I came to faith in Christ 40 years ago in a church in southeast Florida. The members of that small congregation embraced me as family, inviting me to their homes for dinners and cookouts. I marveled that such a loving group of people existed and even came to perceive them as being without fault. It wasn’t long before I realized that they, like me, though redeemed in Christ, were real human beings who had to deal with a sin nature.

After I finish one of my weekly columns, I have two women read it for comprehension, spelling and grammar. The first woman is my wife. The second “woman” is the voice in my software’s review function. My wife works during the day, this other “woman” is available to read whenever I call.

I did the “seminary thing” backward, serving in full time ministry at one church for 12 years – 8 as an ordained pastor – with no formal Bible education; then I went to seminary. Colleagues insisted that I would have an advantage over my classmates who would have just graduated from Bible college. After a few classes, I understood. What the fresh Bible college grads knew was yet untested theory. What I knew came from personal study, from experience, and from making a lot of mistakes.

“The times, they are a changin,’” Bob Dylan warned sixty years ago. Newsflash, Bob, they change every year, twice a year in fact. Last month, we honored the mnemonic “spring forward,” and will do the opposite come November when we “fall back.” It’s even more complicated for Floridians because we are one of the 13 states that sit in two time zones.

Like many, if not most churches today, COMPASS Church uses presentation software to display the songs and Scripture texts on a flat screen TV for worship services. That software is linked to several databases so that all we need to do is type in a song title or Scripture reference, and instantly we are provided with the words fully formatted for display. Those who use it know what a time-saver such software can be. I appreciate the available technology, but I also have a complaint – the song lyrics have no punctuation.

Last week, I celebrated my 40th birthday. One look at me and you might think I am someone who repeatedly celebrates 39th birthdays. No, I was celebrating the day 40 years ago when I was, in Jesus’ words, born again.

A few weeks ago, as I was preparing worship services and sermons this past Holy Week, my mind went back four years ago to when the coronavirus came to visit, the year the unthinkable happened.

There is an unwritten rule in Christianity requiring men’s prayer meetings to be scheduled for O-dark-thirty. No problem, I am one of those annoying “morning people” who wake up before their alarm goes off, bright and cheery, ready to meet the day. So, in my present role as lead pastor at COMPASS Church, I scheduled our weekly leadership prayer meetings for 6:30 am.

The note addressed to my wife was curt and accusatory, castigating her for an oversight that was unimaginable in its ramifications – it appeared that we had run out of peanut butter. The judge was my oldest brother; he and his wife were visiting us from Venezuela. “No Bannon household should ever be without peanut butter,” he chided. It was a Sunday morning; my wife and I had left early for a morning full of ministry responsibilities at church. My brother and his wife were having a late breakfast and had promised to join us for the last worship service of the morning. His breakfast plan? Toast with peanut butter, but after searching every shelf in the pantry and every cupboard in the kitchen, there was no peanut butter in sight. It was in the refrigerator.

I come from a very large family – nine kids – and the mealtime rule in our house was you ate what was put before you. If you refused to eat it, well, you didn’t eat. If one of us asked for something else to eat, my mother’s stock answer was, “What do you think this is, kid, a restaurant?”