I am not a salesman

When I was little it seemed like I was always raising money for something. (I guess some things don't change - see storychurch.org to give now!) I remember one time standing out front of the grocery store selling candy for yet another church trip. I think this time it was chocolate eggs, large tasty eggs, for $6 a piece. I remember the man who felt bad for me and bought my last 5 eggs which meant I got to go to Disneyland for free. But it wasn't because I was a great salesman. It was pity. I didn't have a smooth sales pitch, an engaging question, or even a sweet catch phrase like "BINGO!" (see yesterday's post if you don't understand)

I still hate selling stuff. In fact, even watching someone sell someone else on something is kind of awful to me. I hate the fact that it feels like someone is getting manipulated. I hate the false sense of excitement, the way the product gets talked up as if it's the greatest thing ever, and the feeling I get when I've been totally bamboozled into buying something I didn't really want or need.

I fear this about being a pastor. I never want to be a salesman. I don't want to have to give a pitch for Jesus. I don't want to have to talk Him up like "He slices, He dices, He blesses." I fear this because I guess there's enough of it in the church world that it makes me afraid to become that. There's certainly a reality to the fact that I want people to come to Jesus because of what He can do for them - heal them, restore them, redeem them. But Jesus isn't a product, and the church isn't just the packaging, and as the pastor I'm not Billy Mays (RIP). If Jesus isn't attractive enough on his own, lived out by his followers, then we're probably doing something wrong.

With that said, I'm all for churches making Sunday morning worship an attractive thing. It would kind of be counter-productive to say that we shouldn't do that. But don't invite your friends to church so that the professional salesman can sell them on Jesus. It doesn't matter what I say as the pastor - the message they will hear the loudest is what they see in you. And frankly, I'm out of the chocolate egg industry.

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BINGO!

I was sitting in Starbucks the other day working on my laptop when it happened. I've seen it unfold probably a dozen times in coffee shops over the years. Some young couple is meeting with some slick salesman who wants them to join his pyramid scheme (close enough anyway) with the promise that what they are about to do is easy and will make them tons of money in almost no time at all. This time, the salesman was selling Identity Theft Protection. He was good I must admit. He knew how to make a sale. He had this young couple saying "yes" a lot. They were excited. It seemed so easy. And to back it all up - he had a catch phrase. "BINGO!" Just about every 30 seconds he'd ask them a question with an obvious answer, and as they responded he would excitedly say "BINGO!" I have to admit, I started looking forward to it. I was anticipating it every time. I even said it with him a couple of times under my breath. I was getting so caught up in all of this that I was ready to join his scheme.

I learned several things from observing this whole thing go down. This week I'll try and unpack some of them for you. In the meantime, let's start with something a little lighter. As far as catch phrases go, "BINGO!" is pretty awesome. What are some great catch phrases that you and I can work into our vocabulary? I'll go first and stay in the classic game department. How about "YAHTZEE!?"

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Drops Like Stars

It arrived by UPS yesterday. I wasn't really prepared for what I was about to experience. Rob Bell's latest book Drops Like Stars is a work of art. From the second I opened the box I knew that this would be quite an experience. The book is large. Not in terms of page numbers or content - but in actual size. It's huge. Think yearbook, or coffee table book. It's pages are bright red. Throughout the book you will find stories, incredible photos, and great insight from Bell.

In its pages, Bell addresses the issue of suffering. But rather than addressing it in terms of "why?" he instead focuses on the "what now?" that comes from suffering. When the unexpected happens, and our frame of reference gets thrown out of whack - what is the result? Bell sees that art and beauty and creativity are the result of suffering. It's from experiencing pain that enables someone to create something that resonates so deeply with an audience.

One part of the book is called "The art of elimination." Bell talks about how when we strip everything away that isn't necessary, something beautiful emerges. In the arena of sculpture for instance, it was Michelangelo who said that his "David" was clamoring to be freed. I loved the story of Johnny Cash that Bell includes. By the early 90s Cash had been almost forgotten by the music industry. Rick Rubin took Cash, stripped everything away except for the man, a microphone, and his guitar. All of his band and everything that gave him comfort were gone. He shares that at the first solo acoustic show in Los Angeles, Johnny Cash was terrified. After thousands of shows all over the world, the idea of playing by himself was almost too much to bear. It was in that terror that something beautiful emerged - the honest, simple voice of an aging legend.

Though I hadn't planned to do it, I read the book from cover to cover in about an hour (maybe less). In terms of written content, there is very little - hardly enough to be called a book. But between his thoughts and the amazing photos, I feel as though I've experienced something great. I'll end with this excerpt:

"I want desperately for things to go 'how they're supposed to.' Which is another way of saying 'how I want them to,' which is another way of saying 'according to my plan.' And that, as we all know, isn't how it works. But it's that disappointment, in that confusion, in that pain - the pain that comes from things not going how I wanted them to - that I find the same thing happening, again and again. I come to the end of myself, to the end of my power, the end of my strength, the end of my understanding, only to find in that place of powerlessness a strength and peace that weren't there before. I keep discovering that it's in the blemish that the Spirit enters. The cross, it turns out, is about the mysterious work of God which begins not with big plans and carefully laid out timetables, but in pain and anguish and death."

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