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."
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
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.
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.
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