O Barnabas, Where Art Thou?

A church I once served had "Encouragement Cards" in the pews for people to write notes to members—birthday and anniversary greetings, a comforting word to someone in grief, "get well" wishes to someone in the hospital, a thank you to a worship leader or Sunday School teacher. These cards were collected and volunteers mailed them to the intended recipients. It was a wonderful ministry led by one of the sweetest, most encouraging people I have ever known.

The only problem was that some members were using the "Encouragement Cards" to express their complaints and criticisms—sometimes in rather unkind words (that's right—rude complaints written on "Encouragement Cards"!). The practice became frequent enough that the staff privately nicknamed the notes "Discouragement Cards"! We finally had to address the problem from the pulpit, and thankfully it cleared up.

One of the passages we considered in our church during the week leading up to Good Friday and Easter was Philippians 2:1-11—"If there is any encouragement in Christ…" That passage prompted me to reflect a little on the meaning of encouragement.

We all recognize encouragement. It's a little league coach urging a youngster to shake off an error and "get the next one." It's an expression of thanks to a nurse for taking good care of a loved one. It's an offer to help someone who seems a little overwhelmed by the task at hand. It's a boss praising an employee for hard work on a busy week. It's a big hug for mom when we get up from the dinner table.

And we all recognize discouragement. It's a basketball coach whose players will all graduate, whose team won more than 2/3 of their games, and made it to the NCAA tournament for the 4^th year in a row; but all he hears is people harping that they didn't make to the "Sweet Sixteen." It's a nurse who's worked double shifts covering for others who call in sick, has more patients than she knows how to manage, hasn't had time to take a 15-minute lunch break in the last 7 hours, and then has to listen to an irate family member berate her because she didn't answer a call button fast enough. It's having a boss who swears at you constantly because you can't read his mind (I actually had one of those once). It's a wife who prepares a nice dinner, only to hear her husband unthinkingly say, "It's good, but my mom's meatloaf tasted a little better . . . Wonder what she put in hers?" (And no, I never, ever said anything that ridiculously stupid to my wife. Never. Really. Just ask her . . . on second thought, don't ask her—just take my word for it.)

In a world which makes such a habit of discouragement, I wonder how we could make the church a haven of encouragement.

But that's probably a completely unrealistic wish.

I Am Off the Wagon

Hello, My name is Rob. I am a chocoholic.

As many of you know, I have a long history of overindulgence in chocolate. In my college days I was known to consume one-pound bags of M&Ms in a single sitting, or dozens of chocolate chip cookies in a couple of days. I love extra thick chocolate milk shakes made with Marble Slab's double dark chocolate ice cream. I love double-stuff oreos—and the new ones with chocolate filling are a welcome improvement. Chocolate cake, chocolate pie, chocolate candy, chocolate milk, chocolate-covered raisins…well, you get the idea.

I gave up chocolate for Lent—something I have done before. I did this for two reasons. Fasting from something you love during the weeks before Easter causes you to think about Jesus and his suffering every time you think about the thing you have given up.

I thought about Jesus a lot!

I also gave it up to deal with my chocolate craving. To be honest, going without chocolate for six weeks wasn't as hard this time as it sometimes was in the past. Even as Easter approached and there was chocolate candy everywhere I turned, I managed to abstain without a great deal of difficulty. So I was pretty confident that I had the chocolate problem under control.

Then came Easter.

My wife baked me a chocolate cake with chocolate icing and Ghirardelli's chocolate in the mix. She put a big chocolate Easter bunny on the top. By Tuesday night I had eaten nearly all of it. Some friends gave me a bag of the best chocolate truffles I've ever put in my mouth—they're nearly gone too (but I did share them with family). And then there were the little chocolate eggs wrapped in pretty foil—I would have eaten more of them, but it takes too long to peel off all that little wrapping.

An interesting side-effect of eating all this chocolate has been that nearly every time I indulge, I am reminded of the six weeks without chocolate, which reminds me again why I gave it up. So eating lots of chocolate has made me think of Jesus—often!

Does that sanctify gluttony?

Amos: The Annoying Prophet

"Hear this word, you cows of Bashan on Mount Samaria,
you women who oppress the poor and crush the needy
and say to your husbands, "Bring us some drinks!" (Amos 4:1)

"Cows of Bashan"! Can you imagine any preacher in his right mind getting up and calling the ladies of the church, "cows of Bashan"?
No wonder Amos wasn't very popular.

In a recent sermon in our series on the Mighty Acts of God, we talked about Amos and other prophets who preached about the Exile. Since that lesson, I've been thinking now and then about what Amos would say today. And, to be honest, it makes me pretty uncomfortable. I doubt he'd be very popular today either.

For example, he castigates the Israelites because "they sell the poor for a pair of sandals" (2:6; 8:6). Those are harsh words, and at first glance I'm just glad that I would never do such thing. . . . Or would I?

We American consumers are noted for caring only about getting the lowest possible price for the things we want. The consequence of that market pressure is that companies are always looking for ways to provide products at a lower cost than their competitors. Inevitably, some companies will find they can do that by purchasing goods from foreign suppliers who pay pitifully low wages for extremely long hours, do little or nothing to provide for the safety and health of their employees, and even use child labor. Is it possible that my shopping choices contribute to the selling of the poor for a cheaper pair of sandals?

And then there is that annoying sermon in the first few verses of chapter 6. Our small group spent a little time one evening imagining how Amos' words might translate into our culture. It's easy to read words about "ivory beds" and "choice lambs" and "strumming harps" and distance myself from the message. Those don't sound like my life. But what if Amos preached this in contemporary images?
I wonder if he might have said something like this:

Woe to you who are complacent in America,
and to you who feel secure in your cities,
you successful citizens of the foremost nation!
You think the day of consequences is far off,
but bring near a reign of oppression.
You lie on your king-size beds with satin sheets,
and lounge on your couches and recliners.
You dine on fine steaks and grill your extra large burgers.
You watch your widescreen plasma TVs,
and listen to your surround sound home theater systems.
You fill your frig with all your favorite drinks.
You smooth your skin with luxurious lotions.

But you do not grieve over the ruin of your people.

Therefore you will be among the first to face
the coming calamity;
your feasting and lounging will end.

I don't know about you, but I don't think I'd want to go to Amos' church.