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Hey Everybody,

Today was a sweet service at SSCC.  It was what we call a “stand-alone” Sunday, meaning the sermon was not part of an ongoing series.  Our Family Pastor, Mark Fritchman, spoke on parenting, and did a great job.  I’ve been doing a lot of new music and had lots of energy put into our previous Night of Worship.  Because of that, and the reality that our Tech Director was away (let’s try to keep rehearsal simple) and my wife was away (I’m Mr. Mom all weekend!), I opted for a Sunday where our songs were familiar to the congregation and the band.

Our walk-in song was “Praise the Name of Jesus” by Ken Mullis.  This is a super-fun song to play.  It’s a blues swing with great lyrics.  From our quick greeting we dove directly into “For All You’ve Done” by Hillsong, which is an ongoing favorite at our church for the past four years.

After announcements we did a 2-song set in G, starting with Don Poythress’ version of “The Doxology” followed by “Agnus Dei”.  I really enjoyed this segment and once again, we slowed things down a bit and just lingered at the end of Doxology for a time of reflection and prayer.

Our closing song was “Revelation Song”.  Honestly, I was feeling awkward about it – we usually try to pull our sermon and closing together and that wasn’t the case this week.  I wasn’t really interested in going to the handful of convicting-parent songs, so when he finished the sermon, the changing of gears to “ok, let’s sing one last song and worship” felt strange.

The strangeness faded after about 10 seconds.  The people began to sing and the room was filled with worship.  I’m reminded that we don’t have to meticulously plan every song and lyric to support the sermon.  Worship doesn’t have to be a response to a sermon – it’s just a response to God, period.

And that’s my recap for this Sunday, July 31.  As always, I’m posting this as a part of the “Sunday Setlists” event hosted by TheWorshipCommunity.Com each week.  To view our planning document, visit PlanningCenterOnline.

Hey Everybody,

I’ve been doing a little work under the hood here on the blog.  The main improvement?  I’ve just switched our email subscriptions to MailChimp.

For those of you who receive an email from me when a new post is published, you should see a huge difference in the layout and design of the email.  I sure hope you like it.  I sure hope you’ll comment below and let me know.

It’s only set to email if there is new content, and then only 1x per day.  So on a day like today, where I’ve posted twice, one article will be featured, and the other will be in “More Reading”, along with previous posts.

For those who are reading who typically use RSS to subscribe, or just surf over from time to time … I’d love to have you as an email subscriber.  It’s really easy, and if you’re interested you can sign up here.

If you’re super-saavy, or reading this on your smartphone, you can sign up by scanning the QR Code below.  Have at it!

“Truth … or Dare”?

As a kid, this phrase could be the embodiment of pure joy or the cupped hands of fear.  This phrase of options was the default go-to when you had a clever crew of guys (or guys and girls) together in a private place.

Playing this game revealed endless confessions that should probably never be revealed on the pages of “Small Town Stories“.  Confessions spewed frequently from the balcony of Fort Montgomery, the many rooms of Ridley Mansion, and from the circles of sleeping bags on tent floors – from small McRae, GA backyards to the vast wilderness of Canada.

Truth wasn’t the only thing that came out with our crew.  Bravery was the other solider that emerged in this battle of choices.  Bravery to tackle some of the craziest, riskiest, most insane dares on the planet … at least, for a young kid.

I’ll never forget this one night that a bunch of us were camping in my backyard.  These campouts were regular occurrences during the Summer months and weekends.  At least a handful of the chapters in “Small Town Stories” come from the mischief that happened on those nights.

It was my buddy, Tommy’s turn.  To our surprise, he manned up and proclaimed to the world his answer:

“Dare”.

My memory doesn’t recall the foggy details of who came up with this intricate plan.  I was still reeling in laughter from Wyatt’s order to go boof a tree.  I’m pretty sure this kid who introduced us to this new urban slang came up with this dare.

The dare was something like this:

1.  Sneak down to the big curve by yourself with no flashlight.
2.  Take this metal bat.
3.  Bang on the stop sign as hard as you can five times
4.  Then, scream at the top of your lungs, “Love That Chicken from Popeyes“.

This was a great dare, but the addition of singing a commercial jingle pushed it into a fantastic dare. I’d guess this was probably early-mid 1980′s.  This new jingle was on TV all the time … with a catchy phrase about Popeye’s Fried Chicken, and we were constantly singing it.  Of course, none of us had ever eaten Popeyes chicken.  You’d have to go to a big city for that.  We had the Dairy Queen and the Tastee’ Freeze, which regularly changed names.  I’m not sure if the Chik-King counted as Popeyes, but it was good enough.

Now the big curve was only a few blocks away, but it was probably 3:00 AM by now.  It was overcast and dark – no stars, no moon, no light.  Pitch blackness engulfed us on every side, pierced only by our single flashlight and the embers of what was left of our campfire.

Tommy stood up with a look of fear, defiance, and a touch of boldness.  He exited the tent and disappeared into the darkness.  And we waited.  Waited.  And waited.

On any other day a kid could make it from my backyard to the big curve in a few minutes.  We waited for what seemed to be hours.  Occasionally a dog would bark and we’d all get quiet and listen … and nothing.  Before long we began to throw out our ideas of what may have happened to our dear friend.  Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.  He’d fallen into one of those big ditches in the dark.  He’d been picked up by the police.  Or worse, he’d never really left and was lingering somewhere off the perimeter waiting for his chance to prank us.

Although reality says it was only 10-15 minutes, what seemed like an eternity passed.  We’d all given up on Tommy and gone back to our game.

Well, “when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter” does no justice for this 3:30 AM instance.  Out of nowhere, the still black darkness was fractured into a million pieces.  That bat hitting that stop sign several blocks away was louder than any contraband M-80 we’d ever purchased from Livingston’s back room. It dwarfed the sound of any secret firework you could get from the secret closet at Rawlin’s Zmart.  I’d never heard such a loud sound in my entire life.

Perhaps sound travels better in the darkness.  Perhaps everything else is just quiet.  All I can say is that bat hitting that stop sign made every single one of us jump through the roof of that tent.  It echoed across the south side of McRae, GA like a bomb blast.  It was the 1980′s version of “shock and awe”.

Then, as if Danny Treadway himself were directing the vocals, you hear this loud, clear, gleeful melody soaring through the night:
LOVE THAT CHICKEN FROM POPEYES.

Not just once … OVER and OVER.  It was as if the adrenaline pumping through Tommy’s veins somehow got the repeat button stuck on his internal CD player.  LOVE THAT CHICKEN FROM POPEYES.

By now, every dog on the south side of McRae, GA was barking up a storm.  I’m pretty sure the lights came on in the Pierce’s house across the street.  And before the echo of that blast stopped rippling through the Great Woods, Tommy was back in the tent.

Homeboy was gasping for breath.  Sweating bullets.  We were laughing so hard I thought we’d each pass out.

And with that, our game of Truth or Dare came to an end, at least, for that night.  We’d awakened the Canine Choir and half the town.  I can only imagine that most parents stirred awake briefly and said to themselves, “those boys must be camping out tonight at the McKinnon’s”.

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*personal note:  this is another post in a series called “Small Town Stories”.  I alluded to this in my New Years Day post but never followed through.  The content of this category is totally different than the focus of the blog.  It’s not about worship or leadership, it’s fun, life stories and memories of growing up in a small town.  As always, memories are that … memories.  Names will be substituted where appropriate, and facts will be blended with fiction, or half-memories.  That’s what makes them fun.  If you enjoy this series, please let me know by commenting.

Hey Gang,

Joel Klampert (visionary behind the Forge Conference) and myself (visionary behind the Refuge retreat) teamed up through the wonders of Skype to interview each other about our events.

Enjoy the details – but best of all – you can WIN a registration.  Just comment on this post, or Joel’s post (or both!) and let us know which event you’d like to attend.  (Free registration prize does not include travel or lodging).

A Joint Conference Interview from Joel Klampert on Vimeo.

Criticism and Judgment.  If you can’t take it, you’d best not get involved in worship ministry.

Let’s face it.  The musical aspect of a corporate worship service is filled with the potential for criticism:

* song selection
* style
* instrumentation and arrangement
* volume
* technology used to support (sound, lighting, visuals)

Rarely does a week go by where I’m not blessed by people who share with me how have been inspired by music and ministry.  At the same time, I’m used to getting complaints, suggestions, and criticisms.

Today was a great example.  When I walked into my office I had two pieces of mail (yeah, the real stuff in an envelope with a stamp on it) on my desk.

One envelope included a thank-you card and a sweet note about this person’s experience being so wonderful in our worship service this Sunday.

The other envelope contained a letter from a visitor filled with harsh criticism … but worse, judgment.  It was filled with harsh lines about how “I” attempted to manipulate God, etc.  If the Bible is true (and we know it is), this person has a heap of judgment “pressed down, shaken together, and running over” coming their way, as a result of what they sowed into my heart today.

So how do we handle it?

Criticism: ask yourselves a few questions:

1.  Is there anything constructive that I can learn from the information?
2.  Does this person seem to have a loving, sincere approach?
3.  Is there a relationship present, and does this person have a good understanding of our overall mission, as opposed to a 1-visit snapshot?

Judgment: there is really no place for it.  It stings.  It hurts.  To have someone accuse you of things that are very far away from your heart or motives … things that are actually offensive to your heart and motives … it just is hard to swallow.

I like to spread those out before the Lord and simply ask Him to help me know my heart, my motives, and most importantly, to know HIS heart.  I pray for the person who is clearly reacting out of some other wound or frustration, and pray that I will not allow it to take root in my soul.

There will always be critics.  Some more loving and gentle than others.  Some with information we need to hear and process.  Some who abuse any right they have to comment.

Taking offense is not an option.  It will only drag you down.

How do you process complaints or criticism?  Do you keep them to yourself or share them with your team?