Being A Christian Does Not Mean Your Brain Must Be LEFT BEHIND!!!!

Dear Friends of the Right,
When you joined the church did some misbegotten elder or deacon or Christianity 101 instructor give you the impression that henceforth and forevermore your brain must be checked at the door?
Who is the beatified "big brother" who has frightened so many of the brethren (and the "sistren?") into closed-mouth acceptance of and compliance with absolutely vile misinterpretations and half-truths regarding what it means to be the people of God?
Why is it that so many called "Christian" are choosing the way of conformity, the path of least resistance, the road most traveled when the One whose Name we bear not just chose, but embodied non-conformity, the path of greatest resistance (unto death), the road UN-traveled?
There is a mindset in some of our churches today that is frightening...the idea that we must blindly accept the hermeneutic dishes that are prepared and served up to us every Sunday morning (and Wednesday night)as gospel!
Years ago a friend gave me a flyer from her church. It had a simple message: "Jesus Came To Fill Your Heart, Not Steal Your Mind." At a time in my life in which I was questioning and seeking, this message opened the door to Christ for me. Importantly, when I walked into the door I didn't stop just past the threshold. That's not what Christianity is about.
"Further up and further in!" was the cry of C.S. Lewis as he peered into eternity. "The further up and the further in you go, the bigger everything gets. The inside is larger than the outside."
Jesus stood before a group of rigidly fixed church leaders one day, trying to help them understand the nature of God and God's expectations of us. He said, "If you stick with my teaching...you are my disciples. And then you will know the truth and the truth is what will set you free!"
It's an "if/then" deal. "Stick with the teaching" implies that learning has taken and is taking place. Learning, studying, exploring, questioning, and expecting answers is a process that is enormously holy. Please, people of God, try it! In so doing, a supernatural experience comes about in which the Spirit, Comforter, Teacher opens you up, takes you to new levels, equips you with the promised truth.
Judgment and fear are antithetical to that process.
Beware the naked man who offers you his shirt!

I don't care if it rains or feezes, long as I have my hand-carved Jesus.....

I had a lunch meeting today with the pastor of a congregation I preached at for a while as a sort of "step-pastor." This pastor is in the Reserves and we all know what happens to Reservists in this man's America. So while she was gone I preached for her folks plus my own and those at the Rescue Mission, too, each Sunday -- for a year.
We met at a little bistro in the mall and when I got to the table, there on it lay Jesus. Yes, I saw Jesus at the mall. Actually, it was a crucifix--a remarkably beautiful hand-carved work of art done by a New Mexico Artist named Alex Vallejos. One of the members of her flock is a personal friend of the artist and had it made for me as a thank you gift for taking care of them while their pastor was away.
I was moved. This is no shabby little token of appreciation. It's a collector's item to be passed down through the family for years to come. Jesus--bleeding, writhing, dying--on a 20"tall cross of pinon wood.
When lunch was over I took up my cross (Jesus and all) and headed for my car via the ladies room and a quick stop-off at Sears. It was as I was manuevering through the crowded restroom toward the one empty stall that I became aware of the effect my gift was having on others.
I live in El Paso, Texas. 9 out of 10 people on the street, or in the ladies room, are Roman Catholic. Jesus-on-the-cross art carries a lot of baggage for these folks.
I spoke at a women's retreat a few years ago and on that particular day I was wearing a small crucifix around my neck. After the talk a woman came up to me and said quite cryptically, "I'm glad you're one of ours."
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"One of ours...." She answered, touching the crucifix around her own neck and raising her eyebrows as she conveyed her message.
"Oh!" I got it. "I'm not Catholic, but I am one of HIS." I said, touching my own crucifix.
Protestants don't really get into Jesus-on-the-cross art. They like the empty cross. They say it is a sign of hope and victory. I think they're just hemophobic.
A sweet protestant saint tells of going to the jewelry counter at Walmart in her west Texas home town. She had lost the little gold cross she wore around her neck and wanted to replace it so she asked the man at the counter if she could look at the crosses in the display case. He said, "Sure, lady. Do you want a plain one or one with the little man on it?"
I had one with the little man on it...in the ladies room and I was taking it into the stall where I would, well--you know--and so did they.
It was an odd moment.
I was careful to lay him down gently on counter after I had finished my business. And I washed my hands much more thoroughly than I might otherwise have as the curious looked on.
Leaving the busy restaurant and making my way into the mall, I became very conscious of my cargo. How do you carry Jesus at the mall?
Do you tuck him under your arm?
Do you hold the cross by the base and let it swing by your side in rhythm with your step?
Do you face him against your chest and cross your arms over him, hoping nobody will really notice?
Or do you just grasp that cross in your extended hand and march through the mall boldly as if you are repelling vampires?
I probably should have asked for a to-go bag at the restaurant.