February 24 '01
Volume 247
Prophets &
Dinosaurs Religious Entertainment
Concerning the last
presidential
race, I watched both candidates of the major political
parties falling all over themselves trying to tell undecided voters what
they thought those voters wanted to hear. The electorate has become accustomed
to hearing political promises that are unrealistic, and though voters often
know the candidate will be unable to deliver on the promise, they still want
to believe it might really happen. I suppose it's human nature for folks
to prefer hearing predictions from their leaders that good times will continue,
rather than be told a nation's prosperity is temporary or that war is inevitable.
Whenever Ole Miss and Alabama meet on the gridiron, Alabama normally wins.
Yet, no matter how one-sided the record book is, Ole Miss fans continue to
believe this might be the year their team beats Alabama. Well, it did not
happen last year. If I were to bet on this year's outcome, I'd pick Alabama,
because I learned a long time ago that the Ole Miss football program could
sometimes deliver on alumni expectations, but to expect a high degree of
winning and winning consistently was ludicrous. When it comes to football,
Ole Miss fans are not the only ones who prefer predictions that favor them.
In studying the Old Testament prophets, I remember the phrase, "tickle their
ears." The Biblical writer used a figure of speech to describe how false
prophets sought to appeal to their listeners by basically telling them what
they wanted to hear. Certain "true" prophets warned listeners not to heed
the words of the false prophets, because such were not faithful in proclaiming
God's word to the people. Often, the true prophets were ridiculed and/ or
imprisoned for pronouncing God's impending judgement and associated call
to repentance.
From inception, the Jewish people experienced difficulty in following God's
will. God called them to be a separate people, a people whose righteousness
would be evident to all the nations of the earth. However, obedience to God
proved challenging; they wanted a king like all the other nations. The pressure
to worship the gods of their neighbors proved too great, so they succumbed,
and time and again the "chosen" heeded the voice of evil and followed after
other gods.
Today, worldly neighbors continually challenge all who strive to serve their
Creator. It is not easy being different. To fit in or to go with the flow
are more natural tendencies.
Changes in the methods by which Christians witness and worship are never
ending. Some changes are good. It was good that Martin Luther's break with
the Catholic Church began a reformation of the Christian faith. It was good
that the invention of the printing press contributed to spreading the biblical
scriptures around the world. It was good that Christians seized upon radio
and television as a means to verbally spread the Christian message. Yet,
it may not be so good that the tendency to "tickle their ears" continues
to play a significant role in these and other media.
Whether broadcast over the airways or shouted throughout the sanctuaries,
the Christian messenger must avoid the pitfalls of false prophets. The Christian
messenger must be on guard against entertaining the hearers. By the time
the average worshiper makes it to a Sunday service, he or she has had a week
of entertainment, be it, newspapers, movies, radio, television, live
performances, sports programs, or other means. Since the average person is
already oriented toward being entertained, there may be an air of expectancy
that the time devoted to worship also be entertaining. Sanctuaries, however,
should be asylums from the secular world, offering worshippers a different
atmosphere than found outside the walls.
Most folks would much rather hear "feel good" messages than those that convict
them of personal sin. I am not suggesting a steady diet of sermons breathing
"fire and brimstone" is better, but many preachers today are not that much
different from many of the prophets of old. Whether theirs is a willful,
knowing action or one of ignorance, I cannot say, but many are guilty of
tickling the ears of the worshipers.
When I was an 8th grade student, "Coach" Carl Lowry was my science
teacher. I don't know if he was a great science teacher or not, as most coaches
are better suited to molding the bodies and minds of athletes than inspiring
scientific pursuits, but I know I learned a lot of basic, General
Science that year and my respect for him remains high. Several scientific
facts were embedded in my brain, never to be forgotten. Among these are:
"Inertia is the tendency of an object at rest to remain at rest, or of an
object to remain in motion in the same straight line, unless acted upon by
an outside force."
"Work equals force times distance."
"Species not suited to their environment do not thrive and may finally become
extinct."
The one about extinction applied to creatures such as the saber-toothed tiger,
the dodo (a bird incapable of flying), and dinosaurs, to name a few. It is
an observation of a natural law, one that has proven true again and again.
Sometimes changes in Nature precipitate the demise of a particular species,
and in the case of the bald eagle and the California condor, man's carelessness
with pesticides almost rendered these creatures extinct, before conservationists
came to their rescue.
As I watch what I can only describe as an "Entertainment Mindset" settle
over the churches of this land, I sometimes feel like the dinosaurs must
have felt when that prolonged "cold snap" enveloped them, and they perished.
Scientists speculate the frigid climatic conditions, known as the Ice Age,
were triggered by an asteroid or meteor of immense proportions striking the
earth in the Gulf of Mexico near Central America. Whatever it was, it caught
the dinosaurs unprepared, and in a relatively short span of time they vanished
into extinction.
As was the dinosaur ill-prepared to survive in its newly changed environment,
I feel unsuited to stem the avalanche of entertainment burying our churches.
Not only are some pastors at fault, but choirs, great and small, are showcasing
themselves throughout the year in lavish cantatas and theatrical productions,
some of which rival those of the motion picture industry in the fifties.
In many Sunday morning church services, entertainment is not limited to the
preaching portion of the service, as worshipers may be entertained by more
musical offerings than those in which they are allowed to enhance by
participation. Hymnals in some churches are being tossed out in favor of
easy-to-memorize choruses to be sung by congregations, the words of which
are often displayed on a theater-sized screen at the front of the sanctuary.
In an effort to reach a wider audience, churches are abolishing long standing,
"tried and true," traditional formats of worship and adopting "contemporary"
services. Apparently, such is deemed desirable and suitable to everyone,
everyone but us dinosaurs.
The times are changing, but are the changes for better or worse? Will the
present generation of young persons be better grounded in scriptures than
were their predecessors, or when asked why they believe as they do, will
they be able only to shrug?
As for me, an aging dinosaur, I've begun to feel a chilling of my bones.
Perhaps, a song will warm and cheer me. So…if I may be permitted to
borrow a verse from an old hymn, "Give me that old-time religion, give me
that old-time religion, give me that old-time religion, it's good enough
for me." Join me in singing it, if you like. I'll take the bass part…"Give
me that old-time religion…"
Birthed
Naturally Katherine Carter Adams
Barbara phoned me at approximately 10:30 a.m. on Monday, February 19, 2001
to relate the news that our daughter had been admitted to the hospital in
Tupelo in anticipation of the birth of her third child. We were expecting
a baby girl, according to the readings of an earlier sonogram, and our
expectations would be realized later that day.
Rayanne was due to deliver closer to March 01, but experience has taught
us that doctors, like weathermen, can give us only their best estimates or
guesses. Mother Nature has her own course to follow and is no respecter of
doctor's opinions. Rayanne's other two deliveries went fairly quickly with
roughly four hours of labor each time.
It was shortly after 11:00 when Barbara met me in Indianola as we prepared
to drive to Tupelo to await the arrival of a child whose name had thus far
been held secret by her parents.
I suppose after having heard, "You can't name her Abigail. Why, that's what
so and so want's to name her daughter," or some similar statement, Rayanne
and Anson decided it best not to try out a name under consideration, around
the rest of the family.
Thinking of a future Miss America, Sarah Sue and I had considered and jointly
suggested the name, Laura Leigh, as a worthy option, and another family member
thought Penelope might be noteworthy.
Barbara and I got to the Women's Hospital of the North Mississippi Medical
Center in Tupelo around 2:00 p.m., to find Rayanne in labor with contractions
holding at two-minute intervals and increasing in intensity. Her physician
was nearby but involved in a C-section procedure at the time. The epidermal
anesthesia that Rayanne requested around 2:30 p.m. could not be administered,
due to her doctor's involvement with another patient, so at three minutes
after three o'clock in the afternoon, our newest grandchild exploded into
our world the old-fashioned, completely natural way, which I imagine compares
to something close to having a painfully decayed molar extracted without
the use of anesthesia. Surely, one is glad when it's over.
Three-year old Merilese Adams, the first to be invited by the proud papa
to view the newborn, was soon joined by an entourage of grandparents, aunts
and uncles. Camera's and flashing lights welcomed Katherine Carter Adams
into her strange, new world, a world she seemed not too happy to be in at
the time, considering she was protesting her presence as loudly as her tiny
lungs would allow.
A good half-hour lapsed before the newborn was measured and weighed. I protested
to the nurse as she left with Katherine Carter that a fish kept out of water
for that long would lose weight, but she assured me the same did not apply
to infants. She returned a short time later to announce a weight of 7 lbs.
13 ozs. and a body length of 18 and 3/4 inches.
We, visitors, had little time to savor the moment, before the nurse asked
everyone to exit the birthing room to allow her an opportunity to complete
a few more chores prior to moving Rayanne to a private room. The wait allowed
Barbara and me the chance to grab a bite of lunch from the cafeteria at
approximately 4:00 p.m.
We said our good-byes to everyone around five o'clock and drove to Pontotoc,
stopping long enough to off-load the pictures from the digital camera onto
a computer, print a few shots, and email a handful of pictures to a handful
of friends and family. A road-weary set of grandparents arrived in Greenville
a few minutes before the ten o'clock news and were both soon fast asleep
with visions of the afternoon still dancing in our heads.
As of the printing of this article, Barbara plans to spend some time helping
Rayanne over the weekend, but constraints of her work in Greenville prevented
her from doing so earlier.
A number of interested persons have inquired as to what our granddaughter
will be called. It's too early to know, but aside from Katherine, other choices
include, Katie, Kathy, Kat, Renee, and even K. C. Stay tuned.
Aunt Beulah's
Boys Sister Faked Drowning
My first cousins once removed, the Crausby boys, were among the most notoriously
mischievous young'uns ever. Several years ago I wrote a newsletter dedicated
entirely to revealing the exploits of my older brother during his younger
days, notably those years he spent playing with our Crausby cousins.
The sons of Mallie and Beulah Crausby, Max, Don, and Bing, also had a younger
sister, Shirley. Shirley is the only sibling who does not make her home near
Pontotoc. A few days ago, Shirley's daughter, Beth Hendrickson, visited the
website containing the online version of this newsletter while searching
for information on her Uncle Bing. She was kind enough to sign the guest
registry and graciously left yet another Crausby tale.
"I am a niece of the Crausby brothers. Their sister is my mother, Shirley.
I just happened upon your website while trying to look up Bing Crausby to
find his email address. I read about all of those great antics in your journal.
I had heard them before from my mother, but it's always great hearing them
again! I left an entry in your guestbook. I added another little story there.
The one about how they got mom all wet, told her to pretend like she was
dead, and then told Grandma Crausby that she had drown in the pond. Mom always
imitates grandma's ghostly moan of panic when she tells that story. They
got in so much trouble! Anyway, I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed
reading about my relatives on your site."
At a recent church service at FBC in Pontotoc, I asked Bing if he had heard
from his niece. He had not, blaming computer problems at work for his not
receiving her email. I mentioned to Bing that I needed a few more Crausby
tales to complete this article, but on the spur of the moment he could only
recall what I would call "retaliation escalation." Bing remembers how he
and his brothers once shot each other with slingshots loaded with green plums.
Apparently, when the plum supply was depleted, dirt clods were first tossed,
then later came portions of brickbats he described as quarter-brickbats.
Remembering how my mom worried that she might not see my brother live to
start to school, it's a little easier to understand her viewpoint, and wonder
how my Crausby cousins lived past their early years.
Bodock Beau
Farmer Has His Hands Full
He following tale was passed this way courtesy of Lisa B. Rolik.
Farmer Jones
One day, farmer Jones was in town picking up supplies for his farm. He stopped
by the hardware store and picked up a bucket and an anvil. Then, he stopped
by the livestock dealer to buy a couple of chickens and a goose. However,
he then had a problem, how to carry all of his purchases home.
The livestock dealer said, "Why don't you put the anvil in the bucket, carry
the bucket in one hand, put a chicken under each arm and carry the goose
in your other hand?"
"Hey, thanks!" the farmer said, and off he went.
While walking, he met a little old lady who told him she was lost. She asked,
"Can you tell me how to get to 1515 Mockingbird Lane?"
The farmer said, "Well, as a matter of fact, I live at 1616 Mockingbird Lane.
Let's take my short cut and go down this alley. We'll be there in no time."
The little old lady said, "I am a lonely widow without a husband to defend
me. How do I know that when we get in the alley you won't hold me up against
the wall, pull up my skirt, and ravish me?"
The farmer said, "Holy smokes lady! Here I am carrying a bucket, an anvil,
two chickens, and a goose. How in the world could I possibly hold you up
against the wall and do that?"
The lady said, "Set the goose down, cover him with the bucket, put the anvil
on top of the bucket, and I'll hold the chickens."
Talk about a wily widow…I thought the joke was humorous enough, and
plausible enough, except the part with the farmer carrying everything.
Personally, I can't see how he carried a chicken under his arm that held
the anvil and bucket, without squashing the chicken between his arm and his
body.
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