While in Pigeon Forge last weekend, I discovered a new sport – Zorbing.  It’s a New Zealand invention.  In essence, you bounce down the side of a mountain inside a rubber ball.  It puts quite a bounce in your step. It reminds me of when, as boys, we used to roll down the hill at Roan Mountain in a barrel. I’m a firm believer that one should never grow up.

Katrina and I had a very moving experience yesterday that we’ll never forget.  I officiated the funeral of Corporal Jeremy McLaren, 28, the first officer in the history of Spring Hill, Tennessee, to die in the line of duty.  His mother, Lois, attends our church and is in Katrina’s LifeGroup.  It was a long and emotional service, especially when Jeremy’s five-year-old nephew, dressed in a full police uniform, was inducted into the Spring Hill Police Force, a moment that brought the toughest officers to tears.

The motorcade to the cemetery was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.  There were hundreds of patrol cars in front of us and behind us, all with flashing blue lights.  As far as we could see, it was like a twinkling ribbon of blue. We processed through Spring Hill, tracing Jeremy’s patrol route one last time.  On the streets, groups of citizens gathered waving flags or with hands over their hearts.  Many were standing at attention and saluting.  City workers came out of their offices, children from their schools, men from their barber shops, families from the stores and restaurants.  All of them stood at attention while the hearse, surrounded by motorcycle escorts, passed by.  The fire department raised ladders on their trucks and suspended large American flags through which we passed.  Mourners stood on overpasses, waving flags.  Traffic was shut down on the freeways with cops standing at attention beside their vehicles at every ramp, saluting their fallen partner.

At the cemetery, Jeremy was honored with a rider-less horse, a full honor guard, a 21-gun salute, a helicopter flyover, bagpipes, a bugler playing taps from a nearby hillside, and a radio last call.

In my remarks at the funeral, I said that Jeremy had chosen a noble and proud profession; he was clad in blue and he served with honor.  He was part of a force that guards us day and night, keeps us safer than we know, and on whom our lives depend.  We can credit him with a job well-done and a life well-lived. And at the request of his family, I was able to present the Gospel to two thousand law enforcement officials and community leaders.  I spoke from John 11, so pray that the Word of God will bear fruit in someone’s life.

And as the Lord lays it on your heart, please remember his family in prayer.

Wade Kilgore and I are just back from Birmingham where I had the opportunity to speak at the company meeting for Cook’s Pest Control. This is an industry leader, respected throughout the South, an established company led by wise and gifted folks. I spoke about coffee, specifically about starting each day with a cup of JFG:  Joy, Friendliness, and Gratitude.

I thought it’d be appropriate to share a couple of coffee stories, but they might have been a little lukewarm.  I’d like to see what you think.

The other day, Jack told me he’d gone down to Wal-Mart to get a new coffee-maker, and he found one with lots of features.  Returning home, he pulled the thing out of the box, took off the wrapping, and read the directions.  It said you could put the coffee in the basket, put the water in the back of the machine, set the timer, go to bed, and when you got up your coffee would be ready.  I saw Jack a few days later and asked him how he liked his coffee maker.  “Oh,” he said, “it’s wonderful except for one thing.  I don’t understand why I have to go to bed every time I want to make a pot of coffee.”

I tried a cup of his coffee. “This coffee tastes like dirt,” I said.  “That’s funny,” Jack replied, “It was just ground this morning.”

You’d think people would be rolling out of their chairs over those jokes, wouldn’t you???

Katrina and I are in Jackson, Mississippi.  Tonight I had the opportunity of speaking in a seminary class meeting at Mississippi College, then to a large and lively group in the school’s auditorium for a Red Sea Rules Rally, arranged by Dr. Lee Cope.  Thanks to all who came!  Tomorrow night and Sunday morning and evening, I’ll be at Jackson’s First Baptist Church.  If you’re in the area, please join us.  I love this church and it’s pastor, Stan Buckley.  What a friendly place!  What a great work in the heart of Jackson!

Last Sunday was a special day for Katrina and me as we thanked God for the honor of serving The Donelson Fellowship for 30 years.  I had the opportunity of speaking briefly about my philosophy of pulpit ministry.

Nehemiah 8:8 is my working definition of preaching.  It says Ezra read from the book of the Law distinctly, gave the sense, and caused the people to understand the reading.

As a ministerial student years ago, I was trained to preach expositional sermons.  I was told there’s no power within me or within my personality to change lives.  The power is in the living and active Word of God. 

I was told it’s not what I say about the Word of God that changes lives; it’s the Word of God itself.  It’s not my personal opinions; it’s His revealed truth.

I was told to devote my mornings to the study of Scripture. 

I was told I shouldn’t go into the Bible to find sermons but to meet the Sermon-Giver.  And I was told that as He fed my mind with His Word, my sermons would be overflow.

It’s tempting to preach a lot of how-to, positive–thinking, shallow, sentimental, entertaining, trendy, story-heavy, need-based sermons.  And certainly our messages should be relevant, practical, well-illustrated, need-sensitive, and engaging.

But we don’t preach to entertain an audience; we preach to edify a church.  And only the consistent exposition of Scripture, rightly divided, given in its naturally unfolding context, will do that. 

I want to thank everyone who’s thinking of me and praying for me as I finish the manuscript of a book devoted to the practice of Scripture memory.  It’s based around the yearlong sermon series about 100 Bible verses that everyone on earth should know by heart.  I’m now committed to delivering the completed manuscript to my publisher on Friday.  Here’s a paragraph from the preface:

Restoring the art of Scripture memory is crucial for us, our churches, and children.  It’s vital for mental and emotional health and for spiritual wellbeing.  Though it’s as easy as repeating words aloud, it’s as powerful as acorns dropping into furrows in the forest. It makes the Bible portable; you can take it with you everywhere without packing it in purse or briefcase.  It makes Scripture accessible day and night.  It allows God’s words to sink into your brain and permeate your subconscious and even your unconscious thoughts. It gives you a word to say to anyone in season and out of season. It fills your heart and home with the best thoughts ever recorded.  It saturates the personality, stockpiles the mind, changes the atmosphere of the home, and alters the weather forecast of the soul….

I’m spending this New Year’s Day plugging away on the 100-verse book; but it’s coming along nicely and though I’m a little tired, I’m not in a panic about it.  Katrina and I had a quiet evening last night, a simple supper of leftovers, an hour of TV, and some reading.  In bed by ten.  I’ve learned that the New Year can arrive just fine without my having to stay up to unbolt the door.

Today is a great time to remember the famous hymn by Frances Havergal (sung to the tune of “The Church’s One Foundation”).

Another year is dawning,
Dear Father, let it be
In working or in waiting
Another year with Thee.
Another year of progress,
Another year of praise,
Another year of proving
Thy presence all the days.

That’s my prayer for today.  From Katrina and me:  Happy New Year!

PS – And Happy Birthday to Grace!

I’ve been unable to update my on-line journal recently, and it might be two or three weeks until things return to normal.  The primary culprit is the looming deadline for the Ten-Square Book.  It’s a massive project due at the end of the month, and complicated by weekly sermons, Christmas musicals, magazine assignments, funerals, weddings, and all the other vital moments of life.

But thank God I’m not bored.

  When I was starting out in pastoral work, I looked up to Dr. W. A. Criswell, pastor of the First Baptist Church of Dallas, as a model.  Criswell was in a class by himself.  He’d been the leading pastor among Southern Baptists for over fifty years, and he was known for his exposition of Scripture.  He once preached a 17-year sermon series through the whole Bible. 

I met him on one occasion.  Morris Proctor and I attended the First Baptist Church in Dallas in the early 1980s.  We got there early, sat on the front row, and took it all in.  Afterward at a reception for visitors we met the inimitable Criswell. 

“Dr. Criswell,” I asked, “in all your years of ministry, have you ever gotten discouraged.” 

He leaned back and smiled and boomed: “World without end!” 

“Well, what do you do about it?” I asked. 

He said something to this effect:  “I always find that the discouragement is something that is in me.  It’s not in the circumstances; they’re under God’s control.  It’s not in the Lord; He’s never discouraged.  So it’s just an unhelpful emotion that gets inside of me; and so I just have to give myself a little tme to push it back out, and I keep on going.”

That was all he had time to say, but it was enough.

Thank you, Dr. C!

In Sunday’s sermon at TDF, we’re coming to Psalm 23:5, which says:  “You anoint my head with oil.”  Here’s an excerpt.  For the whole message, click here: 

One day when I was checking on our sheep, I was alarmed to find that the horse had taken a serious bite out of Ethel’s ear. I didn’t see it happen, but there was no doubt that a good portion of Ethel’s ear had been torn away by the horse’s teeth. At first I didn’t know what to do, but I thought of this verse of Scripture. Grabbing a bottle of olive oil from the kitchen, I washed Ethel’s ear and rubbed that olive oil into the wound. It seemed to sooth her, and after several treatments, the wound healed. Later as I was talking to a sheep farmer about it, he said, “Oh, yes, that’s a little trick we use at livestock shows. If we’re showing a sheep and she gets a nick or a cut, we rub a little olive oil on it, and it does the trick.” 

The Good Shepherd is alert to various hurts and cuts and problems they have. He anoints them with oil.  The Lord knows how to heal our hurts and bind our wounds. He rubs the soothing oil of His grace and of the Holy Spirit onto the rough spots of life.   Oil is a constant symbol in the Bible of the Holy Spirit.