Stuff Christians Like (5 page)

All your lyrics should be interchangeable so that if people in the audience want to pretend you’re singing about God, they can. If they want to pretend you’re singing about your girlfriend, they can. For example: “Your love has opened up a part of me I didn’t know I had / Without you in my life, my days would be so sad.” That’s magical, right? Maybe a girlfriend changed that singer’s life…or maybe God did. Hard to tell, especially since you strip all the pronouns out. Tricky. (By the way, if you want to use that lyric, you can. That’s yours for free. Keep that one somewhere safe.) Before you know it, your fans will be saying to each other, “I love this song because it reminds me of this girl I dated in high school
and
also my life-redeeming relationship with the Lord.”

Lean in close and I’ll tell you a little secret. Sometimes, Christians throw out ideas when we’re with other Christians to see if they will judge us for something we secretly like. We’ll say, “Yeah, this guy I know went to that new nightclub and said it was crazy.” Then, we’ll pause and observe their reaction. If they say, “Dancing is evil. I hate nightclubs and so does God,” we immediately agree with them, “Amen. God wants to smite them. Probably use sulfur, if I had to guess.” But if they say something like, “Let’s go check it out,” we’ll respond, “I’ve heard that place is good too. We should go sometime.”

It’s kind of like how coal miners used to have a canary down in the shaft with them. If the bird died, something was wrong with the air quality. Well, what we do is introduce a verbal canary. Then, if someone kills it, we can still look holy and say something like, “Yeah, that bird sucked anyway.”

We have a love/hate relationship with that street corner preacher who yells about repentance on the sidewalks of cities around the world. We love to use him as a sermon illustration of how
not
to do God and church and the gospel. And we hate that we get lumped in with him when someone says, “I don’t like Christianity. It’s so judgmental and screamy.” It’s true, you’re not an official street corner preacher unless you’re sweaty and have a sign with all caps and an abundance of exclamation points and at least one mention of satan or hell.

The challenge, though, is that the repent message—the “get your stuff together; it’s about to get real” message that street corner preachers proclaim—is actually the first sermon Jesus gave. Matthew 4:17 says, “From that time on Jesus began to preach, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near.’” That verse doesn’t elaborate or tell us the rest of his message. There’s the sense that this was his entire sermon, like it was written on a sign:
REPENT!!!!! FOR THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS NEAR!!!!!

Regardless of the specifics you believe about the creation of the earth—God did it in six literal days; “days” meaning something different in his economy; he set things in motion that have
grown and changed over time according to his plan, etc.—you’re required by Christian law to sarcastically proclaim, “And it was all an accident!” when you encounter something amazing in nature.

Whether it’s a beautiful mountain range, an ocean ecosystem functioning perfectly in a tidal pool, or the birth of a child, you have to let everyone you’re with know that God created it. And the smarmier you can be about it the better. Sure, you could always just say, “I personally believe God created this,” but where’s the fun in exclaiming that?

It’s much better to say, “And it was all an accident.” Not only do you give God a quiet little shout-out, you also get to say, “How dumb are people who believe in evolution and the big bang and a million other ideas?” Which is completely in line with Jesus’ whole “love your neighbors through sarcasm” thing. I think that’s in the book of Mark. I’d look it up, but the sun is rising right now in my office, and tender beams of light are tickling trees thick with leaves that seem to stand sentinel to the approaching morning; it is gorgeous, and it was all an accident.

Christians find it nice to tell someone, “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. Anything at all.” Especially if that person recently experienced a tragedy or is about to set out on some big adventure that will clearly require the help of others. It feels good to write that blank check of support. Plus, as a Christian, we’re probably supposed to say that. I don’t know if that exact phrase is in the Bible, but I’m sure there’s something close to that in the New Testament. But what if someone calls your bluff? What if in the midst of enjoying that really warm feeling of fictional support, someone tries to take you up on the offer? That’s bogus, right?

For bad people, that is. Not you and me of course, but for people who say, “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you” and don’t really mean it. That happens you know. I know you and I always say it without conditions, but some people throw out fake offers of generosity.

It happened to a friend of mine who was going on a mission trip. She spoke at church about the trip and afterward a man approached her to offer his unconditional support. When he asked if there was anything he could do to help her, she said, “I could really use some financial support.” He looked her dead in the eye and said, “I’ll pray for you.”

Good grief. Didn’t she know the protocol of the fake support offer? I say, “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you,” and then you say, “I’ll let you know; thank you so much for your generosity.” Then we go our separate ways and I get to enjoy about 67 percent of what it would feel like if I actually helped you. You’re not supposed to take me up on the offer. That’s just rude.

But what if you run into someone who doesn’t know you’re only pretending when you offer support? There’s got to be a better approach than just saying, “I’ll pray for you.” Here are two ideas:

Say, “God gifted me with the spiritual gift of thought, not action.” Tell them you’ll be thinking about them next Saturday when they struggle to move everything they own across town. No one likes to help people move, but you can’t just say, “I hate moving, no thanks,” when they ask you to bring your pickup truck over and help out. So instead, try to tell them that your particular spiritual gift involves thinking about solutions to challenges, not actually participating in the solution.

Or, just throw your car keys. It’s better to walk home than it is to have someone actually cash your blank check of help. But it doesn’t really have to be your car keys, anything shiny will do. That’s why I always keep a handful of silver glitter in my pockets. If I get pushed into a conversational corner I throw the glitter into the air, and while the person I’m talking to is distracted, I run away. An additional benefit is that I look like a cool magician, so I’ve got that going for me.

^*
Rob Walker, “American Apparel’s New Image,”
Fast Company
126 (June 2008).

Fine, I’ll say it. I know it’s not technically a competition, but if someone says “Yes Jesus” while I am praying instead of just “Yes,” I feel a lot better about the quality of my prayer. I know some folks feel that a “grunt of affirmation,” a la Master P’s hit song “Make ‘em say Uhh,” is a stronger confirmation of the awesomeness of a prayer, but call me old school; I still think a “Yes Jesus!” that floats up from the backup prayers while you do your solo is the best way to earn some major prayer points. Are we still frowning on that kind of thing, or is it acceptable to score prayer now?

Sometimes saying “I’ll pray for you” is just the Christian equivalent of ending a date by saying, “I’ll give you a call.” It shouldn’t be, but it is, and right now I have about a 17 percent success rate when it comes to actually following through on my “I’ll pray for you” promises. I know that’s horrible, but that reflects a ten-year average that includes 2000 – 2005, when I was batting about .000. I’ve done better these last five years to pull up my average, but you know what they say about prayer statistics: “It’s a marathon, not a sprint.” (I think there was an analogy traffic jam in that last paragraph.)

But what if there was a better way? What if instead of saying, “I’ll pray for you,” and then not, we could all do something else? What if we could learn some other ways to end a Christian conversation?

Conversations, much like
Saturday Night Live
skits, are often difficult to end. What started out funny and enjoyable just kind of slowly deteriorates until you’re both standing there saying, “So…yeah…that’s what’s going on.” I think it might be nice, when you sense that a conversation has lost its momentum and it’s time to move on, if you offered the person you’re talking with some pocket candy. Instead of saying, “I’ll pray for you,” you could say, “I need to go now, but I’d like to leave you with something. Here, have some pocket candy.” Everyone loves candy. And even if they don’t, they’ll be too stunned to really say anything as you fill their hands with delicious treats, rather than an empty promise to pray for them.

This one makes no sense and that’s kind of the point. It’s just really fun to say, and at the bare minimum, it will be awkwardly
funny. Just imagine if your friend says, “So anyway, that’s what’s going on. Not much else…whatever,” and you reply, “Razzle Dazzle man, Razzle Dazzle.” (Bonus points if you can combine this one with pocket candy and actually give your friend a handful of Razzles, the candy that turns into a gum. Remember that stuff? It somehow managed to suck as both a gum and as a candy. Phenomenal.)

If you’ve ever worked in a corporation, you’ve heard this phrase. This term is so large and undefined that when someone shows you an idea at work, you can say, “That’s interesting,” and it can mean everything from, “I like that plan! I think we should turn it into a project,” to, “That is the worst idea I have ever heard in my life and will probably bankrupt the company if we so much as make eye contact with it.” Try it today. You can use it in almost any situation. Someone spills coffee on your computer keyboard: “That’s interesting. The vowels don’t work anymore.” Someone offers you a raise and an office with a door: “That’s interesting. I think I would like a promotion.” It’s great for work, and it’s a pretty handy “I’ll pray for you” replacement. Not because it’s a dishonest phrase, but because it buys you time to gather your thoughts and reflect on the conversation instead of just throwing up an automatic “I’ll pray for you.”

Rock the PRT (Prayer Right There) if you really want to pray for someone. Don’t let the push and pace of life swallow the request. Even if you write down a prayer request, you’re going to lose that piece of paper or your wife will throw it away because she thought it was trash even though it also had a great book idea on it. Hypothetically speaking, of course. So just pray. Or if that feels weird, pray while you walk away or drive away or Ruckus away, if you are so lucky to own a Honda Ruckus scooter. (I love that word
ruckus.
That’s what I want to do with God—create a ruckus. And the idea of creating a ruckus while at the same time riding a scooter named Ruckus makes my head spin.)

I had cosmetic surgery once. I know what you’re thinking: pec implants. You’ve probably seen that beach photo of me that’s going around the internet. I didn’t want to do it, but when
Guide-posts
magazine asks you to be part of their “Hottest Christian Bloggers” calendar, what can you do?

I didn’t have pec implants. I got a nose job—or rhinoplasty, if you prefer—when I was eighteen. My dad is a pastor and was a pioneer of “doing things with excellence” for the church. So when my face took a bad turn during high school, he nipped that right in the bud (or septum, as it were) and made sure I was hott with two t’s. I completely understand his logic. You think some first-time visitor’s going to stick around and give their life to Christ if the pastor’s oldest son looks like some kind of gargoyle perched on the front row of the sanctuary?

He’d probably tell you that the surgery was to fix my nose after a horrendous skateboarding accident that left me with a
face opposed to breathing, but that’s not the point. The point is, are we supposed to pray for someone who is having unnecessary plastic surgery?

Let’s pretend you’re at small group and your friend says, “I have a prayer request. I’m getting calf implants tomorrow and would really like you guys to lift me up in prayer.”

Do you say, “No, I’m not praying for that,” right away, or do you dig a little deeper? Maybe you have this conversation:

YOU: Do you
have
to get calf implants? Is this because of some medical condition?

YOUR FRIEND: Yes, it’s called “no-tone-leg-itis.” I’ve got a bad case of it. No matter how hard I work out, I just can’t get my legs cut up.

YOU: You need a
funny
implant because that joke was horrible. So this is just an aesthetic thing?

YOUR FRIEND: Yes. I want sexy legs. When I walk in the room, I want every eye to be captivated by the beauty of my calves. I’m really nervous about the surgery and going under the knife and all of that.

YOU: I think what you need to be afraid of is those pastel and neon pants that weightlifters wear because their legs are too bulgy for normal pants. They’re like MC Hammer pants, just not as classy…and that’s saying something.

YOUR FRIEND: Please just pray that the doctors would have wisdom tomorrow and that everything would go smoothly.

YOU: Oh, no. I can see it now. You’re going to be one of those guys who shaves his legs even though he’s not an Olympic-level swimmer or cyclist. You’re going to shave your arms next. You’ll be like this hairless man from the future, with smooth arms, ripped calves, and a fake tan. I don’t like where this is going at all.

That’s a pretty grim future, my friend. So maybe the answer is yes. Yes, we should pray for our friends who are getting calf implants. Not just for the surgery, but also that they won’t turn into a flesh-colored Tron in the weeks that follow their surgery. Focus your prayer there.

For centuries, we Christians have secretly used God’s favorite word in all our prayers. To even mention it, I embrace great danger and peril and risk and other words that mean bad things could happen to me. This word, above all others, ensures that God will hear your prayers and answer them quickly and awesomely. To put this powerful word into the hands of non-believers could find me banished to the balcony at church, and everyone knows that the Holy Spirit only touches people on the ground floor during service. But I must share.

I am, of course, speaking of the word
just.
Here’s how we use it in prayer:

I added those last four for emphasis, but it’s not far from the truth. I’m not sure why we do that, but I should probably apologize. Next time someone prays, you’re going to have highly tuned “just radar” and will probably be thinking in your head, “I just hate that book
Stuff Christians Like.
”

Prayer circles can provide some surprisingly tense moments. At church or in a small group, someone will say, “I’ll open us in prayer. Lisa, you close us. Everyone else, pray if you feel led.”

Suddenly, there’s an expectation. In less than a minute, that opening prayer is going to wrap up, and you’ll be faced with an incredibly difficult decision: Do I pray? Do I feel led? When do I pray? When is the “Closer” going to speak up and end this thing? How do I not start praying at the same time as someone else?

There are so many questions, each fraught with danger and intrigue. That’s why I created this simple list, “The Seven People You Meet in a Prayer Circle.” It’s like that book,
The Five People You Meet in Heaven
, but slightly more sarcastic and bound not to become a made-for-television movie.

You might think the Closer is the one with all the power, but don’t be misled. The Opener is in control. In addition to often choosing the Closer, they set the tone for the entire prayer circle. If they go long, people after them will go long. If they add cute little jokes to the opening prayer, people after them will be casual too. More than that, they don’t have to worry about the Closer or fear someone else cutting them off. They can pray and then relax. Their job is done in a matter of seconds.

This is the person sitting near you who is constantly on the verge of praying. You can hear them doing that little breath thing—that small inhale that occurs a split second before someone speaks. And you can hear it because it’s loud in the deafening silence of the prayer circle. Every time you’re about to say a prayer, you hear the Almost-er and stop because you don’t want to cause a prayer train wreck. And then they don’t pray. So you start again, and an inhale from the Almost-er stops you again. It’s quite the little dance.

Another name for this person is the “Jon Acuff.” This is the person who sees the chance to pray in front of people as an open microphone. A chance to not-so-subtly reference everything they’ve recently learned during their quiet time in one long, rambling prayer that feels like a sermon. And there’s no way to stop them, unless you’re married to them. If you are, then, like my wife, you can grab the Rambler’s hand and give him a squeeze that says, “I love you. You are good at praying, but no one wants to hear about the spiritual mysteries you’ve uncovered recently in the book of Joel.” (It’s possible I’ve Lifetime-channeled my interpretation of that hand squeeze though, and my wife is actually trying to say, “Stop. Please, stop right now. You are killing me with your Bible-flavored rambletastic ridiculousness.”)

Deciding not to pray in a prayer circle is like not giving to a love offering. “What? You don’t feel led? You’re the only person in the room who didn’t get led? The Holy Spirit isn’t speaking to you right now? Maybe we should pray for you instead of doing this prayer circle.” Expect at least one person to be the Cave-In and give in to prayer pressure.

When there are only two people left who haven’t prayed and the Closer is mentally warming up to end the session, you may end up in a prayer showdown. It’s just you and one other person who haven’t prayed yet. The entire circle senses that the first few prayers were good, but they just need one more tiny prayer to wrap things up before the Closer. But you don’t want to pray, and neither does the Gunslinger. So you sit there in silence across from each other, like cowboys in the street, waiting, letting the tension and the awkwardness build, until finally someone draws their gun and blurts out, “Lord, thank you for this day and everything you’ve blessed us with!”

This one is rare. Hearing this in a group prayer is like seeing a unicorn. But it can happen in a prayer circle when everyone in the room knows that someone is praying for something they should
not
be praying for. The entire circle knows that Mark is the wrong guy for Sue and can’t resist jumping in after she prays. Here’s how it usually goes down: