A common objection to the Gospel of Christ is:
CHURCH IS FULL OF HYPOCRITES.
I wish there were another word, because this one makes me thing of Cockroaches. Don’t ask me why. It has since I was little.
Cockroaches. I mean, hypocrites.
Yes, the church is full of them. Because, as with every place you go, your business there is not necessarily about your “business”. Meaning, say, you are a hiker. And your dry cleaner is a hiker. When you go into the dry cleaners, he knows you’re there to pick up your pants. You do business for years without ever finding out that you have the interest in common. Unless you see him on the trail. Because you aren’t there to discuss your hobbies, you are there to do business.
When you are in church, you are there to worship, God, fellowship with others, be equipped to live out your faith.
Not air your dirty laundry.
We are ordinary human beings, no more able to attain to our ideals, than to leap off the roof and fly.
When someone objects to consorting with people who are not living what they believe, they are rejecting the man in the mirror.
Who does Jesus love more? The guy who never makes a mistake? Or the guy who can own his @#$%? The sinner? Or the guy who thinks he isn’t one?
The Bible is conclusive. Jesus came into the world to save sinners. He died for our sins. Not our excuses, not our rationalizations,or good reasons. My children will put me in an early grave telling me the ‘good reasons’ they don’t need to do what I say, the way I say to
freaking do it. How God must feel when we do the same to Him?
The church is called the Body of Christ. The body, at least where I live, is sick. It’s members are plagued. Living lives of pain and degradation, while showing up every Sunday and making fashionable, interesting, competitive, Christian chatter.
We’re shaving, showing up, and shmiling. Sitting the pew. Dying on the inside.
I’m an oddball. My business is usually out there. I’m constitutionally unable to act fine when I’m crumbling. Dealing with stuff head on. People don’t like that.
2013 sucked. I found out about a lot of hurting people.
Not just the messy public ones.
Lots of men. Who are supposed to be initiators, protectors, leaders.
Lots of kids. Who we’re supposed to be loving and teaching the way to go.
We didn’t start out as hypocrites, but somewhere along the line, we forgot Jesus, like Billy Joel, preferred the sinners for dinner companions.*
That the prodigal’s dad was waiting for him to come home. To party.
That the prodigal guy was sick of his sin. A real hypocrite isn’t.
At our house, we don’t act like it didn’t happen. If I yelled at Mickey, I yelled. If I threw a book, I threw it. If they told me they hated me, I said, “I know, but we’re talking about chores, right now.”
I get the impression that isn’t what’s going on around the community.
Kids are feeling like it’s burdensome and uncool to do what Jesus did. Act out of love for the Father and others. All the time.
Hypocrite? That’s God’s call.
The fault line is under pressure. The tremors are coming.
We are about to get shook.