Jon Acuff's Blog, page 149

Mysterious church services.

One of my favorite scenes in the movie "Best in Show" is when the two yuppie characters explain how they met. They say, "We met at Starbucks. Not at the same Starbucks but we saw each other at different Starbucks across the street from each other."

That's funny because it's true. There are approximately 9 million Starbucks locations. There are two on every corner. Another way to say it is that there are as many Starbucks as there are churches in the south.

Growing up in Massachusetts I didn't have any idea that the South was hogging all the churches. (If you're reading this post from Switzerland and need a point of reference, I'd say there are as many churches as there are people who sell bratwurst on the streets of Zurich. Geographical shout out!)

If you don't like the church you're attending in Atlanta for instance, you don't have to "church hop," you can kind of just "church fall down." By the time you walk out of your old church and fall the five or six feet your body would travel like a chopped down tree you'll probably land in the lobby of another one.

I don't think that's a bad thing, I think that's a great thing. But it is funny because if you drive around a city like Nashville you see a whole host of different types of services. And some of them are so creative they're bordering on "mysterious." Here are three real services I saw on signs during a recent jaunt through the music city.

1. Casual Service.

This one is low on the mystery scale, but it does offer more ambiguity than say a "Contemporary Service." (Which means lasers, no hymns and you can wear jeans.) What does a casual service entail? I feel like there are probably sweat pants involved and maybe bean bag chairs. At least one person on stage is going to have an unkempt goatee and possibly refer to the whole thing as a "Laid back liturgy." I'm guessing this service occurs on the first floor of buildings without windows. A guy named Eutychus fell asleep in the very first "casual service" and fell out a three-story window to his death in Acts 20. Something to keep in mind. No on windows. Yes on sweatpants.

2. The Jazz Service.

Miles Davis. John Coltrane. Louis Armstrong. Dark rooms. Disinterested waitresses. Smoke from hand rolled cigarettes. There, I just exhausted everything I know about Jazz. Wait, "jazz hands." Forgot that one. What's a "jazz service" like? This one is a little higher up on the mystery scale. Like jazz music, do you have to pretend you understand it and like it more than you really do? Because that's what I did when I was in college. I hosted a radio show on a jazz station, which I knew nothing about. So at 5AM before anyone was listening, I would just play rap and Counting Crows. Is the service like that at all? So many questions.

3. Narthex

My first thought when I saw a sign for this service was, "Before taking Narthex osteoporosis medicine, check with your doctor because in rare cases it has been known to cause small colds or instant death." But it's not a medicine, it's part of a building and apparently also a church service. And as I spent a little time in this mystery I thought to myself, "I really hope this service some how involves a Narwhal." Do you ever forgot those things exist? Sometimes I do, and then I remember and I'm pretty happy. The unicorn of the sea. God's favorite practical joke. The only animal that might better prove God's creativity than the platypus. Is there any way that when you step inside the Narthex there's a big aquarium where a Narwhal floats around perhaps doing a choreographed routine to ? Is that too much to ask?

Chances are, you probably don't get to sit in bean bag chairs or listen to Miles Davis or frolic with a Narwhal at any of those services. That's OK, but you have to admit, it's fun to see a mysterious church service and think, "just maybe, just maybe, there is a mythical but yet oddly real sea creature inside that church right this second."

What types of services does your church offer?

Dinner is a bucket.

Recently, my 5 year old taught me something important about the playground, what it means to be a dad and why we eat dinner together. The awesome folks at E-Mealz gave me space to blog about it on their site. Check it out if you get a chance!

The bird, the letter and the job.

Sometimes I like to think I've got faith figured out. I feel like I've learned a few things, had a dramatic return to Christ after years of wandering, read some books, and can clap my hands together and say "done and done." But these last few months have been a weird time of God exposing to me how broken my understanding of his love is. How twisted and how false my beliefs are. And recently he showed me that with a dead bird, a homecoming and a single letter.

As I've mentioned 92 times, I'm reading through the Bible with some friends right now. I've joked a few times that the book of Leviticus is the "one year plan killer." It's the book that has often knocked my out of the running for actually reading through the Bible in a year. It's full of mold regulations and verses that tell you how to determine what hair color means in the middle of a sore and oh man, I stop reading. That was the attitude I took with me as we marched into the L.

But because the Bible isn't a book, but the Word of God, every line, every verse has the potential to blow you away. And Leviticus 14 did. Is it dramatic? Is it earthshaking? Not at first glance. The verses that caught me are about, you guessed it, mold regulations.

Here is what verses 49-53 say:

"To purify the house, he (a priest) is to take two birds and some cedar wood, scarlet yarn and hyssop. He shall kill one of the birds over fresh water in a clay pot. Then he is to take the cedar wood, the hyssop, the scarlet yarn and the live bird, dip them into the blood of the dead bird and the fresh water, and sprinkle the house seven times. He shall purify the house with the bird's blood, the fresh water, the live bird the cedar wood, the hyssop and the scarlet yarn. Then he is to release the live bird in the open fields outside the town. In this way he will make atonement for the house, and it will be clean."

I've read those verses a number of times before but this time, something hit me, a question I couldn't shake:

"Do you think the bird who was freed, the live bird who represented being forgiven, walked when it was released in the fields or did it soar?"

The other bird paid the price. Freedom was bought at a cost. Atonement was paid with a life. Knowing that, seeing that, do you think the second bird refused to fly when it was released? Do you think it quietly tucked its wings and scurried about the ground?

Of course not. Having escaped death, having escaped that moment, it probably could not fly high enough or fast enough into the sky. It jumped loudly into the freedom of forgiveness.

I don't. I don't celebrate God's mercy or grace that way. I am like the prodigal son, returning home to be a hired hand. I act like forgiveness is something to be earned, not celebrated. I am not an heir to the throne, I am a hired hand to the throne. But, I am wrong.

That's why I continue to come back to the story of the prodigal son in Luke 15. When he returns to the farm and finds himself in the father's embrace, there is only one sentence of his plan that the father will not let him say: "Make me like one of your hired men."

I don't think he was allowed to say it because it couldn't be true. He was his son, that was his identity, not his employee.

I mess grace up so often and have confused it in my head for so many years. I finally just confessed to God, "You know how I think. You know how I've trained myself to believe for years and years. I can't rewire myself. I can't sanctify me. Only you can. I need you to transform the way I look at grace." And the prayer that came from that confession and the hope I have for you and me is simple:

"Help me live in the joy of forgiveness, not the job of forgiveness."

Those two words might feel similar, joy and job are only a single letter apart, but they are worlds away from each other. I pray we will be that bird who does not run, but instead flies. Who looks at what Christ did for us on the cross. The sacrifice, the mercy, the grace and that we will not try to earn it when we return to the farm, but will instead accept it. Fly in it. Celebrate it. And know the joy of forgiveness.

Making obscure Lord of the Rings references.

The other day I had the opportunity to grab coffee with Al Andrews. Al runs Porter's Call, a non-profit counseling center that provides free counseling for musicians and their families in Franklin, Tennessee. It's an incredibly beautiful ministry and the only way I was able to get some time with Al is because he finds my breakdancing skills so lyrical.

Actually, it's because he was college roommates with my dad and has been a fixture in our family for years. I was overwhelmed by the hour we spent together and when I tried to capture it, there was only one way to properly tweet it:

"Had coffee and an amazing conversation with @itsalandrews yesterday. It felt like stopping at Rivendell in the midst of a big adventure."

Without even thinking about it at first, I rolled out a Lord of the Rings reference, which is quintessential stuff Christians like. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized what we really like is to create obscure Lord of the Rings references.

They can't just be standard. They can't just be obvious. They need to come from a deep place of Christian nerddom. They have to be layered. Confused? Don't be, here are 5 ways to make an obscure Lord of the Rings reference:

1. Make sure the reference wasn't in the movie.

I failed on this one. To properly make an obscure reference, make sure that someone couldn't have easily, casually seen it in one of the movies. I should have said, "It was like being at Tom Bombadil's house."

2. Feel free to reference a cartoon version of the movie.

There are a handful of weird, long forgotten versions of the Lord of the Rings movies that are actually cartoons. Feel free to reference one of those. They're creepy sometimes, they're a little dorky and nothing says "obscure" like proudly quoting a cartoon.

3. Name drop your kids at the same time.

Reference your kids at the same time especially if they are named . Those are probably the two most common Lord of the Rings kid's names but there's a chance you named your kid Gimli. If that's the case, that seven year old better have a red beard. Which would be weird. And a little awesome. But mostly weird.

4. Quote the Silmarillion.

The what? Yeah, that's right, the Silmarillion. Google it. It's obscure.

5. Make the reference while wearing Hobbit feet.

Preferably homemade. I mean I'm sure you can buy these, but you really want to go obscure and deep into the lore of the Lord of the Rings? Make all your references while wearing big, canoe-sized hairy Hobbit feet.

I hope these will help you on the road to obscure Lord of the Rings quotes. I hope these tips will fill you with the passion Frodo felt when he returned home and defeated Sharkey and the Ruffians at the Battle of Bywater. Wait, that wasn't in the movie, was it? Exactly.

Have you ever made an obscure Lord of the Rings reference?

My new blog launches today!

I decided to start a new blog called "JonAcuff.com/blog." What's it going to be about? Here are a few of the thing I want to write about:

1. Chasing your dream

I spent 12 years in a cubicle feeling like God had designed me for something that felt out of reach. From my first blog in 2001 to Stuff Christians Like in 2008 and finally jumping out on a huge adventure with the Dave Ramsey team, I've learned a lot about what it takes to close the gap between a day job and a dream job. My new book, which comes out in May, will cover this topic and the blog will support my hope of sharing a bunch of ideas with other folks that feel that same tension. This is where I feel a big part of my heart pulling.

2. Writing and Creativity

Two of my favorite subjects that I can't wait to talk about and learn about with you. For instance, what's one easy way to make sure people finish reading what we write? Why do most of us starve our creativity and what can we do about it?

3. Blogging and Social Media

I've had a crash course in these topics the last few years. I'd love to share some of the things I've learned (how to raise $30,000 in 18 hours) and some of the things I've failed on miserably (too many to cram into an off the cuff parentheses technique).

4. Life and Random stuff.

If I learn something about marriage or being a dad or any of a million other topics, I can't really put it on Stuff Christians Like. This is a concept blog so to some degree, the posts have to answer the question, "What is stuff Christians Like?" If I want to share some ideas about how to consistently create content or perfectionism or something that changed the way I'm raising my kids, I love SCL too much to say, "Stuff Christians Like #987. Three tips for blog writing."

I think we're just getting started on Stuff Christians Like and I'm excited about continuing this blog. I'm also excited about starting something new. Check out my first two posts:

"1 Easy Way to Kill Perfectionism."

"Why No One Reads Everything You Write."

Realizing you're judgmental in some crazy ways.

The other day at Catalyst, pastor Andy Stanley told a story about the day he realized he was judgmental. As a pastor's kid he grew up knowing all the right answers. As a pastor himself, he knew the Bible inside and out. He thought over the years he had learned not to judge other people in unkind ways, but his counselor thought otherwise. Finally, after lots of back and forth, his counselor asked him a question, "How would you have responded when Peter denied Christ three times?" Before Andy could catch himself and say the right answer he blurted, "He's out." The counselor smiled and said, "And how did Christ respond?" Busted, with a grimace, Andy answered, "He pretty much had Peter lead the whole thing after that."

Now that's not an exact quote because I was busy judging someone or something at the time and didn't take notes. But in my own life I don't need dramatic moments to realize I struggle with unfairly judging people. I see evidence of my own nonsense all the time and recently caught myself judging them in a completely crazy location:

A Southwest Airplane.

I didn't intend to. I didn't set out to make flying a "judging jamboree" but it's become one for me. Here are three ways I tend to judge people while flying on Southwest:

1. The ticket line.

You don't get an assigned seat on Southwest. It's kind of first come, first shove, first serve kind of situation. Your boarding pass puts you in either A, B or C group and then when you're called, you line up according to your number. (I feel like A stands for Aisle, B for back of the plane, and C for "C if you can cram yourself into the worst seats left.) When I'm B38 I stand by the pole that says "31-40" and then I immediately try to read everyone's ticket. My chief concern is that there will be some cutters or line jumpers. I'm almost positive that they'll run out of seats before I get on the plane and I'll have to sit on the wing for the entire flight. So I am constantly visually eavesdropping on my line neighbors and judging them.

2. The seat selection.

Once you're on the plane, you have to walk down the aisle and quickly decide whom you want to sit with. It's a seat free for all and feels a little like an episode of "Plane Bachelor." Who will it be? Who will I commit to spending up to four hours next to? Who looks like they have some weird homemade snack they're going to eat the entire flight? Like "tunafish crumbles." Who looks like they're sleepy and might try to spoon and cuddle on my shoulder for a few awkward hours? Who looks like they might be an "armrest dominator," constantly battling me for possession of the armrest? Judge. Judge. Judge. (And if I'm in group A and get to sit down in a seat first, I just naturally assume the people in group B and C are judging me while they walk down the aisle.)

3. The carry on situation.

I get inappropriately tense about the status of my carry on luggage. My wife used to hate flying with me because the moment we got to the airport, I left her behind while I went into "the zone." The "will there be an overhead compartment available for my carry on bag," zone. All other words and distractions just ricocheted off my bubble of concentration as I tensed up. I also took that "will it fit" size measurement very seriously. Turns out not everyone thinks that way. People tie like 19 bags together with a belt and call it "one bag." They put wheels on suitcases the size of baby grand pianos and try to magically cram them in the overhead. They bring an old school J Peterman jungles of Madagascar steamer trunk and call it their "personal item" which is supposed to be your purse or coat. Judge. Judge. Judge.

Sometimes when I write about stuff like this, people respond "that's not how the church or Christians are supposed to be." I agree. That's the point of the post. I'm doing something whack, if you are too, let's not. Except for number three. I'm almost positive the carry on situation is a "respect the authority God has placed you under" situation. Respect the "overhead compartment."

Have you ever caught yourself being judgmental in an unexpected or crazy way?

Greatest church mural ever.

Years ago I wrote a post in which I bemoaned the fact that no church would paint a mural of the scene in the Bible where Elisha orders bears to kill a bunch of teenagers. Well, a really talented comic book artist named Wes Molebash illustrated it based on my description. Here is what I wrote:

"That story is insane and here's how I envision the mural. Elisha is standing in the middle of all these angry, bald hating teenagers. He looks really enraged and the caption out of his mouth says, "Do you know where you are? You're in the jungle baby! You're gonna die!" And then in the corner of the mural are two huge bears with hockey sticks. I'm not sure why they have hockey sticks but it seems a little tougher to me."

Well, I found out last week, a church actually painted it full size! A guy named Scott Welsh sent me this photo, which is awesome:

Greatest mural ever.

My question for you today is:

What scene for the Bible would you like to see turned into a mural?

Running Off Sunday School Teachers

(Two guest posts in one month? Curtis Honeycutt is unstoppable! Here he is with another fantastic post about something we all probably did at least once growing up. Ladies and gentlemen, Curtis Honeycutt!)

Running Off Sunday School Teachers

People called the 1940 Chicago Bears the "Monsters of the Midway" due to their aggressive, punishing domination on the gridiron. The Pittsburgh Steelers defense in the 70's was dubbed the "Steel Curtain" because they destroyed quarterbacks. In the same decade, the Minnesota Vikings defensive line earned the moniker "Purple People Eaters", not because they had a taste for grape-flavored people, but because they wore purple jerseys and concussed anyone foolish enough to make fun of them.

These brutes had nothing on the group of guys I grew up with at church.

We never had an official nickname, but if I took a stab at one now, they would have called us something like "Youngster Hellion Terrorists", "The Widowmaking Whippersnappers", "Snot-Nosed Ulcer Makers", and probably some other colorful words that you aren't allowed to say in church. The reason we deserved these descriptors was because we did one thing well: we ran off Sunday School teachers.

You'd think that a person would be able to handle a group of nine year old boys for one hour only one day a week…you'd think wrong. We were like a roomful of Bart Simpsons on Red Bull. And it was kind of the Sunday School teachers' fault: to get us to settle down, they'd give us donut holes thinking that, if we were chewing, then we were not causing a ruckus and couldn't find a way to bust holes in the white-painted concrete block walls that come standard in all Baptist Sunday School rooms. They were sorely mistaken.

There was one notable exception to our streak of inhumane teacherslaying: her name was Miss Helen. For the purpose of anonymity (and because I'm still scared), her name has been changed.

Miss Helen appeared, on the outside, to be the nicest, sweetest old grandma you'd ever meet, but she wasn't born yesterday. In fact, she knew Bible stories so well because she was there when they happened. Miss Helen didn't need a felt board; she had survived The Flood.

She tortured our class of third and fourth grade boys by making us sing hymns during Sunday School. As if it wasn't bad enough that we were forced to wear in penny loafers and clip-on ties at 8:30 in the morning on the weekend, Miss Helen made us sing the soprano line of "My Jesus, I Love Thee" a capella loud enough for the girls' class to hear us. One day, we decided that we'd had enough and would sing no longer. We stood in solidarity. We became our own sort of white-painted concrete block wall, cranking our rowdy rebelliousness up to eleven.

That lasted all of five minutes before Miss Helen did the one thing that rendered us completely powerless.

She started crying.

Our scheme went over about as well as a pregnant pole-vaulter. In other words, not very well at all. Miss Helen fought fire with brimstone.

One guy cracked, and pretty soon, the rest of us felt awful and reluctantly agreed to hymn it up. Looking back, I think Miss Helen's tears were a ploy to whip us into shape. On the inside of her innocent old lady façade was a shrewd, battle-tested drill sergeant who had lived through both destructions of The Temple, fought off The Black Plague, answered everyone's questions during the Spanish Inquisition, and, in 1895, when describing herself in a conversation with President Grover Cleveland, coined the word "frenemy". This was one tough gal we were dealing with, and we had met our match in Miss Helen.

At the end of the year, she gladly passed the baton to the next poor victim who dealt with us rowdy demon children, and we happily watched as she disappeared into the foggy Baptist mist of legend.

How about you? Did you ever run off a Sunday School teacher? Were you ever run off?

(For more great stuff from Curtis, check out his blog, "Get Compelled")

Saying you're having a hard time "connecting" at church.

This church isn't very friendly. Have you noticed that? We might need to change to a new church, because we're having a really hard time connecting at this one. We've been coming here for six months, sitting in service, not talking to anyone, then immediately sprinting out of the building and going home. And no one has connected with us. Rude!

We haven't met anyone in small group either. We didn't sign up for one, but still, it would be nice if a small group kind of magically happened in our living room, on a night that was convenient for us and someone brought banana pudding. Not box banana pudding, but like the kind your grandmother used to make. Is that so much to ask for?

Probably, considering that this church doesn't really seem to reach out to people who have spent six months attending Sunday morning service and not participating in any other activities.

No one even called us and asked why we weren't at the fall festival. Sure, we've never given them our number, but google it. And then help us connect.

I thought this church was going to be different. I thought it wouldn't be like the last three churches we attended. Remember those three? Always saying, "Please stay for lunch and learn about the church. Please let us know if you have any questions. Please come to our first time visitor's luncheon." So annoying.

What's that you say? Where are we serving at the church? Serving is a great way to get connected and plug into a place that is ultimately a two way street of people loving and giving and growing together? Even something as simple as handing out bulletins can jump start new relationships with new people? Ugh, that sounds like a lot of work. Quit judging us.

And start connecting us.

We're having a hard time connecting at this church.

The secret about ideas.

I like to judge the Israelites.

I like to read Genesis and Exodus and feel pretty smug about myself when I hear them complain.

"In Egypt we had meat! We're sick of manna! Remember the good old days when we were slaves?"

They say and do some pretty incredible thing. It's like watching a desert reality show. I keep waiting for the host of Survivor, Jeff Probst to step out and say, "Today's reward challenge is that God heard your constant grumbling and has decided to make it rain poisonous snakes. We're calling it 'Pitted against pit vipers.' On your mark, get set, go!"

My favorite section to judge them on is when they asked Aaron to make them a new God to worship. Moses was on the mountain and in their restlessness they asked for a new idol. Aaron complied and created a golden calf for them to worship.

When Moses calls him on it, he responds in Exodus 32, "I told them, 'Whoever has any gold jewelry, take it off.' Then they gave me the gold, and I threw it into the fire, and out came this calf!"

It's like a bad Criss Angel magic trick. I read that and think, you are so dumb, so dumb. Why would anyone ever think a golden calf could be a god worth serving? That is such an obvious idol. And then I continue to hide my own idols deep down where no one sees them.

I don't worship money. I've never had a difficult struggle with bling. For the most part "item idols" are not something I wrestle with. But recently, I realized I'm having a much harder time with something else:

"Idea Idols."

They're not tangible. They're not physical. They don't have the sheen of gold about them, but they are every bit as ridiculous as baal.

One that got exposed last week was my worship of "the next job."

I'm a serial quitter. I had eight different office jobs in eight years. I've never stayed at a company very long. At first I blamed this on my generation. I'd say, "The days of working for 30 years and getting a gold watch are over." And that might be true, but something else was going on with me. I expected the next job to fix me.

Each time I would get a new job, I would experience a honeymoon period. I'd be happy or engaged for six months to a year. But then I'd get bored. Then I'd get unhappy. Then I'd get frustrated. And then I'd start to dream about "the next job."

At the next job, I'll be happy.

At the next job, I'll be fulfilled.

At the next job, I'll be better.

At the next job, I'll be the man I've always wanted to be.

Every morning, the thought of the "next job" would comfort me and provide me a false sense of hope.

I didn't realize how much I idolized the idea of the "next job" until I got a job I didn't want to leave. I recently passed the six month mark at Dave Ramsey. And when I ran into the challenge of writing my next book, I woke up one morning and there was the "next job" idol waiting for me. My book which comes out in May has been a crazy walk through of the last 12 years of my life and finishing it has been the hardest creative exercise I've ever done.

As I got stressed about that, I instantly returned to the idol of the "next job." Only I didn't want a next job. I want to stay at Dave Ramsey for years and years. But I spent a dozen years teaching myself to bow down at the idol of the next job. So last week, as I went to kneel before the "next job," I felt like God pulled back the curtain and showed me how ugly that idol was. How empty. How hopeless.

Have you ever done that? Have you ever said, "This next boyfriend or girlfriend will make me happy." Or "This next opportunity will fix me." Or "This next purchase" or this "next anything?"

The challenge of "idea idols" is that they're secret. They're powerful because we keep them deep inside us. Friends can't call them on us because they're not nearly as obvious as a golden calf. And I carried mine and manicured it and worshipped it for 12 years.

I'm tired of that. Worshipping what's "next" has blinded me too often to what's now. And though I may pick them up and lay them down a thousand times as I walk forward, I can't worship an idea idol any more.

I've got God, right now. I don't need the idol of what's next.