Archives For God's Love

Twenty-five years ago a client asked me to meet with her president for an hour-long lunch. Her president was an industry innovator. But, she told me, the president was also almost wordlessly introverted. She proposed I come prepared with a stockpile of stories to fill the conversational void.

The night before my visit, I talked with my father. He suggested an alternate plan.

My father said there is nothing people like more than to hear the sound of their own voice. Instead of telling amusing anecdotes, he suggested I ask questions.

silver-doctor-ec-gregg-3The next day (at lunch with a reticent president) I asked question after question. The one-hour lunch stretched beyond two, and he talked almost non-stop. He waxed eloquent of his fly fishing hobby. He explored the mysteries of different fly rods. He told tales of the intricacy—and successes and failures—of tying fish flies.

After two and a half hours, he glanced at his watch astonished. He was late for his weekly executive board meeting.

A board member later laughed about that board meeting. He said that the reclusive president practically bubbled with passion about our lunch. He wanted each executive to meet me. He said I was the greatest conversationalist he had ever met.

The thing was, I hadn’t told a story. Not one. I just asked questions.     Continue Reading…

About thirty-five years ago, I lived in a community of a hundred men who kept everything in common. We literally pooled our money. Out of that pool we paid for our clothes, food, rent, and even our cars.

Before we had a non-profit name, the cars we bought were registered in one of the men’s names (usually whoever was convenient at the time). We had a little fleet.

One day I was in a car with Bruce (the first time I’ve used a real name) when he was pulled over for speeding. Officer ticketThe officer sternly asked for a driver’s license and the car registration. We always kept the registration in the glove box; always … except this time.

Bruce told the office he didn’t have the registration, and the officer asked Bruce who owned the car. Bruce glanced at me red-faced, turned to the officer and stuttered, “Sir, I don’t know who this car belongs to.”

The officer replied incredulously, “Let me get this straight. You are speeding in someone’s car; you can’t find its registration. You don’t even know who it belongs to; but you don’t want me to think you are stealing it.” He strode back to his squad car.

A few minutes later he marched back with a speeding ticket. After handing the ticket to Bruce, he leaned in the open window and he dead-panned,

“By the way, sir, just in case you’re curious, this car belongs to you. You own it.” Continue Reading…

In The Princess Bride, the criminal genius Vizzini repeatedly and inappropriately exclaims, “Inconceivable.” His partner Inigo Montoyo finally reflects, “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

Like that criminal genius, Christians use religious jargon repeatedly and inappropriately. Sometimes I want to respond, “I do not think it means what you think it means.

I struggle with the phrase, “wrestling with God.” Christians use it to arm_wrestlingdescribe an intentional long night of interceding with God. The phrase refers to Jacob wrestling with God (Gen. 32:22-31). We use it the wrong way; I want to reply, “Stop saying that!”

I used to work in a ministry with a man who loved the phrase. If the finances were low, he’d demand an evening bout of wrestling with God. When the congregation failed to follow the message, he’d insist on an upper room experience battling with God.

My friend used the phrase as though we needed to get God’s attention, as though we needed to place a shot over God’s bow. We’d argue with God, make our pitch, and try to persuade him of our plans. Maybe we’d fast or lie prostrate.

It reminded me of the priests of Baal as they cut themselves on Mt. Carmel (1 Kings 18). I wish I’d said to my friend, “I do not think it means what you think it means.

It may sound noble or heroic, but an African American preacher understood it better when he preached, “Your arm’s too short to box with God!” Continue Reading…

When You Lie, Lie B-E-E-E-G!

December 18, 2012 — 14 Comments

My sister Sarah went to a small college where you actually got to know the professors.

Her Eastern European History professor was her favorite, Professor Petrovich. He was Yugoslavian, and he was the official interpreter for President Jimmy Carter whenever Yugoslavian President Tito was in Washington D.C.

Professor Petrovich was also a character, and was almost always late for appointments.

One day he was really late, late for a Pulled overplane flight. He raced down the freeway at almost ninety miles an hour. A police car began to chase him with sirens wailing, but he kept going. Soon half a dozen police cars joined the chase, and they pulled him over.

He jumped out of the car and yelled at the officers, “I am the interpreter for the President of the United States. I’ve got to catch a plane. If I don’t, it will be a humiliation for President Carter and a dishonor to President Tito. I’ve got to get to the airport now!

The officers looked at each other, rushed back to their cars, and escorted the professor to the airport with lights flashing and sirens wailing, as though they were escorting the president himself. It was the ride of the professor’s life.

After he told my sister this story, he concluded in his thick accent: “Sawah, the moral of the story is, ‘When you lie, lie B-E-E-E-G!’” Continue Reading…

A few years ago a good friend of mine listened to a set of my sermons. He offered me constructive criticism. He liked what I said, but he had one bit of advice:

Don’t use so many personal stories about your own weaknesses.

He believed that the best spiritual preacher in pulpit leadership comes through modeling a spiritual life. He thought sharing personal weaknesses undermines the effectiveness of a spiritual leader.

I disagree. I think sharing personal weaknesses strengthens the effectiveness of a spiritual leader. But it’s complicated.

The vulnerability extreme

My friend reminded me of a time (years ago) he and I went to hear a speaker. The speaker attracted crowds because of his “vulnerable” speaking. He was “authentic.”

passionate preachingAnd the sermon was vulnerable. It was a virtual vomit of vulnerability. But the speaker mostly just vented. He flaunted his feelings, he wept over his wounds, and he wailed over his wretchedness. It was emotional upchuck. (Though authentic.)

But his message wasn’t redeeming. He didn’t offer healing. He helped people share problems but didn’t address then. He helped others admit their issues but he didn’t help solve them. The resulting culture was, “The world’s a mess. I’m a mess. Deal with it.”

My friend and I witnessed this firsthand. It was a revolting rant with no redemption. Continue Reading…

Years ago I witnessed a curious interaction between a client’s president and his secretary. I arrived at their office mid-morning and found the secretary crying in the parking lot, crying because of a tongue-lashing she had just received.

Apparently her president had wanted new conference room table and chairs. He found a set man-pointing-fingeronline and asked his secretary to buy it. She found an identical set from another distributor with a better offer: it was several thousand dollars cheaper and it included an extended manufacturer’s warranty.

When she told the president about the better deal, he was furious, and he shouted, “Don’t you know who I am? I am the president!”

The president and I had lunch later that day. During the lunch, the president gave me his version of that morning’s story, and his story matched hers—almost word for word. He ended by asking, “Didn’t she know I am the president?”

The thing was, everybody knew he was the president. He owned the company. He basically operated as the CEO, COO, and CFO. There was not a single person with a hint of a shadow of the tiniest doubt who he was. Everyone knew it.

Except maybe the president himself. Continue Reading…

[To listen to a reading of this article, click here.]

Last Sunday night was a dark night. I woke in the dark, thinking dark thoughts, unable to stop my mind from wandering the shadowy paths of self-condemnation. I lay awake,

  • Remembering my unfulfilled promises to my kids when they were young,
  • Regretting my mistakes made as a boss to good employees,
  • Wondering if my life had made any difference for good in the world.

Sunrise came. I stretched and tried to shake off the phantom spirits of despondency. I looked for something to cheer me, something to help me forget the darkness.

My wife has been reading (and rereading) Ann Voscamp’s book, One Thousand Gifts. It’s a book about gratitude. I hoped it would do the trick. The first nine words were a quote,

Every sin is an attempt to fly from emptiness. (Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace)

I read those words and stopped.  I almost felt the wind knocked out of me. I lay the book aside and prayed. I meditated the next thirty minutes on this simple statement: Every sin is an attempt to fly from emptiness.

It was just what I needed but not what I wanted. It stripped my soul and breathed in life.

That morning I woke, hoping to escape from sadness, but the sadness was really an emptiness that I feared to face. I prayed, and confronted, and heard this. Continue Reading…

[To listen to a reading of this article, click here.]

I hate leaving for trips, but I also—sometimes—hate returning. There is so much to do. There are all the things I didn’t do while away, and all the things I normally do when I’m home, and all the things my trip generates.

I returned home late last Friday night from a week long set of planning meetings. Sure enough, my “normal” things for last week didn’t get done by themselves; the planning meetings generated a huge list of terrific things to do; and I had my normal new week’s list just waiting for action.

I felt overwhelmed and weighed down, besieged by an army of action items. As I charged through my to-do list, the battle went downhill. Technology misfired, people were late, misunderstandings abounded, and phone interruptions ruled.

Instead of bleeding with a sword through my heart, I was dying of a thousand paper cuts; instead of facing the hulking, flying Nazgûl, I was surrounded by ten thousand blood-sucking mosquitoes. Continue Reading…

[To listen to a reading of this article, click here.]

Ten years ago, I was on a plane heading for New York to give a presentation. The man next to me was a professor of public speaking at a major university.

Somewhat sheepishly, I asked for advice, “What is the key to great public speaking?”

After some preliminary comments, he said this: “At the beginning of World War II, when Winston Churchill became Prime Minister of England, he said, ‘I felt as though my whole life had prepared me for this moment.’”

“Sam,” he continued, “the best public speakers feel as though their entire lives have prepared them for this moment.”

His words pierced me more deeply than had any other past comment or deliberate insult.

I was devastated. I didn’t feel prepared for anything of significance.

Why?

My soul longs—and I believe every soul longs—for a purpose, for a deep meaning, to know that we matter. We long for something transcendent.

Yet I believe most of us fritter our lives away with little dreams. We eagerly await our next vacation or our next car. We squander our money—or our dreams—on the next new iPhone or matching shoes and purse. Continue Reading…

Today didn’t go as planned. Not even close.

Our dog Puzzle didn’t eat a bite on Sunday. I woke up today (Monday) to find two large pools of diarrhea in the family room and a cowering dog in the kitchen. I called the vet. They had an opening in one hour. For the next forty-five minutes I scrubbed and scoured the cesspools in our carpet.

When I coaxed Puzzle to the car, I discovered a flat tire. I pumped it up and sped to the vet. I had missed the “window” and sat for an hour amidst yapping dogs and a shivering Puzzle. (He’s fine; he just ate something bad.)

I dropped Puzzle off at home, and I limped to the tire store. They said it would take twenty minutes. An hour and twenty minutes later they said a nail and punctured the sidewall and I needed a new tire. But it wasn’t in stock. I’d have to come back.

I rushed to Panera’s for a lunch appointment, but my friend didn’t show up. He texted, saying that he had a toothache and was dashing to the dentist for an emergency visit.

I hurried home only to discover that my website was down. Apparently there had been a “massive DDoS attack on GoDaddy.com” (whatever that means) which affected thousands of sites. Including mine.

While talking with technical support, my wife came home with a kidney stone episode, so I ended the call and ran out to buy her some painkillers.

By mid afternoon my friend had a pain in the mouth, my wife had a pain in the side, and my day had been a pain in the ____ (fill in the blank). Continue Reading…