I was walking across a bridge one day, and I saw a man standing on the edge, about to jump off. So I ran over and said "Stop! don't do it!"
"Why shouldn't I?" he said. I said,
"Well, there's so much to live for!"
He said, "Like what?"
I said, "Well...are you religious or atheist?"
He said, "Religious."
I said, "Me too! Are you christian or buddhist?"
He said, "Christian."
I said, "Me too! Are you catholic or protestant?"
He said, "Protestant."
I said, "Me too! Are you episcopalian or baptist?"
He said, "Baptist!"
I said,"Wow! Me too! Are you baptist church of god or baptist church of the lord?"
He said, "Baptist church of god!"
I said, "Me too! Are you original baptist church of god, or are you reformed baptist church of god?"
He said,"Reformed Baptist church of god!"
I said, "Me too! Are you reformed baptist church of god, reformation of 1879, or reformed baptist church of god, reformation of 1915?"
He said, "Reformed baptist church of god, reformation of 1915!"
I said, "Die, heretic scum", and pushed him off. -- Emo Phillips
I was just called a heretic tonight over something I wrote at my Bible study blog a few months ago. Apparently I wasn't Calvinist enough. The commenter has something like 15 blogs, all taking on one heresy or another. One was entitled, Arminian Heresy, and once I saw that I didn't worry too much about what he thought.
Not that there is no such thing as heresy. Another of his blogs was about the heresies of the Watchtower Organization. Another was about Mormonism. But it seemed that, like Emo above, he wanted every last belief to be exactly as he saw it... or else.
I think there are some essential beliefs, but there are also doctrines that really don't qualify as "dealbreakers" so far as I can see. I may believe in 5-point Calvinism or 0-point Calvinism or Calvinism by a field goal on Monday Night Football, but it seems to me that crying heresy because someone else doesn't match all five TULIP points is a bit over the top.
My denomination is one of the few that doesn't draw a lot of doctrinal lines past the basics. I really like that. I have my own opinions about baptism, but if a brother has a different belief, I'm not out to push him off a bridge, yelling, "Die, heretic scum!" For that matter, I'm not about to push a Jehovah's Witness off that bridge with the same shout either, yet I cannot consider his beliefs to be either correct or orthodox.
Of course the trend lately in the church is to go the other way... to whittle down the list of essentials to the point where it's basically just using the term "God" and everything is OK. I think that's foolish nonsense, but by the same token I'm not about to disassociate someone based on doctrinal beliefs. I'm not going to compromise my own understanding either, but it's the anti-Christ-like (if you'll pardon the expression) shout of "HERESY!" which really makes me feel sad for those who settle on one understand without thinking that God can be much more than we can take in.
All the commenter said was "HERESY!" No explanation of what or why or where or when or any other word starting with a "w". No, "Come let us reason together" or anything like it. Just a war whoop and a condemnation hurled over the wall.
I think most people I deal with understand what I believe and why. I think most also realize that I'm not going to push them off a bridge due to denominational differences. But they know that I'm open to talking about all those matters.
At least I think that's what they understand.
"Lord, help me to stand for you in an uncompromising way, yet still show the love as You showed it."
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Revisiting... Walking Through the Graveyard
I was thinking about this post and decided to "dig it up" and run it again. When I do this kind of thing, I become aware of some of the common themes in my writing. It all kind of ties together sometimes. I hope you enjoy this post from about 18 months ago.
I found myself in my old hometown yesterday. I don't get there much anymore and usually when I get there I'm in too big of a hurry to look around. But yesterday I had a little time and an urge to look around. Eventually I found myself in the cemetery of this town of a thousand residents. I remember walking around there as a kid, sometimes as part of a geneology project and other times just looking around. Yesterday though, became a kind of walk through my childhood. I visited the graves of many people whom I may or may not see in heaven, but I remember them in life. I saw the grave of my elementary and middle school principal. Across the path was my grandfather's burial site and the grave of my aunt who died at the age of five months.
As I walked, I became aware of so many people who had passed to the back burner of my mind. The guy who ran the meat packing store. The lady who worked at the bank. My uncle's dad. One of my good friends from elementary school. A lady who used to drive my bus. Plenty of other relatives, including some I never really met.
As I walked, I realized there was one grave I'd never visited but had to be out there somewhere. She was my first "girlfriend." (We were in kindergarten -- how "in love" could we be?) We were good friends all through school. I had a crush on her on and off for years. She was a big encouragement to me, helping me to develop some confidence. During our senior year, we each took short trips to visit some colleges. I went with three other guys and we had fun over the next three days, seeing four different campuses in addition to downtown Indianapolis at night. She started off for a campus visit with a friend in a VW beetle about the color of a yellow tennis ball. The two of them drove about 30 minutes to the Interstate, then as they tried to merge into traffic an 18-wheeler all but crushed the beetle. My friend was taken to the hospital in a coma.
I visited her in the hospital many times. We were encouraged to talk to her, as the nurses kept saying that she heard what we said. When I went off to college about nine months later, she was still on my mind but I stopped visiting. I felt like my presence was causing her mother so much pain, hearing about the things her daughter should be doing. I kept praying.
She finally died in 2001, shortly after the Twin Towers fell. She had been in a coma for 22 years. Her parents had cared for her the entire time. She had spent some time in various hospitals but eventually was brought home where she was cared for by her loving parents year after year. When I saw her again in the casket, I would have never recognized her. She looked nothing like her old pictures.
While pacing around the cemetery yesterday, I finally found her grave. There was a beautiful stone with her senior picture etched into it. On the reverse was a beautiful quote from St. Francis. Then I looked to the right and saw another stone with the same last name. It was for her parents. Her father was still alive, but I had forgotten that her mother has passed away almost a year later. She had given so much of her life to care for her daughter that her health was horrible and her heart was broken. As I looked at the stones together I thought to myself, "This is the way we were taught to live." We're called not to live selfishly, but to live to love God completely and to love others as ourselves. My friend's mother had not wasted her life caring for 22 years for a daughter in a coma. She had followed scriptural instructions of caring for her daughter.
I often wonder what my friend was going through in those 22 years. Would she have preferred death? Should it matter if she did? Is it God's decision to take life or ours? I pray that God was able to do some incredible things for her during that time. I am positive he did not desert her.
A friend asked me about the Terri Schiavo case. He wanted to know why people wanted her to be starved to death, or why they wanted her dead, period. My best guess is that we see ourselves in the face of the less fortunate. In our limited understanding, all we see is a body driven by very little mind. We see that someone like Terri is not in control of anything; she is at the mercy of others. When many people see themselves in that situation, their reaction is fear. They fear living in a debilitated state. They fear not having control. They fear it so much that death seems preferable. And what an interesting choice that becomes for the non-believer. They would rather take the uncertainty of death over the observed certainty of living a life out of their control. Isn't that an amazing statement about the incredibly strong drive of self? But if a decision to remove a feeding tube becomes a personal fight to be able to retain control of one's life, it ceases to be about life itself. . . only about self.
I don't pretend to know everyone's motivations for their opinions. I only present what I've seen in observing some people. My conclusions aren't meant to broad-brush, but to help me understand this whole case better. I certainly feel for my friend's mother and father. At the same time I also have great admiration for them. I also greatly admire Henri Nouwen, who gave up his university teaching position to care for people who couldn't care for themselves. Yet I also understand the pull of selfishness, in not wanting to give our lives to serve others. Still I know what the Bible tells us to do for other people and I know how dangerous selfish desires can be to my relationship with my Creator and Savior.
God has allowed this stuff to perkolate in my mind since I first drove into the graveyard yesterday. And I think I am even more grateful for the gift of life, yet more aware that my life is not my own. I have been bought with a price. My undying praise and thanks to the One who bought me, and thanks as well for continuing to shape me into His image.
I found myself in my old hometown yesterday. I don't get there much anymore and usually when I get there I'm in too big of a hurry to look around. But yesterday I had a little time and an urge to look around. Eventually I found myself in the cemetery of this town of a thousand residents. I remember walking around there as a kid, sometimes as part of a geneology project and other times just looking around. Yesterday though, became a kind of walk through my childhood. I visited the graves of many people whom I may or may not see in heaven, but I remember them in life. I saw the grave of my elementary and middle school principal. Across the path was my grandfather's burial site and the grave of my aunt who died at the age of five months.
As I walked, I became aware of so many people who had passed to the back burner of my mind. The guy who ran the meat packing store. The lady who worked at the bank. My uncle's dad. One of my good friends from elementary school. A lady who used to drive my bus. Plenty of other relatives, including some I never really met.
As I walked, I realized there was one grave I'd never visited but had to be out there somewhere. She was my first "girlfriend." (We were in kindergarten -- how "in love" could we be?) We were good friends all through school. I had a crush on her on and off for years. She was a big encouragement to me, helping me to develop some confidence. During our senior year, we each took short trips to visit some colleges. I went with three other guys and we had fun over the next three days, seeing four different campuses in addition to downtown Indianapolis at night. She started off for a campus visit with a friend in a VW beetle about the color of a yellow tennis ball. The two of them drove about 30 minutes to the Interstate, then as they tried to merge into traffic an 18-wheeler all but crushed the beetle. My friend was taken to the hospital in a coma.
I visited her in the hospital many times. We were encouraged to talk to her, as the nurses kept saying that she heard what we said. When I went off to college about nine months later, she was still on my mind but I stopped visiting. I felt like my presence was causing her mother so much pain, hearing about the things her daughter should be doing. I kept praying.
She finally died in 2001, shortly after the Twin Towers fell. She had been in a coma for 22 years. Her parents had cared for her the entire time. She had spent some time in various hospitals but eventually was brought home where she was cared for by her loving parents year after year. When I saw her again in the casket, I would have never recognized her. She looked nothing like her old pictures.
While pacing around the cemetery yesterday, I finally found her grave. There was a beautiful stone with her senior picture etched into it. On the reverse was a beautiful quote from St. Francis. Then I looked to the right and saw another stone with the same last name. It was for her parents. Her father was still alive, but I had forgotten that her mother has passed away almost a year later. She had given so much of her life to care for her daughter that her health was horrible and her heart was broken. As I looked at the stones together I thought to myself, "This is the way we were taught to live." We're called not to live selfishly, but to live to love God completely and to love others as ourselves. My friend's mother had not wasted her life caring for 22 years for a daughter in a coma. She had followed scriptural instructions of caring for her daughter.
I often wonder what my friend was going through in those 22 years. Would she have preferred death? Should it matter if she did? Is it God's decision to take life or ours? I pray that God was able to do some incredible things for her during that time. I am positive he did not desert her.
A friend asked me about the Terri Schiavo case. He wanted to know why people wanted her to be starved to death, or why they wanted her dead, period. My best guess is that we see ourselves in the face of the less fortunate. In our limited understanding, all we see is a body driven by very little mind. We see that someone like Terri is not in control of anything; she is at the mercy of others. When many people see themselves in that situation, their reaction is fear. They fear living in a debilitated state. They fear not having control. They fear it so much that death seems preferable. And what an interesting choice that becomes for the non-believer. They would rather take the uncertainty of death over the observed certainty of living a life out of their control. Isn't that an amazing statement about the incredibly strong drive of self? But if a decision to remove a feeding tube becomes a personal fight to be able to retain control of one's life, it ceases to be about life itself. . . only about self.
I don't pretend to know everyone's motivations for their opinions. I only present what I've seen in observing some people. My conclusions aren't meant to broad-brush, but to help me understand this whole case better. I certainly feel for my friend's mother and father. At the same time I also have great admiration for them. I also greatly admire Henri Nouwen, who gave up his university teaching position to care for people who couldn't care for themselves. Yet I also understand the pull of selfishness, in not wanting to give our lives to serve others. Still I know what the Bible tells us to do for other people and I know how dangerous selfish desires can be to my relationship with my Creator and Savior.
God has allowed this stuff to perkolate in my mind since I first drove into the graveyard yesterday. And I think I am even more grateful for the gift of life, yet more aware that my life is not my own. I have been bought with a price. My undying praise and thanks to the One who bought me, and thanks as well for continuing to shape me into His image.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Horsin' Around
Well, it's been a number of months, but we're equine owners again! He's been with us for a month now, so it looks like he's staying. This is our new addition to the family. His name is "Mister". Actually his name is long and complicated and doesn't even contain the word "Mister", but that's what my wife has decided to call him. And since she'll be doing most of the work, she gets to name him.
Faithful readers (also known as people with too much time on their hands) will remember that we lost our little grey Welsh pony back in March after spending eight years with him. This month, my wife culminated her horse shopping experience by picking up this quarter horse for more than a few quarters.
Mister is bigger than Cracker Jack was. He is a different color. He also has a much different temperment. Where Cracker was more like a dog, following us around the pasture, Mister is a real handful on the ground. He is much more interested in the green grass surrounding him than in anything I have to tell him.
Then again, Mister loves to be ridden. He just hates to be led around. He wants to be put to good use -- whether walking my daughter around the yard or galloping down the fence row with my wife urging him to go faster. In his mind, it's: "Carrying someone on my back is good, being led around is bad".
I'm just kinda thinking here, but isn't it interesting that most people would reverse those twp things. We would prefer to be led from place to place, being shown what to do, rather than carrying the load ourselves. It's much easier to have someone lay out all the instructions than to take up our cross or be an example to others.
Horses are working animals. People (the smarter of the two) depend upon horses to do specific tasks. Horses are effective tools when they are being used by a good horseman.
We too are to be effective tools. We are to be used my God (again, the smarter of the two) to do specific tasks, which Scripture says have been laid out for us to do since before the foundation of the world was laid.
Maybe horses are actually the smart ones.
Monday, October 02, 2006
The Devil's Sharpest Tool
It seems like the Devil's best tool against us gazes at us from our mirrors each day.
When it comes to a Christian walk, I am my own worst enemy.
Is there anything that we do (aside from our pure worship of God) that isn't deeply rooted in selfishness? Go ahead. Think of something you do that doesn't involve indulging yourself. I'll wait.
Find something? I couldn't.
The more we are fixated on self, the further from God we become.
I don't think I'm being cynical when I say that most of the supposed "good deeds" we do are rooted in selfishness. Yes, even the time spent helping someone, or being nice to someone who isn't all that nice. Dropping coins in the kettle for the Salvation Army or giving blood can also be outgrowths of our own selfishness.
Maybe it's just me, but I know plenty of people who are nice to someone just for the good feeling of helping someone else. They give gifts for the tax deduction or donate clothes because they are too lazy to have a garage sale. That's not selfless. That's just the opposite. "That good feeling inside" is the motivator. The deduction is the motivator. The laziness and a need to clean out the closet is the motivator. It's not the fact that someone else is helped. Can those two things be separated? Sure. It's your motive.
If I am driving somewhere and I see a vehicle in trouble, I will usually stop and try to help. I do this despite the fact that I am nowhere near a mechanical genius. The reason I stop is because I developed that habit in early adulthood. Back then, my car was a not-so-gently-used vehicle, and I often found myself on the side of a road in need of assistance. I figured that if I saw someone who could use my help, then I should help. After all, the roles could very easily be reversed the next week!
So my pure motives for stopping are not so pure.
How many generous donations to universities or hospitals or charities come with strings attached? Why are wings of buildings or stadiums or awards named after individuals? Because quite often putting that name on the building is a stipulation of the gift. That generosity isn't so pure either.
Let's face it, even in our Christian walk we are tempted to be selfish. At Attention Span I've often detailed situations where churches are split apart because of a power struggle between groups of people. There's the woman who sings a special song in worship to draw attention to herself, instead of deflecting the praise to God. There is the man who serves on the board so faithfully because of the power it gives him. There are the Sunday School teachers who teach because they like to be looked up to. There are the pew fillers who show up for services so they look pious to other people.
Selfishness is like a pair of handcuffs which keep us from being very effective. The Devil makes sure our wrists are bound each day.
Of course, Christ has the key to the cuffs.
"Lord, help me to die to self every single day... in my work, in my family, and especially in my relationship with You."
When it comes to a Christian walk, I am my own worst enemy.
Is there anything that we do (aside from our pure worship of God) that isn't deeply rooted in selfishness? Go ahead. Think of something you do that doesn't involve indulging yourself. I'll wait.
Find something? I couldn't.
The more we are fixated on self, the further from God we become.
I don't think I'm being cynical when I say that most of the supposed "good deeds" we do are rooted in selfishness. Yes, even the time spent helping someone, or being nice to someone who isn't all that nice. Dropping coins in the kettle for the Salvation Army or giving blood can also be outgrowths of our own selfishness.
Maybe it's just me, but I know plenty of people who are nice to someone just for the good feeling of helping someone else. They give gifts for the tax deduction or donate clothes because they are too lazy to have a garage sale. That's not selfless. That's just the opposite. "That good feeling inside" is the motivator. The deduction is the motivator. The laziness and a need to clean out the closet is the motivator. It's not the fact that someone else is helped. Can those two things be separated? Sure. It's your motive.
If I am driving somewhere and I see a vehicle in trouble, I will usually stop and try to help. I do this despite the fact that I am nowhere near a mechanical genius. The reason I stop is because I developed that habit in early adulthood. Back then, my car was a not-so-gently-used vehicle, and I often found myself on the side of a road in need of assistance. I figured that if I saw someone who could use my help, then I should help. After all, the roles could very easily be reversed the next week!
So my pure motives for stopping are not so pure.
How many generous donations to universities or hospitals or charities come with strings attached? Why are wings of buildings or stadiums or awards named after individuals? Because quite often putting that name on the building is a stipulation of the gift. That generosity isn't so pure either.
Let's face it, even in our Christian walk we are tempted to be selfish. At Attention Span I've often detailed situations where churches are split apart because of a power struggle between groups of people. There's the woman who sings a special song in worship to draw attention to herself, instead of deflecting the praise to God. There is the man who serves on the board so faithfully because of the power it gives him. There are the Sunday School teachers who teach because they like to be looked up to. There are the pew fillers who show up for services so they look pious to other people.
Selfishness is like a pair of handcuffs which keep us from being very effective. The Devil makes sure our wrists are bound each day.
Of course, Christ has the key to the cuffs.
"Lord, help me to die to self every single day... in my work, in my family, and especially in my relationship with You."
Thursday, September 28, 2006
In Appreciation
I don't know how anyone can be a head coach. Sure, I understand the love of the game. I understand about working with young players and molding them to be better men and women. But for every coach, there is an entire herd of people who could do a better job of coaching -- just ask them!
I remember my Grandpa. He was a big Dodger fan, and a big fan of the local high school basketball team. But he wasn't a big fan of the coaches. You may not realize this, but my Grandpa could outcoach the legendary Tommy Lasorda AND call the shots better than a high school basketball coach with more than 700 career victories. He told me so.
"What is that coach doing? I can coach better than that!"
I couldn't tell you how many times I heard him say that. And my Grandpa wasn't unique. Every coach has his or her detractors. Lose and game, and people immediately start asking for your replacement. One mistake and some folks will never let you forget it. Two mistakes and you're the most worthless person walking God's green earth.
If the team finishes the season 4-12, the coach should be canned. Never mind that half the players are hurt and the other half have no experience. Forget that pesky little detail that the players aren't really very good. Fire the coach!
Of course, a few coaches reach untouchable status over time. But even the untouchable coaches have had to deal with the occasional moron who thought themselves to be much brighter than they actually were.
A coach with a mediocre team is never appreciated. A coach with a great team usually doesn't get any credit for the team's success. And pity the poor coach who ends the season 4-12. Or worse.
And don't even get me started on how unappreciated the referees and umpires are. Somebody's got to make the calls. But, oh the abuse those poor people take!
There are many times when I don't feel especially appreciated. In my secular job, I could make 10,000 decisions flawlessly, but when I make that inevitable mistake... well, let's just say that people immediately and repeatedly let me know all about it.
As a husband, I know I am sometimes taken for granted -- just as I sometimes take my wife for granted. Man, I hate it when I'm just as guilty as she is.
Maybe the role in life where I feel the most appreciated is as a pastor. I know that people in my congregation will specifically seek me out to tell me that they appreciate a sermon or a visit or a prayer. And I'll admit that even though I am not a pastor so that people will appreciate what I do, it makes me feel good. It makes me feel like God is using what I am doing. God can work though this twisted and bloated mess of flesh and bone and sin that I am.
Wouldn't it be a good idea if we all told someone how much we appreciate what that person does? It would be great to feel that rush of encouraging another person. Even if that person doesn't seem to appreciate the effort, we could still give that encouragement. Isn't it odd that we would think we should be shown some appreciation for showing someone else some appreciation?
Or maybe it's just all about learning how to be selfless. I want to be able to do my best or to do what is right without the need for approval. I should be able to give money to a good ministry without wondering how to get a proper receipt for a tax credit. I should be able to volunteer my time without wondering what I'll be getting back in return.
If I donate money to my local PBS station during the pledge drive (which lasts around 360 days each year), the station will send me a gift of appreciation. Maybe it's a DVD or a CD of whatever concert the pledge drive is interrupting. Maybe it's a stuffed Barney toy. Whatever. If I truly appreciate what that PBS station is broadcasting, why would I need a gift to show appreciation for my own appreciation?
One last thought: If we really want to show our appreciation, shouldn't we start with our Creator? Like it or not, everything we have comes from Him. I certainly appreciate that.
I remember my Grandpa. He was a big Dodger fan, and a big fan of the local high school basketball team. But he wasn't a big fan of the coaches. You may not realize this, but my Grandpa could outcoach the legendary Tommy Lasorda AND call the shots better than a high school basketball coach with more than 700 career victories. He told me so.
"What is that coach doing? I can coach better than that!"
I couldn't tell you how many times I heard him say that. And my Grandpa wasn't unique. Every coach has his or her detractors. Lose and game, and people immediately start asking for your replacement. One mistake and some folks will never let you forget it. Two mistakes and you're the most worthless person walking God's green earth.
If the team finishes the season 4-12, the coach should be canned. Never mind that half the players are hurt and the other half have no experience. Forget that pesky little detail that the players aren't really very good. Fire the coach!
Of course, a few coaches reach untouchable status over time. But even the untouchable coaches have had to deal with the occasional moron who thought themselves to be much brighter than they actually were.
A coach with a mediocre team is never appreciated. A coach with a great team usually doesn't get any credit for the team's success. And pity the poor coach who ends the season 4-12. Or worse.
And don't even get me started on how unappreciated the referees and umpires are. Somebody's got to make the calls. But, oh the abuse those poor people take!
There are many times when I don't feel especially appreciated. In my secular job, I could make 10,000 decisions flawlessly, but when I make that inevitable mistake... well, let's just say that people immediately and repeatedly let me know all about it.
As a husband, I know I am sometimes taken for granted -- just as I sometimes take my wife for granted. Man, I hate it when I'm just as guilty as she is.
Maybe the role in life where I feel the most appreciated is as a pastor. I know that people in my congregation will specifically seek me out to tell me that they appreciate a sermon or a visit or a prayer. And I'll admit that even though I am not a pastor so that people will appreciate what I do, it makes me feel good. It makes me feel like God is using what I am doing. God can work though this twisted and bloated mess of flesh and bone and sin that I am.
Wouldn't it be a good idea if we all told someone how much we appreciate what that person does? It would be great to feel that rush of encouraging another person. Even if that person doesn't seem to appreciate the effort, we could still give that encouragement. Isn't it odd that we would think we should be shown some appreciation for showing someone else some appreciation?
Or maybe it's just all about learning how to be selfless. I want to be able to do my best or to do what is right without the need for approval. I should be able to give money to a good ministry without wondering how to get a proper receipt for a tax credit. I should be able to volunteer my time without wondering what I'll be getting back in return.
If I donate money to my local PBS station during the pledge drive (which lasts around 360 days each year), the station will send me a gift of appreciation. Maybe it's a DVD or a CD of whatever concert the pledge drive is interrupting. Maybe it's a stuffed Barney toy. Whatever. If I truly appreciate what that PBS station is broadcasting, why would I need a gift to show appreciation for my own appreciation?
One last thought: If we really want to show our appreciation, shouldn't we start with our Creator? Like it or not, everything we have comes from Him. I certainly appreciate that.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Bitterness
He sat there with a sad, yet nervous expression on his face. I understood the emotions, you see, Randy is a pastor.
Randy was talking with the editor of the local newspaper. He arranged the meeting because of calls which had been made to the newspaper's staff. Apparently some people at Randy's church are very, very bitter.
The editor told Randy that on two recent occasions, he had received calls suggesting that the paper send a reporter to see and expose the horrible things going on at Cross Church. What horrible things, you ask? The callers apparently wouldn't say, nor would they leave a name.
Most papers these days won't print a letter to the editor if the author doesn't have the guts to sign it. That policy makes sense, really. After all, if you won't stand by your words enough to put your name to them, what real value do they have? I know all about the idea of protecting identities, as most of us do on the web, but a public forum isn't for people wearing disguises.
Anyway, the editor reported that he had received a third call over the weekend. This anonymous caller suggested that there was a situation at Cross Church that was just like the situation at another local church. The "other church" the caller referenced had just fired a youth pastor who had been having sexual relationships with two girls from his youth group. That call startled the editor, but it really startled Randy. And if you think it startled Randy, you can only imagine what it did to Randy's youth pastor!
There is no youth pastor seducing underage girls at Cross Church. There is no scandal worthy of a newspaper expose at Cross Church. So why the phone calls?
There are a group of mostly older church folks who don't like the fact that Cross Church has added a contemporary service. That's it. Oh, the horror! A handful of people are becoming quite a handful, and it looks like at least two have taken to insinuating that the church is scandal-plagued because the church is offering a service without The Old Rugged Cross played on a pipe organ. It's not as if Cross Church isn't still offering the traditional hymn/pass the plate/long sermon/closing hymn service. The complainers still have their service untouched. They object to (1) having a second service, and/or (2) the worship style.
Friends, that's just bitterness that has taken these "fine upstanding, mature saints" and turned them into nasty, vindictive, lying embarassments to God.
I've known plenty of people who have changed churches due to pastoral failings or disagreements of buildings or gossip within the congregation or any number of other reasons. Of those people, some are sincerely praying for their former church, their former pastor, and former fellow parishoners. Then there are others whose live is filled with bitterness.
Plenty of people have been burned by the church -- or more correctly, it's people. Still, through the hurt, they are not burdened by the bitter feelings or the desire for vengeance. They are able to look down from their own crosses at those who have caused the pain to say, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do."
Then there are those who are more concerned with their own power and position within the congregation than anything else. Some are protective of such trivial things as the order of service. Others will fight to the spiritual death to keep pews in the sanctuary instead of folding or stacking chairs. And, of course, there are plenty who will enforce their own rules of who should be in "their" church and who should not. God help the person who visits that church with the faint odor of cigarettes or with a reputation that doesn't measure up to these bitter, misguided churchgoers.
That's a big problem in the church today -- more people are too concerned about their religion and yet are completely unconcerned with their faith. I wish the anonymous phone callers would take a time out from their cardiac arrest over the presence of a tamborine in the sanctuary and realize that. But I'm not holding out much hope.
Randy was talking with the editor of the local newspaper. He arranged the meeting because of calls which had been made to the newspaper's staff. Apparently some people at Randy's church are very, very bitter.
The editor told Randy that on two recent occasions, he had received calls suggesting that the paper send a reporter to see and expose the horrible things going on at Cross Church. What horrible things, you ask? The callers apparently wouldn't say, nor would they leave a name.
Most papers these days won't print a letter to the editor if the author doesn't have the guts to sign it. That policy makes sense, really. After all, if you won't stand by your words enough to put your name to them, what real value do they have? I know all about the idea of protecting identities, as most of us do on the web, but a public forum isn't for people wearing disguises.
Anyway, the editor reported that he had received a third call over the weekend. This anonymous caller suggested that there was a situation at Cross Church that was just like the situation at another local church. The "other church" the caller referenced had just fired a youth pastor who had been having sexual relationships with two girls from his youth group. That call startled the editor, but it really startled Randy. And if you think it startled Randy, you can only imagine what it did to Randy's youth pastor!
There is no youth pastor seducing underage girls at Cross Church. There is no scandal worthy of a newspaper expose at Cross Church. So why the phone calls?
There are a group of mostly older church folks who don't like the fact that Cross Church has added a contemporary service. That's it. Oh, the horror! A handful of people are becoming quite a handful, and it looks like at least two have taken to insinuating that the church is scandal-plagued because the church is offering a service without The Old Rugged Cross played on a pipe organ. It's not as if Cross Church isn't still offering the traditional hymn/pass the plate/long sermon/closing hymn service. The complainers still have their service untouched. They object to (1) having a second service, and/or (2) the worship style.
Friends, that's just bitterness that has taken these "fine upstanding, mature saints" and turned them into nasty, vindictive, lying embarassments to God.
I've known plenty of people who have changed churches due to pastoral failings or disagreements of buildings or gossip within the congregation or any number of other reasons. Of those people, some are sincerely praying for their former church, their former pastor, and former fellow parishoners. Then there are others whose live is filled with bitterness.
Plenty of people have been burned by the church -- or more correctly, it's people. Still, through the hurt, they are not burdened by the bitter feelings or the desire for vengeance. They are able to look down from their own crosses at those who have caused the pain to say, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do."
Then there are those who are more concerned with their own power and position within the congregation than anything else. Some are protective of such trivial things as the order of service. Others will fight to the spiritual death to keep pews in the sanctuary instead of folding or stacking chairs. And, of course, there are plenty who will enforce their own rules of who should be in "their" church and who should not. God help the person who visits that church with the faint odor of cigarettes or with a reputation that doesn't measure up to these bitter, misguided churchgoers.
That's a big problem in the church today -- more people are too concerned about their religion and yet are completely unconcerned with their faith. I wish the anonymous phone callers would take a time out from their cardiac arrest over the presence of a tamborine in the sanctuary and realize that. But I'm not holding out much hope.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Mark of the Beast
Time was running close. The kids program at church was less than an hour away, and I still had to pick up my oldest boy from high school football practice. My wife and daughter had been working all day in preparation for the new horse, coming this weekend. Handing me two empty feed bags, my beloved asked me to take them to the burn barrels where we get rid of some of our trash.
It was a short walk to the back of the yard, right along a ditch. In the eight years we've lived here, I've taken that walk countless times. Today it was different.
Earlier this week, I had cleaned out the barrels and got rid of a bunch of trash. When I reached the trash cans, I couldn't see the bottom of the cans or the thin layer of goo on the bottom. What I saw when I glanced at the can was what appeared to be a cat. I knew that our one outdoor cat was up by the house, so I was a bit confused. Then I took a closer look. It was mostly black. But there was this troublesome white pattern on its back.
This was not a cat. This was Pepe LePew's younger cousin. A real life skunk.
Now I'm a country boy. I've happened upon all kinds of wild animals in my life. But I've never stumbled across a live skunk in the wild. I've stumbled across plenty of dead skunks. Those are usually pretty easy to notice from half a mile away. But this one was not lying between the dotted yellow lines on the crown of the asphault. This one was looking up at me with tiny black eyes, as shocked seeing me as I was seeing it.
What did I do? I ran. I'm not ashamed to say it.
I wasn't afraid of old Stinky leaping out of the barrel, onto my neck and ripping out my jugular. I was pretty sure the skunk wasn't going to jump on my leg and chew it to bits. But I was afraid that Mr. LePew was going to turn and fire, and that I would be forced to call off Wednesday night kids church because of fumes.
The two bags I was carrying ended up on the ground. I ended up doing my best Carl Lewis impression and made it back to the house without so much as a bit of body odor. I avoided what I knew I had to avoid. I've had dogs who met up with skunks who didn't turn and run. I've tried to kill that smell with tomato juice and countless other home stench remedies. My fear was not a physical attack. My fear was being a marked man. That smell doesn't go away easily.
Whenever I hear someone hypothesizing about the "mark of the beast", I usually either turn away or I catch myself daydreaming about something else. Because from what I read in Revelation, the mark of the beast is contrasted with the mark of the lamb. I've never heard anyone boldly predict what the mark of the lamb may be. Perhaps because the mark of the lamb (and most likely the mark of the beast as well) are not visible marks, but invisible signs of our personal choice of what to do with Jesus Christ.
I've been "marked" by Jesus, yet there are still times when it seems like the smell has worn off, to coin a phrase. I just don't smell enough like Christ. One day last week, a person really inflated my ego, telling me that I appeared to act a lot like Christ. Later that afternoon, I said something I shouldn't have said in an offhanded way, and the person I said it to expressed surprise that those words had come from my mouth. I had "blown my witness" in the blink of an eye. It was like the "smell" of Christ had been doused with some kind of super-charged Odor-Eaters.
I want to bear the marks of Jesus Christ. Yet I find that it only takes an instant for me to take on the marks making me resemble the rest of the world. It's not often that I'm swift enough to avoid being sprayed by the stench of sinfulness. Skunks I can outrun. Sin is another matter.
Lord, give me Your strength. Change my heart so that my life will be marked by You.
It was a short walk to the back of the yard, right along a ditch. In the eight years we've lived here, I've taken that walk countless times. Today it was different.
Earlier this week, I had cleaned out the barrels and got rid of a bunch of trash. When I reached the trash cans, I couldn't see the bottom of the cans or the thin layer of goo on the bottom. What I saw when I glanced at the can was what appeared to be a cat. I knew that our one outdoor cat was up by the house, so I was a bit confused. Then I took a closer look. It was mostly black. But there was this troublesome white pattern on its back.
This was not a cat. This was Pepe LePew's younger cousin. A real life skunk.
Now I'm a country boy. I've happened upon all kinds of wild animals in my life. But I've never stumbled across a live skunk in the wild. I've stumbled across plenty of dead skunks. Those are usually pretty easy to notice from half a mile away. But this one was not lying between the dotted yellow lines on the crown of the asphault. This one was looking up at me with tiny black eyes, as shocked seeing me as I was seeing it.
What did I do? I ran. I'm not ashamed to say it.
I wasn't afraid of old Stinky leaping out of the barrel, onto my neck and ripping out my jugular. I was pretty sure the skunk wasn't going to jump on my leg and chew it to bits. But I was afraid that Mr. LePew was going to turn and fire, and that I would be forced to call off Wednesday night kids church because of fumes.
The two bags I was carrying ended up on the ground. I ended up doing my best Carl Lewis impression and made it back to the house without so much as a bit of body odor. I avoided what I knew I had to avoid. I've had dogs who met up with skunks who didn't turn and run. I've tried to kill that smell with tomato juice and countless other home stench remedies. My fear was not a physical attack. My fear was being a marked man. That smell doesn't go away easily.
Whenever I hear someone hypothesizing about the "mark of the beast", I usually either turn away or I catch myself daydreaming about something else. Because from what I read in Revelation, the mark of the beast is contrasted with the mark of the lamb. I've never heard anyone boldly predict what the mark of the lamb may be. Perhaps because the mark of the lamb (and most likely the mark of the beast as well) are not visible marks, but invisible signs of our personal choice of what to do with Jesus Christ.
I've been "marked" by Jesus, yet there are still times when it seems like the smell has worn off, to coin a phrase. I just don't smell enough like Christ. One day last week, a person really inflated my ego, telling me that I appeared to act a lot like Christ. Later that afternoon, I said something I shouldn't have said in an offhanded way, and the person I said it to expressed surprise that those words had come from my mouth. I had "blown my witness" in the blink of an eye. It was like the "smell" of Christ had been doused with some kind of super-charged Odor-Eaters.
I want to bear the marks of Jesus Christ. Yet I find that it only takes an instant for me to take on the marks making me resemble the rest of the world. It's not often that I'm swift enough to avoid being sprayed by the stench of sinfulness. Skunks I can outrun. Sin is another matter.
Lord, give me Your strength. Change my heart so that my life will be marked by You.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Wind Chasing
"Meaningless! Meaningless!"
says the Teacher.
"Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless."
What does man gain from all his labor
at which he toils under the sun?
Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.
The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.
The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.
All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.
All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.
What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
Is there anything of which one can say,
"Look! This is something new"?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.
There is no remembrance of men of old,
and even those who are yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow.
I, the Teacher, was king over Israel in Jerusalem. I devoted myself to study and to explore by wisdom all that is done under heaven. What a heavy burden God has laid on men! I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind.
Ecclesiastes 1:2-14
I often find myself wondering about the way I spend my time. I'm pretty sure I don't make the best use of my time. And I'm not even sure that spending time wondering about the way I spend my time is a great way to spend my time. But now I'm confused. But I'll continue.
A lot of bloggers eventually write a few posts about whether it blogging is a good use of one's time. This post is not one of those posts. Instead I'm thinking more about the other things in my life. Not the stuff that actually has some sort of value, but the stupid things I do. The picture to the right is not of me. It's actually some woman setting the world's record for... get this... underwater ironing. That's what I said. Read it again if you like. Un-der-wa-ter-i-ron-ing. This dear lady is at a depth of around 100 meters in scuba gear, with a folding ironing board, an iron and a mental deficiency.
Let's think about this for just a moment. (Again, it's probably not the best use of my time or your time, but humor me.) She is ironing. Underwater. Generally, that's not the best way to iron. When I actually iron something, I usually start with a mostly-dry item of clothing. I'm assuming the iron isn't plugged in somewhere, as I don't see a long orange extension cord, or any signs that the diver is being electricuted. Then, it appears that the diver is actually ironing -- a t-shirt! As I've told more than one person, if you're ironing t-shirts, you need to get yourself a hobby.
Putting it all together, it's ridiculous to think that a woman is actually diving the depth of a football field into the ocean to iron a t-shirt in the most ineffective way imaginable. It's perhaps even more ridiculous that a photographer bothered to dive down 100 meters to take a picture of this woman!
As easy as it is to make fun of Miss Underwater Ironer, I realize that I'm no better. I'm not as hard on myself as Solomon was. I don't buy into the whole "everything is meaningless" argument. The two days I spent wandering around the county fair this weekend was time spent with family and friends. The time blogging helps me explore my relationship with God. My time reading blogs does the same thing.
But there's the hour or two in front of the television set. Or playing a computer game. Or surfing You Tube to see what silliness has been documented for the whole DSL-Connection-or-faster-world to see. Am I making the best use of my time? Obviously not. Most of the time I'm doing my share of wind chasing.
Why is it that time-wasters are able to climb up the ladder of priority in my life? (and I'm assuming yours also). True, I'm not ironing t-shirts underwater, but by the same token, I don't know how to scuba dive. Shoot, I barely know how to iron!
I wonder where the right mix is. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," I've always heard. Of course, I've always heard that from people who don't want to work! I wonder just how much of my life I've wasted, chasing the wind.
Paul wrote that whatever we do, we are to do it to the best of our ability as though we are doing it for God. I'm not quite sure Paul was thinking about underwater ironing when he wrote that, but is there a place for diversion? Is diversion like so many other things in life -- good in moderation, bad in overindulgence?
All I know is that I don't make the best use of my time, and I don't believe God is always pleased with the way I spend my waking hours. That is something I must be praying about.
says the Teacher.
"Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless."
What does man gain from all his labor
at which he toils under the sun?
Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.
The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.
The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.
All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.
All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.
What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
Is there anything of which one can say,
"Look! This is something new"?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.
There is no remembrance of men of old,
and even those who are yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow.
I, the Teacher, was king over Israel in Jerusalem. I devoted myself to study and to explore by wisdom all that is done under heaven. What a heavy burden God has laid on men! I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind.
Ecclesiastes 1:2-14
I often find myself wondering about the way I spend my time. I'm pretty sure I don't make the best use of my time. And I'm not even sure that spending time wondering about the way I spend my time is a great way to spend my time. But now I'm confused. But I'll continue.
A lot of bloggers eventually write a few posts about whether it blogging is a good use of one's time. This post is not one of those posts. Instead I'm thinking more about the other things in my life. Not the stuff that actually has some sort of value, but the stupid things I do. The picture to the right is not of me. It's actually some woman setting the world's record for... get this... underwater ironing. That's what I said. Read it again if you like. Un-der-wa-ter-i-ron-ing. This dear lady is at a depth of around 100 meters in scuba gear, with a folding ironing board, an iron and a mental deficiency.Let's think about this for just a moment. (Again, it's probably not the best use of my time or your time, but humor me.) She is ironing. Underwater. Generally, that's not the best way to iron. When I actually iron something, I usually start with a mostly-dry item of clothing. I'm assuming the iron isn't plugged in somewhere, as I don't see a long orange extension cord, or any signs that the diver is being electricuted. Then, it appears that the diver is actually ironing -- a t-shirt! As I've told more than one person, if you're ironing t-shirts, you need to get yourself a hobby.
Putting it all together, it's ridiculous to think that a woman is actually diving the depth of a football field into the ocean to iron a t-shirt in the most ineffective way imaginable. It's perhaps even more ridiculous that a photographer bothered to dive down 100 meters to take a picture of this woman!
As easy as it is to make fun of Miss Underwater Ironer, I realize that I'm no better. I'm not as hard on myself as Solomon was. I don't buy into the whole "everything is meaningless" argument. The two days I spent wandering around the county fair this weekend was time spent with family and friends. The time blogging helps me explore my relationship with God. My time reading blogs does the same thing.
But there's the hour or two in front of the television set. Or playing a computer game. Or surfing You Tube to see what silliness has been documented for the whole DSL-Connection-or-faster-world to see. Am I making the best use of my time? Obviously not. Most of the time I'm doing my share of wind chasing.
Why is it that time-wasters are able to climb up the ladder of priority in my life? (and I'm assuming yours also). True, I'm not ironing t-shirts underwater, but by the same token, I don't know how to scuba dive. Shoot, I barely know how to iron!
I wonder where the right mix is. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," I've always heard. Of course, I've always heard that from people who don't want to work! I wonder just how much of my life I've wasted, chasing the wind.
Paul wrote that whatever we do, we are to do it to the best of our ability as though we are doing it for God. I'm not quite sure Paul was thinking about underwater ironing when he wrote that, but is there a place for diversion? Is diversion like so many other things in life -- good in moderation, bad in overindulgence?
All I know is that I don't make the best use of my time, and I don't believe God is always pleased with the way I spend my waking hours. That is something I must be praying about.
Friday, September 01, 2006
Family Tradition
I am very proud of my daddy's namealthough his kinda music and mine ain't exactly the same
stop and think it over put yourself in my position
if i get stoned and sing all night long
it's a family tradition
Don't ask me Hank, why do you drink?
(Hank) why do you roll smoke?
Why must you live out the songs that you wrote?
If I'm down in a Honky-Tonk
Some ol' slicks tryin to give me corrections
I'll say leave me alone, I'm singin all night long
it's a family tradition.
(From Family Tradition by Hank Williams, Jr.)
Ol' Hank loves to pass off his rowdy ways on upholding the ways of his daddy. But I've been thinking about traditions lately, and I wonder how many are simply excuses, rationalizations and justifications.
I talked about tradition with a couple of different people yesterday. One man is carrying on the family tradition of making root beer and selling it at county fairs. His grandparents started doing it in 1939. His aunt got into the act in 1948. He helped out after his grandfather passed away in 1962, but didn't launch fully into the tradition until 1976. He's still making and selling the stuff, thirty years later, proudly carrying on the tradition begun by his grandfather almost 70 years before.
Another lady is county fair
I also saw someone yesterday with a different family tradition. Actually, calling it a family tradition isn't exactly accurate. This boy, whom I will call James, never had a father and lost his mother at an early age. For most of his 16 years, James has been shuffled from temporary home to foster home to orphanage. His tradition is that there is no family, no one worth trusting. And sadly, James' tradition is that he can do as he wishes. If he does something wrong, the worst that will happen is a move to another foster home or shelter.
Back in March, James moved into another foster home. This one was working out well, and James told the couple that he wanted to stay with them. The next day he attacked his foster mother with a knife, stabbing her multiple times and even slashing the couple's 13-year-old daughter, who got away to call for help. The woman survived, and James is off to prison for 18 years.
As my wife and I talked about James, we wondered if James had been blessed with a good, stable family if he would have turned out the way he did. We'll never know, of course, but it sure seems like he would have had a better chance.
I cringe when I see parent of young kids out in public, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other, and obscenities written on their t-shirts. I see WAY too many of these, and I wonder what chance those kids have. Surely I'll see those kids in twenty years, talking and acting in the same fashion as their parents. Family tradition, right?
And then I thought about the one power that can break the tradition.
I was blessed incredibly with a great family while growing up. I was adopted as an infant, so I realize that my present life could be startlingly different than it is today. I accepted Christ early in life, so there was no huge turnaround story. It wasn't hard to accept Christ publically -- that was what was expected of me. Family tradition, if you will.
What was actually hard was doing more than walk the aisle to the altar. The hard part was putting feet to my faith and living out what I believe. That's still the hard part, you know?
But back to James... what was going to take him out of a childhood full of violence and crime? Sure the love of a mother and father can be big influences. But I know plenty of kids who have gone bad while growing up in a lovely home environment.
Let's face it. There is only one Way out. Whether He's pulling me away from daily temptations or whether he's pulling the violent kid toward a life of obedience to Christ, there is only one Way.
Family traditions aren't broken easily.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
I wonder when he figured out that something was wrong
Evangelist Dies Trying To Walk on Water: Pastor reportedly told congregation he could repeat miracle of Jesus
It's an actual news story, so I'm assuming it's actually true. Nothing would surprise me at this point.
Note: It's not a matter of having enough faith to do something to make yourself look cool.
It's an actual news story, so I'm assuming it's actually true. Nothing would surprise me at this point.
Note: It's not a matter of having enough faith to do something to make yourself look cool.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Pastoral Dominoes
That's twice this week. Two times, count 'em, two. Two separate pastors who have either been accused of or admitted to sexual misconduct -- all in a town of just 10,000 people. One is a
supposedly happily married pastor who is now getting divorced to begin life anew with a new woman. The other is a youth pastor who is being accused of improper conduct with two girls from his youth group.
Sure, this is nothing new. Pastors fall like dominoes every year. I've known pastors who have fallen prey to sexual temptation. And I've heard plenty more stories.
A youth pastor friend of mine in graduate school turned out to be misusing young boys and was sent to prison. I never had the slightest idea until he was arrested.
I've been told stories about all kinds of pastors -- and not just male pastors. One female pastor ran off with another man while her husband was SICK IN THE HOSPITAL!
Of course the pastorate can be viewed as a microcosm of society in general. In other words, there will be all kinds, good and bad, in pastoral positions. But it just stands out more when it is a pastor.
There are all kinds of people waiting for a pastor to slip up. I'm certainly aware of this. I know plenty of them. They see the Jimmy Swaggarts and Jim Bakkers of the world and think all pastors are the same way except they don't get caught. Perhaps it is a wish to
justify one's own sinful behavior or lustful temptations, I don't know. But every time one of those pastoral dominoes fall, another excuse for ignoring Christianity is erected in its place.
Being a pastor, I have a little bit of an insight into the other side of the coin as well. Fortunately for me, I'm ugly enough to repel any female's advance so I don't face the same kind of temptations that some take on. The relationship between pastor and a woman with an unhappy life can be confusing for both parties involved. And pastors, like any red-blooded human being (male or female) face the possibility that their mercy, comfort and understanding will be seen
as an invitation to something more. And it's not easy to resist a good-looking person of the opposite sex who is all but throwing himself (herself) at you.
So what's the answer? Sorry, I don't have one. Well, yeah, prayer is a weapon in the fight. But if a sometimes-happily married pastor wants to run off with the church secretary or organist or backup singer or occasional attender refuses to listen to common sense and accept the strength that God provides, that pastor reaps what he/she sows. But think of the lives that are torn apart in the process. Children... church members... scoffing skeptic.
Pray for your senior pastor and your assistant pastors and your worship pastors, and oh please, pray for your youth pastors. Pray that they won't give up the struggle. Pray that they will stand strong. Pray that God will use their ministry and their life's example.
supposedly happily married pastor who is now getting divorced to begin life anew with a new woman. The other is a youth pastor who is being accused of improper conduct with two girls from his youth group.
Sure, this is nothing new. Pastors fall like dominoes every year. I've known pastors who have fallen prey to sexual temptation. And I've heard plenty more stories.
A youth pastor friend of mine in graduate school turned out to be misusing young boys and was sent to prison. I never had the slightest idea until he was arrested.
I've been told stories about all kinds of pastors -- and not just male pastors. One female pastor ran off with another man while her husband was SICK IN THE HOSPITAL!
Of course the pastorate can be viewed as a microcosm of society in general. In other words, there will be all kinds, good and bad, in pastoral positions. But it just stands out more when it is a pastor.
There are all kinds of people waiting for a pastor to slip up. I'm certainly aware of this. I know plenty of them. They see the Jimmy Swaggarts and Jim Bakkers of the world and think all pastors are the same way except they don't get caught. Perhaps it is a wish to
justify one's own sinful behavior or lustful temptations, I don't know. But every time one of those pastoral dominoes fall, another excuse for ignoring Christianity is erected in its place.
Being a pastor, I have a little bit of an insight into the other side of the coin as well. Fortunately for me, I'm ugly enough to repel any female's advance so I don't face the same kind of temptations that some take on. The relationship between pastor and a woman with an unhappy life can be confusing for both parties involved. And pastors, like any red-blooded human being (male or female) face the possibility that their mercy, comfort and understanding will be seen
as an invitation to something more. And it's not easy to resist a good-looking person of the opposite sex who is all but throwing himself (herself) at you.
So what's the answer? Sorry, I don't have one. Well, yeah, prayer is a weapon in the fight. But if a sometimes-happily married pastor wants to run off with the church secretary or organist or backup singer or occasional attender refuses to listen to common sense and accept the strength that God provides, that pastor reaps what he/she sows. But think of the lives that are torn apart in the process. Children... church members... scoffing skeptic.
Pray for your senior pastor and your assistant pastors and your worship pastors, and oh please, pray for your youth pastors. Pray that they won't give up the struggle. Pray that they will stand strong. Pray that God will use their ministry and their life's example.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
I'm Not Dead
Just a quick note to point out that I'm really not dead, nor have I given up blogging. It's just been a couple of very busy weeks. I promise more actual content will be appearing in the very near future. But until then, in case you were hoping to take a nap, you might as well put on your Armor of God PJs.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
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.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
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.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
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."
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."
Thursday, July 27, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
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.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
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.
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.
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