One person might think, “Wow, this guy is making fun of a lot of stuff that’s important to me. Why is he so cynical? It must be nice to make a living on sarcasm.” But another person could think, “This is really funny. And kind of true. You know, it’s good to laugh at our traditions sometimes. Maybe this book will help us take God more seriously by taking ourselves less seriously.” I tend to be more in the second camp, thinking this is a book Christians shouldn’t be embarrassed to like.

For example, here’s one snippet for your reading pleasure (pp. 84-85). As a young pastor (32) who became a senior pastor when I was even younger (27), this made me chortle, snicker, and then laugh out loud.

Note: I also received numerous George Foreman grills for my wedding (see below).

*******

Sure Whitney Houston, I believe that children are the future, but I’d be lying if I said that’s the first thing I think when a minister younger than me takes the stage.  Call it jealousy that the next generation is about to lap me or that the generation behind me has a cooler name, “millennial tweener x-tremes,” but when youth is served at church, sometimes Christians like to tune out and think:

“Oh no, where’s the regular pastor? Is it ‘regular’ or ‘senior’ or ‘teaching pastor of imaginevisioneering’? I can never get those right, but who is this kid up on stage? Is he doing the announcements? Is there a youth group fundraiser I need to know about? Fine, I’ll get my car washed in a Chick-fil-A parking lot. That’s like a win-win right there, holding a Christian event in the parking lot of a Christian restaurant. That’s God squared.

But why isn’t this kid getting off the stage? Is he, no, is he about preach? Is it youth Sunday already? What, he’s the youth minister? That’s great, but this isn’t youth group. He’s way too young to school me in the game of life. Oh, but this is happening.  It’s too late for me to walk out and leave. It’s time for the junior hour of power.

Please just don’t use that phrase that all young ministers bust out. Please don’t say, oh no, you just did. You just said, “When I was growing up.” You said it like it was over, like you’ve crossed from young man into wizened old gentleman. But you’re only twenty-four. The toughest decision you’ve faced in life so far was whether to get the full meal plan or the five-day-a-week meal plan at seminary. You went with the five?  That’s good to know, let me scribble that down here in the sermon notes section of my bulletin.

But I’ll forgive you that one. I’ll let that one slide as long as you don’t give me any marital advice. You’ve been married for about fifteen minutes. You’re still tan from your honeymoon. I can still kind of smell suntan lotion on you. If at any point in this sermon you try to give me marriage advice, I am going to think about college baseball. I just want to be up front about that. The toughest marriage decision you’ve faced so far is whether to exchange one of the china sets you got as a wedding gift for a George Foreman grill that is shaped like a massive charcoal grill.  Don’t, I’ve done that, I fought that battle, and it was not worth it. You need more plates than you think and less George Foreman grills than you think. Trust me on that.

See, I should be doing this sermon, I just gave you some free marital advice. You’re welcome.

And here’s a fake music video with the same couple (thanks JT).

HT: Peter Bogert

For example, here’s a recent article entitled “Edgy church breaks old rules, insists on new ones.”

ROCHESTER, Minn. — At The Circle, a young, innovative church which meets in a renovated bus depot, there is no pulpit, platform or pastor, as such. The congregation rejects the labels “Christian” and “congregation,” preferring “followers of Jesus” and “friendship community.”

There are no ushers, but rather “helpers.”

There is no worship team, but rather “God artists.”

And woe to anyone who affixes traditional church labels to any of it.

“God’s doing a new thing here,” says Mitch Townsend, the leader of the church. He shuns the “pastor” label and insists people call him, “Hey, man,” or simply “Dude.” If someone slips and calls him “pastor,” he bristles and gently rebukes them.

“We got rid of all those old labels,” he says. “There’s no going back.”

At the church office, which they never call a church office but rather “the Hub,” secretaries, or “community action facilitators” as they are called here, tap-tap on computers (which they still call computers) and take calls.

When a visitor slips up and refers to The Circle’s “sanctuary,” Dude Townsend cuts him short.

“Listen, it’s not a sanctuary, it’s a meeting place, a gathering place,” he says, flushing red.

“Sorry, pastor,” the visitor says.

“Not pastor,” says Townsend. “Dude, or friend. Or just hey, Mitch.”

“Sorry, Dude Mitch,” the visitor says uncomfortably, and slinks away. Mitch quickly goes to him and hugs him.

“We’re all about love and freedom here,” he says. “I know it’s hard to get used to.”

At a Sunday morning “gathering,” as services must be called, people sit in chairs arranged in circle around a “focal point” (not a platform) and listen to the team of God-artists play instruments and sing “songs of adoration and devotion to the Creator,” as opposed to praise and worship music. The gathered “posse of Jesus followers” is free to sing along and to express themselves in any way that seems “real and authentic.”

“We strive to be genuine here,” says non-pastor “Hey, Jim” Richards, who in another setting might be called an associate pastor. “It’s about being who you are, not fitting into a pre-determined box.”

Before Dude Mitch’s personal sharing time (which markedly resembles a sermon), one visitor raises her hand and says, “Is there going to be an altar call? Because I really want to give my life to Jesus today.”

Dude Mitch answers quickly, “We don’t have altar calls here; we have ‘God moments’ or ‘Creator re-connects.’ And we don’t say ‘give your life to Jesus,’ but you may begin a lifelong love relationship with the Creator-Friend, if you like. But please wait until we are done with sharing time.”

After the service, “new friends” join in the “kick-back hall” for refreshments and conversation with the Dudes and other Hub personnel. They may also join a mid-week “hang-out crew” of 10-12 people which meets in a home, and which is steadfastly not referred to as a “small group.”

“Anyone who wants a break from normal, rigid church life is welcome at The Circle,” says Townsend.

This is satire serving a noble purpose. Instead of arguing against the silly tyranny of newfangled names, expose the silliness with satire.

Satire is tricky business though. It’s most effective when used sparingly (so may not want to read Lark News religiously; you’ll run the risk of cynicism). But done well it can be hilarious and serve a spiritual end. Just ask the prophets of Baal on Mt. Carmel. Better yet, ask Elijah himself someday.

A little satire can also help in the “not taking yourself seriously” department. For instance, read “Secretary makes sure pastor receives no calls” or “South Carolina gives in to homeschool secessionists’ demands.” I love these articles and we homeschool and my secretary screens my calls.

So laugh a little, especially at yourself. It does the body (and soul) good.

Also funny:

This got me thinking about some other illustrations of how not to preach from retro movies.

Preaching is not a learned discussion delivered without passion or personality.

Preaching is not an exercise in the power of positive thinking (no matter how inspirational the music!) where we are all told how great we are.

Preaching is not a Jedi mind trick where we get people to believe things they don’t understand.

Preaching is not poetic cliches wrapped in religious formalism (no matter how interesting the accent!).

I’m sure there are many other examples to choose from. But you get the idea. Preaching is not moralism, spiritualizing, mere commentary, or even inspiration. Christian preaching is proclamation, rooted in Scripture, that heralds the gospel of Jesus Christ with personal, passionate, pleading. At least that’s the best I can do in one sentence.