Terror in a Text

Terror gripped my heart. My phone chirruped its little alert: I had a text.

In the last few weeks, I’ve ticked off more than a few people. Fires rage around my little congregation.

One member of the congregation threatened to physically assault another member of the congregation when they next saw each other. Oh, that happened to be at church the next Sunday. I called her on it. She’s refusing to speak to me or show up in church now. Because how dare I tell her that threatening assault is a sin?

I tried reaching her earlier today. She didn’t respond then. Could this be from her?

Grandma kicked out her daughter and grandson. Why? Well, because. And when I call her on that, she hangs up on me. (“You always take their side! And don’t you bring Christ into this!”)

Is this her grandson, against asking me what to do and ignoring me as he has for weeks?

Daughter that was kicked out tells me, “Don’t tell her we’re safe. I want her to suffer.” I call her on that. No, I will not intentionally deceive nor hurt another. Daughter is now mad at me.

Is this her texting back, raging again?

A woman in the congregation is so angry that I dared say, “God will not give you more than you can handle” is not in the Bible, and in fact is false theology. Lifelong member accusing me of trying to tear her away from God.

And now my phone chirrups again. Yes, I have a text.

It’s not about the dash.

It’s not about the dash.

I just got back from a “Christian” funeral and burial. The daughter of one of my prospects died very suddenly. I attended both the wake and the funeral to support the prospect’s family. I did not preside, and am rather glad I wasn’t asked – the daughter had chosen not to come to worship nor have me visit, despite several offers. How could I lie about her and say that I knew she was in heaven? I heard neither profession of faith nor saw faith in action.

The family got a “mercenary” pastor, as I call them – someone willing to preach for pay for whatever situation.

The funeral itself was… inoffensive, which by itself offended me. The pastor chose the account of Jesus raising a young man to life in the city of Nain:

Before Easter Comes

I just spent an hour talking down a grandma from shoving away a congregation member for something that is not a sin (not necessarily good taste, but not a sin).

Later tonight, on Holy Saturday no less, I may be going out to a crime scene. A prospect was found dead. I got the call about half an hour before the grandma called.

Before that, another member called, believing rumors about a totally different member that I know are not true. He won’t accept my attestations to the truth.

Today is Holy Saturday. Yesterday we stood at the foot of the cross. Jesus lies dead in the grave until tomorrow morning.

And these are the stupid people he died for?

These are the idiots I deal with. These are the stupid sheep I shepherd.

Someone hit me on the head with a hammer.