Jon Acuff's Blog, page 77

How to make nobody look you in the eye.

My other blog JonAcuff.com is full of “how to” type posts. You should read that blog. You would find it delightful.

But very rarely do I give “how to” advice on SCL. That changes today.

Here is how to make nobody look you in the eye when you speak at a church.

Ask if they have seen the show Curb Your Enthusiasm.

It’s really that easy. How do I know? Because I tried this and my joke bombed.

I sometimes tell people about Jesus Jukes when I talk. I do this at the beginning of my talk. (A Jesus Juke is when you’re having a normal conversation and someone tries to juke Jesus in out of nowhere.)

Thirty minutes later in my talk, I tell a story about Larry David, the creator of Curb Your Enthusiasm. I ask the audience if they have seen it. I’d say 99% of the audiences I speak to clap and cheer, acknowledging they have seen it. At which point I say, “I haven’t. It’s on HBO. I’m a Christian. I was too busy journaling. Juke!”

It’s a trap!

But one day, at a church, I tried that joke. I was ready for a big laugh and, when I asked if anyone had seen the show, the place went deathly quiet. No one would make eye contact with me. Nobody said a word. The joke bombed.

I was flustered for a second and then blurted out, “Oh, are we pretending we don’t know HBO exists? I see.”

And then I went on. It wasn’t awkward at all. Not even a little bit.

So there’s a little bit of free wisdom. Want to make sure nobody makes eye contact with you? Mention HBO to a room full of Christians.

Over-spiritualizing Self-Deprecation

(It’s guest post Friday!  Here’s one from Tim Fall.  You can check out his blog here.  If you want to write a guest post for SCL, here’s how!)

Over-spiritualizing Self-Deprecation

Christians have perfected the tortuous over-spiritualizing of self-deprecation. You see it in ministry all the time. Someone tries to pay a sincere compliment to another Christian and gets smacked down faster than a flyweight amateur boxer at a heavyweight MMA title match. The person trying to be an encourager leaves the conversation deflated, and the person who deflected the encouragement with unnecessary and inappropriate self-deprecation gets to feel spiritually superior for having done so.

But here’s how I’d love to see the conversation go sometime:

“That instrumental you played during the offering was wonderful. You are such a gifted pianist.”

“No, it wasn’t me. That was all God.”

“But God did use you and all your talent to bring us that wonderfully worshipful music.”

“Oh, anyone could have done that.”

“Yeah I guess you’re right. Like a little baby could have.”

“No, not a little baby, of course.”

“OK, not a little baby, but like you said anyone could, even someone who has never taken any piano lessons, like me.”

“Well, I’ve been taking lessons all my life.”

“All your life, huh?”

“Yes, and I practice a minimum of 3 hours a day.”

“OK, you practice 3 hours a day …”

“Minimum.”

“… three hours a day minimum, you’ve been taking lessons all your life, and you probably practiced that piece you played today quite a bit too.”

“Of course.

“Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“About what?”

“That wonderfully worshipful piece you played, the one that you practiced for, that all your lessons and practicing over the years led up to, the one that was so meaningful during the offering … it was nothing special.”

“What do you mean it was nothing special?!”

“Like you said, anyone could have done it.”

For more great writing from Tim, check out his blog!

Refusing a bulletin at church.

“I couldn’t do it, I just couldn’t.” My wife said, shaking her head as she sat down next to me at church.

“What? What couldn’t you do?” I asked, a little concerned.

“I couldn’t refuse the bulletin. That lady at the door is so nice, but I just wanted to tell her, ‘Nah, I’m good.’” Jenny said.

I laughed.

“I mean, I’m not doing the fill in the blanks and know most of the stuff in it already. I’m just going to put it back in the basket at the end of the service.” She said.

I immediately thought about that Mitch Hedberg joke. He says that when someone hands you a flyer in New York, what they are really saying is, “Here, you throw this away.”

But we’re not throwing our bulletins away. We’re not sweaty Philistines. We love Jesus.

Is there a way to politely shotblock the bulletin if you don’t need it? Can we claim it’s a green thing? Like we’re doing it for the earth and mother nature and Whole Foods and Kale? Is that possible?

Any suggestions?

The young goat god.

Someday, I might write a book about the prodigal son story.

Until then, I’ll probably share those ideas on SCL.

And one small, two word idea recently hit me about a part of the story most of us miss.

Usually we focus on the party. The prodigal wrecks his life, returns looking for employment and instead receives a celebration. It is a picture of grace that is difficult to ignore, but in the shadows the older brother lurks.

He is the Pharisee, the grumbling cynic enraged at the party.

In his anger, he says something to the God figure in the story. Through gritted teeth, he proclaims to his father:

‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends.’

Isn’t that odd? It’s almost like he doesn’t know the father at all. Is there any doubt that this is not the first exuberant party the father has thrown? This is surely not his first expression of wild joy on the farm. Someone who is miserly his whole life does not respond to a ruined son with a lavish celebration. No, this father was a picture of grace, not just a momentary flash of it in this story.

But to the older brother, he was clearly a stranger. You can see that in the meager thing the older brother asked for. He doesn’t say, “You never gave me a wild party!” He doesn’t say, “You never gave me a robe and the best calf!” No, his small request reveals how small is father is. He says, “You never gave me even a young goat.”

His expectation of a party is limited to a young goat. Why? Because he, like many of us, had a young goat god. A god who is forced to love us but doesn’t really like us. A god who delights in withholding, in tallying our wrongs, in asking us to slave away for the hope of a young goat someday.

Is God an ATM machine waiting for your prayers of rubies and thunderstorms of cash? No, of course not. We are here for his glory, not ours. But don’t think for a second that his parties are small, his mercy temporary, his love doled out for performance.

He is not a young goat god.

Oh Rick.

Well done.

The Kickstarter Prayer Request

Let me just say at the onset, I am not making this up.

This happened.

I was there, this isn’t even one of those “A friend of a friend” stories. This was me, with my ears, hearing something I’d never heard before. What was it?

A Kickstarter prayer request.

Not familiar with Kickstarter? It’s a site where you can crowdsource a project. You can raise money to build a well, record an album, write a book, anything really.

And apparently, in addition to Twitter, a good place to name drop your campaign at a prayer meeting.

There I was, minding my own business, looking handsome as usual, listening to the prayer requests. They were all pretty standard fare. Illness, job searches, marriages, etc., but then one person stood and dropped a digital bomb.

He said, “Hey, I’ve got some friends doing a Kickstarter campaign for an album. If you want to support it, the URL is ___________.” Suddenly, I felt like I was in the middle of Tron. What year is this? I’ve heard people reference Facebook in prayers, but never Kickstarter. What’s next Tumblr? Or Pheed?

Are we going to start hashtagging our prayers? “My mom is out of work so if you could pray for her @ladyneedsjob with the hashtag #OuttaWork that would be awesome.”

Maybe in a year from now the idea of praying without a URL will seem old-fashioned and dated. The first step of your prayer request will be registering a URL. You think I jest, but I do not. I do not jest.

If you doubt me, feel free to go on Kickstarter and contribute to the prayer request URL registration site I’m building. It’s called “Heavenly (Web) Host.” You will love it.

Christian Limericks

(It’s guest post Friday! Here’s one from Stephen Pepper.  You can check out his blog here.  If you want to write a guest post for SCL, here’s how!)

Christian Limericks

Throughout the Psalms, David exhorts us to sing a new song to the Lord. Have you ever noticed though how we never sing limericks in

church?

I thought I’d fix that, so here are 7 limericks that could be well suited to the Message Poetry Version (MPV) of the Bible:

There was a man in the wilderness called John

Who wasn’t sure Jesus was God’s son

He’d turned water into wine

And as a Baptist that wasn’t fine

So he was worried the Messiah was a con

There once was a king called David

Who wasn’t proud of something he did

With a chick he got some lovin’

She got a bun in her oven

So to fix things her husband he got rid

There once was a man named Noah

Whose neighbors couldn’t sink any lower

One of the ark’s best features

Was being so close to the creatures

But he tried to steer clear of the boa

There was a couple called Adam and Eve

Who did something you wouldn’t believe

They ate the wrong fruit

And were given the boot

So out of Eden they had to leave

There once was a guy called Daniel

But praying to Darius he wouldn’t play ball

As a result of his defiance

He was thrown in with some lions

So God made sure that they were full

There once was a guy named Habukkuk

Who ended up writing a book

That part of the Bible never gets quoted

As everyone has duly noted

That spelling his name correctly takes luck

Balaam had a donkey who gave out some sass

After an angel would not let them pass

Balaam told him to go

But his donkey said no

So Balaam felt like a bit of an ass

I’d love to read your own Christian limericks in the comments!

(For more great writing from Stephen, check out his blog.)

Giving up social media for Lent.

The only thing Christians like more than the Internet is taking a break from it. A digital fast if you will, where you swear off the Internet or a particular flavor of social media for Lent.

But how do you do it? What are the rules? How do you take a really good, really helpful digital fast? The Bible is very thin on the best way to wean yourself off of a Twitter addiction. Not once does Peter say, “Follow me on Twitter, I’m @Rock.” Or better yet for all you old school rap fans out there, @PeteRock.”

So today I thought it might be good for us to review the 7 steps you need to take before a digital fast.

Step 1: Go online crazy.

Unless you’re online all the time, it’s really not a big, dramatic deal for you to go offline. So the first thing you’re going to want to do is make sure you’re online 24 hours a day. Tweet everything that happens to you, no matter how insignificant. “Just ate a sandwich. Ever thought about that word? It has ‘sand’ in it. That would be gross if they really have sand in them.” Change your Facebook status roughly every 90 seconds. Update your blog as frequent as Lowell said something dumb in the television program “Wings.” (Old school topical!)

Step 2: Write a blog post about taking a digital fast.

The irony of writing online about how you are going to take some time off being online is so rich it’s like a delicious sandwich spread made of boysenberry and irony. Technically, the Bible says we’re not supposed to tell people when we fast. Maybe posts on your blog don’t count. Maybe.

Step 3: Start a Twitter countdown.

Every day, in the week leading up to your digital fast, tell people how many days until you take your digital fast. Or start a group on Facebook called “Friends taking a break from Facebook.” The goal is to make sure you get as much attention possible about your very private, very personal digital fast.

Step 4: Go offline.

For a predetermined amount of time, just log off. Don’t check email or fantasy sports scores or Facebook or anything else. And say things like this to your friends, “Oh man, I know how smokers feel when they quit. This is hard.”

Step 5: After a week, go back online.

Make a triumphant return. Maybe write a blog with a headline from Eminem, “Guess who’s back, back again? Guess who’s back? Tell a friend!” Jump back online with both feet.

Step 6: Share the valuable lessons you learned while on your digital fast.

Turn three days offline into 10 days of blog material. Try to use the words, “community” and “fellowship” a lot, as if you suddenly discovered the real meaning of those during your 72 hour hiatus. If possible, post photos of you doing non-digital things, like flying a kite or tickling puppies named Shadow in parks crawling with sunshine bright daisies.

Step 7: Return right back to your pre-digital fast amount of online consumption.

This wasn’t about learning or praying or anything like that. This was about digital showmanship. You were like an Internet David Blaine holding your breath offline for three days straight. Return to the Internet like David Blaine would return to dating models after a three-day hiatus in a solid block of ice.

Hopefully these steps will help you with your first digital fast. I can’t wait to read all about it online and in the email newsletter you create. Just promise me you won’t do what Anne Jackson did and actually quit Facebook for legitimate reasons, or push pause on Twitter like Michael Hyatt, or my friends who legitimately give up technology for Lent. There was no drama in either of those decisions. Where’s the fun in that?

Have you or a friend ever taken a digital fast?

(This is a Throwback Thursday post)

1 secret reason folks hate Jesus.

Recently, I tweeted a photo of my friend’s book.

One person on Twitter told me they didn’t like it.

Why not?

Jesus wasn’t mentioned until something like page 149.

Now, granted, we’ve all agreed for years that real Christians name check Sweet Baby Jesus in the first 100 pages. (Check out my book Stuff Christians Like, that thing is crawling with Yahweh.)

And I’ve actually heard that comment before in a number of different ways. Sometimes people say that about books on social justice. The gospel isn’t direct enough or front and center enough. I think there are times when that feedback is justified, but we also have to be careful. The reality is that, if you want God more explicitly mentioned in books and stories, you’d probably hate Jesus. At least a little.

Have you ever read any of that guy’s stories?

Take the prodigal son for instance. Great story. Solid tale. Valuable lesson. Not one explicit mention of God in the whole thing. That is bonkers!

And the story before that is about sheep and coins.

Sheep and coins! Where’s the God love? Where’s the direct and clearly explained gospel? That is bananas!

The truth is, Jesus knew how to tell a story. He knew that sometimes you quoted the OT, or just the T in his days, and sometimes you told a tale about a son in a pig pen. Sometimes you went explicit, and sometimes you talked about talents buried in the ground.

Let’s not lose the gift of storytelling. (I hold Donald Miller responsible to bring it back like Justin Timberlake.) Let’s not lose sight of our audience. Let’s not hate on someone just because they decide to tell a parable. There was another guy who told a ton of those, and it’s OK to be like him.

The Jesus Juke Duck.

Oh, you have a rubber ducky in your bathtub? That’s nice. This is what I have. I’ll pray for you.