Subversive sharing: Why don't we talk about our faith at work?

What are we afraid of?

The modern mantra is that the workplace should be "inclusive." We have heard repeatedly that America’s “strength is its diversity.” However, in the rush to purge racism and prejudice from our world, faith, normal opinion and discourse are unwittingly muzzled.

Who would have guessed that religious discussion would one day be labeled hate speech?

Surely our forefathers would have objected. They firmly believed in the power of the public square of discussion. The founders of our nation let public discourse run wild with the belief that truth would ultimately triumph over any kind of personal offense.

They gathered in homes, in taverns, in the courtyards, and in the workplace to discuss the news of the day, delving into the deep and philosophical with a balanced dose of the trite and whimsical. Nothing was off limits. Religion, sex and politics took up much time around the light of the lantern.

Today, since those subjects are off limits, we are left to banter about the weather and the latest reality TV show.

Christians are in a quandary. We know the divine imperative to live out our faith. We know that living out our faith involves talking about our faith. And we know something is not right about hiding who we are. Many of us try to walk the middle ground by dropping code words like “higher power” and “the man upstairs.” We display cozy spiritual things like rainbows and angels. But they fall short, because they don’t do a thing to help the human condition of those around us.

I struggle with the sneaky approach to talking about my faith.. It’s like wrapping a large dog pill in a piece of bacon just so he'll gobble it down. That's not the right approach.

Do you talk about your faith at work? Comment here.

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Losing my religion

A strange dichotomy exists all around us. 

The vast majority of Americans claim to know Jesus. But they call themselves "spiritual." They have a visage of a Savior who has good moral teachings. He might have even come to them in a moment of personal trial to lift them up. To them, he's an olive-skinned Galileen who slept in a manager, dressed in a robe, and got treated badly by the Romans. They might even go to church, claim to be a Christian and live a good life.

Thom Rainer of Lifeway Christian Resources says that most people are "just indifferent. The more more precisely you try to measure their Christianity, the fewer you find committed to the faith," he said. "They are mushy." Only 40 percent of evangelical young adults say that sharing the faith is important.  

It takes a conscious effort for many of us to convert our personal Jesus to a public Jesus.

I think I am too in love the "religion" of Christ -- the sweet songs and happy thoughts. I love the comfort and safety of the four walls of faith, but don't dare ask me to talk about it. I am often retiscent to share the most amazing thing I've ever known. I keep the secret of the ages a ... secret.

We've been conditioned to not talk about religion and politics. "After all," we've been told, "it's a personal thing." George Carlin said the 11th commandment was, “Thou shalt keep thy religion to thyself.”

Steve Taylor

Steve Taylor satirized this double think in song:

“It's a personal thing, and I find it odd
You would question my believing in a personal God
I'm devout, I'm sincere, ask my mother if you doubt it
I'm religious, but I'd rather not get radical about it”
”I'm devout, I'm sincere, and I'm proud to say
That it's had exactly no effect on who I am today
I believe, for the benefit of all mankind,
In the total separation of church and mind”

We have a hundred reasons for keeping this God-thing to ourselves, but they are all shattered with this one verse from Jesus:

“But whoever disowns me before men, I will disown him before my Father in heaven." -- Matt 10.33

That's enough to make we want to lose my religion...and find a Jesus that I can talk about.

Fuzzy lines

I work in the world of public affairs. There is much debate in our circles about “spin” versus “telling the truth.” Those who spin try to extract the one shred of good news to soften the bad news. 

“Sure our vehicles don’t always brake properly, but the good news is that when you do slam into the car in front you, our airbags and safety restraints are industry leaders.”

“I understand that our mine collapsed, but we have great promotional opportunities for minorities.”

And who can forget the famous Iraqi Information minister who spoke on television during the  “Shock and Awe,”  of Operation Iraqi Freedom that “no, there were no bombs falling,” that the entire air war was a "Hollywood stunt perpetuated by American imperialists." "Let the infidels shudder. They are in complete retreat.  Be assured Baghdad is safe, secure and great."

Fortunately, where I work, truth matters. We figure that it will be found out anyway, so you might as well get out there before it gets uncovered. It’s liberating and really the best policy.

There’s a lesson to be learned here for all of us. Truth matters.
In the middle of the darkest night, Truth Matters.
In the midst of your deepest crisis, Truth Matters
In spite of your past, despite your failings and sins, Truth Matters.

Business deals are done with a handshake and a wink of the eye, both parties knowing that the truth has been shaded. Couples stand at the altar, pledging their deepest allegiance forever, knowing full well that maybe they might try it for a year or two. Employees fill out time cards and sales reports and productivity figures, stretching the numbers to meet expectations.

When the lines get fuzzy, you will pay a price. I know mine has been heavy.

President Abraham Lincoln used a particular brain teaser to make a point with his advisors while discussing Emancipation. He asked them "How many legs would a sheep have if you called its tail a leg?" They would meekly respond "Five."

"Wrong! You are mistaken. The sheep would still have four legs. Calling something a leg doesn't make it so," Lincoln would respond.

Like a rock thrown in the middle of a still pond, truth ripples through time, because it matters. 

Comment here.

Run monkey, run!

The amusing story of a fugitive macaque monkey is worth our attention.

It's from an unknown origin and has been scampering around the Tampa Bay-St. Petersburg area for several months making surprise visits to pool parties, stealing fruit and causing double takes all over the area.

Captors from the Wildlife Rescue and Rehabilitation have been called out more than 50 times to try to snatch the little guy, but they are no match. He just eludes them. He's been shot several times with tranquilizers, but he runs away before they take take affect. Presumably, the monkey falls asleep and then when the drugs wear off, he gets up, pulls out the darts and dashes away again.

I don’t know about you, but I’m cheering him on. “Run Monkey, Run!"

The monkey has a Facebook page and someone is even selling t-shirts. The Bellamy brothers have written a song about him and it’s been set to a hilarious You Tube montage.

One columnist has written heroic words of the primate. “It will never accept anything but absolute freedom, and it will always defy those who wish to snatch that freedom away.”

I don't know about you, but I have monkeys in my life. Those crazy, fun-filled parts of me that people have been trying to put down my whole life. “You laugh too loud,” “You can’t poke fun at them,” “You’re supposed to be serious.”  “Fold your hands. Cooperate!” “Life is all about pain – what are you smiling about?”

The men with long nets and tranquilizers have been trying to capture the monkey my whole life. I'm ashamed to say, but I finally let them. Tired of running, I sat down and gave up.  I was finally tamed. Now I look longingly out through the bars, wondering about the life that used to be.

But there is a welling in my heart, a bursting in my spirit, an inexplicable emotion that must be expressed. God put it there. He called it “pure” and “inexpressible.”   Joy is meant to be freed.

Run monkey run.

Comment here.

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I could be wrong

“One question I’ve had to ask myself repeatedly is this: Am I even open to the possibility that I could be wrong in my beliefs? If so, would I have the courage to change my actions?
       -- Francis Chan, “Forgotten God”

When I read the above from Francis Chan, who pastors Cornerstone Church in Simi Valley, CA, I have to be honest. My first reaction  was towards others. I thought of everyone else in my life who I think is blinded. I can name relatives, friends and acquaintances who really, really should read and apply this.

They are self-righteous, even dogmatic, in what they believe. From doctrine to politics, from relationships to world affairs, from morality to people -- They are right. Just ask them.


I have personally suffered at the hands of those who are so rationally convinced of a decision, that there is no discussion to the contrary. And I’ll bet you have too.


But Chan isn’t talking to everyone else. He’s talking to me.

And when you read the words of Isaiah, the prophet's message isn’t directed to all those who have done me wrong. When he says, “Woe to those that call evil good and good evil,” it’s a long finger of conviction right to my heart. It’s a word for me.

“Exchanging truth for a lie” is how we justify our actions.

Even though we have clear instruction and we know in our deepest heart that an action is wrong, we listen to the other voices: modern reasoning, human psychology and bad theology. We are convinced that the path we are on is true. Our belief system is turned upside and right becomes wrong, wrong becomes right.

The name for this condition is deception.

And this will mark my life, unless I begin to approach things differently.

“I could be wrong.”

Comment here.

I don't know where I'm going, but I'm sure making good time

Life's difficulties are often purported to be solved in easy solutions.

12 Steps to an Alcohol-Free Life.
6 Ways to a Thinner You.
8 Shortcuts to more time.
The 90-Second Cook.

I have subscribed to many formulas in my life, looking a quick fix. I want something sweet to make me happy and a little treat in the box to give me goose bumps.I want a combo-meal existence. I want one price to meet all my needs and wants.  I don’t want complicated decisions, so instead I opt for combination number 1, 2, or 3. I want a bundle, a package, a deal.

At work we look for ways to organize our time. We spend funds on faster computers, bigger monitors, personal organizers, and syncronized cell phones.Yet with all these devices, we are still buried under papers and besieged by unexpected phone calls and pressures.

The modern family is simply a whir of places to be and things undone.

One bumper sticker sums it up neatly. “I don’t know where I am going, but I am sure making good time!.”

We must ask honest questions. Will the mother really be content when her children are grown? Will the worker be at ease when this project is finally complete? Will the college student be at rest after graduation?

The honest truth is that One struggle leads to another. One pressure gives way to another. One life difficulty is solved, only to breed another.

Do we shake our fists at heaven? Do we give up hope, in an eternal act of fatalism? Do we just plod on, marching soldiers in a sad march?

Or do we find a road home, a better way, a higher calling...?

"Come all you who are thirsty, come to the waters"

The ship that sailed: Coulda-Shoulda-Woulda

"A man sits on the dock with head in hands, wailing for the ships that have sailed—as he is missing the ship that is sailing."

So begins the poignant column by World Magazine's Andree Seu.

"This is a story of my life, of living in regret over past losses, even as I am losing the present moment’s possibilities," she continues.

This set off a chain of emotions, of memories, of regrets. Relationships that I have let slip away. Decisions I haven't made. Ships I haven't boarded. And I would guess that there may be ships you have missed too.

The ports of these ship's departures are at home, with my friends, and with my coworkers. I have been afraid, ashamed or too weak to do what I needed to do and have paid the price.

It's easy -- maybe even lazy -- to dwell on those missed opportunities. I say lazy because there is no better excuse than "coulda-shoulda-woulda"

As Seu says, Satan loves this line of logic because it leads to next inevitablity: “I have sinned so badly that I have no right to joy again.”

The story of Jesus is for people who have missed the boat. It's a story for those who are sitting at the dock. It's a story for those who have failed.

"I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." Phil 3:14

Comment here.

Christians, performing arts, and American Idol

It seems that many Christians end up on American Idol, the long-running talent competition on Fox.

I think it's a natural outworking of our music-infected worship. Each Sunday, we give thousands of musicians the chance to sing and  play while they lead worship. There's plentyof God-given talent out there and the church helps it grow.

Jonathan Acuff, the seriously funny genius behind "Stuff Christians Like," asked the question, "How do you know if that contestant on American Idol is a Christian?"

There's plenty of sarcasm in the responses and you'll see mine. It's number 27.

"After they make the final cut they 'thank the Holy Spirit,' because no one but a real Christian gives a shout out to the Holy Spirit. If they're a Pentecostal, they'll thank the 'Holy Ghost.'"       (= + 3 points)

We can laugh about this, but it leads to a deeper question. Should we use our gifts to bring attention to ourselves?

Of course -- all of who are serious about the infusion of faith into the workplace walk that line every day. When the boss says, "well done," do we beam with pride, or do we deflect in humility? We love positive reviews and evalutations. We all want to 'earn the prize' of a pay increase.

When I write something, I admit a wellspring of pride when others comment or give praise.

On the church platform, the pastor gives his best. What do you say to him afterwards? And the performance arts always cause me to be a little uncomfortable. When someone sings a rousing song in church and people burst into applause, is it right?

More questions than answers today.

Johnny Hart - we miss you this Easter Day

Johnny Hart, who was the master cartoonist behind the "B.C." cartoon strip as well as the "Wizard of Id," died of a stroke three years ago on, ironically, on Easter Day.

He had a wry sense of humor that made millions laugh since 1958. "B.C." was considered the most widely read comic strip on the planet.

Johnny’s conversion to Christianity is an interesting story and came about because of someone who springs from someone who brought faith to the workplace.

Although a churchgoer as a child, he left the faith and eventually found fame and fortune as a cartoonist.

In 1977, he bought a 158-acre property in Nineveh, New York. He couldn’t get cable and a neighbor introduced him to a father-son pair of satellite TV dish salesmen who agreed to wire his place up.

A complicated job, it took the pair over 2 months. As Christians, they kept the Christian channel on as a test channel. Johnny, commenting on the type of TV programs, said, "Is that all there is?" "No Sir, Mr. Hart; we can change to something else!" Strangely, Hart didn't request a change. He began to watch … and listen.

One Sunday, he and his wife drove by a local church that reminded him of his childhood. He leaned over and asked, “Would you like to go to church?” His wife Bobby said, “No, not really.” Johnny then secretly prayed that God would change her heart; and in just 2 weeks, she asked the church question of him. He found the church, but more importantly, he found his God. He later was a children’s Sunday school teacher.

Hart’s faith began to infect his comic strips.

During Christmas and Easter, he was always blatant about his beliefs.

They worked their way into many other strips – since his faith defined his work. But it wasn’t without controversy.

In fact, in 2001, the Jewish Anti-defamation league chastised him for his strip that showed a seven-branch menorah. Each panel featured one of the Last Seven Words of Jesus. The cartoon concludes with the menorah transformed into a cross.

That’s bold stuff to put on newspaper strips.

“I wanted everyone to see the cross in the Menorah,” he said. “It was a revelation to me that has tied God’s chosen people to their spiritual kin, the disciples of the Risen Christ,"

He took on abortion and evolution in ways that were simply masterful.

A simple argument to tear through the walls of ignorance.

To Hart, the most gratifying thing he ever did professionally was to turn his work into ministry.

“I was almost beginning to get tired of my work until that happened,” he said.

I think it most fitting that God would choose Easter Day to take him.

Click here for his final Easter strip.













Johnny Hart was a true Red Letter Believer, a man who lived out his faith. He didn’t need a pulpit. He had a pen.

He told Plain Truth, “I realize the value in being subtle.”

Subtle, indeed. Johnny, we miss you.

Comment on your memory of Hart's work here



Interviews:

http://cagle.msnbc.com/hogan/interviews/hart/home.asp
http://www.ptm.org/JulHartofBC.htm
http://www.answersingenesis.org/creation/v19/i1/hart.asp
http://www.layman.org/layman/the-layman/1999/nov-dec99/hart-of-faith.htm

http://www.christianitytoday.com/tc/7r2/7r2018.html

Here’s a list of other Christian cartoonists http://www.google.com/Top/Society/Religion_and_Spirituality/Christianity/Fun_and_Entertainment/Humor/Comics/

One Brilliant Show

Flowers.

Mom has always had a passion for flowers. She believed they could brighten any drab room, liven any conversation, and change any dour mood. For 20 years, she took this vision earnestly each Sunday at the First Baptist Church. As the flower coordinator, she turned the plain wood altar at the front of the church into a dazzling display of God’s creation.

A negligible budget prevented floral shop arrangements, only provoking the creative mind of this resourceful woman. Every Saturday we would search the mountain countryside for willows and lilacs and wild flowers. Old dirt roads, creek beds -- and even abandoned graveyards-- were sources we would use.

The cold winters limited our natural flower gathering, so Mom utilized her for dried collections, pulled from boxes stacked high in the garage. Her delightful displays, no matter the season, were often the subject of talk after church more than the sermons.

During the winter, Mom raised daffodils in pots that lined her kitchen window. Each day she watered, fed, and fertilized -- all in preparation for one brilliant show on the church altar. Mom would always pick a spring day when the snow was deep, but the sun brilliant. With tender care Mom would clip the daffodils from her pots in the window. The shoots were full and ready to burst, their tops still wrapped tight in the leafy envelope.

The buds were placed in a simple glass vase full of warm water, placed on the altar hours before anyone else arrived. I was perplexed that the buds were still tightly wound, yet mom’s beguiling smile told me not to be concerned. As the time drew near, the church members traipsed through flowing gutters and slushy sidewalks, and ducked streaming icicles from the roof edge as they entered.

The service began as had a hundred others, with the usual announcements and welcomes to visitors. Imperceptibly at first, then with amazing swiftness the buds began to open. By time the service was over, the daffodils had exploded into a panoply of color. The miracle of flowers, generated by an eternal God who did not leave us in a drab, cold world, was on full display.

After all these years, I realized that Mom treated her children much like those daffodils. There were many times my siblings and I thought we were overly protected, sheltered and prevented from living normal ‘fun’ lives like all of our friends.

What we didn’t realize is that she was really preparing us to bloom. Now that we have progressed to adulthood, her long labor of love is finally fulfilled. With dirt on her hands, this blessed woman places her children on the altar, an offering to her Maker.