Pastor Bo: Wrestling with hell
"And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments ..." Luke 16:23

"And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments ..." Luke 16:23

Three names are doing an unusual dance in my brain right now, towering names that go back a long way with me. The first of those three names that I became acquainted with was Kennedy, as in former President John F. Kennedy. My grandfather, a university history professor, was obsessed with that name; he never bought the official story of Kennedy's assassination — at all. I remember the white Styrofoam head he kept in his office showing bullet paths, and I remember the many arguments he was often embroiled in over what actually happened on that fateful November day in 1963.

This column will run in various newspapers on or just before Father's Day. And that seems like a good opportunity to give some observations on fatherhood, both from Scripture and from many years of personal experience.

As a devout Christian, complete Bible believer and rock-solid conservative, it is rare that I ever find myself on the same side of an issue as the ACLU. And yet, their news release of May 2, 2024, which says, "The American Civil Liberties Union strongly condemns the House of Representatives for passing HR 6090, the Antisemitism Awareness Act, which threatens to censor political speech critical of Israel on college campuses under the guise of addressing antisemitism," puts me on the same side as the ACLU on this one.

We sang and preached about and celebrated the Resurrection of Christ. Our Sunday morning services are almost always packed, and the specialness of this day made it even more so.

I guess it really should not be a surprise for parents of multiple children to find ink and crayon often scrawled all over all of the wrong places.
My newest book, "Ephesians: The Treasures of Family," is now live on Amazon and available through many bookstores.

The year was 1997, and the location was a deep hole in which stood an abandoned restaurant, a fish camp, as it is often called in the South. We had just secured the use of that building to start the Cornerstone Baptist Church.
It took a few minutes for the ludicrous nature of the entire exchange to truly sink in. The chips and salsa had been devastated, the plates of fajitas and other Mexican dishes left in shambles. All that was left was to pay our bill and waddle to the truck, full and happy.
When the letter arrived last week, I knew from merely a quick glance at the envelope that the writer was very young; both the handwriting and the multicolored words were clear indications of that fact.