Heat Wave Edition - Christian Carnival CXXXIV

Hello and welcome to Christian Carnival CXXXIV (that's 134 outside of Rome). My old friend, Heat Miser brings you greetings as well! Be nice to him... he's a bit of a hothead, you know.

It's August, and let's be honest -- it's been a sweaty mess throughout much of North America for the past two weeks. I myself have lost well over 600 pounds of water weight since July 4. Fortunately, I replaced the water weight with good old fashioned "fat weight" so I'm prepared for winter hibernation. But I digress...

With so many people still trying to recover from the affects of blazing temperatures and 300 percent humidity readings, I've decided to christen this edition of Christian Carnival, "The Heat Wave Edition". So, grabbing a frosty mug of root beer and a couple of salt tablets, allow me to guide you through this week's broiling hot posts, submitted from fine, sweaty bloggers throughout the blogosphere.

We begin with our modern necessity, the air conditioner. Sure, there are still plenty of people walking around in unconditioned air, but for many of us the old A/C is something we cannot do without when the thermometer shoots above room temperature. In the same way, there are many people who live their lives without Christ, not understanding the advantages of a Christian walk. With that in mind, our air conditioner introduces a section of posts contemplating the One who is our necessity.

Complementarianism as a Mediating Position. Don't let the title scare you. Jeremy at Parableman tackles gender roles and consistency in his offering this week.

Jon at Think asks, what are we to make of Christian praise songs that contain lyrics that are literally false (if not heretical and blasphemous)? Do such literal falsehoods implicate truths or fall under artistic license, or are they simply heresy? The post is entitled, Artistic License vs. Heresy.

At Crossroads: Where Faith and Inquiry Meet, Diane is asking The Seven Questions. She says, "I've identified seven moves within the current evangelical movement that I consider heresies. However, these seven movements are attempting to answer some worthwhile questions that the larger evangelical church is either not answering, or answering well." Read and see what you think.


For those who can't afford air conditioning, there's the lower-cost, lower-enengy-hogging alternative -- the fan. The electric fan is a whirling dervish of moving parts. Three blades in perpetual motion. Until the power goes out. Then throw in the oscillating action and you have movement galore. Of course there is also the paper fan. I remember the hand fans, stuffed into the hymnal rack in every pew at church. There were always two pictures: the obligatory picture of Jesus and the one of the little girl with white gloves praying in front of a stained-glass window. For some reason, there was always a funeral home ad on the other side. But during a hot Sunday service, everyone had one of those paper heat-relievers waving back and forth until wrist muscles were stretched and worn out. Again, it's motion. It reminds me of two people debating with arms flapping and lips flapping even faster. Nothing gets you worked up faster than a good debate. So the fan will lead us into the valley of the shadow of philosophical and political debate.

We'll begin with Leslie Carbone's self-titled blog. Leslie invites us along to read A Vision for America.

Meanwhile at Acme Anvil Co., SteveO has been watching O'Reilly reruns and is taking on the Million Youth March Organizers in his entry.

Is religion The Root of All Evil? At Principled Discovery, Dana begins with Mel Gibson's latest statements and compares them to media statements about Christianity.

Want to learn a little more about political philosophy? JCHFleetguy at Brain Cramps For God is in the midst of that very exercise. Check the post A "Discussion" of Political Philosophy.

Marijuana and hashish in the Old Testament? "Not a chance," says Tyler from Codex: Biblical Studies Blogspot. Then he sets about debunking the whole idea. Interesting read.

Minimum Attention For Minimum Wage is the offering from Father David at Left of Calvary.

Mark, from Kingdom>>> Church>>> Culture, has plenty to say about illegal immigration. One of his posts on the subject, Busting into America, he discusses why they are coming, why their countries don't work, and why illegal immigrants are, in effect, stealing (or attempting to steal) rights and privileges that belong to American citizens.

Now, what if the air conditioner and the fan didn't provide cooling as quickly as you'd like? Ice, ice, baby. It's cold and it meets our desire for instant satisfaction. But more than that, ice cools the liquid it floats in. It affects the world around us. The cuves to the left will lead us to posts dealing with our own efforts of affecting the world around us and the world within us. In short, these posts help describe the Christian walk.

The Doctor is In is always a fun read. This week, Dr. Bob shares his own journey of faith in The Path 1:Genesis.

At Trivium Pursuit, Laurie presents a list of Recommended Sermons.

A reflection on prayer in the night comes from penitens at A Penitant Blogger.

The 23rd Psalm is often called the most beloved in the Psalter. Rev Bill clues us in on a new version -- Psalm 23 (For Work).

Dave, from Career Intensity Blog concludes, "Trust in God and believe in yourself and anything is possible." See if you agree with You Gotta Believe.

Becky, from I thought I'd have it together by now, says that her post, A God-shaped Hole, is about her three-year-old grandson’s accepting Christ and beginning his faith journey and her friend Lisa sharing her journey at a retreat. It got its title because our God, who is faithful, has filled the holes in their hearts.


There are times when no matter how you've cooled yourself off, you still smell like a sweaty mess. A heat wave is usually not a treat for the olfactory. A day of sweating leaves you smelling... well, like you've been sweating all day! It's like sin. The more we wallow around in sin, the smellier we get. With that in mind, pull out the Speed Stick, the Ban, the Secret, and the Arrid Extra Dry, lift your arms and apply a generous helping of posts which speak to our sinful condition.

My own contribution to this Carnival is a post I call All Rise, which features the struggle of truly offering God the honor He deserves instead of trying to grasp it and keep it for ourselves.

Andrea Graham offers up The Whipping Boy. It's a discussion of the need to let Jesus, not only be Savior, but also Lord, and it's up at Adam's Blog.

Here's a title which says a lot before you ever click on the link -- The Idolatry of Ministry. Maybe that phrase upsets you. Perhaps it makes you glad that someone else thinks like you. Whatever your position, I urge you to read it at Light Along the Journey.

I'm not sure this is all about sin, but there are people who think it is. At Resistance is futile! Gullyborg gives a response to Christian criticism of a lingerie photograph, from a Christian with different views in Theology 101.


If all else fails, and you're still smelly, sweaty and hot, there's always the cold shower. Just toss everything you have into the shower and turn on the faucet marked "C". And so I'm taking every post that's left and tossing them into a nice refreshing group with no apparent theme.

We'll start with Jack Yoest posting of a letter from a soldier who gave his life for his country in Iraq. The post is simply called, Remembering Staff Sergeant Dan Clay.

A light-hearted battle of words is heating up between David Ker from Lingamish and Rick Mansfield regarding the relative merits of Wikipedia and the Encyclopedia Britannica. Here's David's latest foray called A new kind of mind.

I've always told people that yoga is more than just stretching, and it's the "more you have to watch out for. Mick Dobra of the Romans 15:4 Project describes this situation as it began for him with a show on MTV in Yoga - Dangerous Teachings.

At Pseudo-Polymath, Mark wonders about the Reformation's End. Since mainline protestant churches have been undergoing a decades long slide in membership, if they disappear by mid-century ... will the Reformation basically be ended? And what does that mean?

Part-Time Pundit John asks us to consider donating to the Tumaini Foundation, a charity that sends medical and school supplies to rural Tanzania to help AIDS orphans and other children get a good education. The post is simply called Please Donate to the Tumaini Foundation.

Along the same lines, at Matt Jones' Random Acts of Verbiage, the host is extoling another group doing excellent work in helping those the West has seemingly forgotten. Read Uganda's Invisible Children.

That puts the wraps on the 134th edition of the Christian Carnival. My thanks to Dory for keeping this organized (sweating the details), and to all of you who submitted your wares (the sweat of your brow). And thank you as well to all of you who spent time purusing the aisles of the Carnival, trying to bring your body temperature down to a less-than-feverish level. Look for next week's Carnival at a blog near you.

Watch this space!

Coming tomorrow to Attention Span is the latest version of Christian Carnival. It promises to be a scorcher, so make plans to stop by. I'd also encourage you to submit a post before midnight eastern time to ChristianCarnival@GMail.com so you can be a part of the carnival as an author AND a reader.

Nothing's Different But Everything's Changed

The title is from a song on Paul Simon's latest CD. I hear it at least once a day on my Sirius Satellite Radio. I'm not sure I can determine exactly what Paul means by that line, but I know what it reminds me of.

The comment has often been made after accepting Christ: "But, I don't feel any different." I've heard it myself. It's usually delivered with an air of disappointment. Some people seem to be expecting the earth to move or a choir to sing or at least some sort of feeling of invincibility to overtake them. But that's not part of the deal. The fact is, we still have to deal with the problems we make and those we inherit.

One lady asked me, "If I become a Christian, will my life get better?" My answer didn't really satisfy her. I told her that her situations wouldn't change, but the way she looked at them would. Like the rich young ruler, she walked away shaking her head, for she wanted everything to be different. She wanted her boyfriend to really love her. She wanted her illnesses to go away. She wanted a better job and a better this and a better that. But why bother if nothing will be different?

The thing is, when a person trusts Christ to be not only Lord, but also Savior, nothing is different. Ah, but everything's changed. "Keeping up with the Joneses" isn't what drives us anymore. Stockpiling cash and prizes aren't our lives' focus. We now look to please God rather than men. We understand that this earth is not all there is. We realize just how messed up we really are.

Sure, we still mess up. We don't live up to our world view. But our entire priority system has been knocked on its head. We know what we want to be and how we want to act and we're not satisfied with being like the others who couldn't care less about their Creator until they have an emergency.

You see, nothing's different. But everything's changed.

All Rise

Every once in a while I find myself sitting in a courtroom. No, I'm not a lawyer or in need of a lawyer. I'm not suing anyone for some injury I may or may not have suffered while driving, climbing a ladder placed in front of a door, or placing a cup of scalding coffee between my thighs. I'm just an observer. But it's obvious that the position of judge carries with it a boatload of respect. How do I know? Because whenever the judge enters the courtroom, Rusty the bailiff instructs everyone to "All rise."

We show our respect for the office of judge by standing when the person filling the office walks in to proceed with the actual business of judging. There aren't a lot of other jobs where this type of respect is shown. I've never met a sitting U. S. President, but I'd bet most everyone stands when he enters a room. I've met my fair share of other politicos -- governors, congressmen, etc. -- and I've stood when greeting them, but no more so than when I greet the trash collector. There just aren't many jobs which carry with them, a certain amount of respect.

In days gone by, preachers used to get a bit of that respect. Those days are long gone now, many thanks to Jim Bakker, Jimmy Swaggart and countless others who tried to cover up the fact that they were simply fallible human beings. I heard a rabbi once mention that whenever he gets pulled over by the police, he always places his "CLERGY" sign cleverly in the left front window of the car... just in case it helps him get a warning instead of a citation. Me, I figure there are enough people gunning for preachers, that I keep my calling to myself in such cases unless I'm asked!

Ever think about the amount of respect we give to our Creator? I do. The position of earthly judge has nothing on the position of heavenly judge. An earthly judge enters the room and we rise to our feet. Seeing the heavenly judge before should make us at least drop to our knees, if not fall prostrate on our face before Him.

But for now, we aren't blessed with His physical presence, so let's think about the respect we show Him anyway. It used to be that we would put on our "Sunday Best" every weekend and toddle off to "God's House" and be on our best behavior, all as a show of our respect for God. Of course, eventually we figured out that even though we were in God's presence in the church building when we looked all pretty, we were also in God's presence on Monday afternoon when we were all grimy and sweaty and a couple of miles away from "God's House". Respect is more than physical posture. Respect is more than the clothes we wear, or our location, or our outward behavior.

Respect for God begins inwardly and is then expressed outwardly. Maybe we express it in the way we dress, but it's so much more than that. It's the way we are.

In my sinfulness, I give God nowhere near the respect He deserves. In my selfishness, I give God only leftovers after I have pleased myself first. In my shallowness, I fail to give God much of anything meaningful at all.

All rise? Yeah, right.

"Lord, I pray that You would continually remind me of who You are and who I am, to help me remember just how marvelous and awesome You really are."

Farmer Tan

After I got up Monday morning, I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. Let me tell you, it wasn't a pretty sight. But besides the usual early morning ugliness, I noticed something about myself. I have a farmer tan.

If you're not familiar with that terminology, let me clue you in. A farmer tan on a man is where the forearms, hands, head, face and neck are a deep golden tan in color, while the area generally covered by t-shirt or other short sleeve shirt is almost shockingly white. The term comes from the tradition that a farmer will work outside with a shirt on at all times. (If you've ever baled hay, you know it's a bad idea to try it shirtless unless you're mighty fond of itchy skin.)

The typical farmer tan isn't noticeable unless the man's shirt is removed. At which time planes will aim toward the brilliant white skin, pilots sure that it must be the searchlight at the local airport. But if the shirt stays on, no one is the wiser.

My farmer tan became very noticeable to me because I was outside watching a baseball tourney most of the weekend under unbearably sunny skies. My t-shirt had a few buttons in front which were undone. The result was a bright red three inch line extending from beneath my throat like a miniature necktie.

"I really need to get a little more sun," I told myself. But with a physique
like mine, I figure I'm being merciful by keeping my shirt on.

The world arounds me sees a man with his spiritual shirt on. Beautifully tanned arms and neck. A real healthy glow.

But God sees me as I am -- a sinner with a spiritual farmer tan. But God sees through all of that outside stuff. He knows what a wreck I am. He can see that I am in the same state as the Apostle Paul -- the chief of all sinners.

Even though the world may not notice my farmer tan -- my imperfections -- I know that God isn't fooled. And I strive not to be fooled either.

The Barrier

As I looked through the newspaper last weekend, I read the accounts of a protested military funeral in the same town as my denomination's headquarters.

You've certainly heard of the foolish people involved -- Rev. Fred and the Kansas Krew. OK, that's not the exact name, but it's already more respect given to them than they deserve. These are the folks who claim that the U.S. is being divinely judged for embracing homosexuality by having our servicepeople killed in Iraq. So in the illogical extension of their thinking Fred and the Krew show up at the funerals of soldiers who are killed in the Middle East to hold up stupid signs and shout about their misguided beliefs.

So that's what happened. RF&KK showed up outside the church to... whatever it is they think they're accomplishing. What a painful sound for the family grieving the loss of a young man who gave his life in service to his country -- without regard to anyone's position on homosexuality.

What caught my eye in the newspaper story was that there were a couple of motorcycle groups who decided to do something about all this. They parked their motorcycles on the street directly in front of Rev. Fred and the Kansas Krew and revved the engines. No one could hear the protesting Jayhawks. The surroundings weren't silent, but the air wasn't filled with the sound of hateful idiocy spoken, supposedly, as the voice of Christ's followers. Instead of the cries of the foolish reaching the mourning, the motorcyclists formed a barrier against the hatred.

What an interesting concept. Instead of argueing with someone who won't listen, cushioning the blow of those who are grieving.

Often we can't shield the hurting from the pains that life has in store for them. A hug and a casserole doesn't stop the pain of grief anymore than a dozen motorcycles revving their engines can quiet a crowd. But sometimes we have to be creative to offer that cup of cold water in Jesus' name.

Sloth

Sloth. No, not the cute little critter with either two or three toes. More like the innate desire we have not to bother to lift either two or three toes to do something. Meet Sammy the Sloth.

There are days I can be the laziest man on the face of the earth. I'm not proud of that, although on those days I doubt I'd put up a good argument to refute the charge. There are days when I'm content not doing anything, if at all possible.

The reason why Sammy the Sloth has come up is from Kelly's comment from my post, Doubt, Pride and Shame. I fully understand Kelly's point. Many days I live Kelly's point. But let's look at laziness, or sloth, and see what it really is.

My contention is that in it's basic form, laziness is simply selfishness. Think about it. If I'm too lazy to read my Bible or to pray, isn't it really that I don't want to read it? Or at least that I don't want to read it or to pray enough to put down the bon-bons and the remote to pick it up and get to it?

I know that there are days when I come home from a long day of work and I really don't feel like doing anything more. Last week was one of those weeks for me. I was filling in, taking on extra assignments at work while my boss was on vacation. By the time the whistle blew at the end of the day, my mind was fried and I had no desire to use it without significant sleep. Could I have done something I really wanted to do? Sure. There were things I would have gladly done, given the opportunity. However, most things last week didn't motivate me enough to get me going.

So too with the busy schedule excuse. I hear ya', soccer moms and little league dads. I'm with you, not only in spirit, but also in body. Shoot, we're all pretty busy little beavers these days. Society tells us we should be, and our kids should be, so that's what we do. The little squares on the calendar fill up and each day becomes a sort of challenge to see how we can manage to get everything accomplished. So who can take time out for prayer? Being a busy little beaver leads to being a lazy little sloth.

But from where I sit (and it's not far from where you're sitting), our business is a matter of choice also. And it comes back to self. We make committments or fill in schedules with things we want to do (or think we should do) and then wear ourselves out for the things we are called to do. So when we collapse on the sofa after a long day of picking up kids, dropping off dry cleaning, picking up groceries and dropping off projects we are left with our sloth. Not that we are too lazy to pray, but that we've chosen other alternatives -- alternatives which make us happier, or which make us more impressive to the people we know. Or as Kelly put it, "I make time for all the other things in my life that are important, don't I?" Yup. That we do.

So I really can't accept laziness as an excuse or a reason why we don't pray. Because laziness comes back to selfishness, and selfishness comes back to pride. We don't find ourselves too lazy to pray. We find ourselves to have chosen things that give us satisfaction in other areas, then use our own pride as an excuse for ignoring the One who gave us life, and gives us eternal life.

How To Get Here - 7/13/06

Still here. I've been busy paving new routes to Attention Span. Just look at the new search strings people used to end up here:

installing a clothesline - Apparently I may have to do a series with "installing a clothesline" "hanging a picture on the wall" and "changing the roll on the toilet paper holder" for some of the manually challenged cruising the blogosphere.

My father was a semi-professional curler - Did he keep his amateur status as a shampooer? I still have four years of college eligibility in beard maintenance.

"semi-permanent" lip - OK, what's the deal with the "semi" stuff? I keep going back to the old George Carlin bit about "semi-boneless ham". Does it have a bone? Then it's a bone, it's not a semi-bone. Perhaps a semi-permanent lip operation can be done by a semi-professional curler?

cat disease balding head - Oh great! I have a cat disease?!?!?!?!

loudest clapper - Personally I don't worry about how loud a clapper is, I just turn the light off at the switch like most people.

does lionel richie sing cherish the love song - These days, Lionel would probably sing anything if the price was right.

what side of the bed should the wife sleep on - Well, obviously the right side. You don't want her waking up on the wrong side of the bed, do you???

romal numeral - You know what they say... "When in Rome, do as the Romals do."

what do you get when you cross an insomniac - With an elephant? Someone who doesn't sleep and can't forget about it.

Enough for now. Real content coming when I get a chance to catch my breath. I promise.

Doubt, Pride and Shame

A good writer doesn't give away the answers to the question too quickly. So, call me a hack.

I asked the question, "So, why don't we pray?" and I've already given you the answers that I've come up with right there in the title. Doubt, pride and shame. I thank those who offered their comments, which I believe fit into these three categories.

When I first started hashing this thought out in public, it was at Meg Logan's Blog. (Meg was away from the blogosphere for awhile, but is back at it again. I heartily recommend a trip over there.) But in one post on prayer, I mused about this subject and Meg, very bravely, admitted that her problem was doubt. It is very easy for us to doubt that our prayer will make any difference at all in the situation we pray about. Why is that? Because we've all prayed for something and not received what we prayed for. All of us. I've met no one who is batting 1.000 in the GWPF's (Getting What we Prayed For's). In fact, I'd say I know more people who are closer to .050 than to .500 in GWPF's.

So doubting is natural for us. Since we often think of prayer as a way of getting what we want instead of remembering that it is a way for us to want what God wants, we can get discouraged watching request after request go unanswered -- or at least not answered the way we want.

If we don't think something is going to "work" it becomes a less attractive way for us to spend our time. But prayer is not about getting God to change His mind, it's about molding us into the image of Christ Jesus. "Thy will be done" -- remember?

The mental image I use when explaining how prayer works is of a person in a rowboat holding a rope which is tied to the dock. By pulling on the rope, the dock is not brought closer to the boat. In fact just the opposite is true. Prayer is most effective when our will is brought into line with God's will. But the doubting mind keeps us from seeing the true purpose of prayer, and so drives us away from prayer. We may not really hate the idea of praying. We just can't find a pressing reason to make it necessary or even efficient.

Then comes pride. Pride makes us think that prayer is unnecessary because we can handle the tough stuff ourselves. Pride makes us believe that we're not in that bad shape. Pride says that we are rugged individualists who have no need for a crutch. Pride tells us that "God helps those who help themselves" yet forgets that this old saw is not taught in Scripture.

Oh, pride. It's just our own poor perception of ourselves taking action. It's usually more of a "male" thing, but it brings down plenty of females too. Urging us to "be strong" and to "deal with it" and the like. Funny how Jesus never had any real problem with being too proud to pray -- and I doubt we think we're stronger than Him!

We do so love to have a good opinion of ourselves. Self-actualization, self-worth, loving yourself before you can love others... the world tries to sell us that whole bill of goods daily. Scripture teaches something else entirely. And the Bible is full of examples of godly people who weren't too proud to come to their Creator.

Shame. There's a word we don't hear much anymore. I suppose it stems from the whole pride nonsense. But deep down we still have shame, even when the world tries to tell us we shouldn't. And that shame can get in the way of our relationship with Christ.

John and Martha have each sat down in a room together. This married couple hasn't spoken to one another since Martha was caught lying to cover up an adultrous relationship. John and Martha try to make small talk -- about the weather, the kids, work... but they are not alone. Also in the room is the 1200 pound gorilla they both seek to ignore, but which refuses to be ignored. How awkward and uncomfortable John and Martha each feel. Both are fully aware of the problem, but neither is willing to address it. They wish to avoid a confrontation.

I think it's that shame which drives many away from prayer. We are fully aware that God knows our sinful hearts. He knows what we shouted at the person at the coffee shop yesterday. He knows what we were fantasizing about the attractive young person in the next car at the stoplight. He knows that we're so self-absorbed that our efforts at a relationship with Him are superficial at best. And since we know that HE knows all that, we wish to avoid the confrontation.

I'm not big on confrontations myself, but even more I hate having the gorilla in the room. Many years ago there was a young lady I worked with who had a problem with something I did. I heard through the grapevine that she was upset with me, but whenever I went to her to discuss it, she left the room at breakneck speed. She hid in her office with the door shut. She sneaked out of work via the side door at an unexpected time. All this to avoid a confrontation which needed to be worked out. Running from confrontation seldom accomplishes anything but delaying the inevitable. Yet still many people run. By the same token, many run from prayer, too ashamed to go to God to get rid of the 1200 pound gorilla.

Now maybe I'm just being simplistic here. But I think prayer avoidance comes down to these three categories. Again, not having time is just an excuse. Claiming to not know what to pray or how to pray or even not knowing we should pray are childish rationalizations meant to make ourselves feel better about snubbing Almighty God. It's back to doubting in prayer or God's ability to answer prayer, being too proud to ask for help, and feeling too much shame to come to the One we continue to sin against.

But isn't understanding the reason for our running a step toward getting that prayer life on track? I'm challenging you and me both to deal with the reason why we don't pray, then let God put it as far away as the east is from the west, and get back to a deepened relationship with our Savior and Lord.

So... Why Don't We Pray?

There's a scene at the end of the movie, Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (or the book, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but the movie with Gene Wilder, not the creepy version with Johnny Depp which I didn't bother to see. But I digress...) In this scene, Charlie has been told he has won the grand prize, and he, Grandpa Joe, and Wonka get into the great glass elevator (Wonkavator, technically). The small passenger compartment has hundreds of buttons to press, each one corresponding to a different room in the factory.

Anyway, ol' Mr. Wonka tells Charlie something to the effect of, "You know, Charlie, I've pushed every button in this elevator except one. And I want you to press it now." So Charlie hits the button and the Wonkavator shoots out the top of the shaft and becomes a tiny, glass-encased hovercraft. Then there's the happy ending, and so on and so on. But I always found it odd that this eccentric candy-maker who could do pretty much whatever he wanted to do had actually tried everything but one little button on the elevator.

Why wouldn't he have pressed it at some point? In my mind, I've concocted all kinds of scenarios as to why Wonka kept his mitts off that button. Perhaps it would have given away some sort of secret about his identity to the public, or aroused the interest of his competitor, Slugworth. Certainly there must have been a good reason. Right? It's a perfectly good button. It seemed to work just fine. Why not use it?

Fantasies about chocolate-makers and oompa-loompas aside, I've found there's a button that many Christians seem reluctant to press as well. The prayer button.

Apparently it's not a new phenomenon. James chides the readers of his letter that "You do not have because you do not ask God." Or in the Wonka version, "You do not have because you never press the button." So, why don't we pray?

I don't buy the argument that we don't have time or that we don't know what to pray for or that we don't know we should pray. I've used all those excuses many times and I know they are nothing but empty excuses stuffed with rationalization. We know we're supposed to pray. To paraphrase the New Testament, even the heathen know that! Most times we know what we are to pray for. Needs and people come to our minds and to our attention often. I've even caught myself thinking, "I need to pray for that family," only to let it slide from my attention. And I know we're all incredibly busy, but there is always time to pray if we make the time.

So why don't we ever make the time? Why don't we follow through? Why do we leave prayer as the button we never press, the weapon in the arsenal we never deploy?

I want to explore that problem this week. In the meantime, help me out by offering your own experiences, excuses and explanations as well as those of others you know in the comments section here. Thanks!

Thinking About the 4th

Wow, what a busy week! I'm finally getting caught up around here, but there have been so many things rumbling through my gray matter that it's going to take a while to get it all fleshed out. Plus there's a worship service to prepare for today, so I'll regale you with a rerun. I actually posted this back in January, but it's much more appropriate this weekend.

I posted a couple of days ago about the way the minds of so many American Christians link patriotism and Christianity as almost one and the same. This was an extension of my July 4th post about the American flag's presence on church property. Anyway, in the comments section, Bob of gratitude and hoopla pointed out,

I hear all the time from people who have mistakenly equated Christianity with Americanism. It sounds foolish to our ears, perhaps, but where did they get that idea? Did we give it to them? I think the answer is yes, unfortunately. We have to work at correcting this misunderstanding, for we bear that responsibility. I thank God for my country, but it does seem that we American evangelicals are far too "at home in this world".

Now I can argue that personally, I didn't give these people that idea, but I realize that Bob was using "we" to refer to Christians in general, especially teachers and preachers. But the responsibility to correcting this misunderstanding falls on me and upon all who are reading this. So how do we do it? How do we get people to see that Christian does not equal American? Here are a few ideas:

(1) Get the American flag off of church property. We don't have to fly flags, right? And flying the American (or Canadian or whichever) flag forces us to put Christianity and patriotism on the same level, or if both flags are on one pole it's the Christian flag which is pushed to the bottom. You can't tell me that the symbolism isn't noticed at one level or another by the general population. I went off on that topic here.

(2) Preach about Christian sacrifice. What should we be willing to give up for Christ? Think about this: Almost every church in America has people sitting in the pews who would gladly lay down their lives for their country, but who wouldn't in a million years give up their lives for God. You know it's true.

(3) Along with that idea, preach about the advantages of being a Christian. Those who would die for their country realize that they want the advantages of being an American to be available to others. They will give their lives so that others can continue to enjoy those benefits. But do most people understand the advantages of being a Christian? Aside from being "fire insurance", what about the value here on earth -- peace which passes all understanding, hope, strength, faith, etc. Does the average person in the good ol' U. S. A. know about these things? I'd bet not. Perhaps the idea of Christian sacrifice wouldn't seem so foreign if we realized the benefits we're already using.

(4) Teach priorities. Do not denegrate this country. It's a great country. I'm sure Canada is fantastic too. But this is not our home. Our first priority is to our Creator and Savior.

(5) Don't allow anyone to inject "America" into the Scriptures. I've heard so many people interpret 2 Chronicles 7:14 as applying to the United States, yet in context the promise to "heal the land" is for the nation of Israel. Americans are not the "people who are called by my name". Not that we shouldn't humble ourselves, pray and seek His face, but the promise is not for America.

At least those are my ideas. Feel free to argue any of them or suggest more. But a clear teaching of Scripture is needed to give a clear understanding that we are called to be Christians before we consider our home country. I argued in my last post that we are to be Christians before we are doctors or fathers or any other role we fulfill. Being a Christian first makes us better doctors and better fathers and so on. In the same way, making sure Christ is our first priority will make us better citizens, and it will put God solely on the throne as He deserves.

Fire

I stood this afternoon watching a family's possessions go up in flames. I don't know how the fire started, but by the time I arrived at the inferno, the blaze was out of control.

It's a helpless feeling, watching a fire burn. Even the firefighters weren't fast enough to be able to save much of the house. On the back porch, a metal swing set slowly melted into a pile of charred, twisted metal. A child's plastic slide turned into a jumble of melted plastic in primary colors. The destruction was incredible, and I found myself and many other onlookers had little more to say than, "Wow."

I spent a little time with the people who lived in that house. The parents had left two teenage boys in the house while they ran an errand a few blocks away. The boys smelled smoke and went to investigate only to find that a wall in the rear of the home was engulfed in flames. They got out unharmed, but were afraid that their father would be mad at them... as if they had done something wrong. Mostly, I think, they felt bad that something like that could start without their notice.

The family had no insurance. They were renting the house, but everything inside was theirs including an envelope of cash by the back door which was to be applied for rent and utilities. A newer car was parked in the driveway beside the garage. It caught fire and is a total loss. The father was in the process of switching transmissions and had let the insurance expire two days ago. Gone are the computer, the camera, and the "stuff", but also gone are family pictures and presents made by the boys "for Daddy" from years gone by. Like the father told me, "I never would have thought it could be gone so quickly."

The pastor in me was immediately reminded of the biblical teachings about the temporary nature of earthly possessions. But this was no time for preaching. Besides, the parents seemed to understand that lesson anyway.

Still what struck me as I watched the flames dance along the roof of the home was the word picture Jesus used to describe hell -- the flame that never goes out. At times it appeared that the firefighters had extinguished all the flames, then suddenly I would see a different patch of fire breaking out. It never seemed to be ready to go out. My studies have shown me that Jesus was using Gehenna, or basically the city dump as an illustration of what hell is like. In Gehenna, the suffering never ceases. The flames never go out.

Standing in the yard behind that burning home, I could feel the intense heat coming from the flames. It was a hot day anyway. Muggy. Sticky. Firefighters had to take breaks from the flames to cool off for a bit. I can not imagine suffering that doesn't end. Like fighting a fire that never goes out and having no moment of cool respite from the heat, the suffering of everlasting life without God's presence is beyond me.

One other thing I noticed as I watched the dancing tongues of fire... the blaze had an effect on much more than one house. All the neighbors were out watching the residence burn. Seeing something like that will remind them of the need for smoke detectors and care in handling fire hazards.

Smoke filled the air in that residential neighborhood contaminating the houses across the street. Those people will be airing out their homes for a couple of weeks, at least. Some items will always smell like smoke. When I made it back into the office, I smelled like smoke and I was only on the scene for 90 minutes.

Next door to the burning house was another home. That home was damaged on the side nearest the fire. The vinyl siding was melted and even the insulation beneath was exposed. Then on the other side of the house which was on fire was another house -- this one untouched by the heat and flames. Sometimes we can be affected by the disasters around us to the point where we become part of the damage. Other times we are left untouched.

Tonight, the family is in the hands of the Red Cross. Immediate needs are being met. Certainly there are many who will step up in the next couple of months to help get these people back on their feet. After all, it's easy to see the need when a family has lost everything. But when a person has no relationship with his Creator, too many people refuse to see a need and too many who are lost refuse to accept it.

So many lessons in one fire.

How To Get Here - 6/21/06

And you thought I'd forgotten... Ladies and Gentlemen, the long-anticipated return of How To Get Here -- the feature which asks the non-musical question, "So, how do so many people end up at Attention Span?" Just look at the new inroads to Attention Span!

emails of the rich pastors in the usa - I'm guessing that this searcher goes by the name of Mubaso and claims to be in the Ivory Coast and will give up a cut of his multi-million dollar fortune if these rich pastors will send over a couple of million in seed money.

indycar hygiene product - I'm not sure what this searcher was thinking, but I can tell you it's not wise to brush your teeth with oil-dry. However there's nothing like driving 220 m.p.h. to get rid of excess cologne smell.

history of asparagas - Would someone PLEASE get this searcher a real hobby?

cross bread bassett hound - OK, a cross on Good Friday, the bread and the wine... that much I understand. But please explain again how a bassett hound fits into the gospels. After feeding the 5000, weren't there 12 bassetts full left over?

a name was laura, she was a showgirl, copacabana - Oh great! Now I'm getting hits from Barry Manilow fans who don't know IT'S LOLA!!! I'm not sure if that makes me better off or worse because I recognized the mistake...

duct tape wallet with hosanna - Kinda like Certs with retcyn, right?

things that can be used as a weapon - Apparently McGyver is doing his homework in the blogosphere.

false preachers have big churches and dress up flashy with diamonds - This hit didn't come from google. It was from grossgeneralizations.com.

And of course, there is always the road from Christian Carnival #127, hosted by The Bible Archive. And if you're lost with the whole "robots made from five lions" theme, join the club. Some days I feel more out of touch than others.

And for some more great Summer reading, there is always Christian Carnival #126 at Nerd Family, Christian Carnival #125 at Random Acts of Verbiage, and Christian Carnival #124 at Parableman.

A fig

There are some days when I feel like the fig tree that Jesus cursed in Mark 11.

The next day as they were leaving Bethany, Jesus was hungry. Seeing in the distance a fig tree in leaf, he went to find out if it had any fruit. When he reached it, he found nothing but leaves, because it was not the season for figs. Then he said to the tree, "May no one ever eat fruit from you again." And his disciples heard him say it.

We labor as a church, often not very hard, and seemingly spend an eternity in "not the season for figs." And it gets discouraging. In a small church, it's easy to see the people who take their faith seriously and those who have other reasons for filling a pew on Sunday morning. I know there are people who are living as witnesses for Christ and some who are unafraid to speak out about "the hope they have" but it has been so long since fig season.

About three years ago, a woman showed up one Sunday. She had visited our church occasionally while growing up some twenty years earlier. She wanted to give her life to Christ, and I prayed with her, talked with her and assigned her a mature member to work with over the next two weeks. Two weeks later she had disappeared off the face of the earth, skipping meetings and finally moving from her apartment, leaving no forwarding address. The fig was probably made of wax.

It's been a long fruitless period. Members are maturing in their faith. We've reached out to a bunch of people in the name of Christ. But no fruit.

Yesterday my wife noticed a man walking around the outside of our church building just before donut time. "Get out there and see who it is, Pastor," she scolded me. She either thought this was a case someone so spiritually starved they couldn't make it to the doors or that someone was hiding outside, ready to bolt through the doors at offering time and escape with the plates.

When I found the man outside, he was sitting on a bench, looking at a Bible. It was beginning to rain, so I asked him to come in. He said the rain wasn't so bad -- that he was being washed anyway. But he came in and sat down to talk with me.

In the five or six years since his father had passed away, this man had experienced all sorts of pain... much of it his own fault. But over the past few months, he has been on the road back to God. Much of that progress has been accomplished with the help of one of our members. On Friday he accepted Christ. On Sunday he came out to join his friend at church. It was a fitting day to come back to church; Father's Day. It was losing his earthly father that had sent him spiraling into depression. It was finding his heavenly Father which has given him hope.

Finally, we have seen a fig.

There are so many more we've been watering and nurturing. Here's to hoping for an entire bushel in the near future!

It's so hard to be patient when you know how much is riding on each decision.

Old Hippie

He turned thirty-five last Sunday
In his hair he found some gray
But he still ain't changed his lifestyle
He likes it better the old way
So he grows a little garden in the back yard by the fence
He's consuming what he's
growing nowadays in self defense
He get's out there in the twilight zone
sometimes when it just don't make no sense

He gets off on country music
cause disco left him cold
He's got young friends into new wave
but he's just too d**n old
And he dreams at night of Woodstock
and the day John Lennon died
how the music made him happy
and the silence made him cry
Yea he thinks of John sometimes
and he has to wonder why

== Chorus ==

He's an old hippie
and he don't know what to do
should hang on to the old
should he grab on to the new
he's an old hippie
his new life is just a bust
he ain't trying to change nobody
he just trying real hard to adjust

That song came to mind today after spending an hour of conversation with someone I'd never met before. It's really not fair to call him an old hippie, but that's what he reminded me of, especially when I got my first look at him. Receding salt and pepper hair pulled back into a ponytail. Goatee. Tough, leathery skin. And a look in his eyes that seemed to convey many years of going against the grain of society. But he wasn't a leftover from a time of naive protest. He wasn't an idealist, trying to change the world. He wasn't a man who "tuned out" almost forty years ago. He was one of the most interesting people I've ever met.

I'll call him Mack, although the name doesn't seem to fit him. A more thoughtful moniker would be more apropos. But to keep things simple and confidential, Mack it shall be.

Talking with Mack would have made me take up blogging, even if I wasn't already doing it. He has a very reflective manner about him. Carrying on an intelligent conversation with him brings one to the point of self-reflection. My assignment was to interview Mack, but I took more away from the conversation than I ever imagined I would have.

Mack is the product of an abusive home. Things weren't good when his dad was home, so he started spending a lot of time in the woods beyond his backyard while growing up. He felt a real connection with God's creation, although I'm not sure Mack ever understood the "God" part of nature. The woods was his refuge and his comfort zone. He said that Show and Tell was always his best subject at school because he would bring in all of the cool things he'd find in the woods.

After struggling to pay for two years of college, Mack was offered a full-ride scholarship -- in drama. His mom had pushed him into the arts every chance she had, and Mack was pretty good at it. It wasn't his first love. Nature and the Great Outdoors still held that rank. But being offered a free education, Mack took it. After graduation he was moderately successful as a professional actor -- even doing some TV and movie work. But something wasn't right.

Somehow Mack found his way back to nature. He taught himself how to start a fire with sticks of wood and how to dress hides. He told me he's still trying to get back all the knowledge he had as a 4th grader. But he's a wealth of knowledge, and he's trying to pass it on to a world who doesn't seem to be interested in learning it.

He's turned to teaching about nature in a historical setting. Schools will bring him in to teach how Native Americans used to do things. But as Mack says, "It's not just Native Americans, it's how all of our ancestors used to do things." The old ways mean something to Mack. But in a world of Blackberries, pet spas and gated communities, nobody wants to listen.

I found Mack to be a very private person -- which made interviewing him rather tricky. He doesn't brag about having worked in the entertainment industry. People have known him for years without the slightest inkling of a show business background. He is also the direct opposite of materialistic. He admitted that he's a failure as a businessman, but that it really doesn't matter to him. He's not in it for the money.

Maybe it's that lack of greed in Mack that makes him stand out from the crowd. Perhaps it's the sad intensity that comes across as he recounts the road he's travelled. Whatever it is, Mack seems very genuine.

He's not a religious man, he told me. He had it and lost it, returned to it, then lost it again. But he calls himself "very spiritual" and I believe that. As a Christian, I saw in him what I would like to see in other Christians and even in myself -- only with a clearer understanding of the Divine. But it wasn't my job to hand him a Chick Tract or even engage in apologetic debate. It was my turn to listen and to learn from Mack's experience and wonder how he missed God in the process.

Mack is a little paranoid. He's into preparedness. You know, the "What do you do if..." kinda stuff. And I'd sure love to have him around if my county was nuked and I was trying to figure out how to build a shelter and cook whatever was lying around. But all the preparedness brings him back to his "home" -- the outdoors. Nature.

For three weeks in the summertime, Mack has the time of his life. He takes small groups of kids with troubled backgrounds and teaches them about what he loves. While no one else around will listen, these kids connect with him. Mack looks into the eyes of an eleven year-old boy with a horrible home life, and the two connect in a way nobody else can even understand. Without even giving details, the two understand. Mack says he sees hope in kids' eyes. He shows youth that there is more to this life than the trouble that kid has at home. I saw the end of one of those sessions today. He really reaches kids.

The preacher in me sees evangelism methods in the way Mack reaches the lost. Mack sees it as reaching the ones whom society has given up on and who may well have given up on themselves. Mack gives them earthly hope, not eternal hope. But somehow the hope he gives is strangely similar to the realization that we are loved by God.

Mack said that he is into what is real, not what is unreal. To him, that means that the falseness of materialism and greed and fame and glamour isn't worth the time we devote to it. What Mack calls real is nature. The stuff that has been there for years and years and will be around for years and years after we've gone. Although he's not coming from a Christian perspective, the Church -- and by that I mean all Christians -- should be a little closer to Mack's point of view. Is a worship service only to be held in a building with padded seats and air-conditioning? As I sat on a bench beneath some shady trees on a summer day, speaking with a man with little regard for Christianity... I could sense God's presence. I could picture Jesus laughing with drunks and hookers. I could hear Him telling the Twelve, "How difficult it is for a rich man to enter the Kingdom." I could imagine a choir of Jewish children singing,

"When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him?"

I sometimes feel that I spend a lot of time teaching people who do not care to learn and talking to people who do not care to listen. Mack feels that way too. Kindred spirits, we are. He, a old hippie-looking naturalist in the midst of an unnatural culture. I, a struggling God-pleaser in the midst of self-pleasing culture.

Thought Provoking

Over the past few weeks, my time to read other blogs has dried up to near nothing. For that I apologize. I am poorer for not being able to read all from those on my blogroll and those who I'll be adding to my blogroll in the next couple of weeks.

But in my short periods of "blog-readin' time" I stumbled across two posts which merit your attention. They aren't really long posts and they don't use too many big words, so don't start with your excuses!

The first is a modern-day parable of sorts from Catez at Allthings2all. It's the story of a pre-Christian woman and her experiences with a Christian and a non-Christian. It's called, The Merciful Stripper. Read it yourself. I don't want to spoil it for you.

The other post is from Steve at the recently-renamed Random Pokes (formerly "whatever").
Steve tosses around the idea that we guard our privacy and value our own property so much that we end up spending more money on "meeting places" and less time on true hospitality. It's all in the post, Can't See the Neighbors for the Trees. And when you turn the idea over and over in your head a few times like I have, you start to see the connection between the Christian's actions in Catez's parable and the behavior that Steve points out.

See if you don't agree.

Mosquito

It was the first one of the season. Granted, it's not a part of the season that I especially look forward to, but I have simply grown to accept it.

As I was walking from the van to our kitchen door Sunday night, I saw it. It flew at me with a singular purpose. Like a piranha attacking a chunk of meat dropped in the water or parched desert hiker charging for an oasis, it came at me. And landed on my right forearm. I quickly smacked it with my left hand and flicked the carcass away with my forefinger. The season's first mosquito.

I hate mosquitos. Many a night I've wondered aloud to God why he came up with such a creature and asked quietly what they could have been like before the earth was cursed by sin. Bloodsuckers. That's all they are. Well, toss in "disease-spreaders" and that pretty much completes the resume. But I've never had much luck second-guessing the Almighty on affairs like this, so generally I file such thoughts away under "Questions For God's Spare Time" and forget about it.

But it's been awhile since I've seen anything come at me in such a ravenous fashion. Once in a while, after a long day away, my 4 year-old daughter will come running up to give me a hug, knocking us both over in the process. But there isn't the "hungriness" that this tiny insect had in the squeeze of a small child. On the other hand, there is no love shown in the charge of a blood-starved mosquito.

Somewhere in between, or perhaps more as a combination of both, is where I want my spiritual life to be. I want to feel so deprived of spiritual nourishment that I all but attack my Bible when study time comes. By the same token I want to come rushing up to my Heavenly Father, aching with so much love, that I cannot wait to feel His loving arms around me.

It's interesting that if I stay away from Him for any length of time, the spiritual malnutrition doesn't intensify my loving feelings -- it only urges me to stay far away and fend for myself. The taste of freedom brings up a desire for more freedom. I can easily find myself wandering farther away until something or Someone shakes me back to reality. I cannot manufacture the moment of wrapping my arms around my Creator or of a renewed feast upon His holy Word. It must come naturally... like a mosquito coming for food. Or like a child charging into the arms of a loving Father.

Content in Our Tents

I'm not a morning person. Never have been. It's not that I don't like mornings, it's just that I wish they didn't come so early in the day!

So when I had to roll out of bed on a Saturday for a 7:00 a.m. meeting, it was tough rolling. The inside of the sheets felt much cozier than the outside of the blankets. Add to that the thought of sitting through a (snore) business meeting, and my body wanted no part of the outside world. I was perfectly content to lay there with my wife waiting for her alarm to go off in another hour and a half. But being at the meeting was part of my job, my responsibility. So with heavy heart and even heavier eyelids, I managed to drag myself out of bed and downstairs to get dressed.

I've been studying David over the past couple of months. Great guy, that David. Well, most of the time. Still there are so many inspiring examples we can glean from the life of the shepherd boy-turned-king. The one passage that seems to get everyone's attention is his battle with Goliath. Not many biblical references have been turned into sports cliches, but the old David vs. Goliath metaphor is not only used, but has racked up too many miles.

In all the verses about armor and slings and giant heads, one detail hides from us. He hides from us in his tent. You see, for 40 days Goliath, the Philistine champion challenged the Israelites to send out their champion for a one-on-one battle. Who was the Israelite champion? We're not told of any champion. The only person we are told about is the king who stands head and shoulders above the rest of the men. Saul. It was Saul's fight. And where was Saul when Goliath was out trash-talking every morning and every evening? You got it. Hiding in his tent. Not wanting to go into battle.

I've read 1 Samuel 17 about a ka-jillion times, but never was I as stuck by the visual image of a cowering King Saul as I was this time through. As the Philistine champion's voice rang throughout the valley, Saul was walking around with his fingers in his ears, afraid to come out of his tent. He knew something had to be done, but if he stayed in his tent maybe, just maybe, Goliath would get tired of the game and go away. The tent became Saul's refuge and friend. Venturing out would mean that he might have to do something. Had David not bailed Saul out, there's no telling how long Saul would have remained content in his tent.

But how can I come down hard on Saul? What idiot would want to go out and be destroyed by a 9-foot, 9-inch monster? Oh, sure, there's David... but who else?

Of course David saw the battle as something completely different than Saul was seeing. David saw a victory with the power of the Almighty. Saul saw a crushing defeat with an army of Israelites.

There are many times when I look and see no chance to overcome a challenge. I can see instant defeat. I can imagine no earthly hope. And so I try to elude the battle entirely. I hide in my tent until I realize that the battle is exactly what I have been called to fight.

I see many churches as well, content in their tent, er... sanctuaries, avoiding all challenges that Christ has put before them.
Evangelism? "EEK!"
Putting God before ourselves? "DOUBLE EEK!"
Abandoning traditions which don't honor God? "Let's put our fingers in our ears and sing, 'Give me that old time religion, it's good enough for me'!"

How many Christians and how many churches are sitting today, content in their tents, hoping that the battle to which they have been called will simply go away?

Ladies Man

It has been brought to my attention that I'm something of a ladies man. Well, perhaps I should rephrase that. Let's just say that I will boldly go where other men don't usually go.

Carol from She Lives mentioned that I'm the only male who joins in the conversation at her blog. I suppose that's a badge of honor. Right? But then I often find myself more interested in the conversation among groups of females than the huddles of men. It seems like the ladies talk about people and real life more often than the men do.

Don't get me wrong. I'll stand and discuss sports with the guys all afternoon long, especially during football season and IndyCar season. Even the handle "rev-ed" is a play on the word "revved" -- a racing reference I assumed when I first gained Internet access. A big chunk of my on-line time is spent talking sports with men. So it's not that I am not interested in the things guys talk about, but I'm not put off by the gals' talk.

Each group has it's conversations that I don't really care much about. Although I love racing, I really get bored listening to the story of how ol' Pete dropped a new V6 into the old Road Runner after he pulled the tranny to fix a couple of blown seals. By the same token, any discussion of window treatments, panty hose, hair coloring or laundry problems will usually inspire more glaze over my eyes than you'll find at the local Krispee-Kreme.

Still I'll usually hear more about personal struggles and family concerns from women than from men. That's natural, I suppose, for the male who is taught to be strong and "keep that stuff to yourself". And maybe it's just the pastor's heart within me that draws me to "real life" talk. I don't mean personal gossip or anything like that, but concerns for a person's well-being and spiritual questions and things which really make someone happy. That inspires me, challenges me, and helps me to be a better pastor.

Of course as a pastor, I must have a mighty broad (no offense, ladies) field of knowledge. You see, I get to hear about everyone's medical issues in all their gory detail. In my neck of the woods, I have to know a bit about farming and animals and gardens and rainfall totals and weather patterns and the guy who used to live down the road but moved into town so that his sister could take over the home place but then moved out by the old elevator over behind where the old gas station used to be. Needless to say, it's hard keeping up with all that! Where was I?

Oh yeah, men and women. A quick survey of my badly-needing-to-be-revised blogroll shows that among My Daily Routine and the Walking the Walk sections, the blogs are about 50/50 male and female. I guess that's a good balance. The Big Shots and the more pastorly blogs are predominantly male, probably because there are more big shot male bloggers and male pastors.

Anyway, if I assume I'm normal (a real danger in itself) then I ask myself what is the problem with all the other guys? Have they been forced to endure too many recipe conversations? Have they found themselves trapped in too many fashion faux pas discussions? Well there is that possibility. I've been there too, brothers.

But I think what stands out to me is that our Creator has a plan for everyone. He made us male and female. Our gender tends to help determine our interests and personality just as our culture and upbringing does. Beyond our gender differences there are more differences until we come down to the point where we realize that we are all individuals with individual interests and individual personalities and individual temperaments and individual talents. All that should be obvious to us.

Still even with our individuality, we are social animals. We interact with one another, often having to reach beyond our own interests to maintain friendships and conversation. Even more, our interaction is part of the love we show to others -- whether part of the body of Christ or not.

I'm proud to be a ladies man, so to speak. And a man's man. Because I find that I learn a little something from everyone. The Lord uses most everybody to beat something into my brain, or at least to make me more understanding of other people and their needs and struggles, their joys and loves.

"Lord, continue to use each person you bring into my life to conform me more and more to Your image."

Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen

In this life I've seen everything I can see woman,
I've seen lovers flying through the air hand in hand
I've seen babies dancing in the midnight sun,
And I've seen dreams that came from the heavenly skies from above
I've seen old men crying at their own grave sides
And I've seen pigs all sitting watching, picture slides
But I never seen nothin' like you.
Do Ya - Electric Light Orchestra

I see trees of green, red roses too.
I see them bloom for me and you,
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white.
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night,
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by,
I see friends shaking hands, saying, "How do you do?"
They're really saying, "I love you."

I hear babies cry, I watch them grow,
They'll learn much more, than I'll ever know.
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
Oh yeah
What a Wonderful World - Louis Armstrong

Over the past two months I've seen some mighty intriguing things. Nothing as odd as babies dancing in the midnight sun or old men crying at their own grave sides, but I've found them interesting.

I've watched an old man attempt to preach the gospel over a public address speaker in his Chevy to a crowd who was only annoyed by his presence. I'm a big fan of persistence, but I'm not a big fan of screaming Bible verses at people who don't care what the Bible says. Find another way to share, brother.

I've looked out the windows of a country club onto a perfectly manicured golf course. There I saw a golden retriever and a boxer have a swim in the water hazard and go tearing across a few sand traps. None of the country club members saw the canines marring the course. I stood quietly with a smirk on my face.

I've seen a woman fighting cancer. Each time she thinks a battle is won, another battle begins. Yet her faith remains strong that the One who sustains her will also save her -- whether on earth or in heaven.

I've noticed many who are still living with grief over the loss of a friend or family member. Whenever that loved one comes to mind, something in the voice will get either quiet and melacholy or harsh and bitter.

I've gazed into the eyes of angry taxpayers, furious that a project had gone many millions of dollars over budget. And I've seen politicians tell me something that I knew at the time was completely untrue.

I've watched a young man all but confess to killing another man over a wad of cash. He made his plea while his family called to him, "Don't admit to nothin'," and "They can't prove you did it." They thought he should accept no responsibility for his actions. One of the family members even muttered under her breath, "At least he still has 24 hours to change his mind," as if accepting his punishment was a huge mistake. In watching those people, I was reminded that there are far too many times we refuse to take responsibility for what we do.

I've seen community pride as a new public building was opened and dedicated.

I've seen patriotic pride in the eyes of a veteran on Memorial Day.

I've seen selfish pride in the attitude of a group of young women who thought too much of themselves.

I've seen human pride in the attitude of someone placed in a position of authority.

Finally, I've seen Christian pride among a group of believers gathered to call out to their God and to call attention to their faith.

And I think to myself, "It's not always that wonderful of a world, is it?" But the next one sure will be.

God Plans Ahead

Weird. That's the word that keep coming to mind when I try to describe how I feel tonight.

I don't like missing worship services on Sunday -- especially as pastor. Last Sunday I was on vacation (a 24-hour vacation, but a vacation nonetheless) and so was not in church. Whenever that happens I just don't feel right. I need that corporate worship time. Like my cell phone beeping for a recharge, I've been spiritually dragging all week. But I knew that Sunday was coming, and I prepared my sermon and the whole service to honor God.

At our church, we have Sunday School, then coffee and donut time, followed by worship. But this morning at the end of Sunday School, a sweet old lady came mighty close to a diabetic coma. Her class is held in the sanctuary, so she sat in her pew only minimally conscious. Larry and June came in and noticed that Hattie wasn't looking right. When I looked, they were right -- Hattie looked wrong. The lady knew what it was immediately -- very low blood sugar. Hattie is a diabetic and so is Larry, so June knew what she was up against.

We tried to communicate with Hattie, but she was slipping in and out. June told Larry to go get their daughter Donna because Donna was trained for this type of job. On top of that Donna had brought her dad, Larry, out of similar states a couple of times.

Donna managed to get a cup of orange juice and a cup and a half of root beer down Hattie and after 15-20 minutes Hattie started to perk up again. In the meantime we called 9-1-1 and they managed to get to the church just as Hattie started looking normal again. Eventually they took her to the hospital to check her out (She was fine by then). The ambulance pulled out of the church parking lot at exactly the scheduled halfway point of the service.

So I had a 60-70 minute service and just over 30 minutes before everyone was planning on leaving. Right before we began, the pianist walked up to me and asked, "Well, what now?"

"Beats me," I answered. "We'll just let the Spirit lead."

For many that answer is trite. It's a "Christianism" to throw people off the trail so they won't find out that the order of service is written in granite. Today it was no "Christianism."

We started with prayer and testimonies. The Lord was leading many of us this morning. One of the testimonies became the "text" for my 4-minute sermon. We sang. But most of all we rejoiced in our shared experience. Hattie is loved by everyone, and her experience really brought us together.

So we had about 35 minutes worth of "church" this morning. And it feels partially unfulfilling. Maybe it's because I've got a great sermon that's going to sit on the shelf for another week. Or maybe it's because it wasn't a tidy service with all the loose ends tied up in a pretty bow. I'm not really sure.

But we really didn't have just half a service today. All that happened glorified God. And we saw His involvement. You see, Larry and June were planning on being at their lake cottage this weekend -- two hours away. They stayed home and were in the church only because Larry had a bad toothache and couldn't see a dentist until Monday morning. If June hadn't noticed what was happening with Hattie and knew what to do, things would have been much worse. Their daughter Donna has an odd work schedule and can't be at church three out of every four Sundays. This Sunday she was at church -- the person who had the knowledge, the training and experience for just such a sitaution.

The skeptic and the cynic would simply attribute all of this to coincidence and move on. But I know better. I know that God plans ahead.

The Emotional Rollercoaster

I don't know how much publicity this story has received outside of the local area, but it sure tugs on the old heartstrings.

I won't attempt to tell the whole story, but here is the condensed version. On April 26 a semi crossed the median of an Interstate highway and hit a Taylor University van. Taylor is a small Christian college in northeastern Indiana. The reports came out that 4 students and one staff member were killed in the crash.

Listed among the dead was 18 year old Whitney Cerak (right). Badly injured was 22 year old Laura VanRyn (left).

The dead were mourned and buried. The university awarded them posthumous diplomas. VanRyn's family stayed by Laura's bedside as she finally awoke from her coma and began to interact slowly with those around here. Laura's sister began a blog to share Laura's progress with hundreds of friends, classmates and well-wishers.

The blog reads like many similar journals kept to inform friends and family during a long illness. Laura began to make noises and eventually form a few words. At one point she was handed pen and paper and asked to write her name. This is taken from the post from Lisa VanRyn on Wednesday -- about 36 hours prior to the time I type this:

What may come to us as a shock, does not shock the One who made us. We have some hard news to share with you today. Our hearts are aching as we have learned that the young woman we have been taking care of over the past five weeks has not been our dear Laura, but instead a fellow Taylor student of hers, Whitney Cerak. There was a misidentification made at the time of the accident and it is uncanny the resemblence that these two women share. Their body types are similar, their hair color and texture, their facial features, etc. Over the past couple of days, as Whitney had been becoming more aware of her surroundings, she'd been saying and doing some things that made us question whether or not she was Laura. Yesterday, we talked with a Spectrum staff member and began the process of making a positive ID. We now know without a doubt, that this is Whitney.

The family who thought they had lost a daughter experienced the joy of seeing her back again almost five weeks after they had laid her to rest. The other family who had kept a vigil at bedside found that their daughter was long gone.

In one family I see the amazing rebirth and the words of the parable ring through my mind: "We had to celebrate and be glad. For he was dead and is alive again. He was lost and is now found."

Then I feel the gutwrenching heartache of the VanRyns, who have gone from watching their daughter making good progress to realizing that she has been dead for five weeks.

The latest post on the blog is from Carly Cerak, Whitney's sister. It has only been posted for two hours and already there are 70+ comments. Here is the heart of that post:

I couldn't get this verse out of my head as we drove down to Grand Rapids. I did not believe my sister was in the hospital; I thought for sure this was a mistake. When I walked into the hospital room I was shocked and overcome with joy. Soon after we saw Whitney, our family met with the Van Ryns and our joy for ourselves was pushed aside by the pain we felt for them. It is hard because our joy is their pain. The Van Ryns have been amazing to Whitney and we are privileged that if under any care besides ours that she was under their great care. However, we know the pain they now feel all too well and our hearts break with them. There is a deep connection that has been made between our families and together we look to God as we walk through this.

The heartening thing about each of these families is the faith they have shown in their own circumstances. There is every reason for bitterness from the VanRyns, but that is not what they have shown. One would expect the Ceraks to be unconcerned for the VanRyns, but that's not the case. Their own joy is tempered with acknowledging the hurt that is present in their own happiness.

God is our God in good times and in bad times. Perhaps there is no better example than this ride with two families on an emotional rollercoaster of life and death.

Please remember these families in your prayers.

The Return of How To Get Here

And you thought there were no new ways to get to Attention Span... how foolish of you! Just look at the new routes to Attention Span!

The Extended Attention Span Training System - My new 6 week course being offered one week a year for the next quadrennium. (Let's see how extended everyone's attention span is on this one.)

gilligan's island hybels - Not Gilligan, but maybe the Professor...


bill hybels and aunt edna hell - Not Aunt Edna, but what about Dame Edna?
Hell is a whole 'nother topic.


are rutabegas good for you - What were those four basic food groups again? Grain... milk... sugar... brussel sprouts... Nope. Rutabegas will kill you. It's official.

does jimmy buffett still slobber - If he doesn't, it's gotta be hard swallowing a cheeseburger in paradise.

nude in Egypt - It's a small village just down the road from Cairo. Lots of tourists, but they never visit more than once.

the secret to being a good dunker - Use a big cup and not too much glaze on the donut.

legs april indianapolis flat tire blood - Sounds like a bad experience with a tow truck, doesn't it?

free question and answer on pastor or preacher - ORDER TODAY!! WITH EVERY PASTOR OR PREACHER WE SELL, YOU GET A FREE QUESTION. BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE! WE'LL THROW IN, ABSOLUTELY FREE, A FREE ANSWER! NOW HOW MUCH WOULD YOU PAY??

lyrics from songs i sang with pastor ed at the all star week - Well, I did some things during all star week I now regret. And what happens in Vegas is supposed to stay in Vegas. But since we really knocked 'em dead during the big variety show, here's what we sang:
Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl
with yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there
she would merengue and do the cha-cha
and while she tried to be a star
Tony always tended bar
across the crowded floor, they worked from 8 til 4
they were young and they had each other
who could ask for more?
At the copa (CO!) Copacabana (Copacabana)
the hottest spot north of Havana (here)
at the copa (CO!) Copacabana
music and passion were always in fashion
At the copa....

Also, always in fashion, is the road to Attention Span coming from the Christian Carnival, which was posted this past week at Wittenburg Gate.

Timing

It was a pretty warm day. A Saturday. Temperatures in the mid-80's. Perhaps why it seemed so different was that it was the first day of the year in the mid-80's. We had been spoiled (or overcome) by cooler weather all spring, and Saturday the heat broke loose.

The family had all had some projects they finished up outside. It was time to come in and get our inside things done. I was on the old workhorse computer in the basement, readying materials for church. My wife was seated at the "good" computer in the living room while the kids were relaxing in front of the television, trying to cool off after playing outside all morning.

Then around 4:00, it happened. The power went out. Mind you, this was hardly the first time we've lost our electricity in the house. But it's the first time I can remember losing the power in the middle of the day with no thunderstorms anywhere around the area.

What was remarkable was that we all seemed lost without the electricity. I scraped together pieces of what I had been printing for church and took them over to the office (where electricity was fully operational). When I returned home an hour later, the house, and everyone therein, was sleeping. One on the couch, two on the floor, the other in an upstairs bedroom.

"What a waste!" I thought. "It's a great day outside." It was a great day. Sure it was warm, but there was a steady cool breeze blowing. I decided not to wake anyone and went upstairs to read. "They'd surely never make it as Amish!" I snickered to myself.

As I laid on the bed, re-reading Philip Yancey's "The Jesus I Never Knew," the breeze blew through the window screen. As my eyes began to grow tired, I set the book aside for a few minutes and thought about just how comfortable I was and how unlikely it usually is for me to be comfortable during a power outage. Usually I'm watching for storms, checking the sump pump in the basement, lighting candles so that I can see. But on this Saturday, none of that was necessary. There was no storm, no water needing pumped and no darkness in the middle of the afternoon. "What a great time for the power to go out!" I concluded.

Around the neighborhood, others had differing opinions about the timing of this outage. Saturday was high school graduation and there were a handful of graduation parties lacking any way to heat food, or cool guests. As the hours passed with no resumption of power in sight, these neighbors didn't think it was such a great time for the power to go out. And putting myself in their shoes, I can't say I blame them for their anger. By the time the lights came on, almost six hours later, we needed lights, and the parties had already broken up.

Isn't it odd that what God thinks is perfect timing for our lives is often considered by us to be the worst possible time for anything to happen? "Lord, why did I have to crash the car today? Couldn't you have done something so the other driver would have seen me coming?"

The truth is, there is never a good time for disaster in our opinion. Or consequences of our own actions. And because we can't find a good time or reason for the bad things that happen, we blame God, all the time not realizing that God thinks the timing is just fine. You see, He can use all those bad times, even when all we see is disastrous timing.

Like me, lying on my bed with a cool breeze and a good book in hand thinking about this being a great time for a power outage, God's timing isn't always popular. Somehow in our minds we get the idea that we know better than God. That God should take our advice on timing things out.

Idiots, aren't we?

"Lord, help me remember that You are God, and not I. Even when I don't understand Your timing, remind me that You make all things work for my good -- in Your own time."

Homework

I haven't really commented on the Da Vinci Code here at Attention Span. For one reason, I really haven't been around much to do any extraneous blogging. But secondly, there isn't much I could add to the 14 ka-jillion posts on DVC around the blogosphere. But it's amazing how subjects come together.

The "What is Christianity?" debate on the comments of my post, Fakin' It, tie in incredibly well with two posts at Al Mohler's blog written earlier this week. They each deal with DVC and Gnosticism. Understand that the Gnostics were branded as heretics by the early church and that they believed there was "secret knowledge" about God that we had to seek out which is key to our salvation.

The first post is called "Da Vinci Christianity" and deals with the use of the terms "Christian" and "Christianity".

The second deals with the same idea through DVC and also the Left Behind books. In The Danger of Gnosticism -- And it's Attraction, Mohler discusses the idea that the Church has the wrong idea about Christianity and that the truth is somewhere else.

I'll probably expound on these ideas next week, as time allows.

And while you're at Dr. Mohler's blog, scroll down. He also picks apart a Brian McLaren interview on the subject and offers facts in response to DVC claims.

A Walking Metaphor

"A walking metaphor," I thought to myself.

I had noticed her as she drove into the gas station. She pulled up to the pumps across from me with her head slightly askew. As she stepped from her car I could see why her head was situated the way it was. She was holding her cell phone between her ear and her shoulder and was carrying on a conversation with someone. At least I think she was. I really don't remember her saying anything. She was a mildly attractive young woman in her early twenties, or as attractive as a person with a phone stuck to her head could be. A pleasant smile was on her face, but there was a distracted look in her eyes.

I went about my business of pumping a few hundred dollars worth of unleaded in the ol' pickup and headed inside to pay. When I got inside, I noticed that she had finished pumping gas and in the process of paying at the counter. She was hunched over her purse, digging for spare change in the crevices near the bottom. I still didn't hear her speak, but I did see that the cell phone was still trapped there on her shoulder as if she had some sort of superglue accident. Eventually she found the nickel she was seeking, gave it to the cashier, and turned toward the door -- her head still tilted to one side.

I watched her as she walked back to her car, got in, and drove away. The phone never left its spot, nestled near her cheek behind a layer of light brown hair.

A walking metaphor.

That young lady, who surely must have a hands-free device on her birthday list somewhere, seemed to be lost in her own little world on the other end of that phone connection. Whoever was there seemed to keep her attention. Yet she was in the midst of driving, pumping gas and paying a cashier with only a minimum acknowledgement that anything existed beyond that phone conversation.

In a way, that's a great picture of some Christian walks I've seen. The connection with Christ is at full strength, influencing everything in life. Faith is a lifeline, just as that phone call seemed to be for the lady at the gas station. And that is fantastic. Except...

I've worked in retail and have tried to communicate with someone who can't seem to be torn away from a cell phone call. Let me tell you, not much will make me feel more disrespected and worthless than for someone to treat me like I was some kind of vending machine instead of a living, breathing human being. The caller seems to be telling me that even though I'm trying to communicate something important, I'm not worth a pause in her conversation. I don't know how the cashier at the gas station felt, but I would have been offended by the phone girl's rude behavior.

I often ask myself if I treat other people as Jesus would. OK, sure, maybe it's the old WWJD question, but I think it's appropriate if it makes me consider my own behavior. In doing my job or running errands or whatever I'm doing, do I treat people like I would like to be treated?

Taking it the next step further, do I, as a Christian, ignore those outside of my faith? Am I, like the cell phone girl, too caught up in my own faith that I look right past those who need what I have?

People used to use the phrase, "Too heavenly-minded to be of any earthly good". And while it's hard to envision a way that I could be too heavenly-minded, the walking metaphor of the girl on the cell phone brought it home. How many times have I acted superior to those people gathered on the street corner or huddled together outside a building smoking? How often has my own attitude gone from shaking my head at someone's poor decisions to utter disgust at that person?

"Lord, help me to see people as you see them. I don't want to be so lost in You that I don't try to get others in on our conversation."

Fakin' It

Back in my school days, I played the trombone. I wasn't a virtuoso or anything, but I was decent. The guy who sat next to me I'll call Roger. Now it could well be that Roger was a decent trombone player too, but I didn't see much evidence of it.

For you non-trombonists, the slide of the trombone has seven positions depending upon how far out it is slid... or slided... or slud. Whatever. Anyway, if you watch a group of trombonists playing the same melody, the slides moved in unison. It is almost like a dance. Or a one-handed macarena.

Roger usually faked playing the trombone. For years he sat beside me with one eye on the position of my slide. Think of a game of "mirror" trying to do what the other person does. Now think of it going on in every band situation for six years. I would place my slide in the third position and Roger would slide his slide somewhere near third position about a half second afterward. Then I would fully extend my slide and see Roger following suit shortly thereafter.

It really got annoying at times. I'll admit there were times I pretended to play and just moved my slide around to watch ol' Roger copy me. There were also times I was more "Christian" and simply urged Roger to stop watching me and to try his best to keep up with the music. Nothing ever worked. Eventually, Roger quit band, ending six years of fakin' it.

I was reminded of Roger last week at my son's music concert. One of the bands had a "Roger" in the trombone section. He wasn't just playing harmony. He was about a half second behind through all three songs. Just fakin' it. And I was reminded of the guy who tried to fake his way through six years of tromboning.

It's kind of obvious that there are people who fake Christianity too. Learn the expressions. Join the cool church. Carry a Bible. Talk about praying. But never actually selling out to Christ.

On Dan Brown's (of DaVinci Code fame) website, Brown answers the question, "Are you a Christian?"

Yes. Interestingly, if you ask three people what it means to be Christian, you will get three different answers. Some feel being baptized is sufficient. Others feel you must accept the Bible as absolute historical fact. Still others require a belief that all those who do not accept Christ as their personal savior are doomed to hell. Faith is a continuum, and we each fall on that line where we may. By attempting to rigidly classify ethereal concepts like faith, we end up debating semantics to the point where we entirely miss the obvious--that is, that we are all trying to decipher life's big mysteries, and we're each following our own paths of enlightenment. I consider myself a student of many religions. The more I learn, the more questions I have. For me, the spiritual quest will be a life-long work in progress.

So let me get this straight, Dan... you're a Christian, but also a student of many religions?

I've heard that kind of talk before from people who are fakin' it. Most of us have met them. They take enough of Jesus to call themselves Christian, but dilute it with gallon after gallon of New Age or Islam or Kaballah or whatever the Spirituality of the Month is today.

But the thing is, most of these fakers have convinced themselves they're for real.

I really wish Roger would have just gone back and studied the trombone and practiced so he didn't have to try to mirror my actions. But more than that, I wish those who are faking a Christian walk and pretending to have a relationship with Jesus would go back to the Book and deal with who Jesus really is.

We hate giving up our own preconceived ideas... our notions of how God should be and how He should do things. But if we blend in enough Christian stuff, maybe no one will notice.

But to God, it's obvious picking out the fakers. It's like seeing the trombonist moving out of sequence. Those folks stick out to me. God notices the spiritual fakes even more easily. And He judges by one standard -- are you trusting Christ to save you or are you trying to trust yourself?

Fakin' it won't get it done.

Two Places at One Time

Yes, it's a new post! Finally. Taking on a new job has done strange things to my daily routine. I'm just not in front of the computer much right now. It probably has a little to do with warmer weather and a lawn which continually needs mowed. I've started a few posts, but I don't seem to get the time to finish them. It's a shame I can't blog and mow at the same time.

I actually sat down to watch some television last week. Anymore that's a rare occurrence and I probably shouldn't have made time for it, but that's water under the bridge now. My wife wanted to watch er. We used to watch that show faithfully, it's not much fun anymore. Ron, of Northern 'Burbs fame, suggested that the show had jumped the shark, but I think it's been steadily walking across the shark's back for a few years now.

Anyway, since I knew one of the er characters was going to die on that show, my morbid curiosity got the best of me. Well, it wasn't just that. It's just nice to sit on the couch with my wife for a while since we've only been communicating electronically during waking hours lately. It'll be nice when her job cuts back to part time again in a couple of weeks.

But I digress...

On that episode, amongst all the nonsense that has become a part of most prime time television, was one line that struck a familiar chord for me. The character who was killed was a doctor in Iraq. His wife had been given the news about his death and somewhere in the grieving process she offhandedly said something like, "I was probably watching Celebrity Poker on TV when he died." And I realized that I had pondered that same feeling before. Maybe it's natural for us to think about things like that. Like while something earth- shattering is happening somewhere else, I was doing something completely trivial. When the first plane hit the World Trade Center, I was eating a donut. Why should that matter? I don't think I could have prevented the plane from hitting by being more vigilant. Unless of course I would have had a couple of 44 caliber donuts pointed at the cockpit door. But that's just foolishness.

There is a feature I love on my Sirius satellite radio. Of the seventy or eighty music stations on the bird, you can only listen to one station at a time, but my receiver has a feature which allows me to store up to twenty songs in memory. Then when any of the music stations is getting ready to play that song but I'm listening to a different station, the radio will beep a warning and the display will tell me which of those songs in memory is going to be played. Then I just have to hit one button and the station is changed just in time to hear the song.

Let's say for some reason that one of my songs in memory is Copacabana by Barry Manilow. (The reason would have to be demonic possession, as I can't think of another possible reason to store that piece of music!) But if I'm listening to a Jimmy Buffet concert on the Jimmy Buffet station when Copacabana is played on the 70's station, I'll get a beeping warning in time to allow me to hit the magic button so that I can hear each golden note of the music and passion, which is always in fashion at the Copa. Granted, I'd miss that part of the Jimmy Buffet channel, but it's almost like being in two places at the same time.

A lot of times it's very tempting to try to live in two worlds at the same time. In a way we have to. We are called to be in the world, not of the world, as countless preachers have said. But we're supposed to stick out... to be different. It's a much easier road to be "one of the guys" at work -- making rude comments about co-workers or the boss, gossipping, telling and laughing at dirty jokes, using profanity and the like. But that's not what we're called to be.

As Christians, we're called to be possible targets for other people's humor. We are to be different. We're the ones who are actually supposed to love and care about the lady who wears too much make-up and the guy with the body odor problem. We're not supposed to be preaching, "You people are horrible!" to the assembly clustered around the water cooler, but we are to live by example. Instead, we often take the easy way out and do what we cannot do in real life -- try to live in both worlds.

The thing is, we really can't live in both worlds faithfully. It's like when I try to listen to two music channels at the same time. I cannot do it. The best I can do is to get snippets of each song, ending up with only a fraction of each. It's the same deal in the Christian walk. If we try to spend 9 to 5 in one world and 5 to 9 in the other, we're shortchanging Christ. He wants all of us, not just the parts when "the girls from work" are around. And we can't try to live as part of two worlds at one time.

If I had a dollar for each person I have met who tries to compartmentalize their Christian time and their secular time, I'd have enough cash that I wouldn't be getting up to go to work right now. But I've met enough. And many more.

"Lord, give me strength not to treat you as a part-time Savior and a part-time Lord."