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Fall, 2001
*More Church Bulletin Humor* Sermon Outline: *Toy Disclaimers* * No beanies or babies harmed in the
manufacture of this product. BITING CHRISTIAN
HUMOR - OXYMORON Here am I, the lowly writer, in front of my blue screen until the wee hours (four o’clock in the afternoon actually), I am convinced all writers live in a land called Metaphoria. From this land the written word is expedited to creatures called Editors, who callously issue Letters from their home, Rejection City. Having written my finest guffaws and none picked up, I reach into the abysmal recesses of my brain for untapped yuks. It seems there’s nothing there -- metaphorically speaking -- but wait, actually there’s a treasure trove, a veritable extravaganza (to borrow a term), if I have mistakenly assumed it untouchable. Still, a brief letter long ago from an editor (Mr. Darden, you know who you are!) has led me to believe that perhaps even sacred cows are funny to look at, while still having their place in the world. It has taken me some time to arrive at this conclusion, I shall proceed with fear and trepidation. What I am speaking of is churches. May I first start with those churches, who shall remain nameless, where upon entering, one is greeted -- by the “greeter” of course -- and a syrupy smile that reeks of Donna Reed and that valium-induced euphoria that ruled the fifties. Never the less, one remains polite, exchanges polite courtesies and sits in their polite seat and listens to the Vegas-y renditions of contemporary worship music until the service begins. Then one is nearly bowled over by the energy of the live set, you look around and get this Twilight Zone feeling that you’re in smileyland. Don’t any of these people have problems --- real problems? At this time, the front man comes on to warm up the crowd for the pastor, and once everyone is on their feet, feeling adequately stoked from the music, their SUV’s all in a row outside, the head dude (a.k.a. Pastor) comes up. A nice enough guy, he loves the Lord, but his sermons are more like a motivational speech, rather than expository on God. Humor at appropriate intervals, mingled with statistics which prove the viability of what he’s saying. The congregation is told to take responsibility for their lives, dig in and work for the betterment of the community. Not much is said about the poor, the homeless, those in real need, and there sure aren’t any in the congregation. And let me not forget the cutesy skits. One Sunday had three men on stage (in the corporate approved casual wear of mocs, belted, pleated shorts and golf shirt) blubbering, for real, about their problems with their kids and stuff, even had their arms around one another’s shoulders --- gag me! I still like men who act like men. . . but then I was raised on John Wayne movies, so maybe it’s me, (which is what people always say when they really think it’s you!) In my head, I’m going “What!” I slowly, calmly, turn my head to my side to look at my teenage son, who didn’t want to be there in the first place, trying with every fiber of my being to silently emote approval on the outside for his sake, praying that the idiocy with which I feel is being displayed before us, does not cross my face and give me away. To say that he is less than moved by this format is the understatement of the century. He gives me this “What the heck?” look and a mock slap directed stage ward. Well, all my pretense balled up inside me and sent me into those silent, jiggling hysterics that attack during youth, until I thought I’d have to leave. At the conclusion, the pastor does give what we used to say, an altar call, but I am certain that no one quite knows what that means after the previous thirty to forty minutes. When we leave, we’re not sure whether we’ve been to church, or a positive thinking seminar. That’s okay. Then there is the church we went to prior. This church is for latent hippies, you know, Don Henley’s dead head sticker thing. Worship is great, kind of MTV meets TBN. There are long pauses when everyone gets super-spiritual, and those of us not logged on are wondering what we missed. But that’s okay. The music is cool and at least you feel truly before the throne. No complaints with the pastor, except for one small thing. His teaching was exceptional -- so much so, that he earned his doctorate and split to teach.. The people that took his place are well-meaning, but it was a drive to get there, and let’s face it, you may go a long way to see the Beatles, but not Paul Revere and the Raiders (have I completely lost the reader in a time warp??). Only thing about this church through the years was the weirdness. It got so mystical at times, I was worried they could read my mind to find out I didn’t know what the heck was going on. Words of knowledge and trembling hands being laid on were rampant. I do not discount all of this, there apparently really were some healed, but for a while, the preoccupation with this was just getting out of hand. Then, when things settled down, and the teaching was excellent, as I said, the pastor took off for the ivy halls. But that’s okay. Let us digress to the churches of my youth, holy cow. Big-haired singers that went on and on until I thought I’d slit my throat just to get it to stop. Old-time preachers who screamed with enthusiasm. Amazingly, I can remember as a child, falling asleep in the pew as the red-faced man got more and more wound up. But that’s okay, I found the Lord in one of these churches. Then we moved on to a kinder, gentler church. Still droning singers of “special music,” but a pastor whose low, monotone voice could take the place of aforementioned valium. Going to church in those days was purely an exercise of obedience and little transpired. But that’s okay. In the end, all of these experiences helped me in some way, I am not without respect for those whose styles are not the same as mine. And the bottom line is that all these people are serving the Lord and trying to edify the body. . . and that’s way more than okay. Now, all of that having been said, have I stepped over the line? I think not, even sacred cows can take a blow or two and be none the worse for it. After all, some cows are too easy, they almost ask, or if you prefer, moo for it. In any case, whatever cow we prefer, they all moo, have four legs, hooves, chew cud--sorry, you get my point.
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