Stuff Christians Like Read online

  BEING SLIGHTLY LESS NICE THAN MORMONS

  Have you ever met a Mormon who was a jerk? I haven’t. Every Mormon I’ve ever met has been nice, friendly, and well dressed. But I know they have them. Surely someone in Utah is a jerk. But for my money, Mormons are slightly nicer than Christians. And here’s why: Sometimes when jerks become Christians, it’s like a bully learning karate. Instead of having Christ transform our hearts and attitudes, we now have a new method with which to beat you up. Our formerly judgmental personality is now backed up by a newfound spirituality. What was once just “forcing everyone to agree with my opinion” is now “forcing everyone to agree with my opinion in the name of God.”

  HAVING A SPIRITUAL EXCUSE NOT TO HAVE A SPIRITUAL DISCIPLINE

  Saying “I don’t feel led” is the greatest way to get out of a Christian chore, like having a daily quiet time. Which, by the way, shouldn’t feel like a chore. It should feel like an uncontainable desire to spend time with the Lord. You should jump out of bed each morning and throw open your Bible with the gusto of a hungry man at a buffet. Or that’s how you think everyone else feels about doing quiet time, except you. They’re all excited about it, but not you—you’re some sort of grumpy sinner-heathenpagan.

  So to assuage that guilt of not having a consistent quiet time, you’ll say, “I don’t want to just go through the motions with my quiet time. I want it to be heartfelt, not just something on my to-do list.”

  That’s a great excuse for a number of reasons. First of all, it makes you sound holy. “Wow, this guy is so passionate about spending time with God that he’s not going to just phone in his quiet time. He’s going to wait until he’s truly motivated.”

  Second, it’s one of those lies that if you say it often enough, you eventually start to believe it yourself: “That’s right. I do love spending time with God, and the best way to show that is by not spending time with him until my heart is right. I want to be on fire for God and not fake it. Until I’m sincere, I’ll respect him enough to avoid him.”

  THINKING YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO GO INTO FULL-TIME MINISTRY

  As a Christian, you’re obligated to think about going into full-time ministry at least once every three years.

  The first time this thought hits you is on your second church retreat. Some people assume that it’s during your first retreat, but they’re wrong. Especially if the retreat is to a camp where other churches all meet. During that retreat, if you’re a boy, your primary thought is, “Will I be able to be that guy in my youth group who makes out with girls from other youth groups?” At least that was my thought. And if you’re a girl, you’re thinking, “I wish the pastor’s son wasn’t such a jerk.” Or at least the girls in my youth group were thinking that. Mostly because I was.

  But on your second retreat you’ll get a little nudge, a spiritual bump, and it’s going to be pretty tempting to interpret that as the call to ministry. That’s probably not what you’ve received though; you’ve just received the call to thinking about the call to ministry. And we all get that. So you fight it through high school, tell all your friends you’d never be a pastor, avoid living in Africa as a missionary, and eventually make it to your mid-twenties.

  And here it comes again. You start to think about how awesome it would be to go into full-time ministry. Reading the Bible all day and worshipping God at work. You’d never feel frustrated or bored because you’d constantly be doing exactly what you were handcrafted by God on high to do. Then you meet a minister your age. And he’s all stressed out and having a difficult time making room for God in his life and you think, “What? You’re a professional Christian. You’re not supposed to struggle with the things I struggle with.” But he does, so you stop thinking about going into the ministry full time.

  The urge quiets for a few years and then you get some jerk for a boss. And you think, “I wish God was my boss. That would be awesome. He wouldn’t care about my sales sheet. He would care about my soul sheet.” Then you feel a little embarrassed because that was such a low-quality joke. And you get a little grumpy. You tell your friends, “I think God is calling me into full-time ministry. This job can’t be what my life is all about. There has to be more to life than this. I need to be serving God with my talents full time.”

  Which is a good thing to say except one of your friends is going to be that guy who says, “We’re all in full-time ministry. We should all be serving God full time. Regardless of where you are, you should be worshipping God and reaching people.” He’s right, but that’s still no fun to hear, especially if he loves his job. It’s horrible when people who love their job tell you how much you should love yours, and then they bring God into the conversation as further proof of how you’re blowing it.

  That doesn’t make you want to go into full-time ministry. You can’t even get your ministry popping at the job you already have. If you can’t witness to the people you work with right now, how are you supposed to go into full-time ministry? So the urge fades away again.

  But then you hear a really convincing minister or read a book with the word “dream” in the title and you think, maybe, just maybe. And then…

  TRYING NOT TO COMPLAIN AROUND MISSIONARIES

  There are two things you need to know about missionaries:

  You should always support them.

  You should never complain around them.

  The first one is pretty obvious; they need our money and our prayers to go serve wherever it is God has called them. The second one is a little more subtle but equally true.

  Because even if your missionary friend is quiet and never judgmental, I have to suspect that when you say, “My hot water heater broke and I had to take a cold shower this morning,” he’s secretly thinking, “Water? I remember water. It’s that wet stuff that comes out of pipes sometimes, right? I saw a picture of it in the book we have in the desert schoolhouse I teach in, and it reminded me that I had not yet taken a shower this month. But perhaps I will walk into the city next week and see if one of our host families will empty a plastic bottle of gray-colored water on my head. That would be nice, I think. What was that you were saying about your hot water heater? You had to call a plumber after you looked up his number on the internet while eating a sandwich in your house that didn’t have snakes regularly coming in through the holes in the wall? No please, go on, I am riveted by this tale of survival and hardship you are spinning, much like the black widow spiders I routinely sweep off my dirt floor or ‘bed’ if you will. Please do go on.”

  DEVELOPING SUBTLE SIGNALS TO LET PEOPLE KNOW YOU’RE A CHRISTIAN

  I once worked with a guy named Matt who had a really long goatee and a shaved head. For some reason I assumed that meant he hated Jesus. Maybe if his goatee had been a few inches shorter I would have assumed he was indifferent to Jesus, but given the three or four inches of goatee, I was pretty convinced he was violently opposed to Christianity.

  One day though, I felt like God was prompting me to talk with him about my faith. In situations like that I usually try to prayer-whisper back to God, “What? Oh come on. I’m at work. I know you’re all-knowing and all that, but can you not see the length of his facial hair from up there? He doesn’t want to hear about you.” But he kept pressing, so I eventually asked Matt what books he had been reading lately. He rattled off a few and then returned the question to me.

  In a split second I googled my head for a Christian book title that didn’t sound too holy. I instantly landed on Donald Miller’s Blue Like Jazz. The title is perfect. It sounds like a book about jazz or poetry or perhaps jazz poetry. And I assumed that someone with a goatee that long might like both of those things. So I replied, “I really like the book Blue Like Jazz.”

  He turned in his seat and smiled, “I love that book. My wife is a Christian author and we both really enjoy Donald Miller’s writing style.” Over the next few months we became friends and shared our faith with each other openly.

  What did I think would happen? That perhaps upon hearing the
word Christian Matt would think of every bad image of Christianity he had, the screaming protests, the musicals, the faith-based hand soaps, and throw them right on me?

  When my cousin Martha moved to Brooklyn she deliberately wore her Young Life T-shirt on the subway in the hopes that another Christian would recognize the ministry and strike up a conversation with her. It was kind of her way of drawing half the Jesus fish symbol in the sand the way that persecuted Christians would back in the ancient times to find another believer without getting in trouble.

  My hope is that this book will become some sort of weird witnessing tool because it’s pretty subtle. Not sure about a friend’s view of Christianity? Show him this book. If he says, “Ugh, I hate Christians. They’re so judgmental,” then flip to the essay titled, “Being Slightly Less Nice Than Mormons” and tell him, “This author thinks that too. You’ll love this book.” If he replies, “I’m a Christian too,” keep this page open and show him these exact words and then write me an email that says, “You just blew my mind, Jonathan Acuff,” because I did.

  BEING SLIGHTLY OFFENDED THAT THE PASTOR HAS A NICER CAR THAN YOU DO

  Christians like their pastors humble, and by humble I mean driving a domestically made mid-sized sedan with high mileage.

  I’m not saying I want my pastor to be poor, just that my assumption is that to be a man of the cloth means the seats in your car shouldn’t be made of leather. I’m fine if you have a luxury car, if it was a gift from a church member who happens to own a car dealership. Otherwise, I want to be honest, if I see you driving around in a tricked-out Mercedes-Benz, my first two thoughts are going to be:

  I guess that pastor hates starving children in Africa.

  I had no idea my tithe was going directly to the procurement of rims.

  I want you in a hooptie, not a whip. I want you on a donkey, not a Denali. I want you to know the moral fortitude that comes with having to push a car off the side of the road at least twice a year when it breaks down.

  Me? What am I driving? Whoa, let’s get back on topic; you’re the Varsity Christian, not me. If God chooses to bless me with a Rolls Royce, should I refuse that? Would Abraham or Solomon have scoffed at God’s gifts? Think of the great witnessing I can do simply by driving down the highway with spinning rims. Think of the lives that will be touched and transformed when I pull up to a red light and make an automotive declaration, a vehicular proclamation if you will, to the goodness and graciousness of God.

  But pastors? You better keep it low key.

  GIVING OURSELVES LIBERAL DEFINITIONS OF THE PHRASE “QUIET TIME”

  Christians try. We try so hard to get this one right, but it just keeps slipping through our fingers. We want to have a steady, regular, consistent, God-is-happy-with-us quiet time, but it’s such an on-again, off-again rollercoaster. This is it though. We’re getting serious this time. That sermon we heard on Sunday drove home the point that we need a daily quiet time.

  The pastor didn’t actually say that phrase. He said “personal worship,” or maybe “private discipline.” He said one of those phrases because “quiet time” sounds kind of churchy and old-fashioned. Regardless, we need one. Some time to be still with God and read our Bible and pray. So we committed. For the next thirty days, it is so on. I can’t wait. This time’s going to be different!

  Day one. Monday is theoretically a good day to start my new thirty-day quiet time commitment, but this Monday happens to fall in the middle of the month. Who starts things on the sixteenth of the month? New things should be started at the beginning of the month, or if you really want to ensure success, the beginning of the year. That’s the money date right there, January 1. I wish it wasn’t October 16th. Nothing good has ever been started on October 16th. Should I wait ten weeks to start my quiet time in the New Year? Probably not. Okay Monday, let’s do this.

  Day two. Day one was easy. I just started in Genesis and read a little and prayed before work. It’s got to be during the morning. There’s something doubly Christian about mornings, and if I miss that time, my whole day is shot. God is not cool with me doing my quiet time during lunch or in the early afternoon, and certainly not at night. God is an early bird; satan is a night owl. Everyone knows that.

  Day three. Ugh, day three was harder. I just couldn’t get up today and slept through my quiet-time hour. I managed to read a Bible verse online when I got to work though. And I said a little prayer to God in the elevator when I came into the building. That’s still a pretty good quiet time. Streak unbeaten. Three days down, twenty-seven to go.

  Day four. I don’t know if you can technically be quiet and listening to a sermon at the same time, but that’s what I did for my quiet time today. There was just so much going on at work that I had to come in early. So instead of praying or being still or anything like that, I just listened to a podcast of a sermon while I filed some reports. It was hard to concentrate, but occasionally I would hear the minister say words like “God” and “Jesus,” and I would perk up and put the filing down at work for a minute. Take that, day four.

  Day five. God loves music. I’m pretty sure David used to sing in the book of Psalms. And they were always lifting their voices to him in the temple. I don’t know if Jesus and the disciples ever jammed around the campfire at night though. Maybe they had a harp or something. Did the disciples play harps, or is that only angels? A harp is a really hard instrument to transport unless it’s a mini angel harp. I should look that up, but I haven’t been able to get very far in Matthew yet. I wanted to today, but traffic was worse than I expected. So I prayed in the car and listened to some of my favorite worship music. God is a fan of Steve Fee and Chris Tomlin, so I’m marking that down as quiet time. Five days!

  Day six. Do the weekends count? Do I really need to sit still and listen and pray and read my Bible for it to be considered an official quiet time? I played with my kids a lot this weekend, and God gave them to me and wants me to be a good father, so I’m counting our game of wiffle ball as quiet time. Hooray for six days!

  Day seven. God made me unique. He handcrafted me to respond to this world in special, beautiful ways. And one of the things he gifted me with is an appreciation for college basketball. What joy that brings to my heart. How I cry out to the heavens, “Go, Tar Heels!” They played last night and it was a special time for God and me to share, as we both watched athletes he has gifted with tremendous dunking ability soar about the floor with grace and beauty. Plus, during a timeout, I looked out the window and saw a bush, which reminded me of God’s glory and nature and all that. So that makes seven days in a row doing a quiet time.

  This is going to be a lot easier than I thought.

  SUBTLY FINDING OUT IF YOU DRINK BEER TOO

  If you’re a Christian who drinks a beer after mowing the lawn or has a glass of red wine with dinner, there’s a sneaky little game you play when you meet new Christians. It’s called, “Do These Christians Drink Too?”

  The reason you play this game is not that you’re afraid of looking bad in front of people who don’t drink. I have friends who choose not to drink, and they never get on me about having a beer. They never try to choke-hold me for drinking wine. Not at all. But there are people who will leg drop you if they find out you drink. They’ll say things like, “I really think all the bad things that happen to you are because God is punishing you for starting to have mixed drinks.” That’s a real quote. From a friend.

  There’s never been a good way to smoke these people out, a guide, as it were, to find out who’s going to punch you in the face with judgment and who’s going to love you, regardless of what you’re drinking…until now.

  This is the Official Stuff Christians Like Subtle Guide to Finding Out If Another Christian Drinks Too. (The OSCLSGTFOIACDT, if you will):

  The Anything

  When you’re going to visit someone’s house, call a few days beforehand and offer to “bring anything you need, like drinks.” Make sure you stress the word anything over and over again. W
hat’s so great about this technique is that it puts the pressure back on them. Now they’re faced with the decision to ask you to bring wine or Sprite.

  The Garage Poke

  Studies show that 78 percent of all Christians hide their beer in the garage when people they don’t know will come over. Okay, I conducted the study myself, but trust me, it’s true. Make up an excuse to go to the garage and then poke around. Don’t snoop. Snooping is what the lady on Murder, She Wrote did. Just poke. There’s a huge difference.

  The Keychain

  This one is easy to execute. Just look at their keychain. If they have a bottle opener on it, you’re all set. No one ever drinks enough old-timey soda to need a bottle opener around all the time. Speaking of soda, bring over a six pack of old-school soda as a housewarming gift. Make sure you bring bottles with tops that won’t unscrew. Then watch carefully to see what they do next. Do they instantly go to the drawer where the bottle opener is? Do they seem familiar with this task? Does it fit the contour of their hand easily from years of usage? Is there a picture of Bud Light’s dog, Spuds Mackenzie, on the opener, indicating that it is a trusted friend dating back to the mid-eighties?

  The Traveler

  One of my favorite places on the planet is the Garage Cafe & Bar in Birmingham, Alabama. It’s an antique store built out of old horse stalls, with a huge open courtyard that spills a sea of statues and period furniture under a blanket of white Christmas lights and dark sky. At night, it’s a beautiful place to have a beer and feel poetic. If I tell you that story and the only words you hear are “bar” and “beer,” then chances are we feel different about drinking. Tell a story about a place you’ve visited and see if the first reaction is, “A bar? You went to a bar? Do you think you’ll be in the hot part of hell or the wicked-hot part?”