"Blogback"

An unexpected surprise from publishing "His Ways and My Thoughts" has been the wonderful "blogback" I have gotten from all of you who read it. I did not expect such positive reinforcement about the things we are trying to do at DBBC. There are more of you forward thinking Christians out there in Chattanooga than I ever expected. It is evidenced by your your encouraging words as well as the tremendous influx of people to our weekend services. There are more people than I ever imagined looking for a church who wants to be creative and relevant. Yesterday marked 5 successive months where we had at least one family or individual to join the fellowship at DBBC. The undesignated gifts to the church were the largest for July in our 16 year history. God is so gracious! So let me just say thanks to all of you who lift me and the church staff up in prayer weekly. Your words and prayers mean more to me than you will ever know.
In His Shadow,
Pastor Ken

We May Or May Not Be Back

There are a few statememnts that people make that send up a red flag in my mind. Things like, "I usually don't make personal observations about someone after meeting them just once, but...". Or "Do you ever look at ways of earning an extra income?" and "Are you satisfied with your long-distance service?" There is one other as a pastor that sends cold chills up my spine, it's when people say, "I have been a Baptist all my life and I have never....", you fill in the blank. That happened to me this morning. At the end of three great worship services at Dallas Bay I was rushing to the front door to meet our guests. I don't get the opportuniy the first two services because we are all preparing for the beginning of the next service. Well I had just made it past the first set of doors heading for the front door when a lady doing double-time caught up with me and stood between me and my destination. Self-centered as I am I just figured that she couldn't wait to tell me what a good job I had just done. Was I ever wrong. This lady, a few years my elder, said, "We (glancing at her husband) were going to join your church today, but you did not give us a chance." Quickly I responded that I had just finished giving the invitation and had made appeal for people who wished to join by signing the card indicating their desire. Something that several families had already done that morning. And then she said it. The words that immediately told me that this lady and I would probably not always be on the same page. "I have been a Baptist all my life (is that possible) and I have never seen it done that way. That's just not the ways it should be done."

Let me begin by saying, I am sure this a wonderful and sweet couple. I appreciate that they enjoy DBBC enough that they want to be a part of the church family. But am I wrong here or should I be concerned that the first words I ever hear from this lady, whom I have never met, is how she disagrees with what we are doing here? Wouldn't it be a clue to this lady that we don't do a lot of things the way it has been done "all her life." I explained to her if she wanted to inform me up front, that is before the service begins, that she and her husband wanted to join I would be happy to meet her at the end of the service and present them to the congregation. She informed me that they may, or may not be back. I want the best for that good lady. I want her to be where she and her husband will be happy and be ministered to. I am also ok knowing that may not be at Dallas Bay. Hoping that you are where you are happy and blessed this is the new and improved pastor at Dallas Bay signing off until next time.
In His Shadow,
PAstor Ken

Faded Photographs

While waiting for the first worship hour to begin Sunday morning a woman walked up and sat down beside me. She was a relative who attends Dallas Bay. She opened an envelope full of old photographs and began to hand them to me before I could even protest. She explained that she had collected these pictures for me so that I could see some of my relatives that I had never met. To say that our family isn't close is to understate the obvious. So she was right. I had no clue as to the identity of most of the people in the photos. She began to rattle off names that were unfamiliar and just a little bit strange. It was time to begin the service and I politely handed her the pictures as I began to walk away. She stopped me and said, "Oh no, don't give them back. They're yours to keep." I politely thanked her and quickly looked for a place to stash them since I was about to walk to the platform and begin the worship time.

I almost forgot about them. As a matter of fact, I did. At least for a few hours. I remembered them that evening and was afraid that someone would find them and throw them away. So I picked them up and took them home with the intention of filing them out of the way. I found myself in one of those rare moments when I was alone and had no immediate pressing appointment. I grabbed the envelope full of unfamiliar kinfolk and began to browse. Almost intuitively I began to size each one of them up. Poor country dirt farmer, rough and profane sailor, uneducated and backward housewife began to flash in my subconscience as I surveyed the old photgraphs. I wish I could tell you that I immediately was struck with a profound sense of guilt at my quick and unsubstantiated prejudice. But, that would add lying to the sins I need forgiveness for today and my list is already way too long. Right at the top is the word bigot. I had no reason to judge these people because of their appearance. Especially since they were family and some of their genes were now in my own biological soup spelling out who I am.

I began to look at them again as just that, my roots. These were uncles and cousins who went off to war to fight Nazis and the Japanese Imperial Navy. There were pictures of men working for a non-existent minimum wage on river barges powered by coal engines driving pistons that in turn spun props that dug into muddy Tennesee River sand bars. There were young girls who would become wives and mothers. One of the pictures was my own mother when she was three. There was a picture of my grandmother's first husband. I didn't know she was ever married to anyone except my grandfather. I wondered what ridicule and social penalties she had to pay for divorce in the early 1900's living in rural Tennessee. I know something of the pain divorce brings because my parents were divorced when I was nine. The event was so devestating to me that I have lost all memories of my childhood before that time.

The last picture in the stack was eerily fascinating. It was a sandy blond haired boy of 6 sitting sideways on a motorcycle. He was obviously poor because of his dress. He was wearing cowboy boots with no socks, a tattered shirt and faded jeans. He was smiling. You could tell he was comfortable around a motorcycle even at his young age. I did not know who the boy was. I wondered if he ever did anything worthwhile. Probably not. I was curious so I turned the picture over and read "Ken Duggan, 1963." There I was. The boy I used to be before my childhood memories were erased. Then I began to spiritualize. That's my job you know, I am a preacher after all. Every person in every picture that I so quickly judged was no different than me. They had pains that someone casually glancing at their photographs could never imagine. There they were, smiling if only for a moment. One brief moment in history where some one said "say cheese." The imitation smile hiding all the pain that was going on in their life. I remebered what the prophet Isaiah said when he descibed the Lord Jesus, "He was despised and rejected by men." Most of whom, I'm sure, never really got to know Him. I thought, "that picture doesn't fool God. He knows. I mean He really knows and He really cares." I'm glad for the faded photographs my relative brought me. I'm more thankful for the lesson the Lord taught me.
In His Shadow,
Pastor Ken

LOOKING BACK

Friday July 7 2006, may not have been important for most people, but it was for our family. It was Adam's 20th birthday. Adam is our oldest son. I remember when he was born, it was the hottest July in recent memory and the air conditioning in our little 2 bedroom brick rancher was "kapoot". To beat it all Marilyn was more than 2 weeks past due for our firstborn. After going into labor late on the 6th of July 1986, Adam Reid Duggan was born the next morning. He had been cooking so long he had long blonde hair and a full set of teeth. (I am kidding about the teeth.) He was so pretty that people often mistook him for a little girl. For the next 17 months we wondered if God could be any better than He was to us. In one doctor's visit all that changed. A week before Christmas 1987 we received the word that our only son had cancer. In a story I have told hundreds of times we should have never known about the tumor growing behind his heart and lungs until it was too late, but we did. Surgery and recover at St. Jude hospital in Memphis was the longest two weeks of our lives. Finally, expecting long painful episodes of radiation and chemotherapy, we were told that our son would need neither. As a matter of fact, he would receive no treatment at all. He would be followed closely for the next 18 years and be a case study for other children with neuro-blastomas. Well, those 18 years have passed and the trips back to St. Jude are behind us. Hopefully, what the doctors learned from our experience has helped to save the lives of other childen with this same terrible disease.

So pardon us while we celebrate. Our oldest is 20. Nearly 90% of the children who experienced the same doctor's report as we did 18 years ago never saw their 3rd birthday. We do not know why Adam survived. We just know in no way did we deserve it. All we can do is say thanks. Thanks to all the families who prayed for us. Thanks to those who came through with monetary gifts that allowed us to leave our jobs and spend all of those days with our son in Memphis. Thanks to God for his grace and healing power. I can now understand just a fraction of how God must have felt when He caused John to write, "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son..."
In His Shadow,
Pastor Ken