He told me to tell you that
The joke about pastors is they only work an hour on Sunday. Nothing could be further from the truth. I work about 55 hours every week and that’s not an exaggeration. I produce two new from scratch sermons a week, a scratch midweek Bible study and a Sunday school lesson that comes right out of the Bible. I’m not bragging. I’m just saying. All of that is between hospital visits, counseling, too many meetings that should have been emails.
There was a break in the storm last week (God is good) and I had an afternoon that was a little lighter than normal, so I slipped out of the office late in the day and made my way to the golf course down the road (pastor’s play for free).
Before walking a quick nine, I hit the drive-through at McDonald’s to grab a Big Mac (without lettuce). As I sat in my Mini Cooper convertible (top was down to get my daily dose of Vitamin D) eating my burger, I saw a “homeless couple” with not one but three dogs . They were holding up a sign that read, “Anything helps.” I consider myself compassionate, but I am also discerning. I thought I’m gainfully employed and out of debt and I can’t afford to feed three dogs so there was no donation from this old, tired and sometimes too cynical of a pastor.
Yet, as I sat there judging these people I choked on my next to last bite of Big Mac. As I was trying to cough it out, my life flashed before my eyes and I thought, I’m going to die in this lousy parking lot and my last thoughts are going to be judging homeless people for having too many pets.
I wondered – was God getting me back for my attitude? Was I going to be like Eli who’s sin finally caught up with him (Eli was a priest who allowed his sons to be pimps among other things and he fell off a chair and broke his neck – 1st Samuel 4:18). Jesus told us, “For in the same way you judge others, for you will be judged, and with the same measure you use, it will be measured to you.” I’m joking and I’m really taking that passage out of context Praise the Lord God’s not mad at us and we live in a season of great grace.
Back to my humbling, choking, near death experience. As I was gasping for air, I was hoping that these homeless gypsies were angels in disguise who would perform the Heimlich maneuver and save my life, so I could confess and repent and promise God I would never look down on anyone ever again. That didn’t happen. It all worked out though. I survived and after I wiped off the special sauce from the Big Mac that was smeared across my face I went and played my normal round of bogey golf.
I don’t have a point except maybe a bad day on the golf course beats a good day at work. He told me to tell you that.
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