A couple of weeks ago, our pastor challenged us to write our Jesus story and send it to someone. I’m a little late because reasons, but here we go.
To the best of my recollection, I started going to church when I was five. As I got older, attendance became more frequent; it was Sunday morning/Sunday night/Wednesday night through most of my growing up years.
We lead a small group (“Lifegroup” in our church body’s vernacular) that consists of young married couples, where by young I mean “kids,” as in late twenties to early thirties. They’re a lot of fun, and we have a lot of fun with them. As well as doing completely serious Bible study, of course…
One of the newest couples to the group has, in the last couple of weeks, been called away to a far-away mission field filled with people of dubious reputation and an environment of open hostility to human beings. This place is known in English as “Lubbock.”
This past Wednesday was the husband’s last day with the group (the wife is staying until the end of the month to wrap up things at their apartment).
Normally, I’m with Dick the Butcher, who Shakespeare famously had remark “The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.” Lawyers are why you have warnings on your iron not to use it on clothes you’re wearing, and why you can no longer get hot coffee at McDonald’s.
I’m also not a fan of demand letters. They’re typically just a written form of bullying, and, like most bullying, draw the response of wanting to just hit them in the nose.
But (very) occasionally both turn out to be quite useful. And, as a fan of great writing of almost any form, I could not not link to this.
Around 25 years ago give or take a year, my wife and I sat in an intimate little “theater” in Euless to hear a CCM artist that had been making his name for a couple of years. His fourth album had just come out a few weeks prior, and a couple of hundred of us were gathered to hear him perform. I don’t remember him having a band with him, but then again it was 25 years ago, so draw your own conclusions.
It’s no secret that I despair over the state of “Christian music” these days. Christian radio is programming for the Q-Anon soccer moms and the rest of us just have to muddle through. The good news is that I’m discovering a lot of bands I missed out on fifteen years ago.
But, as Elijah discovered, there’s always a remnant.