Click here to go to SBCNet’s On Demand Video channel for all Sessions of the SBC. One of the highlights for me was Frank Pomeroy’s (Pastor of FBC Sutherland Springs Texas) message at the Pastor’s Conference. He was Session Five, Monday afternoon.
Finally, if there was a single greatest moment of the Convention for me, it was when nine-year-old Zac Mcculler of Alabama made his motion for SBC churches to have a children’s ministry Sunday. Watch the video his dad Scott posted on Twitter.
First off, full disclosure: Steve Parr is a friend. I’ve heard him speak on his “Why They Stay” research several times, and brought him to my church so they could hear it too. I’ve led conferences with him, used his material to train my leaders, and so forth. So you could for sure write off this review as biased.
That being said, this is a wonderful book. The trope of using a narrative story to teach practices and principles is either time worn and effective (see Andy Stanley’s “Communicating for a Change” or John Kotter’s “Our Iceberg is Melting”) or time worn and hokey (see Art Rainer’s “The Money Challenge.”) Steve’s narrative, about a struggling pastor who begins to meet with an older pastor and learns how to be a more intentionally evangelistic church, is actually a really good story. The only place it got hokey was when said older pastor recommends a book from “a friend of his” and it turns out to be ONE OF STEVE PARR’S BOOKS. Come on, man!
I would recommend this book to any pastor who is interested in leading his church to be more evangelistic. And knowing the results Steve himself has had, I can tell you that it really works. Which, by the way, is half of the title of the real book, written by Steve, that the fictional pastor recommends: Sunday School That Really Works.
I wrote this poem several years ago, but updated it and used it in a sermon I preached this past weekend. A few folks have asked for it, so here it is. It is based on the story of the ten lepers Jesus healed in Luke 17:11-19.
Ten lepers walked the city streets,
and stopped to hear the preacher preach
So close to death, all pride was stripped,
Nothing to lose; so those with lips
Called, “Jesus, help us out a bit?”
“Go, show yourselves unto the. priests,”
He said, they scattered, west to east
Their skin, with cleansing fire burned
Ten lepers left, but one returned.
Once, the question came to mind, “What happened to the other nine?”
And though I claim no revelation—this is nothing more than speculation
Right now I’m going through a daily devotional with several friends from church that is based on John Piper’s Life in the Spirit. It’s ten days of meditation on the person and the work of the Holy Spirit. This morning I was struck by this line from Piper:
God sends the Holy Spirit as a preserving seal to lock in our faith.
Pastors and teachers are always looking for fresh metaphors to help us understand the Holy Spirit. This sentence made me think of a new one:
When a fighter jet locks in on a target, the computer helps the pilot stay on target, no matter how many shots the enemy fires at him. If he gets off course, the targeting computer corrects him.
If you know me, you know I am a huge Star Wars fan. And if you’ve seen the original movie, you remember the scene of Luke making his final attack run on the Death Star. His targeting computer is locked in on the tiny exhaust port. He’s about to launch his photon torpedoes. Suddenly he hears the voice of Obi Wan in his head: Trust your feelings. So he switches to manual and lets the Force guide him.
It would be tempting to stop there and say, “See– that’s the Holy Spirit!” But there’s that troublesome line: Trust your feelings. And that’s the problem. Your feelings will get you in trouble. Jeremiah 17:9 says, “The heart is deceitful above all things.”
I need to not do what Luke Skywalker did when he switched off his computer and trusted his feelings. My feelings can and will lead me astray. If (in this very random analogy) the Holy Spirit is my targeting computer, then I’m never gonna blow up the Death Star by switching to manual.