Naked And Proud Of It

“I was afraid because I was naked.” Genesis 3:10b (NLT)

And thus spoke Adam as he and Eve cowered behind a row of bushes near a fig tree.  God was in the house, or more specifically, in the garden, and they had just eaten of the forbidden fruit.

Incidentally, I have a theory about the forbidden fruit.  Although never specified in scripture, it is commonly assummed that the fruit was an apple.  I don’t think so.  I believe it was a persimmon.  I’m not certain if you’re familuar with persimmons, but they are abundant in southern Indiana where I grew up.  My favorite desert is persimmon pudding (a very moist cake with a sweet glaze topping).  I’m not sure how to describe its flavor – although I suppose you could say it has pumpkin-ish qualities about it.   I learned at a young age that you don’t collect persimmons by picking them directly from the tree.  You want the ones that have fallen to the ground.  That seemed strange to my young mind, since persimmons were so abundant on the tree.  So, my dad, being his fatherly best, invited me to pick one from the tree and take a bite.  I did.  I learned.  When you pluck them from the tree, they are extremely bitter; only when they’ve fallen to the ground are they ripe enough to consume.  I puckered for the next hour after my lesson on persimmonology.  Thus, I believe the forbidden fruit was a persimmon…  it was taken directly from the tree…  and mankind has puckered ever since.

This was also the birth of our embarrassment and fascination with nakedness.  Even the most sanctified of men find it a test of their will to turn their head when any degree of nakedness is displayed by a woman (another blog for another time – ladies, help us – cover up!).

The shame with nakedness comes from being fully exposed, as is.  All of our faults and freckles on display for those able to look on without any modicum of disgust.  Sadly, our culture today has put less emphasis on physical modesty, while over-emphasizing emotional and intellectual cover-ups.  You can attend church with someone for years and never truly know the person.  In my job as pastor, I’ve come to realize that making my own vulnerabilities known (to the degree that propriety allows) helps my parishioners to learn that we’re all struggling to grow. 

There’s another side to this – I’ve witnessed far too many people who’ve ran away from the church or its people based on gossip, half-truths, or outright lies.  Human relationships require nakedness to work – we must be open with each other even at the risk of being exposed.  We cannot develop healthy worship atmospheres if our people are hiding behind veils of suspicion, distrust or discontent.  Certainly, we must be careful not to foster an air of too much openness – there is a point at which this goes from being healthy to hurtful or unwise.  You don’t really want to tell Sister Martha that her outfits look like they were made for the circus. 

Trust is built upon honesty balanced with common sense.  Worship thrives where there are no fumes of bitterness in the air.  The church is at its best when its people are naked.  And proud of it.  Keep your pants on, but open up your heart to those around you; this is the beginning of a growing ministry work.

Another Bite In The Cookie, part 4

This was our first year without our daughter Jackie here on Christmas day.  She married last year, and the in-laws live in Oklahoma.  And it was their well justified turn.

Rather than the lonely Christmas Barbara and I had anticipated, my sister, brother-in-law, and their 3 young progeny joined us and brought much joy.  Especially Carly.

This was Carly’s first year to really get into the Santa thing.  She knew she was supposed to leave a note, so mommy transcribed it for her.  There was the refreshing glass of 2% milk that would surely be a disdainful lukewarm mouthful by the time the jolly old elf arrived.  And then there was the cookies.  Two cookies.  One of which was that perennial holiday favorite, the peanut butter cookie with a Hershey’s kiss in the middle.  Carly sat there, those wonderful, sacred, sugary delights staring her in the eye.  And then it happened.  Her little 4 year old desires could be arrested no longer.  She took a bite out of the cookie.  The adults quickly swooped down on her to wrest away the cookie like a pelican hitting water.  It was bedtime after all, and the cookie curfew had long since passed.  But along with the rejoinders came the bursts of laughter.  We had just witnessed a precious rite that will no doubt one day be recounted to her own children.  She said that she didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to eat the cookie, but no one believed her.  It is fundamentally impossible for a child to overcome such a temptation when it lingers such as the Santa cookie did. 

As a pastor, I see the same thing play out week after week.  The cookie is just too tempting.  We take that bite claiming we didn’t know it was wrong.  We seemed shocked at the reactions of others who pass along quick condemnations.  The cookies linger.  We bite.  For most of us past the age of 4 the problem isn’t the bite, it’s the response.  There are no guilty people in jail…  or in church.  We’ve all been framed, set-up, unfairly stung or mistakenly apprehended.  Why is it so fundamentally hard for us to exercise contrition?  Has our society necessitated personal standing to the point where any frailty or fault becomes unbearable to confess? 

And I write all this as if I myself find it easy to be contrite.  God help us all!  I wonder what impact one or two honestly contrite and confessing Christ-followers might make on the world around them.  I hope we one day find out.

Words You Can’t Say In Church

Joey was a sweet, skinny and towheaded little boy from an earlier church I pastored.  He tried hard to fit in with the bigger kids and to an extent they accepted the instantly lovable little fellow with a speech impediment.  One Sunday the kids were all at each other with teasing remarks as I stood at my familiar post to greet people as they entered the sanctuary.  The moment came when Joey had enough of the brusque comments the others were doling out.  Forgetting where he was, he offered up the rejoinder, “Kit my at!”.  Now that may sound like a bizarre pairing of words to you, but keep in mind that Joey had speech difficulties.

Instantly every child froze in place realizing that Joey had broken the sacred code and had uttered a potty word in front of the pastor!  Horror quickly turned to mockery as they couldn’t resist laying a thick, burdensome guilt trip on him with typical childhood taunts such as, “Aaaahhhhmmm!”  Joey’s head bowed in shame, and with shoulders stooped and eyes diverted from any chance of meeting mine, he slowly lumbered away like a man on his way to the electric chair.  My heart broke for my little pal as I patted him on the back as he passed.  “That’s OK, buddy,” I said softly, realizing that no pastoral training ever adequately equips you for the needs of a moment such as that.

Later that day I pulled into my driveway after a visit with an ailing woman.  To my surprise, Joey’s mom’s car whipped in behind me.  Joey had seen me out, and asked his mom to pull in.  Out of the car came that little man with the boyish charm and salty tongue.  Head still bowed in humility, as he slowly stepped closer I could see the teardrops pouring onto the asphalt below.  “Patter Dweg,” he said, using his version of my name.  “I’m torry I taid a bad wood in chuhch.”  He was sorry he said a bad word…  in church!

After doing all I could to comfort and absolve little Joey, he was back in the car.  Still, his words rang in my ears for hours after.  Even today I have to chuckle at his innocent yet profound confession.  He was sorry he said a bad word.  In church.  I knew what he meant.  But I also can’t help but be amused by the possible interpretation that he wasn’t sorry for the word he said, just that he did so in church.

I get this all the time from adults.  Perhaps it’s someone who says, “Pardon me, pastor” after issuing a curse.  Or, it may be as commonplace as a church goer who alters their behavior in church so that the sacred might not be stained by their ordinary ways.  Most swear words are not bad in and of themselves.  It’s the intent behind the word that makes them foul.  Even kind words can become volatile when used maliciously. 

Not long ago, a teen in my church messed up the words to a song she was singing at a Sunday evening service.  Frustrated by her error, she blurted out, “Oh crap!”.  Her mother was completely chagrined.  Honesty had made its way through pretense and presented itself for all to observe.

You see, this really isn’t about words or semantics.  It’s about heart.  There is no reason to clean up your act for church if the weekday person you are lives a different ethos.  This is not to say that propriety isn’t a good thing; rather, transparency and honesty are the only ways for Christ-followers to truly find their way down better roads.  It’s a good thing we don’t all have TV screens in the back of our heads for all to see what is going on in there!  No doubt there would be a few porno movies played at church on Sundays.  We do, however, have the ability to be honest and humble in our humanness and to seek the wise counsel and direction of those who’ve walked with Christ much longer than we have.  With that in mind, can I truly say that I am, as the pastor, completely transparent?  No, probably not.  But my people will also tell you that I strive to be honest with them about my struggles so that they can know they’re not alone. 

Yes, I have difficulty at times diverting my eyes when a nice looking woman shows off more of herself that I really need to see.  Yes, I still battle the anger issue even though God has helped me to move past the explosive rages of my distant past.  Yes, I admit there are days when my prayer life is as dry and dull as a Hillary Clinton stump speech. 

Coming to the house of God isn’t about cleaning up and then showing up.  While I highly recommend proper hygiene, one doesn’t have to scrub the inner recesses and outer behaviors before entering in.  Come as you are, behave with proper respect, yet be honest enough that others can come along beside you and show you that they’re still growing as well.  There is nothing uglier than a holier-than-thou Christian.  There is nothing more beautiful than the tears that fall after we allow God to help us find our way a little closer to him, a little farther from hopelessness.  Come as you are.  Leave a bit more like He is.