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Sparky, Cassie, and Stubby at the fry.
(Click photos to enlarge.) |
We did go to the Mormon-sponsored fish fry, and I will admit: the Mormons can fry fish. Sparky is
ever infiltrating various religious persuasions, bringing them truth
incrementally. He met these Mormons while helping them with
construction projects. Sparky calls himself “Special-Ops.” God drops him behind
enemy lines, and he picks people off (and ticks them off) one at a
time.
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Spark told this Mormon kid I was
"looking into the Mormon religion."
I could have pounded him. |
Sparky and Cassie are a unique pair. She is twenty years his
junior. Age makes no difference here, because here is a union of common souls.
As Sparky says, “Brilliant calls unto brilliant.” It’s no exaggeration. Love
also calls unto love; love is boundless and
insists on defining itself. Who would care to stop its momentum?
After the fry, we went to the beach just off a pretty town
park, to dabble in a little salt water.
Leo’s is a fun place to eat in Ocean Springs. We got some
wings and drinks in the dining area half in and half out of the warm spring
air.
Arriving home, I had to start thinking about the next morning’s
talk in Baton Rouge. I studied and
wrote a little in bed (“on the air mattress”) before turning in. I was feeling
pretty darn good about everything.
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| Bridge off Ocean Springs. |
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This French guy first explored the region about
300 years ago. He doesn't move much now. |
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| Looking out onto the Gulf. |
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| Baby bird at Leo's in Ocean Springs. |
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| Cassie peeks through the wooden napkin holder. |
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| Zender looks off. |
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| Sheldon looks in. |
BATON ROUGE
In the morning, it was off to
Baton
Rouge. On the way, thank goodness, we picked up
Cassie’s mother, Maureen. I say “Thank Goodness,” because I really liked
Maureen. It was like when Ringo finally joined the Beatles. Now, our little
evangelistic group was complete: Sparky, Cassie, me, Sheldon, Maureen. Oh, and
Stubby. Nothing happens quite as it should without Stubby.
I wish I’d taken more photos at Abiding Hope Fellowship in Baton
Rouge, but I was too much in the moment. It was the same
deal here as elsewhere: Fellow members of the body of Christ understand one
another upon contact. You shake hands, hug; everybody gets it. Still, you want
to bring them a message making Christ even more alive.
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| Thomas Kissinger's wife Sarah. |
I spoke to them about our freedom from sin, and how it
thrives in the face of sin. This is one of my favorite things to tell people.
It never fails to move people; folks don’t often think the way of
freedom. Bondage dies hard, even among seasoned spiritual veterans. We all have
leftover “stuff.” Even I, Martin Zender, had leftover stuff before meeting Clyde
Pilkington. I have since felt bricks falling off a religious wall I didn’t know
existed. I guess you would call it, “Leftover Catholicism.” For these folks, I suppose it would be leftover Pentecostalism. After all, this is the land of Jimmy
Swaggart.
I never feel to raise my arms for Jesus in public. I rarely
do in private, but it happens. Mainly, for me, it’s an awareness of the abiding
presence of God. Everything is always raised inside me for Him, aware, so thrusting out the
arms seems redundant. This is why I’m rarely moved to do it. But if the
movement comes, I will do it. I’ll do whatever I feel, because living in me is
Christ. If I don’t feel, well—living in me is Christ.
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| Cassie and her mother, Maureen |
David is the pastor (I’m sorry I don’t know his last name),
and the assistant pastor is Thomas Kissinger, who writes books, including The
Glory of God, and the Honor of Kings. I loved the spirit of these two men
of God. Great and glorious, so simple, so true. After all, look at what they
are doing: believing God in the middle of Satanic worship. Satan worship in Louisiana
comes in three forms here:
1) Catholicism, 2) Jimmy Swaggart Ministries, 3) Voodoo.
I don’t mean to be harsh, but the funky magic of bloody,
scarred, headless-chicken-death-entities is to be preferred over the teaching
that God Almighty and His Son, Jesus Christ, will oversee the eternal torture
of billions of Their creatures. I am sorry to have to say that. I wish it were
different, but it’s not. I'm not saying Jimmy isn't a good man. He is. But he's teaching a false gospel that is so false, words can barely describe it.
The remedy to all this is the truth of the cross of Christ,
the gospel of Paul, and the Word of God, correctly cut, correctly translated, and boldly articulated.
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| Martin Zender, Thomas Kissinger, Tom "Sparky" Purcell. |
Thomas told me to speak between 30-40 minutes. That’s my
usual, anyway. But the people were drawing from me. Everyone was awake and hyper-attentive.
I could just tell. It was perfect. It rarely happens that so many people hop on
your ship simultaneously and ride whatever wave you kick out from the podium. I
cannot help gauging body language. Sometimes it is necessary to ignore it. This
group, however, was alive and kicking the whole way through. So on I went for
55 minutes. It was not too long. I believe in my heart I could have gone
another 55 minutes, such was the pull of those loving people.
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| Milling around after the meeting. |
I sold several copies of, How To Be Free From Sin While
Smoking a Cigarette, enjoying several spiritual conversations afterward.
Safe to say lives were changed. If this didn’t happen, I’d quit. It
shouldn’t be hard to change lives if only you have truth and un-install all your filters.
There is nothing like going to the French Quarter in New
Orleans after a hard teaching spell in Baton
Rouge. This has been one of my favorite sayings for years, although I never had the opportunity to
live it out until now. So the gang-of-six detoured off Interstate 12 onto I-55
South, easing along Lake Ponctchatrain
into The Big Easy.
NEW ORLEANS
Since a picture is worth a thousand words, I’ll spare you a
lot of reading by simply sharing my photos from New
Orleans and the French Quarter. I will give you
one word: Spectacular.
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Meeting Mary Cage on the way to New Orleans.
To hear this story, click on Show 102 from the
Martin Zender/Dan Sheridan Show. |
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| The Superdome, as seen through Sparky's windshield wiper. |
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| Vintage French Quarter. |
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| Down the sidewalk. |
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| Jeanne d'Arc |
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| Stubby needs help. |
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| The Jazz capital. |
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| Street band. |
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| House of Voodoo. |
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| And its wares. |
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| Here comes the rain; Bourbon Street. |
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| Aftermath. |
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| On the sidewalk. |
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| Self portrait. |
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| Whose mama? |
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| Sheldon at Tropical Isle; Bourbon Street. |
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New Orleans is famous for the Hand Grenade,
"the strongest drink on the French Quarter."
Don't worry; there's hardly any alcohol in it. |
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These people invented the Hand Grenade.
Unfortunately, they forgot the alcohol. |
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| Amazon keeps watch over Tropical Isle. Fine by me. |
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| This is where you sit. |
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| Sheldon and me, inside Tropical Isle. |
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| Saints outside the window. |
Sin is rarely where people expect to find it. Jesus would
have hung out in New Orleans and
loved it. The people would have loved Him. When it was time to die, He would
have headed over to Jimmy Swaggart Ministries and preached the success of His
cross.
He would have found respite at Sparky’s house, I know that.
© 2013 by Martin Zender
