Anyone ever met a pastor that just weirded you out?

A survey done by The Church of No People Institute finds that approximately 100% of people have at least one time been weirded out by a pastor. A large percentage allegedly are usually weirded out by pastors. Nearly 100% of pastors report that they are nearly always weirded out by at least one pastor. This makes pastors and politicians some of the most likely people to weird people out.

It’s not like pastors haven’t asked for it. People think they know what a pastor is. They see guys with poofy hair and shiny suits on TV asking for money and slapping people with their coats to heal them. That’s a pastor. They know what to expect in church before they even walk in the door. Pastors have too much ego and not enough money.

I was working as a cashier in a retail store when a pastor came into my line to buy something. How did I know he was a pastor? Because he was wearing a baseball cap that proudly said ‘Pastor.’

Now despite the fact that I thought that was the most hokey thing besides wearing a giant foam hand with ‘#1 Pastor’ on it, I decided to strike up a conversation. I was in seminary at the time, and thought that it would be neat to make a random connection. So I told him that.

I barely got a glance from him. I think he grunted at me.

Really, dude? I just told you I want to be like you, and you just shut me down? Thanks for nothing. I didn’t realize the cap meant that I wasn’t to speak unless spoken to. Look out everyone, it’s a Pastor! Everyone stand back! He probably wears the cap just in case he gets pulled over by a cop. Then while the cop is writing him a ticket, he can shout, “Don’t you know who I am? I am a man of GOD! Read the cap!”

The vast majority of pastors are great, personable, humble guys. But there’s a few that just make it so hard for the rest of us.

The problem compounds itself by the fact that many people outside the church have expectations of what a pastor is (the ego, the hair, whatever). Then whenever they meet a pastor who actually doesn’t meet that expectation (which would be almost all of them), they don’t know what to do. It’s like they’re weirded out that a seemingly normal guy would be a pastor. They’d rather have a complete tool of a pastor, because they know what to do with him. But a normal pastor? Doesn’t make sense. So they get all awkward around me, trying to figure out what to say and end the conversation quickly. Awkward like running into your old girlfriend with your current girlfriend. Awkward like this…

Begin awkward conversation now…

I get the look quite a bit. Granted, there are plenty of people who are delighted I’m a pastor. But they’re usually already Christians. Sunday afternoon, I had a non-church speaking engagement. Afterward, someone politely asked about my church, and I told him about our house church. He did a really poor job of hiding his weirded-out-ness with the whole thing. He obviously regretted asking me as he left by saying, “More power to you…” Trust me, it was all in how he said it. It really depressed me, even though I knew I nailed the speech I had just given. So I’ve got the double-weird going. I’m a pastor, and not just that, but a pastor of a non-conventional church. I meet no one’s expectations, and they can’t stand it.

So every once in a while, someone will treat me like I’m ‘special’ in the politically-correct sense of the word. Not like a normal guy who deserves respect, but like someone who you pity.

Would you rather I meet all of your expectations? Would you rather I act like a complete tool who flunked out of used-car-salesman-school? Maybe I should just start every conversation by prophesying and asking for love offerings.

But I knew what I was getting into. My Dad warned me all about it.

I guess we’re all going to weird people out once in a while. Do you ever weird people out with your faith? Pastors, I especially want to hear from you. Do you have to prop up the conversation because people suddenly don’t know what to say when they find out your profession? What kind of awkward social situations have you found yourselves in?

People die all the time. I’m told one day that I will die, although I am so youthful and handsome and full of life, I have a hard time believing this. If I am to really die and go to heaven, I think I’ll request that I keep my present body, because it’s just so glorious. Seriously, I’m awesome.

Most of us will die the way we live – surrounded by a few people who love us. Outside of that, it’s relative anonymity. There won’t be parades or tributes on TV or newspaper articles (outside of the section by the used car ads.)

But a very exclusive club of people will die with all that stuff. People will make little shrines in public for the famously deceased and leave flowers and trinkets and love notes, which will soon get rained on and turn into mush which has to be cleaned up. Nothing’s more depressing than a shrine after a rainstorm. And nobody says ‘boo’ even though there’s a $500 fine for littering. If I litter in memorial for someone famous, it’s okay.

People usually seem to get more popular once they’re dead…Maybe because they finally shut up. Even Richard Nixon. Death was very humanizing for Nixon, even in the eyes of those who hated him. There are so many people I can’t wait to start loving once they die. Maybe I’ll make a shrine to myself in the city with dozens of pictures of me. People will say, “What a shame, such a handsome young man with so much to give.” Then people will know how awesome I really am…especially when they find out I’m still alive and handsome. No such thing as bad publicity.

We’ve had several prominent people die recently, and no matter how you feel about any of those people, I think death always gives us a funny feeling, even if only for a moment. Someone I am used to existing, to affecting this earth is no longer doing so. The end.

I was at the gym early in the morning when I saw the closed captioning on the silent TV that Ted Kennedy had died overnight. I had that funny feeling for a moment.

I had a funny feeling over it because I didn’t really care for Ted Kennedy when he was living. I didn’t consider him a shining personality. I didn’t agree with him on the social subjects he was most vocal about; though I can admit that he did sponsor some important bills in his career. I wasn’t enamored with his speechmaking. Really, I thought he was an old and usually bothersome relic that ought to move on already…kind of like Jerry Falwell or Pat Robertson. But, that was the end for him. I can’t go on disliking him, because he doesn’t exist on this earth.

After a minute, I realized what I should’ve done. I said a simple prayer for Ted, “God, please have mercy on Ted.” My conscience was placated, because I was a good Christian. I prayed for someone I didn’t really like. Jesus loves me.

The radio was on, and the DJ was commenting on Mr. Kennedy. His comment was that the media will of course, cover his death ad nauseum. But overnight, lots of people died – moms, dads, children, soldiers, grandparents – all important people. No one’s death is more important than another’s.

I liked what the DJ said. “Yeah! Ted Kennedy is no more important than anyone else!”

But, then why did I just pray for him? A man no more important than anyone else, just someone who happened come from a prominet family. Why on top of that fame and satisfaction he had in life, should he have the benefit of millions of prayers and tears and petitions to God for mercy that another, anonymous, sinful man who died overnight didn’t get?

And I realized that by praying that little prayer, I had somehow fallen into the same trap that everyone else would over the coming days, whether they actually prayed for him or not. People will think special thoughts about a famous person, despite the fact that they never knew them, but don’t give a thought to the rest of us who die anonymously and alone.

Death is the great leveler. And it should level our prayers too.

I spend a lot of time praying for myself. I’ll be honest, it’s probably 60% of the time, and that’s making myself look good. Probably another 30% of the time is spent on people I know personally and/or love and/or hate. That only leaves 10% for the ‘Ted Kennedy’ prayers – prayers for people I don’t know, but they’re famous enough to somehow deserve a prayer. And a tiny sliver of that, I admit is spent on on people who I have no idea even exist – random people who will die tonight without family, friends or Jesus.

It’d sure be nice if I had a lot of people praying for me when I die. But why should I be so special to have that? I just don’t deserve it based on my prayer performance.

How do you react when someone famous dies? Do you say the little prayer? Do you have a ‘good riddance’ in some moments? How does your prayer life break down?

I commented a couple of weeks ago that if there’s one thing Christians like doing, it’s finding out who’s ‘in the club.’

By that I mean finding out who’s a Christian?

Now if someone isn’t a Christian, case closed. We know what box to put him in. The hell-bound, needs-to-be-saved-box. Neat and tidy. Commence strategic tract deployment! Witnessing formation, soldiers!

But what to do when you find a new Christian friend? It seems great, like you’ve shared a top-secret Jesus handshake. You are both in the club, with your magic decoder rings. But the joy is often short-lived.

Because, once you find out someone is a Christian, how can you be sure they’re the right kind of Christian? A Christian can’t fit in one box like a non-Christian can. Approximately half a second after finding a new Christian friend, the joy is often killed as the questions start to creep in…

What church does he go to? I think I’ve heard of that one. Which denomination is that? It better not be one of those ‘emerging’ churches I’ve heard about. I wonder if they have gays in their church. I wonder if he’s pre or post-millennial. I wonder if he speaks in tongues. I wonder if he votes Republican. Does he support the war, or just the troops? I bet he recycles. But is it because he’s a tree-hugging environmentalist, or just a good steward? He just ordered an organic coffee with soy milk. Just great. I hope he’s not a vegan. They’re always a pain. He better not drink beer though. I’d better say something before this silence gets too awkward…

I suspect none of you think of any of those questions about me, and I don’t do it to you either. I suspect that’s because blogging is about the most remote relationship two Christians can have with one another, and that usually keeps it fun. We don’t know if the other one is a raving left/right wing lunatic, so we can be blog-buddies.

I told you that I purposefully avoid politics on my blog because I know what I believe, and I know I’m absolutely right, and I’d hate to find out some of my readers are dead wrong and probably going to hell for thinking such backwards thoughts, despite the fact that they’re brothers and sisters in Christ.

But the closer the relationship gets between two Christians, the more they have to be the ‘right kind’ of Christian to get along in all likelihood. Like if I want to ask someone to write a guest blog for me, it could be any old Christian. If I want to go for a cup of coffee, again any Christian will do. But if I’m going to have a second cup of coffee, he’d better start making sense, or I’m headed for the door. If he wants to have a Bible study with me, he’s got to have his head on straight, and if I’m looking for someone to help me move, I’d better just go with Jesus himself, because that’s really personal. I can’t just have a crazy Bible-thumping cultist handling my delicates.

I bring all this up because I pastor a house church. House churches are great, but they can be a bit like little islands. I’ve recently begun searching out all the other house churches in my city, and it turns out there’s a lot of us. I have this wild fantasy of a loose network of house churches, building each other up, encouraging one another, because we have Jesus and houses in common.

Is it even possible? The grand test is if we can get along…in person. Because other than Jesus and houses, we really have nothing in common.

Our church is middle of the road Protestant. We could be Presbyterians if we weren’t non-denominational. Another one is Emergent/Missional. One church is much more Baptist, and another is Charismatic, so that right there is asking for a cock-fight to break out. In any other situation, the only time these groups would be together would be some big inter-faith summit where everyone shakes hands and plays nice, but still tries to ‘out-pray’ one another in the big prayer line-up. The Methodists always seem to lose those…

Can I defy 2,000 years of church history? Can churches from very different streams come together to do something great? Or are we just not the right kind of Christians? Have you ever seen churches defy the odds and team up for Jesus?

Before you comment on that, I just want to give a quick shout out. This post is also being published via Transparent Christian Magazine. When you’re done here, check them out. It’s a thoughtful and well-written collaborative blog I respect and enjoy.

With the economy still in the dumps, more people than ever are watching where they put there money.

Which means more Christians than ever are trying really hard to come up with good reasons they shouldn’t have to tithe. I’ve had a few interesting conversations about this lately. People have always wondered why they should give Jesus their money, but at times like these, it’s even more fun to talk about.

Four Lame Arguments From Non-Tithers

We’re not under the law
This is the classic lame argument from people who don’t want to fork over some cash. They like to talk about how Jesus never says anything about tithing, and how he abolished the law. So people who tithe are a bunch of legalistic old cranks who should shut it.

First, Jesus did say something about tithing. He commended the poor woman who tithed her two coins, which he called “all she had.” Here’s a clue: it was probably more than 10% of her net income.

Second, everything can become legalistic. We are bound by rules. If I decide to not be a “legalist” by no longer eating every day, I will eventually die. By your logic, we should quit going to church, quit going to our jobs, quit everything we do on a regular basis for the sake of ‘freedom.’ Nice try.

My church is greedy and tries to make me feel bad for not tithing.
People love to be outraged by some vague idea of the church misusing their money. It’s like their church is extorting money from them with hired goons, and then using the money to broker deals with corrupt government officials to control the Bolivian water supply as leverage against competing drug cartels to obtain a nuclear warhead, which will be used to hold the world hostage from the comfort from the pastor’s secret lair inside a volcano, surrounded by liquid hot magma and sharks with laser beams attached to their heads. I know, it’s happened before, but it’s not likely to happen again.

Non-Christians like to use this to as a reason to write off church too. Any argument that makes a Christian sound like a non-Christian is probably a good one.

I don’t know what other churches do to encourage tithing, I figure most of them make an annual ‘Stewardship Sunday.’ If that’s your idea of the church ‘guilting’ you into tithing, it’s probably your conscience bothering you, not the church; or you’re just a big baby. Your pastor is probably not Tony Alamo.

Fact: If you don’t contribute any money, you have no say in how the church spends the money.

Should the Pastor really get paid for what he does?
Let’s think about this. When was the last time you decided to forego a full time career that came packaged with a great paycheck, benefits, a corner office, respect, and satisfaction…in order to spend your precious weekends trying to protect people from their own bad habits and keep them from going to hell. Because that’s probably what your pastor did. You don’t expect anyone else to work for free, do you? God forbid our ball players should go hungry.

I don’t get a living wage from my church; far from it. But I get a small check to supplement my full time paycheck, (which means I’ve given up my weekends on top of my job.) After I and the worship leader are paid, we have no overhead because we’re a house church, and over half our income is left to save. I can’t wait to tell you what we’re doing with our money, because it’s big…huge.

I don’t make enough money to tithe
I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were an African tribal living in a grass hut, dressed in nothing but war paint, with no concept of money outside the primitive bartering you do with the beads you recieve in trade whenever American celebrities come to your village to adopt your children.

If that doesn’t apply to you, then that argument is so ludicrous, it doesn’t deserve a response. I may listen to that argument if you’ve just taken in a house full of dehydrated Bolivian orphans.

I don’t care if you give 5% or 90%. Just give cheerfully and help your church stay accountable, or come up with better reasons not to. I’m sure there’s plenty I haven’t heard.

If you’re a non-tither, do you have any more arguments for me? What others have you heard? How does your church handle the money issue? How do you feel about ‘Stewardship Sundays’ or your pastor’s paycheck, or anything else having to do with money in the church?

Have you ever left everything behind?

It’s probably a whole lot harder if you have a lot to leave behind.

This week, school started up and at our district’s convocation we got a special guest speaker. You might be familiar with H&R Block, the tax prep company. It’s based in Kansas City and has 22 million customers, so they’re doing all right. It was founded by two brothers, Henry and Richard Bloch. I guess they thought ‘Block’ was catchier than ‘Bloch.’

One of the sons, Thomas Bloch came to talk to the teachers of our district. What on earth does the heir to a tax service company have to do with education?

Actually, he already inherited the company. He started as a tax preparer out of college, and worked his way up the ladder. Eventually, he was CEO of the company. I’m sure he had a very nice office to go with the million dollar bankroll he was taking home. I imagine home for him was a ten-story yacht with a bowling alley, called the S.S. I’m on a Boat. Hey, I don’t know how CEOs live.

Anyway, about the place in his life where a guy couldn’t hire any more people to kiss his butt, Tom decided his life was empty. He decided that a million dollar bankroll wasn’t all he was born to accomplish.

So he decided to teach junior high algebra to inner-city underachievers.

Really? Teach? Algebra? Inner-city? Doesn’t make sense. In his own words, he went from a place loaded with cash and respect to a place that afforded absolutely none of either. Now you may know that the Kansas City school district is notoriously bad. So a rich white guy who actually expected effort and success from his students was still a sideshow. He was actually laughed at by parents when he told them their children were failing. They laughed in the face of the former CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation. He was of no consequence to them.

He realized that he spent only half his time teaching algebra to his algebra students. The rest of the time was spent teaching character, citizenship or morality. That’s off the record, because every politically correct person knows a teacher’s job is to teach academics, not character…right?

Then he decided he needed to take it one step further. He was friends with Barnett Helzberg of the jewelry store chain, also based in Kansas City. Barnett had sold his company and was looking for a new challenge, and presumably a large gaping money-pit to wildly throw his cash into, never to be seen again.

So they opened a school. They felt the name University Academy was pretentious enough to work, so they went with that.

The first couple of years were a disaster as students came in, realized the standards were abnormally high for the inner-city, and moved on. Eventually the school was moved, expanded to include all the grades, and students started sticking around and graduating.

Tom admitted that his sacrifice was easy financially. There are plenty of people who struggle far more to make the change he did. He had made his money. Even with all the money he’s poured down the drain on a school, his family’s lifestyle hasn’t suffered. But still, I have to wonder how many days he thought to himself, while getting disrespected to his face by children and their parents, “I don’t have to be doing this.”

I think that’s what ministry is all about. At some point, probably most ministers think, “I don’t have to be doing this.” Then they realize that, yes, they do. Because it’s a calling.

I don’t know if Tom is a Christian, but he could be. And he made a decision that makes a great story. Have you ever known anyone like that, who ‘threw it all away’ to do something great? Maybe you’re that person that people talk about. What’s your story?

Oh, and you’re probably wondering who won our big giveaway! Well, you’ll have to come back at 3 pm central time to find out! The suspense is killing me!