THE CRAFTY PREACHER

Emergency Preacher Crafts

Let's face it.  Preachers just don't do crafts like they used to.

Jesus was a woodworker.  
Paul made tents.  Peter mended nets.
Joseph's dad liked to tie-dye coats of many colors.

Nowadays, Preachers golf.  Or worse yet, bowl.  I know one Preacher in Omaha who is on a paintball team.  He isn't that good.  I know he isn't any good because whenever he  preaches he has a slight orange glow around his forehead and cheeks.  He's pretty bruised up too.  He may wanna try something else.  Like maybe a nice, safe Turner Classic Movies Marathon.

It's good for Preachers who spend most of their time reading and worrying and baptizing, to do something with their hands on occasion.  Helps keep the calluses up.  There's nothing worse than shakin' hands with a Preacher after church and getting the feeling that he just came from getting a manicure.  

For me, the craft of champions is probably Leathercraft.  

I like it because there's leather involved - which makes it easy to pretend like I'm Jesse James making a saddle in the Old West for a big, upcoming train robbery.  Or maybe a cave man makin' a hat.  Or a guy in prison makin' a billfold.  

Also, with Leathercraft, I can usually bang my thumb at least twice, which is always a good manly look,  as well as find a way to cut myself several times.  In short, it can tear up my hands pretty quickly, which with my tight preaching schedule is a must.

Also very few people (let alone Preachers) even DO Leathercraft anymore.  I love to see the look of surprise (some would misinterpret it as disgust) when I give someone a belt I made with their name and some ladybugs pounded into it.  I make 'em put it on right away and model it. That just doesn't happen anymore.

Most importantly Leathercraft provides me with some down time as well as an opportunity for sermon illustrations.  Some of the sermon illustrations and ideas I have had just this week as a result of working in leather include:

Christians: Tough as Leather, Cute as Butterflies.

Put On The Belt Of Righteousness And Blue Birds.

It's Hard To Sin When you're Name And Phone Number Is On Your Belt.

So come on, Preachers.  Get your hands a little dirty.  Tear up a table top.  Singe the ends of your fingers.  The whole golf thing is SO...Pre-Power Point. 

Dare To Be A Crafter!

As together we stand and sing.

BP

WHEN DAD CAUGHT BONNIE AND CLYDE

Maybe 4 years old was a bit young to have a girlfriend.

But 5 year old Suzie (yes, that was her REAL name) possessed all the qualities I have always found irresistible in a woman: she was cute, knew how to climb a tree and liked ME.  

You should see my wife Gidget climb a tree.  She's a regular Swiss Family Robinson.

When you're 4 years old in the 1960's, you tend to have a lot of free time on your hands.  In those days, kids were expected to set their own schedule and if possible get a job.  If the weather was good, it was not unusual to be kicked out of the house right after breakfast and told to "go play" for about 9 hours.  It wasn't neglectful, it was summer.  And when you're 4 years old, it's ALWAYS summer.

With that kind of freedom, it's a good idea to have a strong, idea-generating woman, who loves you, at the ready.  Not ALL the time, of course.  But after you've built your 5th cardboard box cowboy fort, stuck sticks in 300 ant holes, and poured about 9,000 gallons of hose water all over the back yard just so you can walk through it with your galoshes on, you need somebody to come up with something cool to do.  Enter Suzie.

It was about mid-morning when Suzie, along with this kid Brian and I were already fresh out of things to do.  Brian was this weird, little kid Suzie's Mom used to babysit.  He always had nasal issues.  His nose was either constantly running, or completely stuffed up, or both all at the same time.  He couldn't climb a tree if a man-eating wart hog was chasin' him.  But he always offered to be the guy that got killed first when we played cowboys, so he wasn't totally worthless.  

Anyhow,  we were standing on the side of my house trying to figure out what to do when Suzie had this great idea.

"Do you have any cookies at your house?" she whispered to me.  Suzie always smelled like grape Popsicles.


"Yes." I said, staring at Brian's runny, yet stuffed up nose.  


"OK," said Suzie, "Go into your house and ask your Dad for a cookie.  If he asks if it's just for you, say 'Yes,' then bring it outside and we'll all go run some place else and eat it."

"But I thought Brian wasn't supposed to have cookies," I said.

"He isn't. He's allergic.  If he eats the wrong kind of cookie, he could die."

Brian nodded his head and tried to breath.

"So if your Dad asks if it's just for you, just say 'Yes.'  Then bring it outside and we'll all go run someplace else and eat it."

Suzie knew I usually needed instructions twice. Especially when getting ready to poison another kid.

"OK, so go!" she said.  "We'll wait here."

Then Brian nodded and tried to sniff, as he and Suzie hid behind the rain pipe.

I went inside my house and back to the kitchen where my Dad was making our sandwiches for lunch.  When he was home and my mom wasn't, lunch was always an adventure.  He cut our sandwiches side to side.  Mom cut them diagonal. We all have our own idea of adventure.

I went right up to my father and said, "Can I have a cookie?"

He kept looking at the sandwich he was cutting wrong and said over his shoulder, "Is it just for you, or are you gonna share it with your friends?"

I thought, "Well, now what kinda of ridiculous, self-incriminating question is that?" 

My Dad was amazing.  He was my world.  He could do anything.  He had been in the Air Force, could throw a football the whole length of the front yard, and could set up Christmas trees.  

But it wasn't until that moment that I realized he also possessed some sort of magical power to ask just the RIGHT question at the WRONG time.  I started to panic.

I knew it was wrong to lie. But I also knew that it was wrong to not do as you were told.  And I had been TOLD to LIE from Suzie.  

I also liked cookies.  

After a split second of internal debate I said, "It's just for me. No one else.  And NOT for Suzie and Brian either." 


I thought that last bit was particularly genius move. But then, as he so often did,  Dad countered brilliantly.


"Are you SURE?" he said.


Oh, no. Am I sure?  What is THAT supposed to mean?  Sure of what?  That I am lying?  Yes.  That I'm a cookie-stealing Clyde in love with a Popsicle smellin' Bonnie? Yes, again!  That I'm going to probably kill Brian?  That goes without saying.

"Yes, I'm sure. It's just for me."  I lied as sweetly as I could.


Dad finally stopped with the sandwiches, reached over to the cookie jar and pulled out one of my mom's home-made chocolate chip sensations.


"OK, here ya go," he said, looking me straight in the eye and smiling.

I grabbed the cookie and high-tailed it out of the house, jumping off the porch and blazing around the corner where Suzie and Sniffles were waiting.


I handed the cookie over to Suzie who examined it for a split second then said, "OK, now let's run someplace else and eat it!"


Then as the three of us took off running like we'd just robbed the Union Pacific Bakery, I heard my Dad calling from  inside the house.


"Preacher!  Stop RIGHT there."


I immediately dropped to my knees and began crying.  How did he know?


As I watched Suzie and Snuffle-up-agus disappearing around the garage to eat my cookie, I knew the rest of the afternoon for me was going to be filled with a spanking, a lecture, no cartoons and probably a forced nap. 

If you're gonna play you have to pay.

I could fill a book with all the times my Father corrected, instructed, encouraged, educated, and challenged me. I could fill another of all the bad roads and dark paths he helped me avoid just by being as vigilant as he was.  He did his "dad thing" every day, without fail, whether I liked it or not.  

To some parents it was just a cookie.  But he saw it as something else, and took the opportunity to make a big point on a little guy.  In my case, it worked.  I don't think I ever lied to him again.  At least not about cookies.

I often wonder what would have happened had he not intervened on that particular day - there is no telling the cookie stealing spree he helped prevent.

Every would-be Bonnie and Clyde should be so lucky.  I know I am.


I love you, Dad.


As together we stand and sing.


BP

PS - Brian didn't die.

WHY I LOVE THE OLD TESTAMENT (#2)

Deut. 25: 8-10 says this...

"At this, the elders of the town should summon him and reason with him. If he still stands his ground and says I refuse to take her, his brother's widow must go up to him in the presence of the elders, pull his sandal off his foot, spit in his face, and declare, 'Thus we requite the man who will not build up his brother's family. His family will be known in Israel as the house of the unsandalled man.'"

Let's face it: I love wearing sandals.  

I think they're comfortable, airy, stylish, and often make me feel like Jesus.  Especially when I wear my white Hilton Hotel robe and blue sash from the fabric store with them.  I can think of no  MORE first century fashion statement - except maybe a donkey.  Or a beard.

At the very least, when I wear sandals, I feel like Elijah.  And sometimes the Apostle Thomas, when I'm feeling "Doubt-y" at the time.

Here in this passage, we learn that there is the very real possibility for trouble if you happen to be a "sandal wearing guy with a dead brother who doesn't really dig your sister-in-law." 

Lucky for me, while I DO wear sandals, I do NOT have a brother (dead or otherwise).  So... I'm kinda in the clear on this one, I guess.  NO matter what I do, my family will not be known as a "house of a sandal-less" one.  

Whew.  That's a relief.  I tell ya, the Old Testament can be such a comfort.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

THE SMART GUYS AND ME

I don't wanna sound all braggy but, facts is facts...I destroyed the Bible Scholars last night with my superior preaching.  They never saw it comin'.

Of course, I ALSO simultaneously got myself dis-fellowshipped from about 9 different denominations, while tickin' off about a hundred big brained Bible guys and their wives but...these things happen. 

Francis Collins, the human genome/world famous scientist guy was there.  We chatted afterwards for a while and found that we have lots in common.  Apparently, he discovered the human genome a while ago.  I told him that I have also found stuff...usually in the backyard or my closet. I think he was impressed, though he seemed a bit skittish to see me.  He probably thought I was gonna try to baptize him right there on the spot.  Don't laugh.  I thought about it.  He probably noticed the "Pre-baptize Glaze" I get in my eye right before I dunk somebody.  He's a scientist, they notice that kind of stuff.

Anyhow, it occurred to me this morning that Francis will no doubt be bringing  my name up the next time he meets with Bill Gates or  President Obama.  

That's just gonna KILL Joel Olsteen.  Oh, well.    

Making my way back home today.  There's a pile of mail to sift through and a "Housewives of New Jersey" marathon on the DVR my wife Gidget has to catch up on, so have to get back.  

Meanwhile, I wanna personally thank all of the BlembersTM (blog-members) of this BlongregationTM (blog-congregation) for your support during this missionary trip to California.  You weren't a LOT of help (I did all the preachin' and most of the drivin'), but it was still good to know you there to pray and fast.  

I HATE fasting while I'm on the road.  And I get too dizzy when I fast while I'm tryin' to preach. Now that I think of it, I don't think I EVER fast.  

Why?  Because fasting stinks.  Thanks for doing it for me.  Now go have a donut.

I wonder if Francis Collins ever fasts?  

What I really wonder is if he has a microscope.  Or a trampoline. 

I'll ask him next time we're on a smart guy science panel in Washington together.

Can't WAIT for that.  I'll preach those guys into the ground.

Joel Olsteen will wanna jump off a bridge.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

BIBLE SCHOLARS: LAST WARNING

Ever wondered what it feels like to be a Preacher on the verge of taking Hollywood and a bunch of whiny Bible Scholars by storm?  Take a look at this picture and you'll know exactly what it feels like.

It feels cold, hard, and a little bit scummy. 

But it has to be done.

These are the tiles in my bathroom of my room in Malibu.  I've been staring at it for 3 hours.  It's called PPF:  

PRE-PREACH FOCUS.  

PPF is mandatory when you are preparing to Preach at  a bunch of mouthy, braggy Bible Scholars in Malibu.  This isn't a job for just ANY preacher.  Olsteen would crumble under the pressure.  I'd like to see HIM stare at a bathroom wall for 2 hours.  Never happen.


I'm gonna tear 'em up.

I find that bathroom tiles have a way of helping me visualize the points of my sermon.  Each tile represents either a specific point, illustration, joke, or dog story. 

There's one tile in here that has what appears to be toothpaste on it.  That's my invitation song.

The plan is to stay in this bathroom and stare at these tiles til "go" time.  That's about...9 hours from now.  

By then, I'll be ready.  I'll be nice and hungry, thirsty, grumpy, mean, probably a little dizzy and if I'm lucky, babbling like a mad man.  I'll be a cross between John The Baptist and a crazed hamster.

Unstoppable.

Of course, if I get TOO hungry, I'll probably have some lunch and take a nap.  

Gotta always have a backup plan.

As together we stand and sing.


BP

PREACHING IS EASY

Lemme tell ya, if I preached here in San Francisco full time, I would have a never-ending supply of BlermonTM (blog-sermon) topics.  Which almost makes the whole "morning jog-dodgin' Sea Gull 'goo'-dance" worth it.

All I'd have to do it walk outside and I would be instantly transported into a living, breathing, Sermon Topic-teria.  For example...

Gull "Goo" Already In Progress

"Beware of Gull Goo."

From the Future, At the Park

"Dear Doubting Thomas: Martians are REAL!"

Giant Killer: Plan "B"

"What  David Would Have Done Next If The 5 Stones and The Slingshot Had Missed."

When Preachers Daydream

 "It's A Long Road To Heaven...And Back To My Hotel.".

Help

"Bus/Trolley Thingy Where I Think I Lost My Billfold."

Thanks for nothin', Eve.

 
"Don't Be An Adam!"





I just realized, the bus/trolley thingy really wasn't a BlermonTM idea,  so much as it was a call for help.  I mean REAL help in finding my billfold.  So if  anyone's on that particular bus/trolley thingy later today and finds my billfold please contact me immediately at this BlongregationTM (blog-congregation).

By the way, this is where I dropped my camera/phone.

The Ledge of Lost Things

Anyhow, you get it.  

I could preach all day here.  But I was MOST inspired when I stumbled upon the statue of none other than the Apostle Paul...

Paul In 'Frisco

I had no idea he even MADE it to California.  Have to take another look at that "Missionary Journey's" map. 

Headed to LA today to get my preach on for the Bible Scholar's Conference on the 16th in Malibu. I don't know about you but Bible Scholars tend to be a bit snooty for my tastes.  

I'm thinkin' of whippin' the Martian picture on 'em.  That oughtta shut 'em up.   

As together we stand and sing.  

BP

LITTLE FAITH? LITTLE TIME.

I know what many of you are thinking.  

"Is BP gonna make it today?  Will there be a BlermonTM?  Or has his luck finally run out."

Oh, ye of little faith...

Lets face it - I'm Preaching in San Francisco.  That...takes...time.  There are a LOT of things to preach against here.  Be serious.  I'm busy.

Maybe instead of complaining and doubting me, you could start praying for me or maybe getting out here for a little tag team preaching.  


Either way - I'm gonna keep goin'.  I've got my preach SERIOUSLY on - and I won't be turned off.


By the way, on my run this morning on the beach, I think I accidentally baptized a manatee in a tutu. 

At least I THINK it was a manatee.

Why I was in a tutu is anybody's guess.

As together we stand and sing.

BP