Sometimes a pastor can get between Rock of Ages and a politician without trying too hard. That seemed to be my predicament with Gary. In all things political, I have maintained one basic philosophy: Ask not what your country can do for you, just get out and vote.

I must admit, there are times when it is tempting to throw caution to wind, roll up my pant legs and wade into political arena. After all, Christians were first ones in arena in "good ole days." The problem, as I remember from history books, none of those early Christians ever came out of that arena.

If you think about it, there are some similarities between a preacher and a politician. Perhaps this is why some preachers dabble in politics.

The most obvious similarity would be in area of communications. Both make their living by giving speeches of some type. The preacher gives his weekly sermon while politician gives his political oration.

The only difference between a sermon and a political speech is wind velocity. A good politician can change his views on an issue in mid-sentence. Not many preachers have mastered that slight-of-tongue technique.

A good sermon has three points, somewhat related to each other, and progresses toward a conclusion. A good political speech is pointless and related to a raging Nor'easter.

Another important similarity between preacher and politician is in giving promises.

The man of cloth deals primarily with promises in Good Book. Someone has made claim that Bible contains more than 30,000 promises. I cannot verify that number.

I have never stopped to count them. I do know that there are promises for every aspect of life and these promises are available to us through gracious work of Lord Jesus Christ. The most important thing about promises in Bible is that they are not contingent on preacher's ability.

The man of campaign stump also makes promises. Unfortunately, nobody has ever tried to count these, as most count for nothing. These political promises range from anything to everything.

No politician would ever think of expressing his view on an issue without first checking latest poll on subject. The politician's goal is to tell people what he thinks they want to hear.

Someone once observed that if all people who sit through political speeches were lined up three feet apart, they could at least stretch and sleep more comfortably.

The successful politician is an expert in foul play. I can sum up most political promises nicely: A chicken in every pot and a potshot at every Turkey.

A third similarity between preacher and politician concerns money. Both have a lot to say about subject.

I ran out of gas in Paiper Machet, Louisiana, on my way to a convention for freelance bumper sticker writers. My "Watch Out For The Idiot Behind Me" had become an industry classic and I was to be keynote speaker.

This was in days before there was an all-night convenience store with self-service gas pumps on every corner. There was one gas station in Paiper Machet and it would not open until 7:30 following morning. That would get me to convention thirty minutes into late registration, provided my luck held out and my tires held air.

After I shut off my headlights, only other illumination in this little corner of bayou was a thin ribbon of green and red, riding a greasy fog that I traced back to a juke joint just over tracks.

As I drew closer, smell of bar-b-q sang like a Siren in my brain and hastened my apprehensive footsteps.

The creaking door betrayed my attempt at a quick, clandestine peek at place. All eyes rolled in my direction. It was readily apparent that these good people were not accustomed to seeing an apologetic grin wearing a Hawaiian shirt and moccasins.

Relying on raw survival instinct, I sought out bartender. That gave me an excuse to turn my back on somnambulant stares of stoned citizenry, but there they were again in huge, spotless mirror. They had me surrounded.

I knew how to feign fortitude and present myself as a cool customer. After all, I was a keynote speaker, for cryin out loud. My body was inexplicably overtaken by spirit of what sounded like Zippy Pinhead on helium as I eked out, "Ya’ll got ‘nee beer?" I cast quick, accusatory glances around room, trying to pin down offending Voodoo Queen.

The barkeep silently drew a tall glass of Jax beer and sat it in front of me. I put a five on bar. He put it in cigar box that served as a cash drawer and flipped lid shut. The ghost of Barney Fife politely inquired about my change.

"Cover charge."

"Oh, is there to be entertainment?" (Kermit The Frog)

Was there to be entertainment? Were there to be alligator dreams tangled in Spanish moss long about four a.m.? Entertainment? Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Tonight, at this inauspicious watering hole, just north of who-flung-the-chunk, and due west of Bum Fox, Egypt, there was to be entertainment. Blues legend, Blind Lemon Furniture Polish was to give his farewell performance.

I may have looked and acted like a total dork, but I knew my Blues. I knew what this event meant and I silently thanked God for allowing me to be present on this, this night of nights.