rel

It was great to be back preaching at Cradock today after vacation last week.

• I think the summer slump is almost over: attendance was back up near where it was in late spring.
• Hopefully after Labor Day weekend we’ll get back to our normal numbers.
• We had a bunch of guests today from the neighborhood, which is exciting!
• My message this morning was from Matthew 16:13-20 about the nature of faith & the church.
• As I was preparing this week I skimmed over all the arguments about the language–petros/petra–little rock/big rock–in Jesus changing Peter’s name.  I’m so weary of pointless arguments like that. The difference is only in the Greek. There is absolutely no difference in the Aramaic–in Jesus’ native tongue! So to Jesus it apparently wasn’t a deal. So why do we waste so much time with it today? What misspent effort trying to ferret out some hidden meaning that probably isn’t there in the first place!
• I was blown away with this: Rock is ordinary. It’s a naturally occurring phenomenon.  Nothing special.  Like yeah, duh! But I think Jesus’ point is this: Jesus builds His Church on ordinary, everyday folks.
• The Church is not built on super-Christians or perfect people. It’s built on ordinary people. And that gives me a great deal of hope!
• We’re continuing to get more school supplies in for our Pack-to-School project. I’m totally blown away by the response we’re having to this project!
• Later this week we’re going to begin to pack the backpacks so we can deliver them to the school. I’m so excited about this opportunity to bless our middle school.
• Excitement is beginning to build about our upcoming Russ Taff weekend in September.
• After services today I went over to a big birthday celebration for one of our members. It was so cool!
• Came back home and took a nap, then to grandma’s for dinner.
• I’m glad the Olympics is over tonite. I need to get back on my normal sleep patterns!
• It has made me smile every time this week when they play the National Anthem in Bejing.
• I have some exciting meetings this coming week about several ministry opportunities and partnerships. At the same time, tomorrow we’ll be making a tough decision about the future of one of our ministries.
• I’m excited about resuming our Mid-Week activities in September. We’re going to use the One Prayer series on Wednesday evenings. I’m excited, because it will expose our folks to some of the most incredible preachers in the Church in America today!
• Closing Ceremonies at the Olympics are on now….so I’m outta here!

Last week I hinted at a big announcement that was forthcoming……I’ve decided to post it here in two installments.  Here’s the first installment….

Spending this past week back home has put me in touch with my roots. It’s reawakened memories….some very fond….others not so much.

Growing up in a county-seat town in rural East Tennessee, there were no ethnic minorities at all in our county.

(There weren’t any Catholics either…I remember one kid in my third grade class…Christopher….who was Catholic…..they might as well have had three heads around those parts….in fact, his family had to travel about 20 miles to Johnson City to attend Mass….but I digress…. )

The old Court House occupied a prominent spot in the middle of town, elevated above the rest of the town. The sidewalks were lined with maple trees–the kind that turned brilliant shades of red and orange in the fall. In the center of the walk in front of the Courthouse was The Fountain.

The Fountain occupied that spot until the old Courthouse was demolished to make way for a new Courthouse complex in the early 1970s. But The Fountain still stands, seared in my memory, on that tree-lined walkway.

I couldn’t have been more than about 4 1/2 years old. My Grandfather was still living, and we had walked from Clinchfield Drug Store (in those days they had a soda counter) over to the Fire Station to see the restored antique fire engine (it was the city’s first–a T-Model Ford). It was a summer day, it was a long walk for a little boy, and I was thirsty.

We were walking between the jail and the Courthouse, and there on the side of the Courthouse was a little white porcelain drinking fountain, no bigger than a football. I made a bee-line for it.

Suddenly my Grandfather stopped me. “You can’t get a drink there,” he said. “Let’s go to the big fountain.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Let’s go to the big fountain,” he said again.

I was too young to read the sign that hung above the little fountain:  Colored Only.

It would be many more years before I would fully realize the significance of that afternoon. But even as a small child, I knew something was wrong. Bad wrong.

This past week while we were on vacation, my kids were playing at the new city park, and I found The Fountain.

It’s been reworked. And the water flows freely this time.

But I can never escape the memory of The Fountain.