The Kingdom, The Kids, & The Cowboys

“Your child is following a mutant form of Christianity, and you may be responsible.”

That’s the first sentence in a recent on-line article from CNN that’s been emailed to me four times this week and seems to be making the rounds. The August 27 article tackles the topic of religion and teens from the viewpoint of Kenda Creasy Dean, a professor of theology at Princeton Theological Seminary and the author of “Almost Christian.” Her book claims that lots of parents and churches are unwittingly passing on a watered-down, self-serving, imposter strain of Christianity to our kids. Our children today see God as a “divine therapist” whose chief goal is to boost our self esteem. God simply wants us to do good and feel good. Researchers for the book call it moralistic therapeutic deism. And Dean says, “If this is the God they’re seeing in church, they are right to leave us in the dust.”

According to the book, Dean’s research included in-depth interviews with more than 3,300 American teenagers between 13 and 17, and found that most who call themselves Christian are indifferent and inarticulate about their faith. Dean says three out of every four teenagers in this country claim to be Christian, but fewer than half practice their faith and only half deem it to be very important at all.

I wonder if those numbers wouldn’t also accurately reflect the beliefs and practices of the adults in our pews.

I haven’t read the book. I’ve only read this article. At least five times now. And the one sentence that keeps coming back to me, the one quote I can’t get out of my head, I think, sums up one of the major problems — if not the number one problem — in our churches and our church programs.

About a third of the way through this article, Dean is quoted as saying, “If teenagers lack an articulate faith, it may be because the faith we show them is too spineless to merit much in the way of conversation.”

Amen.

The good news of salvation in Christ is not a “gospel of niceness” in which faith is simply doing good and not ruffling feathers. The Christian call is to take risks, to witness to the world, to sacrifice and serve others; to die to self and to live in a way that is radically — dangerously — different from the surrounding culture.

Preachers preach safe messages that will bring in more people and/or keep more people from leaving. Elders and other church leaders promise security and comfort and happiness at their congregations. We’re not challenging our people. We’re not teaching them or showing them that following Christ — living in the way of Christ and in the manner of Christ — means doing something to fix what’s broken in the world. Restore something. Cleanse something. Change everything. We don’t call our people to anything that’s bigger than ourselves. If all we’re doing is asking our people to sit in a pew, write a weekly check, and then allow the church to work hard to make them physically and spiritually and emotionally comfortable, we’re guilty of adding to the problem. We’re guilty of teaching and practicing a mutant form of Christianity.

We need to stop telling and showing our teens — and all our adults for that matter — that Christianity is all about following rules and drawing lines and adhering to boundaries. We need to immediately cease telling our members — and the world — that it’s OK to worship in that way over there but not this way in here, or it’s allright to sing that song in that room but not this song in this room, that there’s nothing wrong with worshiping God in that style on this day but not this style on that day. We can’t keep telling our kids that it’s OK for women to pray or read Scripture in our living rooms and classrooms but not in our worship assemblies. We need to stop this vain protecting of our comfort zones and comfort rules by insisting that weddings and funerals are not worship services. When you tell me that an assembly in the worship center in which the gathered men and women sing songs of praise and thanksgiving to God, prayers are offered to God in the name of Jesus, Holy Scripture is read, and a sermon is preached from the Bible is not a worship assembly, it makes no sense. Our kids are not stupid. They see right through this stuff. And I don’t blame them.

That’s not Christianity.

Biblical Christianity is bold. It’s huge. It turns whole towns upside down. It dramatically changes lives. It’s a call to rescue and save. It’s more about what’s happening in your community than what’s happening inside your church building. It’s more about what you do than what you believe. It’s more about how you live than how you sing. It’s about serving; it’s not about being served. It’s about dying in the name and the manner of our Lord. It’s all about doing things that make absolutely no earthly sense because God in Christ Jesus has broken through the barriers of time and space to deliver us from an eternity in hell. We don’t explain the faith; we courageously live the faith.

Which message is your church preaching and practicing? Is it a mutant Christianity of arbitrary rules and comfort? Or is it a Scriptural Christianity that goes out on a limb to make a massive difference in the lives of hurting and sick men and women in your community? Does your church love and serve unconditionally or does it model love and service with exceptions and fine print?

If you’re telling the teens in your church they can clap during the songs just as long as they don’t clap too loudly, they’re going to leave. And I don’t blame them.

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I need to apologize to Jerry K: you’re right, Cliff Lee is not the savior of the Rangers. I need to retract a statement I’ve made to Whitney: no, watching Lee pitch is not like it used to be watching Nolan Ryan pitch. Sorry. I know Lee says it’s his back. I know he’s getting treatment. But he’s started ten games now for Texas. And the Rangers are 3-7 in those starts. If the playoffs began today, I’d go with C. J. Wilson and maybe even Tommy Hunter in the opener over Lee. Hunter showed more of those gritty guts last night. David Murphy and Nelson Cruz made some unbelievable catches. And the Yankees are taking care of the A’s.

Peace,

Allan

I am truly blessed by the fellowship meals we share together on the Fifth Sunday evenings here at Legacy. I very much enjoy looking at the faces of my brothers and sisters instead of the backs of their heads. I believe I can see the risen Lord in those faces, don’t you?

I think around those tables in the gym is where we uniquely experience the mercy and grace of God. We share that mercy and grace and acceptance and love in getting somebody a refill on their iced tea, in helping someone clean up a spill, even in saving seats for somebody we particularly want to sit by. We experience mercy and grace and acceptance when we eat together.

This past Sunday night I asked our church family to look closely at the people around all those tables.

“Look at them.” (audible groans)

“These are your brothers and sisters.” (playful rolling of eyes)

“This is your family.” (louder groans)

Look at them. You’re responsible for them. Now take care of them. Love them. Accept them. Nurture them. Encourage them. Be careful with them. Get involved with them. Minister to them. Know them. Tolerate them. Share with them. Laugh and cry with them. Sacrifice for them.

Love them.

“God gave you these people,” I said. “Now love them.”

We don’t choose the saints. God chooses the saints. God gathers together these men and women. He chooses and blesses and predestines and makes known and lavishes and loves and gathers these people we sit with at church. I like the way Eugene Peterson puts it in his latest book — I’m in the middle of it right now — Practice Resurrection:

These people embarrass us with their haphazardness, exhilarate us with their joy, offend us by their inconsistent lives, comfort us with their compassion, bully and criticize us, encourage and bring out the best in us, bore us with their blandness, stimulate us with their enthusiasm.

But we don’t choose them. God chooses them. We are a family with the people God chooses. His saints.

So, this coming Sunday, look around. These are your people. God gave them to you.

Now love them!

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A two-hit shutout last night by Ceej and Feliz. Depending on how Lee does tonight, I’m of the mind now that Wilson might ought to be the starter in Game One against the Twins or the Yankees or the Rays in October. He’s the rock. He’s the stabilizer. He’s the constant. Wow. Cruz picked up right where he left off, too. The magic number is 24…

Peace,

Allan

It was never really cool to be from P-Grove.

Until now.

As a kid growing up in Pleasant Grove, a once proud community in the southeast corner of Dallas — I’ve always assumed it was proud at one time, long before I was on the scene —I always knew we weren’t as well off as most everybody else in Dallas. I don’t think I ever lacked for a thing. But it was obvious, especially since my siblings and I went to private Dallas Christian about 15-minutes north, that the cool people lived somewhere else.

I distinctly remember a school-sponsored overnight trip to Camp Deer Run when we were kids. It was pouring down rain and blowing really hard and lightning and thundering and our teachers and counselors gathered us in the dining hall. They told us that a tornado had been reported in Dallas but “it’s OK, there’s no need to worry, the tornado was reported in Pleasant Grove.”

Pleasant Grove has been the butt of the Dallas jokes for at least 35-40 years now, maybe longer. People who live in P-Grove are called Grove Rats. It seems that 90-percent of the shootings reported on the evening news occur in Pleasant Grove. When I’ve driven my kids through the Grove to see my boyhood home, they’ve always reacted with horror. Carrie-Anne clicks the car doors locked as soon as we take the Scyene Road exit.

Can anything good come out of Pleasant Grove?

The Bruton IV theater just west of Bruton Road and Prarie Creek is where I experienced Star Wars, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and Raiders of the Lost Ark. The Pleasant Grove branch of the Dallas public library, on South Buckner Boulevard, is where I checked out all of Beverly Cleary’s books about Henry Huggins and Ralph, the motorcycle-riding mouse. The Pleasant Oaks recreation center, just about two miles down Jennie Lee Lane, is where we played ping-pong and basketball. That’s where dad pushed us so fast around the merry-go-round we thought we would either die laughing or choking on puke. It’s where I played three sets of tennis in that record 113-degree heat of a summer day in 1980. In my blue jeans. The 7-11 at the corner of Prarie Creek and Bruton is where I spent hours playing Asteroids and slurping Slurpees. The Pleasant Grove Church of Christ, on Conner Drive, is where I was baptized into Christ. Our three-bedroom house on Terra Alta Circle is where I learned how to be a family. The old Gibson’s store where I made my first major purchase: an $89 ten-speed bike, with lawnmowing money. Craving the ninety-nine cent hamburgers at Griff’s. Pulling the levers on the cigarette machines at Dairy Queen where my grandmother worked. The Circle Grill at Buckner and I-30. Doorknocking the apartments off Lake June Road. Learning to drive on Military Parkway. Twilight Time skating rink. (Oops. Sorry. I was only going to list positive memories in this paragraph.)

Jim Martin came out of P-Grove. That’s pretty cool. When he and I get together for our monthly meetings in Waco or run into one another in Austin or Abilene, our conversation inevitably turns to something only Rats like us could appreciate. And when Jim told me a couple of months ago that Stanley Hauerwas, the great American theologian and one of my favorite authors, was born and raised in the Grove, I was skeptical.

But here’s the proof. Today’s Dallas Morning News carries a front-page story (below the fold) about Hauerwas’ roots in Pleasant Grove. He’s just released a memoir, Hannah’s Child, that details a lot of his childhood experiences as the only son of a Pleasant Grove bricklayer, faithful members of the Pleasant Mound Methodist Church. From there, Hauerwas has gone on to lecture and write and teach and preach. Yale Divinity School. Notre Dame. Duke Divinity School. He’s one of the great theological thinkers of our time.

My favorite work of his is Resident Aliens. Living as Christians in a pagan land. The Church as a colony of outsiders in the middle of hostile territory. Read it. It’s challenging. Convicting. You won’t be the same after you’ve digested Resident Aliens. You won’t view God’s Church or God’s mission for his Church the same way. His writings have certainly had a profound impact on shaping my theology. Hauerwas is a genius.

And he’s from the Grove.

The Dallas Morning News article mentions that Hauerwas graduated from Samuell High School in 1958. My dad was a Samuell Spartan, class of 1960! Is there any chance? Could they have known each other? Is it even possible? I took my driver’s education at Samuell. But does my dad know Hauerwas?

He doesn’t. I just called. My dad doesn’t even have a 1958 Samuell year book, only a ‘59 and ‘60.

That’s allright. Today, it’s a little bit cooler to be from the Grove.

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The magic number is 26. Any combination of 26 wins by the Rangers and losses by the A’s gives our baseball team their first division title since 1999. Do you realize that there are only 32 games remaining? If the Rangers go 16-16 the rest of the way — no chance since Cruz comes back tonight and Kinsler’s scheduled to be in the lineup by this weekend — Oakland would have to go 25-8 to win the A.L.West.

I remember well those Red Octobers from the late ’90s. Whitney doesn’t. This is fun.

Peace,

Allan

“I have tried the pharisaic plan, and the monastic. I was once so straight that, like the Indian’s tree, I leaned a little the other way. And however much I may be slandered now as seeking ‘popularity’ or a popular course, I have to rejoice that to my own satisfaction, as well as to others, I proved that truth, and not popularity, was my object; for I was once so strict a Separatist that I would neither pray nor sing praises with any one who was not as perfect as I supposed myself. In this most unpopular course I persisted until I discovered the mistake, and saw that on the principle embraced in my conduct, there could never be a congregation or church upon the earth.”

~Alexander Campbell, The Christian Baptist Volume III

Reflect and discuss…

Peace,

Allan

It’s impossible to put into words how God moved me last year at Stream DFW. I can’t tell you — I don’t even know where to start — all the ways God used people and events and his Holy Word and circumstances and songs and sermons and his Holy Spirit to break me, wake me, and shake me.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting from my first ever Stream. I’d never attended a Stream event. But it turned out to be so much more than I imagined. Through the use of congregational singing and dramatic readings and timely video dramas and silence and meditation and prayer, Ken Young and the Hallal Singers took all of us straight to God’s throne room, right into his presence. An hour of that and then another hour of Jeff Walling. Three times. A true focus on God’s surpassing love for us and our response to him through our own love for the Father and for one another and for the world.

Wow.

This year’s Stream DFW is approaching quickly. September 10-12 at the South MacArthur Church of Christ in Irving. And I need it. Oh, brother, do I need it.

It seems like this whole year has been so incredibly hectic. At times, frantic. Changes within our body of shepherds. Ministers coming and going. A trip to Ukraine. An abundance of difficult situations with over-burdened families here at Legacy. Church budget issues. Speaking engagements. Programs. Classes. It’s been go! go! go! non-stop, it seems, all year long.

I feel the need for Stream.

It’s so easy to get so caught up in church. Church issues. Church people. Church programs. Church meetings. Church politics. Church business. Church planning. Church. Church. Church. I feel like it’s been a long time since I just sat in silence before God and reflected on his great mercy and love. It’s hard to do that in our church worship assemblies. There’s so much to experience, so much to soak up, so much to acknowledge and share when it comes to God and his people, it’s impossible to do it all in the 75-minutes we have on Sunday mornings. Impossible. Sometimes we try, and that makes everything feel even more rushed. And hectic. And frantic.

Stream is a time to settle down for a whole weekend and enjoy the transforming presence of our God. No cell phones, no clocks, no meetings, no other place to be or other tasks to accomplish. We lose ourselves in long extended times of praise and worship and prayer and deep reflection on God’s revelation to his people.

Terry Rush is the speaker this year. I’ve never listened to anyone more humble, more completely aware of the grace of God, more grateful for his status as a child of the King, more encouraging to those around him than Terry. The theme is “At the Cross.” Terry is going to share with us the simplicity and the power of the cross that gives us eternal life. The good news of the cross that heals the wounded, strengthens the weak, and gives hope to the weary. Terry will be excellent. Stream DFW will be excellent.

And I need it.

Hope to see you there.

Peace,

Allan

Toward the end of our church assemblies on Sunday mornings, I’ll usually stroll from my seat near the front of the worship center to take a position near the doors in the back. I do most of my hand-shaking and hugging and greeting back there. I’ll make that walk during the singing of a closing song. And, without fail, for the past couple of years, I’ve been grabbed from the center aisle about three-fourths of the way back.

Ray Manos always grabbed me. And he wouldn’t let go until I had hugged him or shaken his hand or patted his back. A year ago he would whisper, “Hi, Allan” or “Good job.” Recently, though, Ray would just smile. He would just grab me and smile.

Alzheimer’s wrecked my brother Ray. This horrible disease slowly and deliberately and without mercy took away his memory and his abilities to think and reason and converse.

But it never took away Ray’s smile. Ray kept smiling.

About six months ago Ray’s wonderful wife, JQ, pulled me aside after worship one day and said, “I hope Ray doesn’t embarrass you when he reaches out like that.”

Are you kidding me? It always made my week. It was one of the highlights of every Sunday for me. Ray couldn’t kid me anymore about my tie like he used to. He couldn’t challenge me on a sermon point or ask me about my girls like he used to. But he could still reach out to me and shake my hand and slap my back. And smile. He could still love me. And he did.

For the past several months, conversations with Ray have been one-sided; not really conversations at all. He couldn’t really ask questions anymore. He just answered them. Mostly. We were talking about the weather two weeks ago. Or, I guess, I was doing all the talking. Ray was listening. Then we/I started talking about Legacy. We/I began talking about the people in our church family. I reminded Ray that when my family and I moved to Legacy a little over three years ago, the very first congratulatory email we received was from him and JQ. They had expressed their excitement, pledged their love and support, vowed to be a source of encouragement to us.

Then Ray asked me a question about something I had preached the Sunday before. I reminded him that I had preached from 1 John. Ray thought for a moment and said, “I don’t believe I know him.”

Sunday morning, day before yesterday, Ray left us for the next life. He’s made that passage now. Eternal life in the holy presence of Almighty God belongs to him now. Perfect peace. Brand new body and mind. Ray is realizing right now the culmination — the fulfillment — of all the faithful promises and plans of our Lord. For him and for all of us.

But that doesn’t mean I’ll never receive another hug or smile from Ray. Not at all. It’s coming.

Not this Sunday. That walk up the aisle at the close of our service this next Sunday will be sad for me. But it’s coming. I imagine the next time I see my brother Ray will be on that day of glory when, just like always, he’ll grab me and smile and say, “Good job.” And I look forward to it.

Lord, come quickly!

Allan

I don’t know the product or the brand name. I can’t recall much of anything about this particular TV commercial I’ve seen several times now. But I love the way this ad attempts to recast our vision of what it means to go back to school. It’s not “back to school” this commercial tells us. It’s “forward to what’s next!”

I love that.

Everything’s new on the first day of school. New classes. New people. New teachers. New campus. New lunch menu. New clothes. New books. New subjects. New everything. The potential is limitless. Anything’s possible!

It’s not “back to” anything. It’s “forward to” everything!

It’s not back to Small Groups; it’s forward to what God has planned for us with this particular group of people. It’s not back to church again on Sunday; it’s forward to what new and wonderful thing God is going to reveal to us this week. It’s not back to another elders meeting; it’s forward to the next Kingdom task God is calling us to. It’s not back to writing another sermon; it’s forward to what our Lord is equipping me to say for him next. It’s not back to work for you; it’s forward to the next great opportunity God is giving you to serve his people with grace and love.

It’s not “back to” anything; it’s “forward to” everything!

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Last night’s Back to School Bash here at Legacy was fantastic. Where else can you get 19-people from six-years-old to 43-years-old playing a game of KnockOut? Three bounce houses in one gym? How many hot dogs?

I love the emphasis we place on our kids here. Our children are a vital part of our congregation. They are valuable pieces of our puzzle. They’re important. I love it that they scream and yell and throw balls and spill popcorn and have Kool-Aid mustaches and fall down. And I love it that they want to hold hands. And sing “Blue Skies and Rainbows.” And sit by their friends. And listen to Bible stories. And ask questions about Jesus.

I love it when we have whole events built around and for our kids. Seems very Christ-like to me.

Peace,

Allan

“The thread of our speech comes alive through the very joy we take in what we are speaking about.” ~Augustine

Some of my early Sunday morning alone time with God is spent thanking him for his preachers. As I prepare to do again what so many have done before, what so many are doing even as I’m praying, what so many more will do long after I’m gone, I praise our Father for their courage and boldness and commitment to our God and his Kingdom.

I ask our Lord to bless all the preachers I know with wisdom and fire. I ask him to speak through them to his people all over the world. I thank God for the preachers in the past who have taught me and shaped me: Burt, Jim, Willis, Rick, Doug. I thank him for the ones I listen to today who mold my theology and challenge my thinking: Terry, Buddy, Don, Patrick. I thank him for some of my best friends who are preachers: Jason, Jim, Charlie. I thank him for the preachers right here in Tarrant County who share with me their wisdom and friendship and encouragement: Eric, Rick, Jim, Larry, Grady, Robert. I thank him for those who are preaching in other lands, who’ve given up everything to answer our Lord’s call: David, Corey, Salvador.

And today I ask God to bless my great friend Jason as he preaches with our church family at Legacy.  May he deliver to our brothers and sisters at Legacy this morning just half the encouragement and wisdom he regularly delivers to me.

Peace,

Allan

Just a super quick check-in from South Padre Island.

There’s a thin line between courage and stupidity. And we’re definitely treading that line taking our family summer vacation the week before school starts. But here we are. A little too much sun, a few too many cheesy beach-themed souvenir shops, kareoke at the Shrimp Haus, Schlitterbahn, boogie boarding in the ocean, a bee sting, Tex Mex at the Big Donkey, one tubing mishap, and an air mattress.

We’re having a great week. Hope you are, too.

School starts Monday.

Peace,

Allan

Four weeks ago we spent seven days with our great friends Jim & Mandy Gardner and Jimmy & Elizabeth Mitchell at the Northside Church of Christ in Benton, Arkansas (home of Cliff Lee). They always bring in a guest speaker for the adults during their Vacation Bible School. And I was honored to preach the Word from John 14-16 with a reflective and hungry group of disciples.

Side note: I was walking into our church building here at Legacy the Sunday I returned when Kent and Norma Robinson drove up and welcomed me back home. Kent asked me how it went and I told him it was great, but I was exhausted. I said, “They had me speaking twelve times in five days and I didn’t think I had that much to say.” At which Norma leaned over in the truck and responded, “I find that hard to believe!”

Of course, I had a wonderful time reconnecting with Jim and Jimmy. We were all three on staff together at the church in Marble Falls while I was getting my degree at Austin Grad. Jim always impresses me with his knowledge of God’s Word and the straightforward way he delivers it. He’s very confident and very bold in the way he preaches. And he’s so very kind and gentle with and to the people in his congregation. Always has been. After spending about 30-minutes in his study with an especially cranky brother in Marble Falls one morning, Jim finally stood up and said, “We can do this all day long and accomplish nothing for the Kingdom. I’m going to make some hospital visits. You’re welcome to come with me.”

And the man did.

Jim sees the big picture.

And then there’s Jimmy. I was reminded all over again about why I love Jimmy. He’s a nut. He’s crazy. He has no shame. He’s hilarious. He’s not afraid of anything. He’ll sing any song and do any voice and play any part. He spent all week in VBS playing a ship’s first mate with the voice and mannerisms of a cross between Conan O’Brien and Harry Caray. He’s sensitive. And loving. And every single thing he does — everything! — is motivated by his love for the kids. He loves them. He’s in their faces all the time. He’s at their schools. He’s in their homes. All he cares about is those young people. And they love him right back.

Jimmy sees the big picture.

Ernest Miller is a 33-year-old Harding graduate from New Jersey. He and his wife LaDonna and their two girls just moved to Benton six weeks ago. He’s the brand new preacher at the Johnson Street Church of Christ in Benton, the black church on the other side of the tracks. I had lunch with Ernest that week at a Chinese restaurant owned by a guy named Jerry Jones — not that Jerry Jones! And then I had the honor of Ernest showing me around the Johnson Street church building and surrounding neighborhood. I had the pleasure of meeting and shaking hands with 83-year-old W. K. Hannah, one of the founding members of that church from almost 60 years ago. He was working the food pantry last Tuesday, just like he does every Tuesday. Greeting people with a warm, “How you doin’?” Moving sacks of groceries into the trunks of cars. Praying with visitors. Telling them goodbye with a heartfelt “God bless you.” Ernest moved gracefully around the parking lot and the building, calling people by name, hugging little old ladies and jousting with the kids like he’s been there forever. He encouraged everybody. He smiled at everybody.

Ernest sees the big picture.

And they’ve all three committed to working on the biggest of pictures: reconciling their two churches, bringing together their two congregations, reuniting the brothers and sisters at the Lord’s table. They want to make the white church and the black church one. One Church. One family. One building. One set of elders. One mission. One purpose. One Body.

Northside actually planted that Johnson Street church — literally on the other side of the tracks — back in the mid 1950s. Jim’s grandfathers, both of them, were elders at the time. Jim showed me a copy of the church budget from 1962 that lists “colored congregation” as their second largest mission item. It’s not that the Northside church had evil intentions or bad motives 55 years ago. I believe that their motives were pure. They were just wholly misguided. And Jim is working with Jimmy and Ernest and Fernando, their hispanic minister, to make sure that the Kingdom of God in Benton looks like and acts like the Kingdom of God in Holy Scripture.

These two congregations are already working hard to rise above the ungodly distinctions of the artificial boundaries our culture and, sadly, our churches have built between us. They already worship together at monthly gatherings. They eat together at special occasions. They supported each other’s VBS. The ministers from both churches have lunch together once a week.

Christ Jesus came to break down all the barriers, to destroy all the lines, to obliterate our differences. The dream in Benton is that God’s Church there will be an impossible-to-miss example, a living illustration, that in Christ there are no language or ethnic or cultural divisions. We are, together, one body. And all the members belong to each other.

It’s going to take a lot of sacrifice for both churches. It’s going to take patience and understanding and gentleness and kindness. It’s going to require a Christ-like attitude of selfless giving. And it’s going to take time. But it’s a worthy endeavor. It’s what’s demanded of all of us who claim to be followers of our Savior who went out of his way and left everything and gave everything to impartially call everyone to the Father.

I’m excited that tonight Whitney and I are going to join Jim and Jimmy and the Northside youth group at the Rangers game in Arlington. I’m excited that Jimmy is going to lead our worship at Legacy this Sunday, just like the good ol’ days in Marble Falls. And I’m so inspired by what Jim and Jimmy and Ernest and the Church is doing in Benton, Arkansas.

God bless our brothers and sisters there. May they point all of us to greater unity in Christ.

Peace,

Allan