Wedding season is in full bloom. In McKinley Park and Downtown churches, I’ve seen the lovely dresses spilling from stretch limos, flowers flowing, jewelry sparkling.
Looking at this outside view, I see signs that the couple spent countless hours sweating the details of their lavish affair.
But long before this summer spectacular, I hope someone remembered to ask the couple this question:
This month’s column comes straight out of ancient times. This is wrath-of-God stuff, fire and brimstone, baby, right from the Old Testament cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.
You know I’m messing with you. You don’t read this column to get the hellish diatribes made famous by televangelists.
Those preachers often compare the “homosexual debaucheries” of Sodom and Gomorrah with what they see as the decline of America. They use it as a cautionary tale to ban books, define sexes and influence elections.
Some months back, I visited a new church led by an energetic team. I wanted to learn how our traditional church might find some regenerative energy.
Afterward, I asked what the team liked about their church. I heard several good answers, but one woman intrigued me.
“The first time I walked into this church, I could tell I’d found a wholesome place,” she said.
“Definitely a wholesome-looking bunch,” I said.
“Yes,” she added. “No one with piercings or tattoos.”
Like most pastors, I send out a weekly email to church members and friends previewing my sermon topic and promoting upcoming events.
After the November election, I received this email from a person I’ll call Joe Christian:
“Please remove us from your e-mail list. I wish to get as far away as possible from the poison in this country that is evangelical Christianity.”
Last month, before I was to speak at the Sacramento Rotary Club, my wife Becky asked, “Do you think you’ll ever fully retire?”
I answered, “Definitely! Mostly. Maybe?”
She asks because she knows I sometimes struggle to write this column, travel for speaking engagements and pastor a small church.
It’s all rewarding, but a lot of work.
Sometimes, I feel like the man who had enough with life’s difficulties and went to live in a monastery.
Once in the monastery, the man was instructed to speak only two words per year.
After his first year, he met with his abbot. His two words, “Bed hard.”
After his second year, he told his abbot, “Food bad.”
Finally, on his third year, he came to the abbot’s office and said, “I quit.”
