Customer Service

I had a problem with one of my credit card machines the other day.  It was right in the middle of one of the busiest days of my year.  Needless to say I was a little upset.  So I called my credit card company’s customer service line.  I went through the usual… “if you would like me to send your call to nowhere, press 1; if you would like to talk to someone that has no idea what you are taking about, press 2; if you would like to continue to listen to this mind-numbing music, press 3.  Remember, do not talk to yourself or swear under your breath because we are recording this for training purposes.”  Why someone needs training to completely ignore you is beyond my comprehension.  And why does the creepy computer voice ask you to type in your account number because if you can stay long enough to actually talk to a real person they ask you all over again what you account number is.  I’m not sure but I think it is similar to those buttons on the traffic lights at pedestrian crossings.  Like pushing the big yellow button, having you type in your account number doesn’t actually do anything but gives you something to do while you’re waiting.   After hearing the Carpenter’s “Close to You” played on the pan flute for the 8^th time, I finally got to talk to an actual person.  So now I get to tell my sob story.  I get through the gist of it and the person finally asks me, “What is your V number?”  I’m pretty sure I don’t have it because I don’t even know what he is talking about.  “I can’t do anything without a V number”, he says.  I reply “could you give me a hint?”  “No, if you don’t have your V number we can call you silly names and then hang up without getting ourselves in trouble on that recording for training purposes.”  I am not in my office - where if I did have a V number I might be able to find it in a file that I may or may not have filed.  So I go in search of my computer muttering under my breath things that probably will make the credit card companies Christmas party blooper tape.  I think, maybe in some e-mail someone mentioned a V number but as I was holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder I disconnect the call.  So I have to call back.  When I finally connected with a different person this time, he asked me “What type of credit card machine is it?”  I tell him.  “Oh I’m so sorry, we don’t support your product”.  He’s saying he’s sorry but I don’t hear it in his tone.  The tone I hear is, “I’m so glad I don’t have to talk to this bozo”.  This drama plays out in several other calls to several other people with several other accents.  I finally find someone that actually knows about the type of credit card machine I have.  He helped me through some diagnostics but in the end he had to declare the machine dead to the world.  You would think I would have been more upset by this news.  I have to say I wasn’t thrilled but I felt better because I finally got through to someone that knew about my machine and was able to help me with my problem.  That was so much better than the run around I was getting from everyone else.  I found someone that I could communicate with and that gave me a way to solve my problem.

This got me thinking, as Christians, how’s our “customer service”?  When someone needs our help, do they get our phone-bot?  You know… “If you want to know how busy I am, press 1; if you would like me to be disinterested and pass your problem on to a minister, press 2; if you would like me to just act like a friend instead of actually being your friend, press 3.” Do they get a disinterested person going through the motions?  “If you think you have problems just listen to mine”.   Do they get “I really don’t have time for this clown”?  Or, do they get a real person? - A person that knows how to talk their language and knows how they feel.  Someone that relates to them on a personal level not just saying “go and be fed” but actually feeding them physically, emotionally and spiritually.  Someone that doesn’t necessarily know the answers but can point them towards The One that does know all of the answers.  As Christians we are all customer service representatives all of the time.  So when called upon we must always answer with a clear voice, be polite, listen attentively and direct the caller to Someone that can help them with any problem they may have. 

“Hello, how may I direct your call?”

Bumper Stickers

I’m not one who likes bumper sticker theology. I did however see on the back of a Volkswagen minivan the following: “God Answers Knee Mail”. I thought it was cute and at least it was a bit culturally relevant. However, I’ve never liked the fish or the “Honk if You Love Jesus” ones. ( Though there are lots of people that love Jesus here in LA during rush hour.) I’m a believer in showing your Christianity not just putting it on your car to cover a scratch you got in a parking lot mishap. Did you know that “People who had a larger number of personalized items on or in their car were 16% more likely to engage in road rage.” (yep, I Googled it). And still quoting, ‘ “The number of territory markers predicted road rage better than vehicle value, condition or any of the things that we normally associate with aggressive driving,” say Szlemko. What's more, only the number of bumper stickers, and not their content, predicted road rage — so "Jesus saves" may be just as worrying to fellow drivers as "Don't mess with Texas"’. Szlemko was the author of this study. Who knows? Maybe the cars with “Jesus Saves” were just rounding up a group to go to heaven sooner rather than later. This just makes me think that if we would let people know through our actions rather than our posters then we could get people to believe the Message without our editorial contributions.

One way we could do this is through “loving our neighbor as ourselves”. Jesus was asked “who is our neighbor” and He replied as He usually did with a story not an answer. Leaving it up to the person who asked, and us, to figure out what a “neighbor” is. After this question Jesus told the story that we call “The Good Samaritan”. Guy gets mugged. Guy gets ignored by the “holy” crowd of the time. Guy gets rescued by the “heathen” of the time. The Samaritan hero rides off into the sunset, on his donkey. (Readers Digest Condensed version). Basically Jesus is saying “Your righteousness doesn’t come from the robes or spiritual position(or the bumper stickers). It’s comes from action. The Samaritan was the neighbor in the story not because he was a “good person” but because he actually helped the other person. He actually loved the other person and this caused him to act.

Now comes the tricky part. Let me ask the question again (to me as well as you). Who is our neighbor? The religious elite looked down on Samaritans during Jesus’ time, and yet he used the Samaritan as the hero of the story. What does that say to us? Maybe our neighbor isn’t the couple next door with their teenage daughter. Or the people we work with. Or even the people we go to church with. Maybe, just maybe, we need to look for our neighbors in other parts of town. Our neighbors could be people we wouldn’t normally think of. They could be: homeless or Muslim or Gay or Democrats or Republicans or insert whatever person is radically different from you. If we could call another person a neighbor. If we could put a face on a person instead of lumping them together as a group that we can hate or ignore. If we could look a person in the eye and say “hey neighbor, good to see you today”. If we could love that person, our neighbor, as ourselves. Then we wouldn’t have to tell people about God from the back of our moving car, they would know Him from the way we drive, live and love.

On second thought, this is my bumper sticker theology: “Love ‘Em All, Let God Figure It Out”

Matthew 6:6

I grew up in a family of preachers.  You couldn’t swing an offering plate in my house without hitting a man of the cloth.  I knew early on that I was going to bring down the average of preachers in our family by quite a bit because I just didn’t have the gift.  I remember the first time I was called on to say a prayer in front of the whole church.  It went something like this:  “God uh…bless uuuuhhhh...merica, ‘tis of thee….unto the republic…uh…(faster) guard, guide and direct us, Amen”.  I threw that part about guard, guide and direct us in because it was always said in other people's prayers so I knew I had to say it for my prayer to be official.  Needless to say, I tried to stay as far away from the pulpit as possible.  Except of course when church was over and someone left the mic on.  Then it was cool.  
​I must have been in junior high when I started perfecting my “dodge the speaker so I wouldn’t have to pray technique".  See, on Sunday mornings I was safe because the elders had to turn in the service batting order and after that there were NO SUBSTITUTIONS!  It was Sunday nights and Wednesday nights that I was in danger.  It was sort of like “open mic night”.  Anyone could be called on. There was no set order.  They could sing 2 songs then a prayer, or do the prayer first and then 3 songs.  IT WAS TOTAL CHAOS (my emphasis added).  I think Wed nights were what Paul was talking about in 1 Cor when he said our worship should have order.  It was a no holds barred, free-for-all nightmare that was not for the faint of heart (and apparently our church had lots of folks that were faint of heart because Wed nights were pretty empty).  That’s when I discovered the art of “sitting behind people with big heads so I wouldn’t have to pray”.  This worked well if you sat towards the middle and constantly shifted back and forth with the person in front of you.  I learned the hard way that you still had to obstruct the speaker’s vision (earlier translations use hide) even during the closing song.  If you got caught up in your favorite verse of “Just As I Am” you could lose focus and get picked off like turkeys in a barrel.  For the record my favorite verse of “Just As I Am” is verse 23.  After a while I got tired of ducking and diving like Muhammad Ali so I had to adjust my tactics.  This ushered in my “act like you’re taking notes so you can avoid eye contact…so I wouldn’t have to pray” period.  This method, by the way, works well for the only unknown variable of the Sunday morning worship. That’s the part when they look for communion helpers.  Seems there is always a rash of sick aunts during hunting season.  This is how much I didn’t like being in front of people.  I couldn’t even go up and down the aisles handing upside down metal Frisbees back and forth to people.  I would lay awake at night envisioning dropping the plates or getting them out of order (if anyone is wondering the bread always goes before the cup. I learned that one the hard way).  The thing that I feared most of all though was missing a row completely.  What if the world ended before church was over?  I had these poor unfortunate church-going people’s immortal souls in my little sweat-soaked hands.  These poor people would get up to heaven and not get in over a technicality.  They would be surrounded by thieves and murders who ask them why they didn't get into heaven.  They would have to answer like this: Demon 1: "Well, can you believe it?   This guy missed our row completely during communion.  Who would do that to poor unfortunate church-going people?"  Demon 2:  "Yeah, there was always something wrong with that kid.  He was always moving his head back and forth in church, he would never make eye contact with you and his hands were always sweaty.  What was his name again?"  Demon 1: "You know what?  I can't remember. Come to think of it, I don't think I even knew his name because for some reason he never had to say a prayer in church...ever."

The Old Smooth and Clean Cross

 During the Easter season from time to time our church has a cross that is placed up on our stage by our pulpit. Our cross is made up of two 4 x 4 posts that have been sanded down, stained and varnished.  The construction is incredible and it really makes an impression up there  on the stage. Our cross and all crosses for that matter are symbols. A reminder of what Jesus endured for us and our sinful nature.  A way to visualize that terrible wonderful moment when our Savior spared our lives by sacrificing His.

 As my mind drifted during the service (not during the sermon I promise) I was looking at the cross and thinking there seems to be something missing.  Now don't get me wrong, the thing that I feel that is missing is NOT Jesus.  I don't like the idea of him hanging there because that's not what the cross is about.  He spent His time on it and thankfully He is no longer there.  No, what I noticed was our cross has no holes. No place where the spikes were removed from.  No indentations to remind us of what had taken place on that dark dark day.  The answer to that seems simple enough. We want a icon that is neat and tidy, prim and proper. We don't want dirt or wood shavings or sawdust to mar our worship area. We want our symbol to be acceptable to the world but more importantly acceptable to ourselves. I think sometimes we forget the holes. We forget the spikes. We forget the heavy, rough sided, torture device that held our Savior until His earthly body could take no more.  Sometimes only in our hymns do we remember the blood that "flowed mingled down".  There is no way that we can wrap this up with a neat little bow and make it presentable.  Screams rang out. Blood was spilt. Nails were driven into our Redeemer and He was left to die.

I like the nice clean cross that we have at our church but I love that old rugged cross. The one with the rough edges. The one with the blood. The one with the holes.

The Shepherd Knows His Sheep

I was visiting my 2 daughters at their college the other day. I wanted to find out if my money was missing me. It said it was a little lonely and asked if I could send the rest of it's family to live there as well.

As I was talking to one daughter and waiting for the other, I noticed out of the corner of my eye someone I knew. I realized that it was my other daughter. She had recently cut her hair and I wasn't used to her new style yet. Even though I didn't recognize her features I had recognized her from her walk. I had noticed her walk before I saw her face. I knew her from that walk that I had seen for some 20 years.

How often do we answer the phone and know who has called just by their voice? (using caller ID doesn't count) And why do we keep pictures that have our friends standing in front of a beautiful sunset? You can't really see their faces but you keep the picture because you know their silhouettes.

Now think about this. God knows all of our walks, all of our voices, all of our silhouettes and even all of our laughs, crys, and smells. He knows you and he knows me right down to our last hair. God is not some big disconnected being. He is a very personal, approachable Father that knows it's you just by your walk.

About the Blog Title

 
My father is a preacher.  I titled this column “Layman’s Moments” because when I was growing up there would be events that would happen during the week that would end up in my dad’s sermon on Sunday mornings.  Events, mind you, that I was a full participant in and even sometimes the instigator of, that would become an example of one thing or another.  I would be hearing the sermon and say to myself, “I was there but I sure didn’t get that out of what happened”.  Later in my life I started calling these events “Preacher Moments” but at the time I referred to them only as “oh shoot, that’s gonna end up in dad’s sermon” Moments.  Preachers are a strange breed.  They are always on the look out for sermon topics and everyday illustrations.  So everything that happens around them is potential fodder/ammunition/inspirational gems that will populate their next talk.
 
I’m not a preacher and I don’t even play one on TV. As far as I know I’ve never had a Preacher’s Moment in my life. Lately though I've had some “Layman’s Moments so I’ve decided to watch for them more closely, jot them down and share them.
 
I hope you enjoy.