BPTV

It was bound to happen. 

Having easily conquered the Blogosphere in just a matter of weeks with my amazing Blermons (blog-sermons) and Bleminars (blog-seminars) - I’m now up to OVER 33 followers, by the way - it was just a matter of time before the next victim of my amazing talent would raise its skinny head over the fence and into my deadly sites. 

You heard it here first: the time has come for Brother Preacher to be on TV!  

Call it: Brother Preacher TV.  Or BPTV.  I can already see the t-shirts.  Heck, I’m already wearing the t-shirts in my mind!  And the official lanyard/dental floss combo necklace.

You say, “ Brother Preacher, are you saying that you just landed a TV deal and will soon be on national and semi-global television, coming into our homes on a weekly basis!?”

No, that is NOT what I’m saying.  What I’m saying is that I just got the idea that I SHOULD be on television in my head.  And THEN I thought if I DID have a show, I would have my wife Gidget make some t-shirts that say “BPTV” on the front of them; possibly with some sort of pulpit-y design on the back.  It would be a smash.

Since I’ve got too much writing to do as it is, I’m thinking it should probably be some sort of Reality TV thingy.  Have a couple cameras follow me and Gidget around on our many adventures as we go about our day writing sermons, going to lunch, cutting out flannel graph Bible characters for VBS, visiting Shut-Ins, mowing the grass.  I mean look; there are 5 or 6 episodes right there! 

BP Mows The Grass!

BP Loses His Sermon For Sunday!

Gidget Cuts BP’s Hair!

Oops!  Another Baptism Blunder!

I’m not saying it would be a show for EVERYBODY.  But I think there would certainly be appeal for some.

Of course we could also scrap the whole reality angle and just go for a straight “dram-edy” about 4 Preachers traveling around the country in a van.  Call it “The P Team” (for Preacher).  We’d have the van loaded up with power point sermons and some machine guns.  Then each week we’d go into a town, blow up some bridges, solve a case, and then hold a gospel meeting.

Now THAT I like.  Don’ steal my idea.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

MY OTHER LIFE

Prepare to be shocked.

In the interest of making myself more genuine with this Blongregation (blog-congregation) I feel it necessary to reveal some rather ...yes...shocking news about myself.

No, I’m afraid it isn’t anything scandalous.  No sex romps through a mall, no financial bilking, and no dirt bikes.

No, I’m afraid the shocking news I MUST share with the Blembers (blog-members) of this Blurch (blog-church) is simply this: Brother Preacher, me, your favorite, award-winning, stylish, charismatic Bleacher (blog-preacher), has not ALWAYS been a Preacher.   There.  I said it.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not saying I was qualified to do anything else besides preach, I’m simply sayin’ there were times in my life when I HAD to do other things besides preach in order to keep myself in Ramen Noodles - all with varying degrees of success. For example...

I was once a Pig Farmer and accidentally zapped myself 7 times on an electric fence in one summer before I figured out how it was happening.

I was once a House Parent for two boys who had tried to kill their parents with hammers.  I was encouraged not to feed them any sugary cereals.  

I was an overnight Security Guard at a housing project where small refrigerators were routinely thrown out of high-rise apartments in a game the residents called, “Kill the Security Guard”. Personally, I preferred it to the other game played there called, "Kill The Security Guard With An Air Conditioner Being Thrown Out The Window".

I was a Bike Messenger with no bike, and a College Recruiter with no recruits.  And once I was once a Youth Minister in a church that had no youth, but DID have a spare room behind the baptistery where I lived for several months.

 

In 1987 I was unanimously selected “Worst Waiter In New York City” when I accidentally spilled an entire tray full of drinks down the back of a man who ironically, was unanimously selected “Most Unlucky Restaurant Go-er” that same year.

I was an Audience Warm Up Guy for TV shows with a guy named Phil.   

 For a while, I was a Detective and used to run around on a giant map in shoes that hurt my feet.

I used to make Europeans roll on the floor, and jump around in a room in Switzerland for 2 days at a time and then when it was over, I made them pay me money.   Later, I did it to Americans.

I was a stock boy, a painter, a truck driver, a teacher, a chocolate-covered pretzel spokesman, a babysitter, a dog sitter, a counselor, a radio DJ, a copywriter, a house cleaner, a wheat harvester, a candy salesman, a landscaper, a prop finder, a kid wrangler, a Bible Hour Entertainer, a horse stall mucker, a VBS Bathroom Train Conductor, and a construction site cleaner.

And once I held my breath for 2 minutes and made 5 dollars.

I could go on...and on...but I won’t.  Suffice to say...I LOVE Preaching.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

 

PULPITS REVEALED!

I was recently asked this VERY IMPORTANT question by a concerned Blember (blog-member) of this Blogregation (blog-congregation).  It reads:

“Dear Brother Preacher, Hello.  How are you?  I am fine.  Hope you are too.  Do you have any hobbies?”

Not the most EXCITING opening to a letter, I agree, and really not that great for a Blermon (blog-sermon) opener either, now that you mention it.  But believe me, it gets better.  Several inane pages later, it reads:

“Anyhow, I wanted to see if you could answer a question for me.  Last Sunday our Preacher, stopped in the middle of his sermon and began to choke like something had gotten stuck in his throat.  Just as people were starting to get nervous, he reached down behind his pulpit and pulled out a can of diet soda and took a swig.  “He replaced the soda can, and then reached down again and pulled out a bag of throat lozenges.  My question is: do ALL Preachers have stuff stashed back there in their pulpits, and if so, what else is back there?  By the way, you are the best Bleacher in the world. Much better than Joel Olsteen. A Fan, Terri.”

It’s a vital question, with a short, vital answer.  Here it is: if your Preacher is the kind of poor slob who is forced to preach behind one of those fancy, new-fangled “see-thru” pulpits, or Heaven forbid a “music stand” he is doomed.  With any luck he will be dead in 18 months.  14 Preachers a year choke to death due to preaching behind one of these ridiculous, lame-o pulpits.  If you care anything at all about your Preacher you will remedy this immediately.

The good news is MOST Preachers still use REAL pulpits, which means YES they have all kinds of crap stashed back there.  What that crap consists of, depends on the Preacher.

Nearly all have a drink of some kind for choking emergencies as well as some lozenges.  There is often a spare tie, some socks, pen, ruler for measuring hair length on Snippy Deacons, and a water gun in case the baptistery springs a leak.

Personally, I also like to include some batteries, a little TV for big game days, a bag a Doritos, some flannel graph characters, and you never know when you might need a can of corn to hold up as an illustration of “Things Not Mentioned In The book of Mark”.

Bottom line: a pulpit is like your mother’s purse.  Never go in there - you just never know what you might find...and you don’t wanna know.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

I LOVE PREACHING

“Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might...” Ecclesiastes 9:10

I love preaching.  No.  I mean I REALLY love preaching.

No.  Sorry.  You’re not getting it.  Preaching is my bag.  It’s my “thing”.  It’s what I wanna do more than anything else, including golf.  Which is a terrible example, because I hate golf.  

But I LOVE preaching.  I love it.  I dig it.  Or as the great Winston Churchill once said,

“Me diggy biggy.”

At least I think it was him who said that.  Might have been me.  What am I sayin’?  I think it was my brother-in-law.  Doesn’t matter.  Anyhow...

Naturally, when I say I love preaching, it’s not lost on me as to WHY I SHOULD love preaching.  You know the whole, getting folks saved thing.  And I DO love it for that reason.  After all, I DO get it, I know the over all purpose of preaching, the importance of it.  But I think I would be being less than honest if I sat here and told you that was the ONLY reason why I loved it.  Not even close.

Ever since I was a little kid, I have just loved pulpits. I love reading announcements.  I love welcoming visitors.  And there’s really nothing in this world more fun than waving a Bible around at people.  Don’t believe me?  Try it.  Makes you feel like...I don’t know what.  Like a guy waving a Bible at people, I guess.  Which, as it turns out, is pretty dang fun to do!

Which reminds me, there was an old Preacher I knew when I was a kid.  One time he was preaching and was just wavin’ his Bible around like crazy.  He was really gettin’ wound up when he said,  “If we’re not gonna follow this book, we might as well just throw it away!” And then he THREW it WAY out into the crowd!  Knocked Sister Mabel’s hat clean off her old head.    Talk about great.  Talk about fan-tas-tic.  I was hooked.  I HAD to be a preacher after seein’ that.

Besides, what other job besides preaching that let’s you scream at people, tell jokes, eat all he fried chicken you can choke down and occasionally dunk people in a river?

I love preaching.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

MY NAME IS PREACHER. BROTHER PREACHER.

There’s not a day goes by, I'm not asked by somebody what it’s like to be a Preacher.  

“How do you do it, Preacher?  The sermons, the puppet shows, the Pot Luck Dinner/ 3-Bean Salad organizing?”

You may not realize it, but people are simply fascinated by the life of Preachers.

But explaining what it’s like to be a Preacher is like explaining what it’s like to be James Bond.  Most people just aren’t gonna get it.  How do you explain the cool gadgets, the concordance collection, the constant outmaneuvering of evil enemies who want to take over the world, and the feeling you get when dropping out of an airplane from 3000 feet while in a shoot out with a Grumpy Elder?

Somethin’ like that.  I think I mixed up my James Bond stuff with my Preacher stuff.  The shoot out I had was from 4,000 feet; and it was 2 Grumpy Elders and a VERY snippy Deacon.  Anyhow.  You get it.

Now that I think if it, Preaching is more like being James Bond than many people might think. For example:

We both have cool letters in our names that we use for short: Brother Preacher (BP), James Bond (JB).  James Bond also goes by a number (007).  I pretty much just go by “Brother” - I’m kinda “low church” that way.  If I HAD to go by a number I’d go by 003 -- for the Trinity, of course.

James Bond drives a Aston Martin DBS V-12, I drive a Ford Focus.  Both have wheels and a fairly decent cup holder.  One is equipped with a machine gun and an ejector seat for protection, while the other has a stack of religious tracts that can leave a pretty nasty paper cut.

One has a bunch of cool spy gadgets he gets from a guy named “Q”; I get all my cool preaching gadgets from Gidget.  (By the way, check out her new website coming soon: Gadgets By Gidget -  “for the Preacher in your life”.  She makes some great baptismal waders that double as protective door knocking gear.)

James Bond saves the world in the just nick of time, usually by getting his tie stuck in something mechanical;  I pretty much do the same thing by stickin’ my tie in a Bible to mark the best  “get saved verses”.

JB comes home after a hard day to a bevy of bikini-clad beauties; I come home to Gidget.

Gidget.  Mmmm.

Eat your heart out, JB.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

WHAT IF?

What if you found out that everything you were ever told about Heaven was wrong? 

What if instead of streets of gold, and big, white thrones and pearly crowns, you got up there and the place was covered in nothin’ but Christmas lights and pink flamingos and huge, orange, leather bean bag chairs, because (as it turned out) God happened to PREFER bean bag chairs to thrones?   

Would you still want to go?

And what if there were people up there, who you knew SHOULDN'T be there, but who WERE there somehow anyway; all scrubbed up and nice and clean and forgiven just like you?  Who instead of singin church songs all day, spent all eternity playing’ board games, and listenin’ to Polka music, and tellin’ knock-knock jokes, while passin' around a big 'ole bucket of Carmel Corn?

Would you feel cheated?  Would you want to complain?

And what if you met Jesus and instead of being that nice, tall, sexy, blond haired, blue eyed guy in the white robe and red sash, he looked more like the guy working at the 7-11 store; and was short, and fat, and had a receding hair line, and a hairy back, and dirty clothes, and smelled like a goat, and had bad teeth, and a slight lisp and stuttered?

Would you still tell people you loved him, and put his picture up in your church, and see his face in slices of burnt toast?

And what if you found out that the religious book you love so much wasn’t at all what they told you it was, and wasn’t written by who they said it was, and was NEVER ONCE intended to be used the way they said to use it, because it wasn't trying to say what you they told you it was trying to say?   

Would your life suddenly spin out of control, send you runnin’ naked through the streets, yellin’ like a maniac, burning down buildings and killing puppies? 

And what if you found out the world really WAS 4 billion years old, and Adam and Eve really DID evolve from a sea pig, and instead of being arbitrary punishments for arbitrary sin, hurricanes and tornadoes and earthquakes really WERE just naturally occurring weather patterns that happened every day on this planet, regardless of what evil anybody did or how hard anybody prayed? 

Would you freak out and suddenly become a different person?  Would you start treating people like stray dogs; breakin' into houses and stealin' their TVs; and callin' old ladies nasty names?


What if EVERYTHING you ever THOUGHT you knew about God and Heaven and the Bible and the Church and the Universe, and FRIED CHICKEN turned out to be wrong? 

Would you try to ignore the facts and keep on believin' the way you always had, livin' in your own safe, little, fantasy world, because (as it turned out) you happened to PREFER fantasy to truth?

Or would you for once - just once - try to leave your preconceived, life-long, never-challenged notions  about God and the Bible and the Church and the Universe behind, and take a fresh, hard, honest look at those things?

Whatever the cost, wherever the road led, would you try to look at those things as clearly as you could, as honestly as you could, as bravely as you could, and just open yourself up to whatever truth was really there, knowing that the truth really WILL set you free? 

Or do you not believe him when he says...

“If you look for me wholeheartedly,

you WILL find me.”

- Jeremiah 29:13

As together we stand and sing.

BP

MY NEW MIRROR

I Corinthians 13:12:

“Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror...”

I put one of those funhouse mirrors in my bathroom the other day.

What was the matter with me?  I shoulda done this years ago. 

What was once a terrifying, semi-depressing daily ritual (lookin’ at myself in the mirror every morning) has suddenly become an exciting private pleasure I find myself wanting to repeat several times a day. I’m thinking of dropping a couple of hobbies just to make more time to look at myself in my funhouse mirror.  So long communion cup collecting.  Sorry, somethin’ had to go.

Depending on where I’m standing, my entire body image can change within seconds.  Sometimes I have a fat head, other times a fat body.  Other times, I’m suddenly skinny...all over.  Without dieting or exercise.  Really.  This almost NEVER happened in my other mirror.

It’s true, I don’t ever get what you could call a completely accurate reading on what I’ve got going on, but I DO get a pretty good idea.  And frankly, in my case, “pretty good” is good enough.

My funhouse mirror shows me if there’s renegade spinach anywhere it shouldn’t be.  It instantly tells me if I have neglected to put on pants, or my Hawaiian Hula skirt.  And no one as of yet, has been able to secretly put a sombrero on my head without me knowing about it. 

What else do you want from a mirror?

I will say that no matter what, a funhouse mirror beats the time Gidget and I lived in that House of Mirrors.  That was just plain annoying.  And dangerous.  It did FEEL like the biggest house I’ve ever lived in, though.

As together we stand and sing.

BP