Denise and I were traveling to an unfamiliar church last night, and even with perfectly good directions and plenty of time, we got lost. So I stopped at McDonald’s and asked for help.

Asking for directions at McDonald’s for a large downtown “First Baptist” church probably wasn’t a great idea anyway. One guy didn’t speak English. Another said “Fugate” (??) and proceeded to go ask the manager for directions. (Neither ever returned.) A female employee talked to me for five minutes as if I’d been born in the town and knew every building and fire hydrant (“You can’t miss the police station.”) She was sincere, but of no help.

A fellow in the parking lot who looked like he might have once been in a Baptist church- in other words a pudgy white guy and his pudgy kid- gave me helpful directions, ending with the ominous phrase “You can’t miss it.” [Continue reading]

Today in chapel, one of my co-workers told his life story. That’s pretty common at our ministry, but this was anything but common.

Doc [not his real name] came to us about three years ago, along with his new bride. Middle-aged and a recent Bible college graduate, looking for a beginning in ministry. Of course, one look at Doc and you know Doc is different. He looks like he survived a war, or a major car accident, or both [Continue reading]

Where I live, there’s a remarkable amount of visible unity among Christians. I’d like to describe it for you, at least as I’ve seen and experienced it.

I live in one of the poorest regions of the United States. Two counties near to us are in the federal government’s list of the ten poorest counties in America. We are probably one of the two or three poorest congressional districts in the country.

Churches and the people in them are quite poor. A megachurch here is any church with a nice facility and more than 200 members. (We have two of these, by my count.)

Because of that poverty, churches do many things together, share facilities, pool their money for community projects and help one another out without many questions of doctrine.

Most pastors are eager to work with other ministers and churches in community causes. The sense of calling to the local community is strong here. [Continue reading]

In the aftermath of reading Alastair’s “The Denominational Church,” A discussion took over my group blog, “The Boar’s Head Tavern,” for most of two days. That discussion, prompted by Jack’s use of the metaphor of a “map” for the various confessions and theologies that distinguish various denominations and traditions, was one of the best all-time BHT go-rounds I’ve ever been part of. Thanks to BHT fellow John H who turned the discussion into a “top down” document that you can now read here at IM.

You won’t understand it all, and some of you will likely be offended. I don’t know why, but it’s a certainty where the BHT is concerned. It’s hard to drop down in the middle of anything at the BHT and totally get it, but I think there are some really helpful, even exciting aspects to this discussion, and I want to share it with you. The poster’s name occurs AFTER their post. [Continue reading]

Lynn (fictional) wrote me a letter with complaints about her pastor.

Lynn,

It was good to hear from you. It sounds as if your new home and John’s new job are just right for your family. We all miss you, but this will be a good chapter in your life together. Hopefully, we’ll see you at homecoming this year.

It was sad to read your comments about your pastor. Finding the right church isn’t peripheral to this move. I know your family wants church to be a big part of your new life. [Continue reading]

UPDATE: 4:37 p.m. As good as promised….even with the out.

Tomorrow is opening day in Cincinnati, in case you didn’t know. So here’s a baseball post.

Sometime tomorrow afternoon, I’m going to tear up at a baseball game. It’s a certainty.

I’m going to tear up because of a moment that is going to happen in Great American Ballpark in Cincinnati, in the opening game between the Reds and the Cubs. (Boooo. Hisss.) [Continue reading]

The Spencer family poets are busy. Here’s an amazing Holy Week poem by Denise.

Clay continues to show that he is becoming a fine poet with these two outstanding poems.

This post is an odd soup. Call it one part “Second Half of Life,” for just getting old and pathetic; one part “In The Study,” for the sermon idea I’ll get out of it; and one part “Parable, Metaphor and Illustration” for what you can do with it. Laugh at me, with me, and then think about it a bit.

And if this is your bookstore, don’t put me on your mailing list. I won’t be back unless I’m getting paid by a psychiatrist who has me wired up.

On our second visit to my daughter and son-in-law (married in June of ‘06 and now living in a neighboring state), I had expressed my hope that we could visit some bookstores in the metro area nearby. Noel and Ryan found two excellent bookstores and we made a day of visiting them this past Saturday. [Continue reading]

I love my Shakespeare, and I love relating what I teach to my students to the Gospel. Those of you who haven’t read Shakespeare will have to excuse me for indulging my passion for The Bard.

My AP English IV students just finished reading Shakespeare’s, “The Tempest.” The last few years, this play has risen in my personal Shakespeare canon to a favorite place. I’ve come to love it as wonderful prelude to the Gospel, and a longing look at the goals for the second half of life. [Continue reading]

When I was a child and a teenager, I stuttered. For several years, quite badly. Those who know me will notice that I can still get into some stuttering patterns when I’m nervous or stressed, but for the most part, my stuttering left me around age 15 when I started preaching regularly.

There are different kinds of stuttering. Mine was a primarily a problem with certain hard sounds. Dad told me that he first noticed I couldn’t say “Alice,” but just froze up on the hard “a” sound. I’ve been avoiding those hard “A’s” ever since. Some of you could compose a sentence to torture me and put it in the comments if you like.

I had other kinds of stuttering patterns, including halting, lots of “uh’s,” (Hi Phil!) and repeating certain words. There’s nothing more fun than wanting to talk to a girl and getting stuck repeating the word “You” over and over. “You you you you you you look really nice.” Kind of takes the blush off the rose. If her name was Alice, it could turn into a real circus. [Continue reading]

Every year since I first published this piece, someone has linked it and I get requests for it to reappear. It’s one of my favorite IM pieces, and is dedicated to all of those writers and artists who believe in the holy and wholesome use of the imagination.

Here’s a toast to Halloween, and all the Christians who have held on to it despite the flood of nonsense, lies and manipulation that no surrounds the topic.

Read: The Great Pumpkin Proposes A Toast.

My parents were always poor. They came from poor people. They lived through the depression. The first house I remember was small, run down and drafty. Dad never was able to stay with a good job for very long, then his health broke down and he was disabled. He worked nickle and dime jobs, but never made any money. [Continue reading]

This is my fifteenth year working at a Christian boarding school, and one constant during all of that time has been conversations about bullies. I’ve probably talked with 300 students about how to respond to a bully. I’ve probably had 50 conversations about the effect a particular bully was having on other students.

Because I was an only child, I was never picked on by older siblings, so I did not develop a kind of toughness that children from larger families have. There’s no doubt that being teased and taunted by other kids was more difficult for me because I didn’t get beat up every week by an older brother or cousin. [Continue reading]

Skip Towne opened the door to his office and sat down to check his voice mail. Skip had been youth minister at Central Baptist Church for four years. As associate minister for youth at a large, traditional Baptist church, his life was always busy. Three services on Sunday, visitation on Sunday afternoons and youth group on Sunday and Wednesday nights. Mondays he led a Bible study for small group leaders, Tuesdays he coached an Upwards team. Wednesdays were full of junior high ministry and Thursday was his only night home. Friday night it was football game and open gym afterwards. Saturdays were always some kind of scheduled trip, concert or special event. It was the life of the youth minister he’d always imagined.

Skip’s youth group was one of the largest in the community. There were over a hundred students who were highly involved with the student ministries at Central, and many others who visited. It was sometimes embarrassing to eat lunch with youth ministers from other churches and find out that their attendance had been down because so many of their kids were attending an event at Central Baptist. The church was generous to the youth program. They paid for mission trips, recreation, concerts and new facilities. Skip even got to take in three or four conferences a year. And it was one of those conferences that had Skip checking his email this morning. [Continue reading]

Once upon a time there was a playwright. While this playwright was the best who ever lived, his passion was not for his plays, but for his son, the greatest actor of his time. The son loved to act, and to bring joy, truth and meaning to audiences of every age and all kind. His gifts were immense, and his talent untapped. This son had played many parts, but had never played a part that truly demonstrated his true talents and potential. Both the playwright and his son were convinced that, if the right play could ever be created, this young actor could change the world forever. [Continue reading]