like a tree

Missionaries are taught to be culturally sensitive. We read books about it. We take classes in it. And, before we leave the country, we have to sit through an orientation on some compound out in the middle of the woods learning about it. For, the task of a missionary is to learn the language and culture of those to whom they are sent.

It is a principle more people need to learn.

Take for instance the newest culture. It is a global culture, one that spans international boundaries, space, and time. When Al Gore invented the internet, a small little world was birthed into existence. This world existed inside phone lines and computer servers, but that made it no less real. Continue reading

When I was a kid, every time I would head off to some church camp for the summer, I was stuck off in the middle of the woods. It was usually some camp with a goofy, fake Indian name like Camp Wannahockaloogi, or something to that effect. An hour or more from civilization, we were forced to sleep in little wooden cabins, barrack style, and swat mosquitos all night. The closest we would get to a “beachfront” was that roped off area of the lake that was less green than the rest of it. Instead of going home with a tan, all we had to show for the week was a series of welts from the nightly towel fights. I usually lost those fights.

But nowadays, it seems more and more church camps are at the beach. Instead of packing insect repellent and hiking boots, kids throw their sunscreen and swimming trunks in a suitcase and head off for “Christians Ablaze,” “Spiritual Explosion,” or one of those other Christian events with a pyro-maniacal name. The church charter bus fills up with excited kids ready for a week or two of sun and sand. When it reaches its destination, it is usually some beachfront hotel where the kids will hear flashy speakers and great bands.

When this shift from the wilderness to the shore occurred, I was initially puzzled. Why would we move students from isolation to the middle of vacation central? Why would we take students away from blue jeans and briar thickets and move them to bikinis and beach volleyball? We decided to take our spiritual retreats to the same place MTV holds it spring break specials. What gives?

But then it hit me.  Continue reading

There are several reasons behind this. For starters, everyone knows writing a commentary is how you make it into the “big leagues” in the realm of theology. It is also a well known fact that approximately 83% of evangelical commentaries say basically the same thing about any given passage and typically just reword each other. (Save their relationship to the freewill/sovereignty, dispensational/covenantal, and emergent church pop Christian culture questions.) Finally, any one who writes a commentary on the Revelation gets bonus points for walking off into that minefield.

Therefore I have devised a plan that will, in one stroke, make me famous and provide Christian readers the world over with new, valuable information they must know about the Bible.

In fact, I believe I have discovered the true identity of that one world government everyone is always saying the Apocalypse predicts. Continue reading

I once owned a goldfish. His name was Cochise.

Cochise was the result of an unfortunate series of events that ended with 30-50 small goldfish in my bathtub one evening. My only explanation is that I was a college minister prior to coming to Africa.

Being the tenderhearted, animal-lover I am, I sought to rescue said goldfish from the ultimate peril of my drain by scooping them out and putting them in a glass cookie jar. This jar turned fish refugee camp housed most of the fish in a suitable, yet cramped, environment. In other words, the jar was so full they could hardly move.

And as cheap Walmart goldfish tend to do, they began to slowly die off. Every morning, I would wake up and find one or two belly-up in the cookie jar. Every morning, I would have a burial by toilet bowl. Continue reading