not in there; except in the hearts of those not as as those without hope. I am confident that I will see her again.<br />Clarice brought many things to my life and I hope I did the same. She once said to me, "Jim, that's why I like talking to you, I can be real with you and I know you won't judge me". Clarice gave me the same thing. Unconditional friendship. Love. In several conversations I had with people who with with Clarice in the final moments of her life I was told that in her semi-conscious state Clarice repeated these words: "Love is a verb, it's an action word. " I smiled at the recollection of these words. I'd heard Clarice say these words many times befoire. I recognized them as her own.<br /><br />'Bye, Clarice..... I miss you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Motherfriend</span>. I'll see you in the morning.<br /><br />Love,<br /><br />Jim<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-12832686498711127762007-12-16T22:58:00.006-05:002008-08-08T13:51:19.794-04:00MISSIONS OR MARKETING?Oh Boy! Our fathers and mothers in the gospel would hardly recognize the church they knew and loved today. How I can remember sitting in the missionary meetings on the appointed Lord's Day to hear the scripture read and the songs of Zion that pointed us toward the mission of the church. GO YE! We were blessed more than many pentecostal churches I knew of because we actually knew of <em>real missionaries</em>. With no disrespect to the wonderful women from many other churches who dressed in white and acted as agents of mercy and compassion in the city's hospitals, nursing homes, and avenues, we actually knew some real, live missionaries. I can recall the passion with which the returned missionaries from Monrovia, Liberia in West Africa and other islands spoke of the LORD' s work. These were missionaries with passports! The fantastic stories of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">GOD's</span></span></span></span></span></span> provision and protection instilled in many of us a real zeal to want to be a part of what was happening in the church overseas. Two of my former Sunday School teachers actually left the United States to become a missionaries in Liberia. We were repeatedly reminded of the great commission on Mission Sundays, Missionary Days, conventions and Rally Days. An offering for mission work was a constant in our services. There was a local church emphasis as well as a denominational focus on missions in our church.<br /><br />When my wife and I planted our first little mission church we believed that it would grow as we took the gospel to the streets, housing developments, nursing homes, senior citizen complexes, parks and bars. That's exactly what we did. We did the work of evangelists, making full proof of our ministry. We along with several faith-filled and faithful friends and members did this type of mission work. We saw some <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">pretty</span> marvelous things. Some lives were changed. Some lives were saved. Some families were healed and some souls were added to the church and the kingdom of GOD. It was hard work that took a lot of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">sacrifice</span> of time and spare time but it was always worth it to see someone come to know Christ in a real and life relevant way. It still is.<br /><br />I'll be open with you. I read The Purpose Driven Church, by Rick Warren. I heard his testimony and was drawn to his story because of the confident presentation of the growth of his church. There were some real practical information there. Some of it I incorporated into the church I pastor today. I was impressed with the systematic approach to church growth that he presented in the book. As a pastor of a small church I was really looking for a way to increase the congregation's sense of mission and a means to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">increase</span> the membership. I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">recommended</span> the book to the leadership group and we read it and discussed its theories. We decided to organize what Warren referred to as a "Seeker Service and followed his guidelines as closely as we could, including the practice Sunday. Well....., That was the driest, most uninspired and stilted worship service I can ever remember. It was awkward, uncomfortable and as dry as Melba Toast! Approximately midway through the "practice" I put and end to it and declared we'll never do this again. We haven't. That unfortunate experience taught me that <em>I am not Rick Warren and this is NOT <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Saddleback</span></span></span></span></span></span> Community Church!</em> I must tell y'all that rehearsing a church service that was marketed, er, um, I meant designed for people who do not yet know Christ was a culturally different for me; religious culture, that is.<br /><br />There are some things that are better left to the spontaneity of the Holy Spirit as opposed to the well organized and rehearsed efforts of well intentioned people.<br /><br />I have been to several church conferences over the years which purported to assist smaller churches <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">experience</span> exponential <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">growth if</span> certain techniques were adopted. My conclusion was these <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">methods</span> were clearly marketing techniques from <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">business</span> plans. Much of the information could be found in books and on-line. What these geniuses of church growth had done was add scripture to a good business plan and charged a $200.00 fee for their <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">plagiarized</span> plans. I have had conversations with two pastors of very large churches about the growth of their churches. What I have concluded is that the realm of their ministry and the growth of it was a sovereign move of GOD. These men made some decisions that were clearly beneficial to the growth of their ministries. In the explanation of their church's growth there was no clear indication that they knew why their churches expanded the way they did. God has appointed some over a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">few</span>, some are appointed over more and some over the mega ministry. That is not to say that there are not methods and biblical principles to follow that bring growth BUT as the apostle said <strong>"GOD gives the increase".</strong> What I have discovered is that people in the community want and need face to face, real contact with those claiming to be Christians. They don't want billboards or glossy cards to announce the church's programs and personalities. The church has a public relations issue in the communities in which many churches exist. They are suspicious of churches that seem to want to add them to the number who tithe and work to increase the coffers of the church.<br /><br />What I think some of the mega churches have to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">acknowledge</span> is that the influx of new people in many cases are changing membership or reentering a church experience after a membership or attendance lapse <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">elsewhere</span>. If my strong suspicion is true (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Barna</span></span></span></span></span></span> Research Institute says it is) then the expansive growth of the mega church is doing little to change the sinful landscapes in most American cities. That is not to say that there haven't been conversions or changes in neighborhoods and society where these churches are; I do mean to question the additional number of believers added to the roll of the Kingdom of Heaven in the seats and cell groups of mega ministries.<br /><br />One way some of these mega churches can encourage smaller church pastors is to stop identifying <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">themselves</span> by the size of their congregations. They seem to be <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">constantly</span> reminding people of how large their church is. Perhaps I am sensitized to this because I feel relatively insignificant next to someone who claims a membership into the thousands. If you really want to help other pastors to grow their churches remind them of the long term benefits of faithfulness to the call of GOD. Encourage them to be good shepherds of the flock of GOD. Pour some time and money into their ministries <strong>before</strong> you ask them for a commitment of a tithe or yearly membership fee. Come and be a blessing to the church's program and attach no cost prohibitive honorarium to your attendance. Validate the daily, weekly, monthly and yearly difficulties associated with being a pastor of a small church. Try to understand the unique set of circumstances that accompany that particular ministry without holding up your church as the chief ministry model.<br /><br />The average small church is not able to afford a marketing consultant, automatic letter <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">writing</span> campaigns, glossy welcome packets or television exposure. Most of them have to follow the tried and true commandment of Jesus to <strong>"GO YE, into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature.......", </strong>the old fashioned way; preaching repentance from sins in bars, hospitals, nursing homes, housing developments.... winning souls and adding them daily to the church such as should be saved. The work of missions must continue whether home missions or missions on foreign soil. Believe me, I have nothing against using technology to preach the message but it should never be presented as a key component to a church's success. If it is, I would wonder if it was really the work of the <strong>HOLY SPIRIT </strong>or of the skilled <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">technique</span> of a marketing consultant.<br /><br />I suppose what I'm trying to say is this: Be who GOD called you to be. Stop <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">worrying</span> whether or not <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">you're</span> keeping up with the big boys out there with their multiplied thousands. I love the contact I have with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">LORD's</span></span> flock weekly, daily or as the opportunity affords. I touch them and they can touch me. They are enriched by have an actual relationship with the senior minister in the church. In fact I have several people in the church where I am the minister who left a larger church for the smaller, friendlier setting. Don't feel the pressure of having to measure up to the media's expectation of what a significant or relevant church is. Be faithful over the ones GOD has entrusted to your care and HE will reward you accordingly.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-33880524269472130582007-12-10T05:30:00.002-05:002008-10-17T20:00:40.773-04:00WHY I HATE THE WORD FAGGOT... and why you should tooFAGGOT. Oh Lord, how I have learned to hate that word! I can remember being called that by very many of my male peers all throughout junior high school If anyone saw me today one would never guess that I used to be a slight built boy with a handsome, almost pretty face (as I have been told), large expressive eyes with very long lashes and a high pitched speaking and singing voice. I was not effeminate but I was <em>very</em> particular about my appearance. My mother told me a story about how I cried on the first day of kindergarten because my socks did not match the purple shirt I was wearing. I was <em>aware! The original metrosexual.</em> Well, maybe my father was the <em>original.</em><br /><em></em><br />When I was about 7 years old I was molested by a family friend. I had no words to describe what happened nor did I know what to do about it. It felt wrong and it made me afraid and confused. I never told anyone at all about it. I put the incident somewhere in the back of a seven year old mind and kept on living. This was long before the days when parents had talks about good touch and bad touch There was no forum for a discussion so I lived with what happened in my own mind. I knew what happened to me made me different in a bad way, therefore I was different in a bad way. A little while later an older boy led me to the back of the house next door and again I was assaulted. I didn't want to go outside and play again until that boy moved away.<br /><em></em><br />I loved music and spent many hours alone in my room listening to my portable record player as they played the cast off 45's my mother gave me. I also loved to read, and smell the empty Avon<span style="color:#ffff00;"> </span>sachet jars that my mother and grandmother emptied. I collected them until the pretty fragrance was gone. I played outside with my cousins and the few and select friends I had but nothing compared to my books and my music. I loved Sunday School and the choir at my home church. I lived for the musical programs the church sponsored. There I could hear music that was alive, exciting and sung with great passion. It was like heaven to me. I longed to sing and be like them. In school, I took exdtra music classes and voice lessons., As a teen I started a gospel group and sang in several community choirs, The All City Chorus, church choirs and the regional choir for the church denomination.<br /><br />In junior high school the lines are clearly drawn for what boys do and what girls do. I did not excel at sports, I did not want to play basketball, or football or take a shop class either but that was mandatory. So, I took woodworking one year, printing the next and then finally sheet metal class, ALL of which I tolerated. I could not wait for the three days we had music and the glee club rehearsals (yes, glee club). While there, I was in my element, singing, learning the parts, experiencing new music. It was in those classes I was exposed to classical music, folk songs, negro spirituals and pop songs. The majority of the other boys in class acted like they hated being in the classes; sitting bored, agitating the teacher and refusing to sing as Mrs. Hunter, the music teacher, cajoled and complimented them into compliance. None of that was needed for me. James was in front, eagerly absorbing the lyrics, the notes and the melody This did not go unnoticed by my male peers who observing my eager participation said: "Look at that faggot up there with them girls, that faggot!" My ears burned with shame. I pretended I didn't hear them. My eyes fixed on the teacher as my ears felt hot and my face flushed. The rejection I felt was almost crippling. I avoided eye contact with those boys and tried to ignore their taunts;"Sing you little faggot!" or "Look at James up there with the girls singing, little faggot." Because I didn't know what to say in retort or how to make them stop. I endured the verbal abuse which was often observed by teachers but never directly addressed. Eventually, the verbal abuse and bullying turned into physical abuse. I was pushed, threatened, put in headlocks, and had things taken from me; everything from lunch to money was fair game for my tormentors. I was chased home from school repeatedly. By 7th grade some of the girls joined in: "James wears mascara, James wears mascara!", they'd say as I passed them in my homeroom. Of course, I never wore mascara, I had those eyelashes.... To stop the teasing about them I took a pair of scissors and cut them off right to my eyelids. I carried on despite a sense of inferiority and daily embarrassment. I came to believe these kids knew what happened to me when I was 7. Why else would they be so mean and call me such a horrible name? They knew I was different. They could <em>see</em> it. I lived in fear of exposure and public shame.<br /><br />One day I decided no one was going to take another thing from me or put me in a headlock again. This kid named Joseph decided he and his cousins were going to beat me up after school. There was no conflict between us; just another opportunity to beat up that faggot, James . That day, the faggot chasers got a big surprise! I whipped Joseph's behind. When his cousins intervened I ran and got a large board with some rusty nails it and started swinging it at anyone who came near. Eventually, a teacher leaving the building dispersed the crowd and I went home. The constant name calling ended somewhat but the damage from that word was deeply ingrained in my psyche.<br /><br />I had no close healthy male role models. My father was absent; I saw him on average once a year and we never had a substantive conversation until I was a grown man with children. My two stepfathers were unsavory and nefarious men who epitomized abusive and insensitive masculinity. The sensitive and creative side of my nature was treated as suspect and was not understood by those men and one of them called my brother and I faggots. More pain and more damage. I was a deeply wounded boy who retreated even more into my world of music and books. My distrust of males (especially adults) increased when several adult males attempted to seduce and or touch me. One of which was a teacher, the other was a minister who wanted to record my voice. I thought my dreams had come true until the minister began to ask questions of me that seemed entirely inappropriate for a <em>musical</em> relationship.<br /><br />The church became a safe place for me. In church my musical inclinations were appreciated and encouraged. I was given the opportunity to be creative and expressive musically. One day, I heard a man in the church whom I admired, call a man who was not present a faggot. Those who heard him laughed as he posed in an effeminate way and "broke his wrist" and batted his eyes. This increased the laughter. What this brother didn't know was my experience with that word. I had just begun to think about revealing my sexual abuse history to the church people with the hopes that they could help me deal with the emotional pain I was in. I had internalized that word and wondered if I may have been homosexual because of what happened. I always had girlfriends but lived in fear of my secret being exposed. I decided to keep my secret and keep my mouth closed. I lived my life full of pain from my rejections: real and practical rejection by my biological father, rejection by both stepfathers one of which used the word faggot to degrade my brother and I. Rejection by my peers in middle school was also accompanied <em>by that word. </em>Now I see and hear this church brother also using a word that caused me a great deal of fear, pain and isolation. It was many years later that I finally experienced the healing and the freedom to share my testimony and help others find their way to wholeness from abuse and rejection. That's another story for another day, or blog.<br /><br />I share this part of myself and my experience to make several points. You never know the impact of your words on those who hear you. The old adage; "Sticks and stones may bruise my bones but names will never hurt me", was likely coined by someone who had not lived with the awful legacy of name calling. Names hurt. The pain of them lasts much longer than a bruise acquired by a stick or stone. When someone who is supposed to care for you is the source of the name calling, it deeply compunds the pain. When those people are ministers, or the people who purport to represent the church of GOD the fallout can be immeasurable.<br /><br /><strong>Faggot</strong> is a word rooted in hate. Its use is derived from the practice of burning alive of witches (also assumed to be homosexual) at the stake. The fire was started by using a bundle of sticks or twigs. In fact, a slang word for a cigarette in Great Britain is a fag. In Great Britain, the word <strong>faggot</strong> has several meanings: 1. A meddlesome confused old woman. 2. A <strong>faggot</strong> is a younger boy who is made to be a servant of an older boy. Despite the origin of the use of the word, it's meaning in The United States is clear. It's used to attack, denegrate and harm.<br /><br />The use of the word <strong>Faggot</strong> whether as an actual epithet directed at a homosexual or to humiliate a heterosexual man is not in keeping with the biblical admonition regarding our behavior toward people outside of the church.<strong> "Walk in wisdom towards those who are outside, redeeming the time. Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt, that you may know how to answer each one.", Colossians 4:5-6.</strong> No one who claims to be a Christian should use a word so filled with invective and hate. I have seen men and women in ministry use the word <strong>faggot</strong> from the pulpit<strong>. </strong>It's use does not represent Jesus nor the attitude with which he dealt with people who were caught in sexual sin. It limits your ability to preach the gospel rather than enhance it. You will wound those whom you are trying to heal and shut up the doors to the kingdom for those whom Christ died. The word <strong>faggot</strong> and all of it's cousins; <strong>punk, sissy, dyke, lesbo, bull dagger, </strong>and many more should be eradicated from the lexicons of Christians.<br /><br />Today I am free from the wounds of my past. I no longer live with the tyranny of the word <strong>faggot.</strong> The sensitive nature that was mine at birth is of value to GOD and His people in the ministry. The difficult experiences I had in my childhood and adolescence have been redeemed. The LORD has given me a great compassion for those with sexual brokenness. I try to ensure that the climate of the church I pastor is a hate speech free zone. I never use the pulpit to abuse or bully those who are in sexual sin of any kind. We must also be careful not to judge others based on the limited and superficial stereotypes of what is masculine or feminine as it relates to hobbies, interests, occupations, and preferences.<br /><br />In closing: <strong>"Now all things are of GOD who has reconciled us to Himself through Jesus Christ and has given us the ministry of reconciliation, that is, that GOD was in Christ reconciling the world to himself not imputing their trespasses (sins) to them and has committed to us the word (message) of reconciliation.</strong><br /><strong>Now then, we are ambassadors for Christ as though GOD were pleading through us we implore you on Christ's behalf, be Reconciled to GOD........ We give no offense in anything that our ministry may not be blamed." 2 Corinthians 5: 18-20; 2 Corinthians 6:3a.</strong><br /><p>P.S. I finally learned to appreciate my eyelashes. They helped to draw my wife to me. She <em>loves</em> them! Oh, and the passion for the Avon sachet jars? I now make scents fro men and women and make money doing it. I thank GOD for how he made me.</p><br /><br /><strong></strong><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-17764194581419779112007-12-06T05:46:00.000-05:002007-12-27T17:01:35.488-05:00BAH HUMBUG! A Better Way To Celebrate ChristmasI wish for all this Christmas a celebration devoid of unnecessary tinsel and pomp.<br /><br />Silver Bells, Jingle Bells, Frosty The Snow Man, The Abominable Snowman, The Grinch, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, The Grinch, Roasting Chestnuts , Christmases of White, Santa Claus, Sugarplums, Piggy Pudding, Stockings, Trees, Flocked or Not, Tinsel, Angel Hair, Christmas lights, bulbs, mantels, boughs of Holly, wreaths, mistletoe, sleighs and sleds, gifts and wrapping, wassail punch, egg nog, mulled cider, Christmas cards, cookies, candy, candy canes, Christmas geese, turkeys, hams, Secret Santa, Yankee Swaps, Dirty Santa, Christmas sales, bazaars, 34th Street Miracle, Ebeneezer Scrooge, A Wonderful Life..... on and on it goes. Considering the cultural importance we attach to the supposed celebration of the birth of Christ, I must ask the same question as the Magi in Matthew 2:2, <strong>"Where is He born the King of the Jews?"</strong><br />There really must be a better way to celebrate <strong>CHRISTMAS</strong>. 2006 was my last year of being involved in all the extra. As I get older I really appreciate the simplicity of celebration. Celebration is an acknowledgement of the significance of the day. I think when we add all the cultural amenities and the exorbitant expense that the American culture dictates, we lose something in the acknowledgement of the day. I have found that the major thing gets obscured in the tinsel. I am reminded of the late Rev. E. V. Hill, former pastor of the Mount Zion Baptist Church in South Central, Los Angelos, California. He encopuraged his congregants to take the names of families that he had acquired from the welfare office, folk in the hospital and others in difficult situations to bring the gift of Christmas to them. He claimed a richer and more fulfilling celebration of the day in his church <em>and his own life</em> following that effort.<br /><br />The LORD announced the birth of the Christ with an angelic host praising GOD and saying: <strong>"Glory to God in the Highest! Peace on earth and goodwill towards men." Luke 2:10-14 </strong>I don't think it is without significance that the glorious birth announcement of Christ was initially delivered to the lowly, despised and disregarded shepherds. Shepherds were so poorly thought of that they were considered unsuitable as a witness in the court of law; so ireputable was their honor. They were considered dirty, prone to theft, resolute liars and generally unreliable as employees. It was to them that the initial witness of the birth of the Savior of the World was given. In GOD the Father's celebration of the birth of His Son he made His grace known to men of ill repute. I like that. I choose now to celebrate the day by being a blessing to the Merrimack Mission in Boston. They are known as Kingston House, 39 Kingston Street, Boston, MA. For one hundred years they have done the work of the LORD by taking in the homeless, feeding the hungry, preaching the gospel to those who need the good news. This they do without great pomp. They don't have exorbitant salaries, private jets, 50,000.00 marble toilets nor do they charge the people they help a fee for the service. Lives are changed and daily souls are added to the church. Kingston House simply announces the birth of Christ daily by being available to those in the city who are desperately in need. I like that. I think its in keeping with the day and it is also in line with Christ's announcement of His Kingdom, Isaiah 61 and Luke 4:18; <strong>"The Spirit of the LORD God is upon me to preach good tidings to the meek...bind up the broken hearted."</strong><br /><br /><strong></strong><br />Where is Jesus in all of this excess, indebtedness, commercialism, mammon worship, greed and banqueting? I find it harder and harder every year to discern His face in all of the busy-ness. Jesus is very near when we show love to someone who is in need. Feeding the hungry is a work of the LORD. Helping someone to find the savior is certainly the LORD's work. I don't mean to imply that while you are running from Lord and Taylor to Macy's to Nordstrom's to Sacks, to Neiman's looking for the perfect gift for Uncle Luther or Cousin Addie that you are not doing a loving thing. I think the birth of the Savior is worth doing something that will count for all eternity. It's worth doing something that can be directed to the Savior's very mission.<br /><br />The very fact that we have to remind ourselves and others with, "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" speaks to how lost He is in a lot of the season's traditions. I am changing the way I celebrate. My focus has shifted. It's my choice and my soul is happy about it.... I don't know about my family and circle of friends..........Pray for me.<br /><br /><strong>"Thanks be unto GOD for His unspeakable gift." 2 Corinthians 9:15</strong><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-2249068917633087222007-10-05T18:12:00.003-04:002008-08-14T19:17:52.626-04:00IF YOUR'E NOT GOING TO TELL THE TRUTH SHUT THE H--- UP AND SIT DOWN!I am sick of phony black leadership. Let me define for you what I mean by phony:<br /><br /><br />Leaders who hold a position of authority who don't live out what they are supposed to represent.<br /><br /><br /><br />Leaders who have lost their moral authority to speak on a subject because they have failed in the area in which they purport to speak.<br /><br /><br />Leaders who continue to coddle and excuse behavior that is a response to the real or imagined actions of others and who fail to hold their followers accountable for individual actions.<br /><br /><br />Leaders who speak against the oppression of others against their group without addressing the oppression and dysfunction that happens within that group.<br /><br /><br />Leaders who are silent when they should speak and conversely, those who speak when they should shut up!<br /><br /><br />Leaders who do what is expedient for their long term benefit rather than what is good for the long term benefit of the people they serve.<br /><br />With the release of Bill Cosby and Dr. Alvin Poussaints's book, "Come on People" (Thomas Nelson, Publisher, $25.99), the comedian and philanthropist, Mr.Cosby has come under fire again for his open criticism of the black community. Let me first start by saying I don't think that Cosby used the wisest language or forum for his initial comments that caused such a shock and furor in the black media and the alleged intellectuals of the African- American community. His unfortunate choice of words regarding "These low income" black folk was rightfully criticized. What got lost in all the furor connected to Cosby's rhetoric is the truth he told. Oh, yeah, people didn't like a lot of what he said nor did they appreciate him telling tales out of school but in his cranky-old-man-kinda-way he said what people of his generation and mine have been saying behind closed doors and on front porches, barbershops, beauty salons, churches and back rooms for YEARS. The sad thing about it is almost everybody knows that but apparently didn't like the fact that Cosby said it in a forum that white people could hear. Apparently, that was a no no. He was not keeping a scared tenet of blackness in America. "Don't admit to our foibles in public." Did anyone take a moment to think that most white people know the same thing that Bill Cosby knows? The majority of the problems that exist within the black community are within our own hands to change.<br /><br />I do not want to get off into the racism and bigotry that exists and it most definitely DOES exist. The real issue as I see it is what we as a people can do to minimize the pathology that exists in our own homes, streets, neighborhoods, communities and cities. Some black folk think all day long about what the "White Man" is or is not doing. They eat and sleep, bathe, defecate, make love, work and play with the White Man on their minds. They talk about it incessantly and hand that mindset down to their children who believe and internalize the impossibility of success or progress because they are not white. Yes there are indeed systemic and insidious forms of racism that exists in this country and all efforts must be brought to the fore to expose it. That is true. But the system is not impregnating our minor children, nor keeping our old folk held hostage in their homes from fear of flying bullets. All I'm saying is that we can change most of the crap happening in our own communities. Someone needed to say it and I say bravo Dr. Cosby, may you live forever and may your tribe increase. Focusing on the oppression will never help us move forward as a people. Think about this. Haitians come the the USA with language barriers, less money, education (in many cases) and other cultural differences that caused ignorant colored people to laugh and make fun of them. They were mocked for not being fashionably astute and for living in crowded apartments. Well the same ignorant colored people are now shopping in their corner stores, buying cars at their dealerships and sitting on their front porches at the same time the Haitians are graduating from institutions of higher learning buying property and taking advantage of the American Dream. Of course I am not saying that <strong>all</strong> African Americans are not taking advantage of the benefits of living in the USA but far too many are not. We have to make education a priority. It is still the main road out of the cycle of poverty. Show up every now and then at a school open house. Make an appointment with your child's teacher to discuss their progress. The same parents who can't get it together to get to the school meetings are the same ones who will be screaming at teachers in June about why their child is not graduating. Working parents don't get a pass either. Call in sick, use a personal day, a vacation day to talk with the person charged with educating your child. To do anything less is neglectful. Get your kids out from in front of the one eyed devil and read them a book. Let them see you read a book. Stop laughing when they misbehave and spank a behind once in a blue moon if they disobey you.<br />The Black community's hypocrisy is tragically funny. Here's a great example: Black people of all ages are having the discussion about whether or not the word nigger should be used by a younger generation of black people. This is a joke. The real truth is that we have been using that word in private for years for emphasis (Nigger, please!), or to deride blacks of which we disapprove (...Acting just like a bunch-a-niggers) or even in a loving way (oooooweeee, That's a <em>fine</em> nigger right there!). The only reason we are having this national debate is because some young people started using the word in rap music and videos. The real reason the word has allegedly been re-worked by the hip hop subculture is because we held on to our use of the word for years in private. In truth we didn't despise it, truly; we embraced it also. We are only upset because its being used in public. This is the same reason the people are upset with Bill Cosby. He said what he said in public. He continues to say what he said and now he has published a book about it.<br /><br />I say to those who have the media's attention, the education and the eloquence to address the social ills of Black America; those who openly derided Cosby's comments and also called into question his allegiance to his people, why didn't <strong>YOU</strong> say anything. Why didn't <strong>YOU</strong> say it in the manner that you felt it should have been said? When was the last time <strong>YOU</strong> went somewhere to speak to your people in the 'hood without an honorarium attached to your appearance? In fact when was the last time you even went to the hood? Y'all make me sick (is that black enough for you?) With your face all stuck up in the camera when a white officer knocks a child in the head and with your mouth glued shut when we do the same thing to each other. Why is it okay to fail to hold ourselves to the same standard of behavior we insist from others. My chest wont hurt any less from a gunshot wound from a police officer's gun than it will from the gunshot from Ray Ray's gun from down the street.<br /><br />Face it, Black people, the majority of us are more priority stricken than poverty stricken. why do so many of us own expensive cars, rims, jewelry and clothes and own no property? Why does Big Mama and Little Mama get more happy to see Ray Ray dance than when he reads? By the way where are Big Daddy and Little Daddy anyway? How come we can spend grand money on Air Jordans and can't spend the money for a tutor? Why do have to keep upgrading your cell phone with every new gadget? Do you need a phone that takes pictures? Perhaps you can take a picture of the police setting your stuff on the street because you can't pay your rent. Take a picture of yourself going home to Mama and 'dem to stay. Do we really need 24" rims on our cars? Do we <em>have</em> to have the latest outfits advertised in Vogue, Ebony Essence and GQ? We are clearly priority stricken. I am also sometimes subject to the false promises of materialism. In many ways materialism has become our god. Much of the crime in our communities is driven by the desire to acquire the many things we worship. We have sold out and bowed down to the immediate gratification that seduces so many of us. We need a mindset readjustment. This is all Bill Cosby is <em>trying</em> to say.<br /><br />Real leadership is not merely reactionary. There must be purposeful vision and directed objectives to move any people, organization, church or business forward. We need leaders who will work against the systemic oppression of all minorities and aggressively work to prevent the sabotage of forward progression from within. Some black folk just need to be fired from their positions of National Demagogues. Our situation in this country is too precarious not to hear the things that will benefit our people in the long run. Mary McLeod Bethune established Bethune College, now Bethune-Cookman, with a long range view to our betterment as a people. That took sacrifice, vision and an appreciation for what would happen after she was long gone. This is the real leadership. Would to God that we had more like her and the innumerable others who had a vision for the progress of the African in America.<br /><br />Black folk can be so gullible. We will follow almost anyone who uses the title <em>Reverend</em> despite any evidence for doing so from the user. It's a questionable use of the word as it is. We are so desperate for another national leader with the charisma, intellect and persuasiveness of speech as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. that we as a people have held out our collective scepter to people who in the long run will not benefit our political and social standing in this country. WAKE UP! There will<em> never</em> be another Dr. King. He and the civil rights movement of the 60's helped to open the door for us in may ways. NO!, things are not perfect but the legislation and opportunity exists for us to do better than we are. It is time to stop looking for another Messianic voice to our communities. Remember this: When the Children of Israel wandered around in the wilderness for 40 years The LORD provided for them miraculously. There were cloudy pillars in the day, fiery pillars at night, Manna from heaven, quail, water from rocks, their shoes didn't wear out, etc. After they crossed over into Canaan the scripture said that year they ate of the fat of the land. Exodus. Listen people, The civil rights movement of the 60's got us to the mouth of the promised land. President Lyndon Baines Johnson got us in there with the signing of the Civil Rights Act in 1964 and the Voting Rights Act in 1965. It is now time to make it work for us. The sweat and blood of Fannie Lou Hamer, Medgar Evers, Daisy Bates, Marcus Garvey, Shirley Chisholm, Adam Clayton Powell, Thurgood Marshall , The Little Rock Nine, and four little black girls in Alabama cry out to us to Go 'Head!<br /><br />What has the past 30 years wrought? How have we honored the work of our real leaders? While the civil rights movement worked to ensure that our women were treated with dignity and respect our young people now refer to black women as bitches, ho's, tricks, chicken heads (too vulgar to explain here). I can recall signs on the chests of black men as they picketed and protested for the right to be treated equally that said: "I AM A MAN." But now we refer to ourselves as "boys", dogs, nigger (no such word as nigga. Its a hip hop invention). The idea of calling women bitches is logical when the men see themselves as dogs! I am reminded of the scripture in <strong>Psalm 59: 6 "They return at evening, snarling like dogs, and prowl about the city......</strong><br /><br />Our people need to be told the truth. The majority of our problems in the urban centers of America are of our own making. This is a similar thing that Bill Cosby tried to say in his rant about his observations of far too many black folk. People who are caught up in a pathology of behavior often tend to live in denial of the impact of their behavior on themselves and others. It's like an alcoholic father who says; "Sure, I drink but it doesn't hurt anyone. I still go to work everyday, I provide for my kids", etc. What the drunk doesn't realize or won't let himself see is his kid's embarrassment on the weekends when he falls down in front of their friends. He doesn't want to admit that his son stays in the street because he is angry at his father because he verbally abuses his mother when he's inebriated. He can't see that his career hasn't advanced because his employer knows he's a weekend drunk and can't trust him to be reliable in a position with increased responsibility. You get it don't you? Black America we are drunk. We are in denial and we need to be told the truth. Every time you see a black politician or media maven or reverend blame the system and white folks and racism without addressing what we as a people can do to help ourselves remember that they are drunk. Recently, approximately two thousand people marched in Jena, Louisiana to protest the imprisonment of Michael Bell Mr. Bell and several other black youth beat and kicked a white student unconscious in retaliation for a previous beating one the the attackers received at the hands of a white student. A full media blitz accompanied the peaceful march. Calling it a March for Justice, The event yielded a positive result. Mr.Bell was released on bond which had previously been denied to him. What disturbed me about this march was it modeled a very predictable pattern. White people treat us unjustly and we rally and yell and cry and march. When we kill and hurt each other........crickets. One year after the broken levees in New Orleans the black on black crime rate skyrocketed. Street crime, shootings went through the roof there. The law abiding citizens were held hostage by the worst elements in the city there; the urban terrorists. Why didn't the organizers of the March for Justice for Michael Bell use their influence to protest the injustice of black people being further traumatized by largely criminals Why not descend on New Orleans with a mission to hold our own people accountable for their actions. Turn people in to the police if necessary. Wouldn't that be justice? I'm waaaiiitttiiinnggg....................(the chirping of crickets).<br /><br />The black family model is in shambles. Where are the fathers? Why has the church mobilized around gay marriage legislation and ignored what is a more present threat to our viability as intact people in the next 40 years? If the bible says homosexuality is sin why can't we see that fornication is a sin? We ain't running around talking about that. Why not? 70% of the children born in the African-American community are born without the benefit of two married parents. 46% of Black children live in a home headed by a female parent. Where are the fathers? Where are the men? Why hasn't this very real, destructive issue being addressed by the black church?This behavior is as alive and well in the church as it is in the larger society. We must be told the truth. Enough of the soft words and coddling of our self destructive behavior. It hasn't helped us. We are so used to our black celebs and so-called leaders telling us "It's not your fault!" that when one of them says, "It <em>is</em> your responsibility!" that we go into shock and feel abused and attacked. If we can't hear it from Cosby (admittedly, there are some issues with his moral authority) then from who will we hear it? Dr. King was a serial adulterer, Shirley Chisholm had a speech impediment, Rev. Adam Clayton Powell drank, smoked and cussed. I think you get the point.<br /><br /><br />Rejecting what Cosby and Poussaint have to say is like rejecting a man with with the cure for cancer because we don't appreciate the suit he's wearing. We need to get past the issues we have with Cosby's packaging and continue the dialogue he started with his old man rant. Those of you who have been blessed to have multiple generations in your family know that old men and women have some insight and criticism that comes with livin' for a little while. Whether we see him as such or not Cosby is a leader, not perfect, but leading. To quote another flawed but great black leader, Marcus Garvey, "<strong>Rise up you mighty people, you can accomplish what you will!" </strong><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-70363114461567649062007-10-04T14:33:00.000-04:002007-10-11T10:36:49.314-04:00THE CHURCH IN BLACK AND WHITEAs I get older I am more appreciative of the blessing of time and experience on the impact of my ministry. When I was very young I had so many hard and fast ideals and beliefs about how the church should be run. Full of zeal, hope and promise I launched into ministry ready to be the "Mand of God , the LORD was looking for in these last and evil days". Boy, was I young. In that period of time in my life my youth and inexperience helped me; I didn't know enough to be afraid or intimidated. All I had was faith and my wife by my side. We were young people. Young parents, young ministers and full of resilience and energy. We were very busy with our local church responsibilities, denominational obligations, not to mention formulating a marriage and rearing three children all within two years of each other by birth order!<br /><br />In the early days I wanted to be a great preacher. I was greatly influenced by the men I had heard of who had organized my denomination. I listened to the stories of people who had heard them and they became phantom role models for me. I wanted to impact people the way they had with the Word of GOD. Later on, my desire was to build the largest multi-racial church in New England. As my understanding of the Body of Christ expanded so did my desire to grow a church that was more reflective of the city in which I lived. I always wanted to see all people worshipping GOD together under one label; "The Church of the Living GOD". I had made several deliberate attempts to establish dialogue with white pastors to begin person to person fellowship but it never materialized into what I envisioned. Once, I heard a white pastor tell his daughter to tell me he wasn't home while I waited for him on the phone. After that I gave up trying but I kept the dream. Later, I came to understand that some things cannot be orchestrated; they must be sovereign acts of God. This was clearly illustrated to me when my wife Lynette, met another pastor's wife when our church's women's group shared a retreat site with their group. Gretchen and Lynette developed a very fast friendship and decided their husbands should also be friends. Well, I <em>certainly</em> didn't see the need to add any new people to my already crowded and complicated life, so I resisted. As I later came to understand so did Gretchen's husband, Norman. Eventually both Norman and I agreed to meet. At the meeting we cautiously quizzed each other and carefully made a plan to move ahead with having a joint service in their Congregationalist church in Westboro, MA. Oh, by the way, Norman and Gretchen were white. We came to them, they came to us. They took from us, we took from them. We love them and they love us. We stay in touch primarily through the mail since they have relocated to another part of the country. What happened between Norm, Lynette, Jimmy and Gretchen was the LORD's design. It bore fruit in both churches and established a life long, valuable connection to people in ministry. What the Holy Spirit does through His people is not limited to race or ethnic considerations. Peter, the apostle was filled with the Holy Sprit on the day pf Pentecost, preachedthe inaugural message of the newly formed church and used the Kingdom's Keys given to him by Christ Jesus. Despite all of the LORD's work in his life it took a supernatural vision from God to rid his heart of his cultural bias so he could welcome the gentiles into the church. (Acts 10th chapter). <br /><br />I believe that there are many missed opportunities to experience the diversity of the church simply because we are closed to the possibility. I mean, what did a white Congregationalist church in Westboro have in common with a black Wesleyan Holiness church in Roxbury? <strong>JESUS! </strong>The four of us took our common ground and built on it. The fellowship between the two churches was absolutely beautiful. They were opened to the move and presence of the Holy Spirit in a new way and we were blessed by the inclusion of prayer traditions and worship we had not experienced.<br /><br />I understand that there are many reasons why the church is so divided by race. I don't want to delineate them here. I will say that I believe the presence of Christ in the church must be deeply grieved by the divisions we make among ourselves based on such superficial differences. I can't speak with authority for what divides us from the other side but I certainly can make clear observations about the church in black communities. We often choose our cultural distinctives over the will of GOD when we are presented opportunities to worship with whites. Far too many of us judge the content of the package by the wrapping; the same accusation we levy at others. I believe some of us would refuse to hear Christ Jesus and the apostles if they didn't preach and teach to us using our cultural distinctives. "Aww man, Jesus can't preach! He ain't got no oil, He didn't whoop!" I can hear another reply: "Well yeah, He was a little dry."<br /><br />In my twenty-three years in the pastorate I have heard black Christians say some of the most hateful things about whites, Jews, Hispanics, gays, lesbians, immigrants and "different"people. Many of these comments have come from people in leadership. Yes, Black Folk have some good reasons to be angry in this country based on history and some vestiges of Jim Crow still hanging on. I get that. That anger becomes toxic and sinful when it limits the grace of GOD in our lives. It is sinful when one side cuts themselves off from the other side because of fear, misunderstanding, prejudice and hate.<br /><br />After many years in ministry I no longer want to be a great preacher nor do I need to have the biggest multi-racial church in New England. Today, I just want to be a man of GOD. I want to be faithful in my vocation. Now I recognize that GOD is sovereign. Nothing happens by accident. The integration of the church of Jesus Christ is something that GOD wants more than I. He is at work in the church. Those sensitive to the Holy Spirit and who understand how the cross makes all believers one will conform their actions based on truth and not comfort zones.<br /><br />I have made a conscious decision not to be associated with any religious organization, para church ministry or ministerial fellowship that limits its membership by race ethnicity or denomination. We must lead by example not merely follow cultural norms. That understanding should guide what we call ourselves and how we define ourselves.<br /><br />I continue to pray for the church to be free of prejudice on both sides of the color line. I try to keep my heart clear of residual pain from my experiences with ignorant and bigoted whites; some of which are Christians. Maybe we'll never really get it together until John's revelation of Jesus Christ comes to pass. Revelation 7:9-12: After these things I looked and behold, a great multitude which no one could number, of all nations, tribes, peoples, and tongues (languages) standing before the throne and before the Lamb clothed with white robes and palm branches i their hands and crying out with a loud voice saying: "Salvation belongs to our GOD who sits on the throne and to the Lamb."<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-49837266940048900242007-10-03T18:54:00.003-04:002011-05-23T14:43:01.568-04:00PULL YOUR SHIRT DOWN IN THE BACK, GIRL!<strong>Deuteronomy 34:7 "and Moses was a Hundred and Twenty years old when he died, yet his eyes were not weak nor his strength gone."</strong><br /><br />This blog is dedicated to a great woman of faith named Mildred. She is an example of the content of which I write. She knows who she is.<br /><br /><br /><br />I miss my grandmothers. My maternal and paternal grandmothers were very special and loving Christian women. Elva, my father's mother was a genteel (usually) elegant lady who was a woman of prayer and counsel. She opened her home for respite to the young and old and considered it a ministry to do so. My maternal grandmother's name was Ada. She was an uncomplicated and generous woman with a firm belief in prayer and interceded daily for many, many people. She kept an active prayer list in her bag. Nana also frequently opened her house to someone in crisis. She was married to my grandpa for 59 years. Both grandmothers passed away within 7 months of each other. Elva (Nannie) passed away at age 87 in December and Ada (Nana) died the following July at age 84. A tremendous loss to our family and the living community of faith. A deep and profound loss for me.<br />Let me tell you about a story that concerns Nana (Ada). It was the last year of her life, though we didn't know that at the time. My wife and I took Nana to the local Walgreens to do her bi-weekly shopping. The list consisted of the following; three kinds of mints; the kind Nana liked and two others for the people in her church. Soap powder, denture adhesive, her medicine and a few other items she wanted. As we moved around the store Nana spied a young girl of about 17 years of age. The girl was dressed in the summer dress code of the day. Low slung jeans (way too tight), colorful sneakers, hair a color that appears no where in nature and a shirt that kept riding up above her pants line; belly and navel exposed. Nana pressed her lips together briefly and as the girl passed us she called to the girl, "Pull your shirt down in the back, girl." I temporarily froze fearing the almost predictable response from a young 'round the way girl to such a bold and uninvited comment. The young woman turned and observed who made the remark and with a look of resignation did exactly what Nana told her to do.<br />I was at once relieved and amazed. It reminded me of the potential influence of our elders in our families, neighborhoods, communities and churches.<br /><br />I have noticed a trend toward an emphasis on the new, youthful, present-day, anointing as it is so-called, that in my opinion lacks a certain influence from folk who have weathered some storms, walked some floors in prayer all night and have some long-term history in "The Way". I fear that once again we have been unduly influenced by our culture and its emphasis on youth, beauty, newness, and the obsessive fear of aging. Multiplied billions of dollars are spent every year on creams, potions, lotions, pills, vitamins, surgery and botox to ward off the inevitable, old age, and eventual death. Try what we may (and believe me I have tried a few) it is all an illusion. We are aging and going back to dust one day. My mother used to say in retort to that observation: "Yeah, but I don't have to look dusty doing it!"<br />In our quest for perpetual youth have we forgotten the place of our faithful elders in our midst? So many churches, relegate senior saints to their own groups of other senior citizens. Occupying their time with specialized ministries and subject matter than pertains specifically to the senior set of saints. This is not a bad consideration since there are concerns and unique issues that confront people as they age. I am concerned that we may forget to fully integrate our elders in the life of the church. There is a trend of ministry today to have specialized areas of ministry; children's church, youth groups, singles, men's, women's, married people, divorced folk, people in recovery, etc., that there is sometimes a lack of opportunity for the entire body to mingle and share and love and understand one another. I miss that experience. The way many churches are structured today they will be deprived of the blessing I and countless others hold as precious.<br /><br />In the church I grew up in there was a multi-ethnic and multi-generational congregation. Our church choir was comprised of all age groups. The senior saints attended "Junior Church" on Friday nights and encouraged the youth and supported us. We didn't always appreciate their input but there had to be respect from us to them. Our pastor, Elder Bell was a man in his early 80's when the young people started an all night prayer group. We met every Friday. Diane and Pauline (in their middle thirties) consistently supported us. By the way, when we were were teens, middle thirties was kinda old! What was amazing to us was that Elder Bell was with us every Friday evening we were there. Praying with us and validating what we thought the LORD wanted us to do. I can still see him on the short stairway that leads to the podium where he would pray all night with us on his knees; agreeing with his young folk in prayer. Many times those meetings wouldn't end until the wee hours of the morning. Ocassionally they lasted until the sun came up. Our elder pastor was there holding out with us.<br /><br />In that same church after Sunday morning service we all went around and greeted one another kissing the elder women, greeting the older men and women and embracing them hearing both their blessings and their rebukes and knowing both came from loving hearts.<br /><br />In my work as a musician I insist on including the music of multiple generations in the presentation of such for worship. It's a sad thing to see the older saints try and keep up with <em>"Ain't no party like a Holy Ghost party 'cuz a Holy Ghost party don't stop!"</em> Their experiences, their history and sensibilities should be understood and accepted. Gifts and callings don't change simply because people get old. Positioning may change but the gift will get richer, deeper and more valuable. It is not wise to believe that <em>only</em> another young person can minister to young people. Some of the richest deposits in my Christian experience have come through "seasoned saints" who remember what it was to be young and had a desire to see young people grow in the LORD. The gifts of the seasoned saints have brought me where I am today. Their prayers have held me in good stead for many years. I can still hear their words, recall their actions and feel their love even today. I can still hear the voices of Henry, Agnes, Augustus, Isabelle, Louvenia, Marion, Effie, Estella and many other elder men and women of faith who who helped to shape a generation of believers in Christ by their examples, their prayers and their humanity.<br />Don't put your old folk out to pasture; include them, honor them and let the LORD bless your life through them. You'll be richer for it if you do.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-87782061852532433452007-10-02T18:02:00.000-04:002007-10-05T00:52:51.499-04:00SIMONY AND THE END TIME AMERICAN CHURCHWhen I was a child back in the late 60's and early 70's a faithful Sunday morning tradition for my family was to sit down and eat breakfast together (eggs, sausage, toast, panckaes or frenchtoast, etc) as we listened to WILD 1090 am radio's Sunday morning line up. The Ruggles Street Baptist Church had a broadcast, after that Bethlehem Healing Temple with Sister Mattie Poole as she proclaimed; "Why die before your time, why be sick while others are being healed.." and finally just before it was time to get dressed, the strains of the familiar gospel song; "There is no telling, what God can do, if you believe..." It was time for Reverend Frederick Eikerenkoetter better known as Rev. Ike. Rev Ike was a source of humor and scorn in our home because he was considered a joke and a fraud. Rev. Ike's broadcast consisted of live testimonies of people who had recieved unexpected large amounts of money in the mail; checks of undisclosed origin, just in the knick of time! Rev. Ike attributed their good fortune to his "Blessing Plan". You had to send away for his plan and make a small donation and the LORD will work a wonder for you. The blessing plan would work for what ever you needed. A miracle.<br />Even as a child I knew this was not how the God of the Bible worked from Sunday school classess.<br /><br />Back in the day, Rev. Ike was vilified and mocked by ministers and congregants who knew better. In this day, it appears Rev. Ike's blessing plan is all the rage except it aint called a blessing plan. Sowing seed, seed faith, faith giving, giving out of your need, making a vow, etc. are all euphemisms for what Rev. Ike called his blessing plan. I would prefer to call it something else; <strong>"SIMONY". </strong>This is the sin of paying money to get power from God. In <strong>Acts 8:9-24 </strong>the story is recorded of Simon a sorcerer who had observed the work of the Holy Spirit through Philip, the evangelist and attempted to pay money to get the same power of God to bestow the gift of the Holy Spirit. He was soundly rebuked by Peter. The scripture says that Simon believed and was baptized and that he followed Philip everywhere astonished by the great signs and miracles he saw. When Peter and John arrived on the scene Simon wanted to know what their blessing plan was. What can I give you to recieve the anointing of the Holy Ghost? How can I get what you have without the trip to the upper room? <strong>Simon had come to faith but the sorcery hustle was still in his mindset. He was still "running game", as we say.</strong> This is exactly what's going on in today's church in many places. Giving money to get: power, more money, physical healing, a trip to the next level (wherever the heck that is), salvation for loved ones, etc. The false prophets are just running game. Convinced that they are speaking for the LORD and heaping riches to themselves and calling it the blessing of the LORD. Giving people a superficial gospel and a false Jesus to trust in.<br /><br />One so called prophetess is soliciting $200,000 so she can build a "Threshing Floor" so she may go to God on her followers behalf. Isn't it wonderful of the LORD to choose such a beautiful site upon which to build a floor? Lakefront property! Hallelujah. And whom, you ask gets to use this floor? Well, the prophetess of course! And exactly where will this relic of the Old Testament be housed? Why in a brand new home that you will never be able to visit or pray in. How wonderful, huh? I don't know about the prophetess, but I have to pray for the needs of the people I serve in the church or in my den. Why can't this prophetess? Why doesn't this prophet understand that all of the Old Testament imagery and typology is fulfilled in Christ? The Holy Spirit is not calling for Threshing Floor money. Her lust for a new house is prophesying to her.<br />Another minister from Africa is asking you to light a white candle, blow out the smoke over your requst and send it to him (he has done the same). His smoked document sends an anointing to you and if you tuck in a love gift $$$$$ it will be done unto you by faith. Still others are sending anointed oil from Israel, vials of water from unique and allegedly holy sources, tracings of their hands that you must place your hand in as a point of contact, on and on it goes. Gimmick after gimmick after lie after lie after false revelation. All these methods end with the same lie; somethng great from God in exchange for your money. <strong>Jeremiah 23:25; "I have heard what the prophets say who prophesy lies in my name. They say, 'I had a dream! I had a dream!' How long will this continue in the hearts of these lying prophets, who prophesy the delusions of their own minds? They think the dreams they tell one another will make my people forget my name, just as their fathers forgot my name through Baal worship. Le the prophet who has a dream tell his dream but the one who has my word speak it faithfully..... I am against the prophets who steal from one another words supposedly from me (at conferences? Rehashed stuff they got from someone's mouth and not at the mouth of the LORD). Yes, declares the LORD I am against the prophets who wag their own tongues and yet declare 'The LORD declares.'</strong> Jeremiah goes on in this text to say that these prophets do not benefit God's people in the least. Something to think about.<br /><br />Here is a pet peeve of mine: Running up and throwing money at the preacher's feet as they speak a word that holds particular significance to you. Oh, LORD, please. Why is this? I asked the member of a church that held to this practice about why this is allowed. She told me that her pastor believes that they should allow the people to give spontaneously as they are moved by the Spirit since people have a hard time giving. I told her that was nonsense for if while the minister was speaking someone felt moved by the Spirit to give an inspitrational message or song, or prophesy, or prayer they would be told to sit down, be quiet and wait. Why not with giving money? I'll tell you why. The place of money has a throne in the heart of many people in leadership in the church. Therefore, we must suffer the foolishness of people getting up at all times during the message climbing over others who are trying to hear, perhaps take notes, or let the Holy Spirit minister to them as the message is going forth. It creates distraction and is just plain ol' foolish. <em>"Some people got to have it, hey hey, hey, some people really need it ....."</em><br /><br />Rev. Ike has fallen out of popularity but his methods are alive and well in the church and seem to be growing. Another false prophet in New York with a best selling book on the current New York Times Bestsellers List procalimed Rev. Ike a spiritual father in the prosperity movement and gave him a Rolls Royce as a symbol of honor. Too sad. The biblical prophets were many times ignored, mocked, beaten, killed and suffered for the true messgae of the LORD. Today's so called prophets get Rolls Royces, Benz's, Bentley's Threshing Floors and Mo' Money, Mo' Money, Mo' Money. I can hear God wretching!... I'll be right back....... Sorry, I had to run and get the LORD a bucket to throw up in.<strong> Revelation 3:16</strong><br /><br /><strong>Revelation 3:17 "You say, 'I am rich: I have aquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked....... Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me....... He that has an ear let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches." </strong>How's <em>your</em> hearing.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-41390677805929567802007-09-23T04:33:00.000-04:002007-09-23T19:19:25.527-04:00MIXED WORSHIP AND WORLDLY CHURCHIN'Please read; Exodus 32:1-7 <strong>"These are the gods O Israel that brought you up out of Egypt." </strong><br /><br />Good Morning Good People,<br /><br />It is extremely early on Sunday morning and I am<em> not</em> a morning person. I am up nursing an injury to my right foot and will be laid aside for a few days. It may take me all day to finish.<br /><br /><br />Fame, Prestige, Popularity, Buildings, Television, Media..... and the Hierarchy of Titles , Lust for Power, Influence and Mammon are the great idols of the church in America. In recent history, the absurdity of the introduction of a widely popular gospel music singer as "The Prince of Praise and Worship"startled me. I recall thinking: "What? How can one who claims to love the presence of GOD and gives testimony to being called to bring <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">GOD's</span> people there have such a presumptuous name?" The focus of worship is Christ Jesus. If we are truly worshipping Him all crowns should be cast at His feet. What I saw of "the prince's" ministry was a frenzied, piece of religious entertainment as he cajoled, shouted and manipulated the audience into an immediate reaction to his music.<br /><br />I then watched <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">TBN</span> and for 2 hours as each guest personality was introduced, they were hailed as; Premier, Greatest, Most Anointed, ministers of the Biggest, Newest, Fastest Growing, etc., blah, blah blah, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">yada</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">yada</span>, ya..... well, you get the point. There was so much self congratulation going on it was embarrassing to watch. As each guest minister entered the set they did so to real and canned applause. The applause machine signaled when it was time to appreciate a certain point made by the guest. The applause machine welcomed the celebrity soloist and signaled the end of their music set. It was almost like watching a 70's sitcom. Remember the applause machine that told you what to laugh at? I wonder if one of those machines could increase the appeal of my sermons? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Hmmmmmm</span>. Titles, fame, applause, popularity, fans, er, I mean followers, compounds, planes, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Bentleys</span>, Rolls <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Royces</span>, etc. Fame is a seductive mistress. She will lure you away from a pure heart.<br /><br />Why have we become so focused on these outward signs of religious success? What is this over emphasis on the title by which we are called? Apostle, Prophet, Master Prophet, etc. , (Incidentally, what is a Master Prophet!?) Grace, Eminence, and on and on it goes.<br /><br />You can see this strange influence in many local churches as pastors begin to distinguish themselves by appropriating new titles for themselves and in many cases for their wives . <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Biblically speaking, </span>there really isn't any precedent for adding the word apostle ( prophet, pastor, evangelist, etc.,) to your name as a title. An apostle was a unique function of the select few that God appointed to be the foundation of the church; Christ being the Chief Cornerstone. I believe there are present day apostles in the sense that they are similarly called to extend the kingdom of GOD in the earth by church planting, mentoring and teaching pastors and the like. That is not to say that the word apostle should precede their names. "Paul, called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus, by the will of GOD...." 1 Cor. 1:1. This is how Paul repeatedly refers to himself in his writings in the New Testament. If indeed, you have the call from GOD to apostolic work the fruit of that work will bear it out. Philip was chosen to assist the apostles as a deacon. He later became an evangelist. Acts 21:8 describes him as Philip, the evangelist. My point is his calling did not become a part of his name. Oh, how we love and lust after that type of recognition.<br /><br />The cult of celebrity is an insidious trend today. You can see this in our country's approach to news reporting. drunken celebs, celebrity divorces, child custody cases, rehab stints, etc. When did these become news worthy events? In America we don't have a royal family so I think we laud our celebrities. A similar thing is happening in the church. We love and praise our celebrities. We flock to their meetings, conferences and festivals hoping to hear a message that will change our lives. We attempt to emulate people that we know merely through carefully crafted and edited media manipulations. They woo us with their <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">sermonic</span> wizardry and catchy phrases. We pay handsomely for the opportunity to hear them and buy souvenirs of the event in the form of books, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">cd's</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">dvd's</span>, etc. We pay monthly donations (fan club fees?) for the privilege to sit in special sections at the next meeting (front row seats?) or special luncheons after the service or meeting (back stage passes?). We hope for an opportunity to be able to see the minister up close and personal and get a private "word" from them (autograph signing?). We mistakenly and tragically compare our local ministers and pastors to these icons and judge their <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">effectiveness</span> by what we see on television.<br /><br />In the scripture text above, the people of GOD grew weary of waiting for Moses' return from the mountain in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">LORD's</span> presence. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">So</span> they approach Aaron and ask for him to design a god with which they were more familiar; an image, something familiar to their previous experience in Egypt. At Aaron's command they pulled off earrings from both genders and Aaron made an idol of gold; a golden calf. Then came the exclamation: <strong>"This is your god, O Israel that brought you out of Egypt." </strong>The text goes on to say that Aaron then announced the celebration of a feast to the LORD. What?<strong> </strong>A feast to the LORD with a strange god in the midst? When I see what is going on in many <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Christian </span>circles I think a similar thing is happening today.<br /><br />Have we become bored with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">LORD's</span> way? Have we been so deeply influenced by the cultural norms that instead of changing the world the world is changing us? Have we begun to trust in the gods we have fashioned with our own hands? What our spiritual mothers and fathers brought forth through prayer, fasting, consecrated living and sacrifice do we now think can be replaced by "seed gifts", marketing techniques and networking? The Israelites took what had value to them (gold) and made it a god. Is it possible that we have built gods that reflect our twisted values? Now before you think, "A<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">www</span> , saint <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">james</span> is just jealous or anti-success, let me say this: I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">am</span> neither. I do question the definition of success from a biblical world view. What do you say?<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1216692098478705313.post-80368555555573022032007-09-23T01:44:00.000-04:002007-09-23T02:32:18.446-04:00WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COMMUNION JUICE!<span style="font-family:verdana;">"For it is light that makes everything visible This is why it is said: <strong>'Wake up. O sleeper, rise from the dead and Christ shall shine on you.' " </strong>Paul, the Apostle.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">(Look it up for yourselves)</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Hello Good People!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">This is my first blog entry on my new site. I have started this blog because I have a passion for clear, honest and thoughtful dialogue about the trends, doctrines and errors of today's urban church. This is not to say that this is the extent of my interest, but it is a main reason I started the blog.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Within the next few days I will post an opinion that I have written. I will ask for your feedback, opinion and discussion.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I must warn you, I am not a shrinking violet and I am not always religiously, politically correct, so.......</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Please feel free to give me your honest opinion about what you read.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">The church in America is in trouble I don't care what the false prophets (profits) have to say. Somebody needs to WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COMMUNION JUICE!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Here's the first question for you to ponder:</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">What is the most disturbing trend or change in the/your church you have noticed in the past 10-15 years?</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please feel free to leave a comment.</div>saint jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02592990540784692887noreply@blogger.com1