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It’s starting to feel like home. I’m starting to feel like we belong here. In the middle of our third full week at Central, I’m getting comfortable.

My autographed Ring of Honor Bob Lilly print is up on the wall in my study. The Staubach-Aikman football has found its place under glass in the center of my bookshelves. The Tex Schramm card, the Rangers nesting dolls, and Jerry Plemons’ praying hands from Israel are resting in their designated spots. It looks right.

I’ve learned to navigate the 19-different staircases that get me from the offices down to Sneed Hall without getting lost. When I get to the top or bottom of each landing, I still have to pause and look both ways to get my bearings. But I’m not getting lost anymore.

Vickie is comfortable enough with me to have reclaimed her seat around the tables in the Upper Room. She had to wake up early today, fight through the traffic on I-27, and beat me up the stairs. But she did it. Now I’m looking for a new chair. I’ve been told I can have any of them. Except one.

I can run down the streets now in my mind, in order, without even thinking about it: Soncy, Coulter, Bell, Western, etc., all the way to church and back. Steve and Judy have shown me every single Sonic in Amarillo. I’ve eaten at the Whataburger on Georgia Street.

I own and proudly wear an Amarillo High School Sandies T-shirt.

Valerie has a new pair of cowboy boots.

I’ve spent enough time now with my co-ministers to start feeling comfortable. The fact that Matt wears a hair band and Greg doesn’t wear socks seems normal to me now. I’ve gotten used to Tanner’s Tarheels hat and Mary’s love for the Red Sox. I enjoy the fact that I’m not the loudest member of this ministry team; Adam is by far the loudest human being I’ve ever been around. If I need to find Mark before 8:30 in the morning I call Calico County. If we start talking about sports, I know that Kevin will leave the room; if we start talking about anything else, I know that Kevin is likely to break out into song. And that seems right. When Bob speaks, everybody listens. And when I need help with my computer or my printer or the network or anything else that plugs into the wall, I scream for Hannah. And when all I needed to do was simply follow an on-screen prompt or replace an ink cartridge, she won’t tell anybody.

I may never get totally used to the smell when the winds are out of the southwest. I will probably never embrace all the Texas Tech stuff around here. And there’s no way I’ll ever possibly meet and keep straight all the people who are related to Mark & Gina Love. But Amarillo is beginning to feel like home.

The wonderful, generous, patient, kind people here are making it really easy.

Weary of Holding It In

Sunday was torture. The past two Sundays, in fact, have been impossibly difficult for me. For two Resurrection Days in a row I have found myself sitting near the front of the worship center, surrounded by my brothers and sisters in Christ — my church; my church family! — and listening to someone else preach the sermon.

Now, please don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t enjoy listening to Jerry Taylor, the esteemed ACU professor who’s preaching here at Central every Sunday between now and when I start on September 18. I love listening to Jerry Taylor. Jerry’s powerful, authoritative, smooooooooth delivery combined with his expert’s grasp of the Scriptures fueled by the energy of God’s Holy Spirit makes for just about the best preaching anybody could ever hope to hear. I could listen to Jerry for hours. For days.

It’s not at all like what John Bailey says about sitting through some sermons: If I’m going to listen to mediocre preaching, I’d rather be the one doing it.

That’s not it at all. It’s that this is my church and these are my brothers and sisters and I’m their preacher! I’m the preacher here. And I’m supposed to be preaching.

God has given me things to say. Our Father has opened my eyes and my heart to truths in his Holy Word that must be revealed, that must be proclaimed by me. God has brought me here, he has pushed me here, to speak his will and to proclaim his purpose. He’s led me here to comfort and console, to provoke and challenge and upset, to exhort and encourage from his all-sufficient Scriptures.

Construction workers dig holes. Linebackers make tackles. Texans say “y’all.” And preachers preach.

I was made to preach. Called to preach. Equipped and empowered to preach.

I was completely on board with the initial time line that had us moving to Amarillo on August 12, getting unpacked and settled in, registering the kids for school, getting my study set up, and getting to know people before I dove into the preaching. It sounded great. Time to refresh. Time to rejuvenate. Time to meditate and revive, to get my head right with God and his Word. Time to pray. Time to worship with my new church family. Just worship. Time to meet people, to get to know my staff, to form a few relationships before attempting to speak to them a word from our God. What a gracious gesture on behalf of Central’s shepherds. What a nice big-picture view of our partnership together. What a clear indication of their love for and appreciation for their new minister. Yes. Thank you. Wow. I really appreciate it. Yes, it’s been perfect. Honestly, it’s been great.

Until last Sunday. And again yesterday.

God, grant me patience. I’m weary of holding it in.

Football Friday!

It’s going to be a record 101-degrees in Amarillo today, but it feels like fall. Drum lines and cheerleaders and football players and victory chants do it for me every time. It’s high school football season. Zero week starts tonight at Bivins Stadium when the Amarillo High School Sandies take on Midland. Carrie-Anne and I just returned from the pep rally in the Sandies Gym. We sat next to the Freshmen section and right across from the Seniors. But we never once saw either one of our girls. (If they had seen us, I’m sure they would have made sure we didn’t see them.)

There’s something really cool about being a part of this Amarillo High School scene. It’s the sense of genuine community. I’m sure it has a lot to do with the history of the place. Amarillo High has been around since 1889. There’s a lot of tradition here. In fact, they do all they can to keep the traditions alive. They still use the old 1920s mascot and logos on a lot of their literature and publications. They still employ a quaint rally chant from the ’40s, “Blow, Sand, Blow!” at opportune times during football games. While discussing tonight’s tailgating activities in the parking lot after the pep rally, we met a couple of people who went to school at AHS, sent their kids to AHS, and now have grandchildren here on the football team and on the spirit squads. There’s a lot of that here. They value their history. They uphold their traditions. When you’re a member of the Amarillo High School community, you’re a part of something much bigger than yourself. You’re a part of something that’s been vital and important since before your grandparents were born and something that’ll be vital and important long after you’re gone.

There’s a really provocative and interesting blog post in here somewhere about traditions in God’s Church, about traditions within our Church of Christ heritage, about the value of those traditions and what they mean to a community of believers. There’s a lot to write today about being connected to the greatness of the past, those men and women of the faith on whose shoulders we’re standing today. There’s plenty to consider regarding what we’re doing today and how it will impact future generations of disciples of Jesus.

But you’ll have to think about it and discuss it yourself. You’ll have to draw your own conclusions today. C-A and I are going to lunch and then we’ve got to find a couple of Sandies T-shirts before kickoff.

Hoping your team wins tonight. Unless it’s Midland.

On The Church Directory

We were sitting together that afternoon on a third-or-fourth-hand couch in my office behind the fellowship hall at the Marble Falls church. Jim Gardner had just announced he was leaving to begin preaching at the Woodward Park congregation in Fresno. I had just taken the preaching position at Legacy. And we both had just received copies of our new churches’ pictorial directories. We were flipping through the pages together, checking out the pictures of the good brothers and sisters to whom we would soon be ministering. Among the pages and rows of young families and widow ladies and old men and babies, Quincy’s picture jumped out at me.

Now look at Quincy. Look at him. That’s a face that has a story. There’s some pain there. Something happened. And the evidence is right there. This man deals with things most people never endure. He suffers.

My very first thought upon seeing Quincy’s picture — and I’ll never forget it — was to wonder in what ways I would be able to minister to this man. How am I going to serve him? How am I going to comfort and encourage him? How is God going to use me to help this guy?

As most readers of this space know, Quincy, of course, wound up ministering to me. He served me. He comforted me and encouraged me. He helped me more than I can possibly put into words.

Quincy’s faithful trust in God strengthened my own faith. His selfless, sacrificial attitude matured my own outlook on congregational life and the world. His prayers delivered me straight to God’s throne for healing and forgiveness, mercy and grace. His phone calls lifted me up and kept me going strong. Quincy’s love for me sustained me in many ways. When I needed a minister, when I needed a faithful friend, when I needed affirmation, Quincy was my guy.

Quincy and I would talk all the time about Legacy Morning Prayers. We lamented the lack of congregational participation. We prayed together that God would bring more people to our prayer time, that God would fill the prayer room with our brothers and sisters so we would all be changed to become more like Christ. Why won’t people come to pray? We couldn’t understand it.

And then at the end of May, it happened. Teenagers! High school seniors and college freshmen. Young people from our church and young people from the NRH community. Fifteen-year-old, 17-year-old, 20-year-old boys and girls. Kids with faithful Christian parents and kids who are spiritually on their own. They started showing up this summer. Four and five and sometimes six or seven at a time. Teenagers! Praying with Quincy. Talking with Quincy. Being formed and shaped by God through Quincy. Being changed by Quincy’s prayers. Being matured by God’s Word through Quincy’s reading.

Quincy and I had prayed and prayed that the prayer room would be full. But we never once thought God would bring us teenagers!

Every morning this summer Quincy and the teenagers prayed together for an hour. He ministered to them. He helped them. He encouraged them. He loved them. I would show up to work in the mornings and listen at the prayer room door as I put my Diet Dr Peppers for the day in the staff refrigerator. Quincy ministering to a room full of teenagers. More than I could ever possibly ask or imagine. God’s always doing weird and wonderful things like that.

For the past four weeks I’ve been thumbing through and praying over the pictures in my new Central directory. Well, it’s not really new; it’s four-years-old. I might be praying for and studying the names of people who died a long time ago or who don’t even belong to Central anymore. But my experience with Quincy has forever changed the ways I look at these pictures and names.

I still wonder about the ways God is going to use me to minister to this man in a wheelchair or to that single mom with four kids. I still pray that God will bless this widow lady and that guy with cancer. But, mostly, I wonder how these people are going to minister to me. How is God going to use this person to encourage me? How is our faithful Father going to use that lady to mature me in my faith? What’s this man in this picture going to do that’s going to change my life and make me a better disciple of Christ?

There are people in these 48 pages of pictures who are going to have an eternal impact on me. Some more than others. Yes, a few of them are going to make me crazy. But many more will become my greatest friends. I know I’m here to help them. But I’m just as certain our God is going to use these people to help me. And that gives me great confidence.

Secretary Ministers

One of our shepherds at Legacy took me to lunch three weeks ago as sort of an informal exit interview. Once the sandwiches arrived at our table and the thanksgiving prayer had been offered, he got right down to business.

“Allan, if I don’t accomplish anything else today,” he began, “I need to talk to you about the ladies in the church office. They really love you. They are very loyal to you. They would do anything for you. They defend you, they protect you, they say wonderful things about you, they really enjoy working with you. Your relationship with them is uncommonly good. And it’s not like that at all churches. Sometimes the preacher and the secretaries don’t get along at all. There’s usually some kind of tension. Sometimes they don’t even like each other. But Jackie and Suzanne and Bonny all think you’re the best thing ever and they’re absolutely devastated that you’re leaving.”

“Now,” he continued, “that’s something we want to keep going with the next preacher. We want to keep that same dynamic between these ladies and the next minister here. So, tell me…

What’s my secret? I was a little surprised by the question. My secret?

There’s no secret.

I tried to explain that we had always openly and honestly shared our lives together in that office. We were completely transparent with one another. We knew one another’s strengths and offered constant support and encouragement. We knew one another’s weaknesses and practiced patience and understanding. We laughed and we cried together. We talked about our children, we went to each other’s family funerals, we played practical jokes on one another. We prayed together. We read God’s Word together. For over four years we worked together side by side, day after day, in a difficult environment. We depended on one another. We genuinely needed one another. There’s no secret. We really just grew to love one another.

But the elder persisted. He wanted more.

“What was your strategy, though? How did you make that happen? How do we make sure the next guy we bring in here is going to make it happen?”

I struggled to give him what he was looking for. What is it about honest respect and genuine trust and mutual encouragement and selfless sacrifice within a team that I could put into a nuts-and-bolts plan or formula? For some reason my explanations sounded abstract. He wanted practical. So I tried again.

I always treated the church secretaries as equals.

I recognized around the table at staff meetings, in the hallways, and in our offices that the church secretaries are Christian ministers, too. Absolutely. In fact, in many ways they are more on the front lines of congregational ministry than the preachers in the back offices and the elders in the board rooms. These are the ladies who answer the door, answer the phone, schedule the building, make the appointments, collect and compile all the information and communicate it to the church. They have the most daily contact with the members of our church. They have more opportunity to show God’s grace. They have more chances to extend God’s mercy and forgiveness, more times to share God’s eternal perspective on daily matters, more occasions to reach others with our Father’s great love. They are often the first point of contact with our church members and with people in our community who are hurting or grieving or doubting or depressed or seeking our Lord. Those ladies do more Christian ministry in a day than some of our “ordained” ministers do in a month! And I know that. I acknowledge that. And I treat them with the great respect that deserves. I value their input. I treasure their opinions. I depend on their evaluations and advice. I trust their judgment. I need them.

I told this shepherd that day that I really believe Jackie and Suzanne and Bonny and I would all four run through brick walls for each other. We would move heaven and earth to do anything for each other. And I think it’s because I always treated them as equals.

(And then I added that in a lot of churches there is tension between the ministers and the elders. Unfortunately, it seems to be unusual for elders and ministers to really get along, to really trust one another, to really love one another and be on the same page together. And if a board of elders really wanted that to happen, they might consider treating ministers the same way I treated those ladies in the office. As equals. Treat your ministers as equals. Show them respect. Value their input. Weigh seriously their opinions. Depend on their evaluations and advice. Trust their judgment. Whatever you do, don’t kick them out of your meetings. Don’t ever send the message to them that, when it comes time to discuss really important matters or make really big decisions, they don’t have much of anything to offer)

Suzanne, you showed me every day how to be compassionate. You treated everyone with dignity and respect. You constantly reminded me that, even when people are being rude on the phone or demanding in the office, our job is to show them the love of Christ. You modeled that perfectly. And I’ve never met anyone with a bigger heart for the weak and the marginalized. You inspire me.

Jackie, you always kept me grounded in the big-picture view of God’s Kingdom. You taught me great balance. You never allowed me to get too caught up in the specifics of temporary issues or too bogged down by temporary trials. You modeled for me a faithful trust in the sovereignty of our good and holy Father.

Bonny, you made me a better preacher. You equipped me by telling me what works and what doesn’t. You empowered me by your constant encouragement. You told me when I said or did something that helped you or changed your outlook. And you never held back when I said or did something that maybe I shouldn’t have. You didn’t let me get away with anything. And you challenged me to be everything God has called me to be. Because of you, the Gospel of Christ was proclaimed more clearly at Legacy.

Now, there’s a whole new set of ladies in my life who are “breaking me in.” Connie, Gail, Elaine, and Vickie. And I don’t know them yet. I don’t hardly know them at all. I don’t know their stories. I don’t know their strengths and weaknesses, their triumphs and trials. I don’t know what makes them tick. And I’m certain they’re wondering about me, too. I’m secretly terrified that Bonny, Jackie, and Suzanne might try to contact them in some way to give them some advice. Or warning.

But I expect us to become close friends. I expect us to grow to love one another. I expect God to work with us and through us together. I anticipate marvelous relationship. And why not? We’re all ministers.

We were so blessed to take Tessa to lunch on Friday and eat watermelon with her house parents and housemates at High Plains Children’s Home. We were also privileged to meet Tessa’s pig, Wilbur. It’s part of her FFA project. For those of you who know Tessa, you’ll be thrilled to hear that she’s doing great. Her life has changed. It’s been turned completely around. Thank God. And thank Legacy.

Jack and Charlotte Chambers were here at Central yesterday. I also finally met Stephanie’s Aunt Suzanne.

I rejoice in the baptism of Marshall. And Hayleigh. Our God is still saving and rescuing. He is still robbing hell. What a joy to witness it up close!

The girls started school today. Carley is a 6th grader at Bonham Middle School. She stepped out of the van this morning and right into a sea of what looked like a million middle schoolers. She just disappeared. Valerie is a lowly fish at Amarillo High, and Whitney is a Senior Sandie. Yeah, they’re Sandies. Amarillo High School is the home of the Golden Sandstorm. I’ve told the girls that you have to be pretty good to get away with a mascot like that. We’ll see beginning this Friday night when AHS takes on Midland in the football season opener.

First Sunday

It got weird for me during communion on Sunday. And it happened so fast that I’m still not really sure what it was.

Our first Sunday here at Central as the new preaching minister was a swirling blur of brand new people and faces and names, exciting experiences and Spirit-filled worship, and undeniable proof that we have made the right decision in joining this group of believers up here in the panhandle. It began before Bible class as Carrie-Anne and the girls and I jumped in to help serve breakfast to more than a hundred of the needy and poor of this downtown community at Central’s Upreach Center. And it ended with an area-wide worship assembly at the Southwest Church of Christ where the singing was inspirational and the fellowship divine. In between, there were two meals shared with two different groups of new friends, roughly three hundred handshakes and hugs, and a thrilling chance to address our new congregation and thank them for their warm hospitality and friendly welcome.

But something happened during communion.

As we were sharing the bread and the cup with our new church, my thoughts went straight to our former church. If I were communing at Legacy, I would have felt John’s hand on my shoulder from the pew behind me. I would have heard Tom’s whispered “Thank you, Jesus” from my left. I would have made a funny face at Shannon and Audrey to my right. And I would have smiled as I watched Tommy and Drew and Valerie and Sebrina pass the trays in front of me.

This Sunday, it was all new. It was Craig sitting behind me. I had hugged him before church began and I could hear him singing. It was Steve and Judy sitting next to us, exchanging smiles. “The body of Christ broken for you.” “The blood of Christ given for you.” I found myself making faces at little Elise two rows up.

I stared up at the massive wooden beams that rise from the tops of the walls to the center of the stained glass dome of our worship center. It’s beautiful. It’s stunning. People who have been here a long time jokingly refer to it as “the vortex.” Some say it makes the outside of the building look like a sombrero. But I love it. It speaks to the transcendence of our great God. It expresses our desires to reach him, to offer ourselves to him, to be near him. I think it also conveys our hopes for unity: every person in every corner of the room, brought to the Father and united to one another in and by and through the One True and Living Way.

Looking around at all of this, taking it all in, soaking it all up, my eyes welled with tears.

How great is our God. How amazing is this heavenly Father who somehow has deemed me worthy? Despite my inadequacies and shortcomings and failures — my sins! — he thinks I am valuable enough to make me his partner in this new work in this new church. (This new church that’s been in this same spot in downtown Amarillo for over a hundred years!) Our God is doing a new thing here, an exciting thing, a Kingdom thing. And he’s got me right here in the middle of it. I can’t believe it. It’s truly incredible! All these new people. All these new works. New opportunities for service. New avenues for God’s mercy and grace. New places to find God’s forgiveness and salvation. New ways to share his spectacular gifts of eternal life. And he’s got me in some kind of a leadership role here!

I don’t deserve it. I can’t fathom all these blessings. I can’t begin to comprehend all the good that’s coming my way. I don’t know why God thinks he can use me to fulfill his eternal purposes here. It makes no earthly sense.But he does. He really does.

And I just became overwhelmed.

He has forgiven me. He has lavished his great love on me and called me his child. His son. That is what I am!

Carrie-Anne looked at me and asked, “Are you OK?”

Through my tears I said, “No, I don’t think I am.”

And she said, “Do you want a mint from Coleman?”

Carrie-Anne reached into her purse and pulled out a familiar individually-wrapped peppermint from the Legacy candy man. Coleman Archer has been the candy man at Legacy for decades. Mints and Peppermint Patties and Krackel. Sometimes he would throw them at me across the concourse. Usually he would hand them to me along with a kind and encouraging word.

I popped the mint in my mouth and my thoughts raced back to our old church.

I was blessed there, too. More than I could ever possibly ask or imagine. Much more than I could ever hope to deserve. I didn’t know what I was getting into there when I first started at Legacy. But it was good. It was very good.

Of the hundreds of people I met after church here at Central Sunday on this first Sunday, one of the firsts was Pattie Archer. Coleman’s daughter-in-law. She and her husband Kelly, Coleman’s son, have been here at Central for a long time. Pattie didn’t give me any candy. But she gave me a smile and a hug and told me how glad she was that we were here.