Month: March 2013

I would like to share with you a news story that has been making the rounds on Facebook and has much of the Christian community up in arms.  You can read the original story here as well as a related story here.  Or you can just use my cliff notes version below.

A Florida Atlantic University college professor, Deandre Poole, has created a national uproar for requiring students to write “Jesus” on a piece of paper.  He then had them put the paper on the floor and stomp on it.  This is not something he made up.  It was an exercise from the textbook “Intercultural Communication: A Contextual Approach, 5th Edition.”

At least one student found it so unacceptable that he refused to participate. Ryan Rotela, a devout Mormon and a junior at FAU’s Davie campus, claims he was punished for not participating.  A charge which the university denies.

Florida Governor Rick Scott is outraged.  Saying,  “The professor’s lesson was offensive, and even intolerant, to Christians

Religious leaders such as the Rev. Mark Boykin are outraged.  “We find this to be unconscionable, completely unprofessional and unacceptable,” he said.

College professors like Paul Kengor are outraged.  “Gee, I wonder if the instructor would dare do this with the name of Muhammed.”

I’m outraged too, but maybe not for the reasons you might think.

While the articles I have attached for you to read are a little unclear, the impression I get is that very few students, in fact maybe only one, refused to follow the professor’s  instructions.  All of the others were perfectly alright with stepping on their piece of paper.  To me as a Christian, that is the real story.  Not the lesson itself but the students reaction to the lesson.  Where have we gone wrong?  Why was only one student willing to stand up for Jesus?

As Christians while not always willing to share our faith in a constructive way, IE: Explaining to our children why stepping on that paper may not be the right thing for us to do, we have become very skilled at throwing our arms up and whining about how abused we are, how intolerant of our faith people have become, and how disrespected we feel.  We think that if we kick and scream hard and loud enough, as Governor Scott did in this story, we can force people to change.  And when we get a response that satisfies us like this one;  “Florida Atlantic University is deeply sorry for any hurt that this incident may have caused the community and beyond,” wrote Lisa Metcalf, the school’s director of media relations, in an email. “As an institution of higher learning, we embrace open discourse in our classrooms, but with that comes a level of responsibility. The exercise was insensitive and hurtful; it will not be used again.”  we think we have secured some great victory.

But what have we really won?  Yes, we have forced a university to change it’s policy, but that’s all.  A true victory would be a story that reads; A course study at Florida Atlantic University where students were told to write the name of Jesus and then step on it was canceled due to lack of participation.  The schools Director of Media Relations stated, ” As a show of solidarity dedicated to their faith, the students unanimously declined to take part in this exercise.”   

The reason we don’t see stories like this is because as people of God, we are failing to get His message across.  At some point we decided it would be much easier to try and force others into changing their rules and policies than to take our time and effort to change their attitude.  It’s the difference between putting a band aid on a bullet wound or removing the bullet.

During this holiest of Christian weekends, let’s remember that Jesus came and changed hearts.  We should be attempting to do the same.  It’s the only way to effect real and everlasting change.

Have a Happy and Holy Easter.

After conducting numerous internet searches in order to reassure myself that I would not be sent directly to hell if I tried this, I decided to take what for me would be a different approach to praying in church last Sunday.  I would pray, not with my eyes closed and head bowed, but with my eyes opened and looking forward!  My plan was simple.  In order to fully concentrate, I would stare at the big cross hanging at the front of the church.  As the pastor said, “Please rise, let us pray.”  I took a deep breath and reminded myself to just focus on the cross.

It was only seconds before I was completely sidetracked and lost all concentration.

Almost immediately I averted my eyes from the cross in order to glance at my wife and make sure that her eyes were shut.  Then, before I could shift my attention back to where it belonged, I was drawn to an usher who was standing along one of the outer walls.  Hands crossed reverently in front of him, his eyes scanned the congregation.  Hey, it doesn’t look like he’s praying.  I thought to myself.  His eyes are opened.  Maybe he’s doing the same experiment as me.  Or maybe the 9:30 crowd is considered to be such a rowdy bunch that he was instructed by the elders not to pray but to remain vigilant at all times in case any trouble breaks out.  He looks like someone in charge of crowd control at a Pat Boone concert.”

While I didn’t think it was likely there could be any problems, I decided to scan along with him and noticed an older woman over in the third row who looked like she could be a bit of an instigator.  “Does she really have to sway back and forth while holding her arms out and pointing her palms up toward the ceiling like that?  Okay lady we know you’re praying, no need to make a big show out of it.  Why don’t you leave that stuff to the Baptists?  That looks tiring.  I bet she’s praying that the pastor will hurry up and finish his prayer so she can put her arms down.”  

Realizing that I had become preoccupied with all that was going on around me I started to force my eyes back to the cross when all of a sudden I noticed something else.  “Oh my gosh, is that John and Linda sitting over there near the organ?  I haven’t seen them in church in God knows how long.  I thought someone told me they were having marital problems and she had filed for divorce.  She still looks pretty good but boy has he ever aged!

Again I reminded myself to focus when…… “I see the Gower kid is in fine form.  Looks like a tiny soldier on sentry duty.  He’s walked back and forth across the seat so many times it will be a miracle if he doesn’t wear a path right into it.  Why doesn’t his mom stop him from doing that?  Probably because she’s praying with her eyes closed.  Maybe I should pray for God to supply me with a big long stick that I can use to knock the little bugger off of there.  It could save the church the expense of having to reupholster that pew.  While I’m at it maybe I should pray for forgiveness for that remark.   HA!  I make me laugh!”

I finally got my eyes back on the cross when I heard the pastor say, “In Jesus name we pray, Amen.”

Done already?  Wow, that didn’t go very well at all.

How did I become so easily distracted?  How did I allow my mind to wander into areas it had no business going?

Sometimes even when my only objective is to focus on the cross I still fail miserably.

 I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.

C.S. Lewis

I recently read on the internet that an Ohio man saw the image of Jesus in bird droppings on the windshield of his car.  The story was accompanied with a picture that I must admit (if I closed one eye and then almost entirely shut my other one while cocking my head at an unnatural angle that would eventually give me a terrible headache) bore an uncanny resemblance to our Savior.  You can see the picture for yourself, if you don’t have some kind of moral issue with typing the words “Jesus’ face in bird poop” into your favorite search engine.

I’m not sure how I feel about all of these Jesus sightings.  Most of the time I think it’s nonsense and makes Christians look like a bunch of fanatical lunatics.  When I read stories about people who see Christ in a taco shell I want to scream, “WILL YOU PLEASE JUST SHUT UP AND KEEP IT TO YOURSELF?  AS A PERSON OF FAITH YOU’RE EMBARRASSING ME!!!!!” 

After all, what these visions really are is just coincidence and a matter of perspective, correct?  It’s kind of like taking a Wisconsin Dells boat ride.  You’re floating down the Wisconsin River and the tour guide says, “If you look to your right you can see Steamboat Rock.  They call it that because it looks exactly like a steamboat doesn’t it?”  You squint through the sun that’s shining in your eyes and say, “Yeah, I guess so.”  While the guy next to you, his mouth hanging open in amazement says, “I think I just heard its whistle!!”  Coincidence and perspective.  I mean let’s face it, if I were to spit on the ground enough times and stare really hard at it, eventually I could probably see something other than what is actually there, which is just a sloppy puddle of saliva.  That’s kind of what these Jesus sightings are, right?  Just random shapes in random objects that sometimes look a little like Christ.  It’s silly.

But I have a confession to make.  Occasionally I feel something deep down inside that won’t allow me to completely dismiss these sightings as mere coincidence, the delusions of crazy people, or outright fraud.

Now someone is reading this and saying, “Dale, you can’t be serious.  Do you really think some guy in, let’s say Topeka Kansas, is eating a jelly filled doughnut when all of a sudden the filling squirts out the other end, starts dripping raspberry jam down the front of his shirt and forms the image of the Virgin Mary?  In your opinion that is some kind of a sign from God?  You’re nuts!  God doesn’t work that way.”

Oh, He doesn’t?  Then by all means, someone please explain to me exactly how God does work.  I’m really interested in knowing that, because I have to be very honest with you, I don’t have a clue in the world how He works.  I couldn’t even begin to understand how God chooses to reveal himself to people.  In fact, I’ve talked with people who’ve given me what I thought were the craziest reasons as to how they began to seek a relationship with God and believe me, if tomorrow someone tells me that they’ve been saved because in a moment of inspiration they decided to connect the freckles on their butt with a Magic Marker and the resulting design miraculously formed the shape of the cross, it wouldn’t be the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.  Top five maybe, but definitely not the most ridiculous.

Does this all sound crazy?  A little I suppose, but let’s be honest.  As intelligent as we like to believe we are, we are still not intelligent enough to know what will be the catalyst to jump start someones heart.  That’s a job for God, and if He chooses to burn his image onto one side of a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich, then who are we to question His methods?

I’ve been told that God made every one of us unique.  And though I can’t find any specific reference to the word unique in the Bible, I still believe it’s true.  With our own traits, from faults to gifts, we were all created uniquely special.  One of a kind.  Different from anyone else.  Yet we are also in so many ways, the same.  Our thoughts, things we imagined only we could be feeling, are often thought and felt by so many others.  Can you relate?

The path that led us from doubt to belief, or has stranded us somewhere in between those two places, has been paved with many of the same stones.  We have either stepped on all of them or are standing motionless on one right now.  Do I realize that I’m describing “Your walk with Jesus” while at the same time trying to avoid that cliche?  Yes, I do.

Yesterday many of us stood firmly on the path stone of denial.  While we did not stand firmly enough to call ourselves atheists, because there was enough fear of an unknown God to make us stop short of that, we were none the less confident that the Bible, a book we had never read, was nothing more than fictional nonsense.  Our confidence was based on the few stories we knew; Jonah and the whale, David and Goliath, Sunday school stories that we imagined even Sunday schoolers couldn’t be silly enough to believe.  While we knew virtually nothing about the Bible, we knew enough to be dangerous.  Dangerous to ourselves and possibly others as well.

So if we were so sure in what we knew to be untrue, how did we lose our balance and fall onto the next path stone?  It seems as if we just woke up one morning and decided that maybe all of those animals really did get crammed onto a homemade boat.  No, these stories were crazy.  They just weren’t logical, made no sense at all.  How did these thoughts get into our heads?  A virgin can’t give birth, and a man doesn’t die on a cross, get up 3 days later and just walk out of a sealed tomb!  Not possible.  But why couldn’t we stop thinking that maybe it happened?  Maybe Noah did, maybe Mary did, maybe Jesus did.

That third step sure was unexpected wasn’t it?  Exactly how did we end up in church anyway?  We had no idea but we seemed to be enjoying ourselves!  “Praise Jesus!  Good morning brothers and sisters in Christ!  Of course I’ll be at church next Sunday!  And Saturday too!  Pot luck dinner on Wednesday?  See you there!  Pass the collection plate?  No problem!  Hate the sin love the sinner!  You want me to volunteer 3 times a week Pastor?  Sounds good, I’ll take time off from work!  I’m on fire!”  We had the jargon down.  Outwardly we exhibited all the signs that we were Christians.  We had everyone convinced but us.  Because inwardly we were still questioning ourselves and saying;  “I hope all of this God stuff is true.  I really want it to be true”   

Yesterday we felt the need to give anyone who would listen, a hundred good reasons why we didn’t believe in God, but today we don’t feel the need to give anyone even one good reason why we do believe.  Is that what true faith is all about?  A quiet confidence?  Maybe so.  Whatever, we now feel that we’re standing with both feet planted solidly on that fourth stone.

Does that mean we will never again allow doubt to creep in?  Probably not.  Maybe there will even be times when we will turn around, retrace our path and step on stones we thought we would never cross over again.  That’s all part of the walk.

And I used to think that proof that I had religion was whether I knew how to sing all of the songs.  Bernice Johnson Reagon

I would like to be clear about something right from the beginning of this post.  I try very hard to be sensitive to the fact that we live in a multicultural society, a melting pot of many different races and ethnicity’s.  I’m nothing if not flexible and understanding.  Long ago without complaint, okay maybe with a little bit of complaint, I accepted the fact that I would have to deal with many different types of people and tongues.  I mastered the art of sifting through the French, Spanish, German, and Japanese sections of bible sized instruction manuals in search of the English version that would explain to me in a language I could understand, how to assemble my wife’s vacuum cleaner in 147 easy to follow steps.

I have also patiently tried to make the transition of putting things together using only pictures as my guide.  A change in strategy employed by some companies who realized they were including so many different languages in their literature that the cost of printing the assembly instructions was exceeding the selling price of the item that needed to be assembled.  Although attempting to put something together looking only at illustrations can sometimes be as challenging as figuring out what kind of scene an untalented mime is trying to act out, I’ve done my best to adjust.

The only good I can see coming from all of this diversity is that it has allowed me to learn some new words.  Words like salida.  Salida means exit.  Now I know how to get out of my favorite Walmart store if the actual “EXIT” sign happens to be missing.  “Oh my gosh how do I get out of here?”  “Look, over there, SALIDA!!”  Useful information to have in the event a fire breaks out in one of their rotisserie chicken warming ovens and I’m forced to quickly evacuate the building.

But now this language thing has gone way too far.  I have finally reached my breaking point.  I was pushed over the edge by my PJ’s.  While technically not pajamas, they are the sleeping pants that I go to bed in.  I was putting them in the laundry when I discovered that the tag in the back, the one that shows the size and laundering instructions, was torn halfway off.  (So that’s what was scratching my tushy.)  As I attempted to completely remove the label, I noticed something.  Right there, printed next to the size X large was something else that read, X GRANDE.  Seriously, are you flippin kidding me?!?  Hanes found it necessary to tell me I was fat in two languages?  X GRANDE!  Really?!  What’s the big deal you ask?  The big deal is that because of Taco Bell restaurants, the word grande, to me does not mean large.  It means HUGE!  As in the Taco Bell Grande Meal, which is 10 Crunchy Tacos, Soft Tacos or Bean Burritos, plus an order of Nachos Bell Grande and a Mexican Pizza.  That’s not a large meal it’s enormous!  So yes, the X GRANDE tag in my pantalones ticked me off!  Come on Hanes why not really insult me by printing your tags in German too?  The word for large in German is Groß.  I’m not even sure how you pronounce it but it just looks like an overweight word doesn’t it? Groß.  My wife who thinks this whole thing is hilarious anyway could then say things like, “Dale, maybe you shouldn’t have that last slice of pizza, you’re starting to look a little groß around the middle!”   Ha Ha Ha  “Thanks dear, how nice of you to notice.”

Well corporate America, you can attach your GRANDE labels to crappy overpriced 16 oz cups of Starbucks coffee if you like, but I want them out of my shorts!  I’m not a chubby foreigner!  I’m a big boned American of proud Italian descent!  Why not use a beautiful Italian word to describe the size of your clothing, Hanes?

What?  Grande is also the Italian word for large?  Well that changes everything.

Never mind.

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.

Henri Nouwen

As some of you already know, I believe that I do my best thinking in the shower.  Well apparently I’ve expanded my mental capacity to the point where I am also able to think while I do other things as well.  I never saw that coming!

While clearing my driveway for the fifth time in a 24 hour period I suddenly realized that there were actually real thoughts other than, bend over, scoop, straighten up, throw the snow, going through my brain.  I guess the hamster who was assigned to spin the little wheel in my head was pulling some overtime without me even realizing it.

I caught myself thinking about friendship.  Maybe this was triggered by my desire to have a friend come over and help me move all of the damned snow, I don’t know.  But whatever made me go down this avenue of thought caused me to give myself a pop quiz, and it is one that I would also like you to take.

First let me say that this is totally unscientific.  I have not done any studies on this and I have not looked on the internet to see if any studies have been done.  That would have been too much like doing work and I figure as long as I’m not working, then dammit I’m not working!

OK, let’s get to it.  I want you to take 5 seconds, no more, and think of as many people as you can, excluding family members, who you would call,  “to share (y)our pain and touch (y)our wounds with a warm and tender hand.”  GO!  ….. OK, your 5 seconds are up.

How did you do?  When I did this, three names immediately came to mind .  If I gave myself another minute or so I could possibly come up with a fourth and maybe a fifth.  I feel very fortunate.

My guess is that the friends who come to mind in the first few seconds of this mental exercise, in some way have had the most profound effect on our lives.  They are people whom we not only care deeply about, but just as importantly they are people we trust.  I believe if you can come up with even one, you are blessed.

However, as I continued to shovel I thought of something even more important.  I began to wonder, would the people who I thought of when I took this quiz, also think of me if they took the same test?

I decided to ask myself the question in reverse.  How many people would ask me to share their pain and touch their wounds with a warm tender hand?  How many consider me a close and trusted friend?  A friend they would call on in their time of need.  Can I think of anyone?  Maybe.  Am I supremely confident that I have made a significant enough impact in someones life to receive that call?  No, I’m not.  At least not 100% confident.  I’m surprised and concerned by my uncertainty.

I liken all of this to choosing teams on the playground as a kid.  It was always much easier to be the one choosing the players for your team than to be the one waiting and wondering if you were good enough to even be picked at all.

When all is said and done, it takes no great skill to choose, but it does take someone special to be chosen.

Have you ever been criticized?  If you can honestly answer “No” to this question then there is probably no reason for you to read any further.  But the truth is, we all have been the object of someones criticism at one time or another haven’t we?  Maybe you were criticized by a spouse or a boss.  Maybe by a friend or maybe by someone who you barely even know.

A few years ago I helped lead a teen discussion group at the church I attend.  One of the girls in the group was dating the place kicker of a local high school football team.  The team was having a good season however her boyfriend, the kicker, was struggling.  His kicks were either landing short of the goal posts, pushed to the right of them, or hooked to the left.  Fellow students as well as adults would give an audible groan that seemed to grow louder and nastier with every missed kick.  The frustration and pressure he must have been feeling had to be unbearable.

Can you relate?  Have you ever tried so hard to do something only to come up short of your goal?  Then, maybe while you were trying to right the wrong, correct the error, someone approached and decided to tell you how the task “should have” been done?  Tell you how they “could have” done it better.  Maybe what made it worse is you knew for a fact that the critic had never even tried to perform the very task they were criticizing you so harshly for?  It hurt didn’t it?

I wanted so badly to find some way to encourage this girl and her boyfriend.  I knew exactly what I wanted to say but was having a difficult time finding the right words.  As luck, or God, would have it I stumbled across the following quote that arranged my thoughts into the perfect words and order, and stated them more eloquently than I could ever hope to;

Man in the Arena

“It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.”

                                                                                                         Theodore Roosevelt

I carry this quote in my wallet to remind me.  It reminds me that if I continue trying, I might fail.  However if I stop trying, I have failed.  It encourages me as I hope it will encourage you, to dare greatly.

But one last thought.  There are two sides to this aren’t there?  Have we ever been the critic?  If you can honestly answer “No.” then by all means I urge you to continue reading……..

If I’ve learned anything since beginning this blog last September, in fact, if I’ve learned anything about writing at all, it’s that there will always be people who will misinterpret what I am trying to say.  Maybe the reader is not paying close enough attention, or maybe I am not an accomplished enough writer to get my point across.  As with anything, my guess is that both of these things at times are true.  There are no one way streets   Regardless of who’s to blame, there are often misunderstandings.  The title alone can cause one of my posts to be taken the wrong way.  The title of this post for instance.

Clearly, as most of you probably already know, I identify myself with the Christian faith.  However, while I am not a fanatic, and by that I mean, I do not shout it from the roof tops and greet every person I meet with the phrase “Praise Jesus.”  I also do not consider myself a closet Christian.  I do not hide or deny where my faith lies.  If it comes up in conversation or I am asked, I will readily admit what my beliefs are.  However my approach is not one of  “in your face.”  I believe my conduct will give people a clear indication of who I am.  Occasionally that will be a good thing and occasionally it won’t be very flattering at all.  Many years ago I stopped trying to analyze whether that is right or wrong, good or bad.  It just is.

Now is the time to misunderstand.  PLEASE STOP, YOU’RE GODDING ME TO DEATH.  YOUR CHRISTIAN CLICHES ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY!!  So much so that I feel like I should use more exclamation points to insure that I’ve gotten my point across.

Over the last nine months I have heard the following phrases from well intentioned people whose only purpose in saying them was to make me feel better.  So if you’re wondering if I feel guilty about acting so unappreciative, the answer would be yes I do.  But I can’t help myself.  These phrases have become like fingernails on a blackboard to me.

When God closes one door He opens another.  Okay, He can feel free to open the other door anytime now.  Is it stuck or something?

God will never give you more than you can handle.  Just so you know, that first helping He gave me was more than enough.  Now I think He’s  just screwing with me.

Let go and let God.  You mean I have a choice?

If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it.  I would like to go on record as saying that I would have been perfectly okay with not being brought to it at all.

I’m praying for you.  Nothing seems to be happening.  You must be doing it wrong.

By now you’re probably saying something like, there’s no misunderstanding here, you’re kind of a jerk.  People are trying to comfort you and you don’t appreciate it.  Not only that, you seem to be making fun of God too.

“What kind of a Christian are you anyway?”  I’ll answer that in the only way I can.  Sometimes I’m a really good one.  And sometimes I’m not.