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.”
Sorry if you missed National Backward Day. It was in January.
When my wife was teaching, her elementary schools always observed National Backward Day, a brief respite that encourages people to do things in reverse or unconventional ways.
You don’t have to be a kid to celebrate it. All ages are welcome to break routine and engage in activities with a unique twist.
Participants wear clothes backward, eat meals in reverse order or do everyday tasks in unconventional ways.
I met Bill at Baylor University. He was a fellow ministerial student who imprinted his fraternity shirt with a mock Latin phrase, “Quid tibi est?”
In 1978, Google was a long way off, so my fellow pledges asked him to translate it.
“What’s it to you?” he asked.
“Oh, come on,” we said. “Just tell us what it means.”
Mocking us as lowly plebes, he weighted the last two words, “What’s it TO YOU?”
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.”
