Welcome to From the Book

In December of 1987, after serving seven years at my home church, I was called to be the new pastor at Immanuel Baptist Church in Ft. Pierce, Florida. It was a big change and it changed me. I would say changed for the good, others would say for the bad. When I was the youth pastor at my home church, I was assisted by a large number of youth workers. I had as many as 13 couples at a time, working in the Jr. & Sr. High ministries (by the way, five of those couples ended up divorced). We often had over 100 kids attend youth group activities. I remember my first service at Immanuel. As I scanned the crowd, it dawned on me that there were less people in attendance that night than I had working for me in the youth ministry. There were other shocks about to come.

Immanuel Baptist had a tumultuous history. Under the founding pastor it had grown to nearly 400 attendees. It had a record high attendance of over 1,000 (remember it was in the heyday of the bus ministry era). The church was situated on a nice piece of property and had an auditorium that sat about 300 and a nice, but unfinished Sunday School wing that housed a small Christian School. It's better days were behind it. By the time I arrived on the scene, the attendance (not counting the bus ministry) was about 30-40 and we were about to go broke.

I had no idea (at the age of 27) what I was getting into. All I knew was, I wanted to pastor and they would have me. That was enough. I don't regret it, although I would do so many things differently now. God was gracious to us for the five years I was there. We didn't always get paid, and our son was born without any maternity insurance coverage, which put us in a financial hole that we have never really recovered from (Sharon & I were totally debt free before he was born, but of course we lived in a parsonage).

Twelve years after starting the church, the founding pastor left to become a traveling evangelist. The church then called a wolf in sheep's clothing. I don't fault anybody but him (I will call him Dr. Wolf, he was another of those fundamentalist doctors). However there were signs that Dr. Wolf should not have been called. He had been a candidate while pastoring another congregation up north. Another man was called by Immanuel to become the pastor, so Dr. Wolf took a church in the Northeast. After Dr. Wolf had been there for one month, the man who Immanuel called decided not to accept. Immanuel then contacted Dr. Wolf and offered him the position, which he immediately took, leaving his new flock behind. Obviously a hireling, as would become more evident.

I can only report on what I have been told. I believe the things I am about to say are true, because I lived the aftermath. During his time at Immanuel, Dr. Wolf embezzled money, committed insurance fraud, had an extramarital affair and punched the school principal in the face before a church business meeting. He often lost his temper, challenged others to fight him during Christian School athletic events and lied about many things. Of course, I found out most of this after I became pastor. His legacy was a ruined reputation for Immanuel Baptist Church (some of these transgressions made the media). Here is the first thing I would do differently. We should have changed the name of the church. Every time I would invite someone to church, they would say, "Isn't that the church where...?" When we did manage to get someone to attend, they were greeted with a 300 seat auditorium with less than 50 people in it. So, the second thing I should have done was somehow remodeled the size of the auditorium. Perhaps removed pews, added walls, used a different configuration, anything. Guests in a mostly empty auditorium quickly realize something is amiss, besides the impossibility of filling that space with good sounding singing, etc.

Shortly after becoming the pastor, we got a notice that the church's electric bill was overdue and they were going to shut off the power. I called the power company to see if we could work something out. They said they would check and get back with me. They called me back to say that for a long time we had mistakenly been billed for a street light that wasn't really on our property. After crediting us the refund, we were paid in full! The next crisis was when I discovered that the church had not been able to make regular payments into the church bond "sinking fund" and there were bonds due with no money to pay them off. Add to that fact, none of the bond holders had anything to do with Immanuel any more! Again, God graciously intervened. I was able to track down the bond holders, several of them agreed to not cash them and instead give them back (which they did not have to do). The rest were held by one old man in town who had been friends with the founding pastor, but who was not a believer and had never attended Immanuel. The founding pastor put in a good word for me and the man agreed to hold the bonds until we were able to pay (which we eventually did). Praise the Lord!

So, as I said, a big change from what I was used to. Youth pastors never have to worry about church finances. Youth pastors benefit from the good reputation of the church. Youth pastors don't have to worry about much. And they don't have to preach four times a week. This led to the next big change. Me!

I am a pastor because God gifted me to be one. I don't know what I think anymore about the "call." If the only thing I had to go on was that at the age of 12 I felt "called" to preach, I would not still be doing it. If a 12 year old boy came to me and said he felt "called" to preach, I would tell him not so fast! I am still pastoring because that gift has been reaffirmed many times. I have been very blessed by those who have been blessed by my preaching and teaching. I know God gifted me to teach the Bible. I am a pastor because of God and because of my pastor. He inspired me, encouraged me, mentored me, and pointed me toward the pastorate. However, I am the pastor I am today, because of John MacArthur. I know some of you reading this are thinking that is what went wrong with me. So be it. I was not raised on expository preaching, in fact we were warned against it. When I discovered the joy, the power, the thrill of expository preaching, I was a changed man. I began to understand what Paul meant when he said "Preach the Word!" I began to comprehend that the authority was in the word preached, not the preacher. I have no authority outside of God's word. My opinions, my preferences, my likes and dislikes have no authority. I am not to preach the opinions of men, but the Word of God.

This revelation led to a crisis in my life. I no longer could preach on (actually against) many of the Independent Fundamental Baptist themes. Women wearing slacks, going to the movies, card playing, smoking, dancing, mixed bathing (swimming) just weren't addressed in the Bible. I wanted to preach the Bible. I could not in good conscience preach against these things, they were only man's opinion. Now I know there are IFBs that don't preach these things. I just didn't know it then. 

I love to read. Leaders are readers. Not all IFBs are readers. I had an IFB evangelist brag to me that he never read a book in his life, only the KJV Bible. I believed him, his preaching showed it. I had a young pastor visit our church while on vacation. I took him into my office to talk. He noticed all my books. He said until he had read everything John R. Rice had written, he wasn't going to read anything else. I thought he was joking. I laughed, and he got upset.

My father and my pastor passed on their love for reading to me. I began to see the bigger picture, and that there were good, Bible believing, separated Christians outside of IFBs. In fact, their books were deep, not the pablum I had been exposed to in college. I began to read real theology. It stretched me, challenged me, changed me. Which led to my next crisis of faith. How could all these godly theologians be so wrong about the Bible? I mean the King James Bible. Didn't they know that other versions were perversions? How could they be so blind? Wait, was it possible that I was the one blind?

I had left the Ruckmanism behind after college. I now took the Textus Receptus approach. The KJV wasn't perfect, but it was based on better manuscripts. So I started to read about textual criticism. I studied the difference between the Textus Receptus and the Majority text. I began to waver in my convictions. However, I still was not ready to leave the KJV fold, at least not while I was pastoring a church that had been taught the KJV only position.

I spent a month in Haiti one week. I was only there for seven days, but it seemed much longer. I took a short term missions trip with another pastor friend to visit his missionary in Haiti. It was quite an adventure. To start with, we were warned that the Airline that flew into Haiti often overbooked, so it was advisable to get to the airport very early, to insure you got a seat on your flight. We arrived at our gate at least an hour early. There was no one else there. We sat down to wait right next to the gate. We would be the first three guys (he brought another man from his church) in line. Gradually the seating area began to fill up. Then it became crowded. We were glad to be right next to the boarding area. We were perched on the edge of our seats ready to spring into action. Finally an employee stepped behind the counter. He grabbed the microphone and began to talk in Creole. Eveybody except us was from Haiti. So they used Creole before English. So everybody got in line while we sat there wondering what the guy was saying. After waiting for over an hour, we were the last in line. As we boarded, the stewardess asked us (the only three white guys) if we were together! I said, what gave it away? This was the beginning of the "boom box" era. Everybody in line, except us, had a boom box as their carry on. I am not kidding. I guess boom boxes were hard to get in Haiti, so if you get to the states, pick one up and bring it home.

My pastor friend was a very large man. He weighed over 300 pounds. You don't see any fat people in Haiti. It is such a poor country. In fact, the missionary told us he didn't any longer bring the Haitian pastors to the states, because once they actually experienced our standard of living, it ruined them. They did not want to go back and live like a Haitian. He told me of one Haitian pastor standing in the food aisle at the grocery story in tears looking at all the food. The only slightly overweight person we saw in Haiti was an army officer. Undoubtedly, he ate at other people's expense. It was definitely a military state at that time. You had to have your "papers" and a bribe to move around the country.

They called my pastor friend "gro blonde" (my transliteration). It meant "big whitey." People stared at him everywhere we went. They would follow him around and try to poke him. He was the Pillsbury dough boy personified. We were in a taxi in Port-au-prince. I think we were stopped at the only traffic light in Haiti. People began to congregate on the corner to look into the taxi. There were waving at passerbys to come and look. You don't see many white people in Haiti to start with, but fat white people are a special treat.

We were speaking at a national pastor's training camp in the mountains. To get there, we had to cross a river (no bridge). The water was up, but the missionary who was driving the jeep said not to worry. We got about 1/3 of the way across when water began to flow in. The jeep started to float. This was quite a feat considering "gro blond" was in it. We were no longer heading across the river, but down it! We were told to abandon ship. There was a group of Haitian men on the other side watching this unfold. I know they were thinking, stupid Americans.  I grabbed the closest briefcase and held it over my head. My pastor friend grabbed a briefcase and held it over his head. We began to walk across the river. The current was strong. I did not think I was going to make it. I was going to drown for the cause of Christ. It was very scary. When we made it across, we had saved each others briefcases (which held our Bibles), but everything else was wet. We paid the men that were standing there laughing to get a rope and pull the jeep to shore.

Speaking of the river, I will never forget the scene. Up stream there were some folks using the river as a toilet. A little down stream, some people were taking a bath. Down stream from there, some women were washing their dishes. I thought, could you at least reverse that process, please. 

We stayed at a compound in a small mountain village. The only electric power was from a generator that only ran a few hours a day. The only toilet was an outhouse that was exclusively for the guest pastors. We slept in a concrete block storage room. We had to bring our own food and water. At night, it was pitch black. You could hear the voodoo drums. My pastor friend and I slept on cots in the storage room. It held our food supplies. It was as black as could be inside. I could hear the rats rummaging through our cans. As I was lying there in the dark, something landed on my chest. It was there for a few seconds then jumped off. I knew it had to be a rat. I said to my friend, are you awake? He just snored. I stayed awake the rest of the evening worrying that another rat was going to jump on me and start eating my face. In the morning, my friend asked if I had said something during the night. I said yea. He said, well I remember flopping my arm over and hitting you in the chest, but was too tired to worry about it. That's ok, I did enough worrying for both of us.

 On our last day, we were staying in Port-au-prince. Our room had a short wave radio. We were listening to an American newscast. You may have read that I was a big Pete Rose fan. The baseball commissioner, Bart Giamatti had only a few days ago banned Pete Rose from baseball. Six days later, Mr. Giamatti was dead. I said to my friend "touch not the Lord's anointed." 

While living in Florida, we often heard about the attempts of Haitians to reach the United States. Whole families would try to cross over in makeshift rafts. Many would not survive the journey. I used to wonder why they would attempt such a dangerous trip. Until I visited Haiti. I am telling you, the Haitian who makes it to the United States and who lives under a freeway overpass, has it better off than he did in Haiti.

One afternoon, the secretary buzzed my office and told me that there was a very famous (now infamous) preacher on the phone who wanted to talk to me. Now, I am a joker. I have played many practical jokes. I didn't believe that this big shot preacher was really calling little old me. I figured it had to be one of my buddies, so I picked up the phone, "Dr. So and So, what a joy to speak to you!" The man began to talk small talk. He was trying to be gracious. I, however, am trying to figure out from the voice who this was pulling my leg. I finally decided it was a friend of mine name Bob _____. I interrupted, Dr. So and So, do you know Bob ______? No, he replied, don't believe I do. Well, I said, he's a real jerk. Silence filled the phone line. After a few awkward moments, the man said, well the reason I am calling is, I call all the IFB preachers in Florida and invite them to bring their young people to our church camp. It dawns on me, I am an idiot. This is really Dr. So and So, and I have made the biggest fool of myself. I thanked him and hung up the phone. I didn't try to explain. I lived in a parsonage about 30 yards from the church. I ran out of my office, to my house. I burst through the door and huffed and puffed to my wife, I am an idiot! She replied that was old news.

Several months later, I was at the college Dr. So and So founded and was eating lunch with him. He never mentioned the phone call, but I know he was thinking, this is that idiot I called.  I remember discussing the Pete Rose ban. I told him, as I told many people over the years, Pete is a whore monger (he cheated on his wife) he is profane, he is arrogant, but he would never, ever bet on baseball. Did I mention I am an idiot?

After five years, in which I made some dear friends, I realized that Immanuel was never going to overcome it's obstacles. I began to pray and think about what to do. By this time, we had closed our Christian School. My girls went to kindergarten at a Christian School on the other side of town. The church and school had outgrown its location. They were land locked. The church's beliefs were very similar to ours. I respected the pastor. I decided to approach him with a radical idea. I asked him to pray with me about it. We would not share it with anyone else, until we prayed it over and thought it through. I felt that we should merge the congregations. They could sell their property, move the church and school to our site, take the money from the sale and finish our building. He would stay as the pastor, I would resign. I had nowhere to go, I hadn't been looking for greener pastures. In fact, I was crushed to discover that I was not going to pastor there my whole ministry. My pastor had stayed at one church his whole ministry, and I wanted to do that also. It was not to be. I wasn't sure I even wanted to pastor again. I knew I couldn't be a IFB pastor anymore. I was perfectly content to leave the ministry and be a faithful layman.

Eventually, that pastor and I decided it was a workable plan and that we should approach our respective deacon boards about the possibility. Then as boards we began to think and pray it through. After both boards were in agreement, we approached the congregations. I had to make one thing clear to the good folks at Immanuel. I was leaving either way. I wasn't leaving for a better place, I was just leaving. They could call another pastor, or they could admit our lack of a viable future and merge. Both groups overwhelmingly agreed to merge. The other congregation sold their property, paid off all the debts and finished the building, making a very nice Christian School facility. A stronger church was produced, instead of two more churches of like faith in the same town, there was one less. It was a good move that I don't regret.

There is a final irony however. The only sticking point was the KJV. The other congregation was not as strict about other versions as we were. The pastor only preached from the KJV, but nothing in their constitution required it. So a vote was taken to make an official policy to only use the KJV from the pulpit. It was my parting gift to the good folks at Immanuel, even though I know I was not KJV only any more. Immanuel Baptist Church went out of existence and I headed north to who knew what.