My close friend, Jerry Davis, an African-American church planter/pastor from New Orleans, shocked me over lunch back in the mid-90's. We were indulging at the Golden Corral Buffet in Marrero, my community for 12 years, on the westbank of the Mississippi River.
I want you to preach at my church in February, Jerry said, between bites. Sure, Jerry. Jerry continued, I have a special topic in mind. Great Jerry, I said, be happy to do whatever you think. Jerry continued, I want you to address the subject, What does Black History Month mean to me?
Jerry and I were really close. I was comfortable being honest with him. God gave him great patience, tolerance, and wisdom in those days. I responded to Jerry, between bites with a cautious, but unavoidable . . . Okay, Jerry, Black History Month really doesn't mean a whole lot of anything to me. He said, I understand, but will you do it? And yes, I did preach on that Sunday night in February, to an all African American audience, New Testament Baptist Bible Center, on the subject, What does Black History Month mean to me? More of the story, tomorrow.
World Headquarters yesterday. Trying to carve out a break. I see Tennessee, and lots more fun coming. Spent time with movement maker John Sharp. Had great conversations with Bill Brown, formerly of Southeastern Seminary, Marcos Elizondo, Samuel Rodriguez, and as always, Abi Elrod of the Church Multiplication Group. Always thinking, always dreaming, about the next step, the next level.