Ok, maybe the fake M-80 was not such a good idea illustration for Children’s Ministry.

How could I know the kids would take me so seriously?  I thought they might get a little nervous, but how could I anticipate some would run out of the building, terrified, as if being chased by an enraged rhinoceros?  Hey, we made a memory, didn’t we?  And that was part of what Celebration was all about – making memories as families, singles and churches from all over came together for 3 days of worship, teaching and fun.

The second evening the three hundred 4th through 6th graders came back, excited for another night of games, worship, teaching and skits.  The theme of the evening was “temptation.”  My goal: teach that when the devil tempts us, he shows the bait and hides the hook.  He doesn’t come prancing in wearing red tights with a pitchfork.

So that’s what we began with – a guy wearing red tights, horns and a cape, gliding around the room, hunched over, saying in an Elizabethan English accent, “May I tempt you?”  “May I interest you in some…evil?”

The kids howled.  The guy was brilliant.  Snidely Whiplash-like, he’d occasionally let fly a sinister, “Nya-ah-ah-ah-ahhhhhhh!” then slither up to the next person to try to tempt them.

Point made.  “The devil doesn’t tempt us like this, does he kids?  No, what does he do?”

“He shows the bait and hides the hook.”

“Alright boys and girls, we’re going to have a little snack right now.”  Applause.  “I have to go do something in the other room, but Mr. H will be in charge of snacks.”

Out came trays laden with mostly golden brown cookies, but on every tray a few chocolate ones.

Mr. H said, “Boys and girls, let me warn you, you shouldn’t eat the chocolate cookies.”

Perfect.  I came back in for Temptation Part 2.  Mr. H had warned the kids NOT to eat the chocolate cookies – and for good reason.  I’d had them baked with laundry detergent in them.  I figured when the trays came back to the stage, they’d have only chocolate cookies on them, since the kids would heed Mr. H.  Then I’d try to tempt one or two of the boys to eat one, saying, “Look how good it looks.  Doesn’t it smell delicious?”

But something wasn’t right.  When the trays came back to the stage, there were no chocolate cookies on them.  I began to get that vague “lawsuit” feeling again.

“Hey kids!”  I yelled.  “Did anybody eat the chocolate cookies?”  Dozens of hands shot up in the air.

“You ate those?  Do you know what was in them?”

“YEAH!”  They yelled in chorus.  “SOAP!”

The “LAWSUIT” sign was flashing again.

There went my illustration.  I couldn’t tempt them to eat the chocolate cookies – they’d snarfed them down quicker than I would be able to say, “You don’t have to fire me, I’ll resign.”  Why didn’t they listen to Mr. H?

Now I knew what Paul was talking about when he said he never would have coveted till the Law said, “Do not covet.”

Fortunately, there was no harm done, no lawsuits, and only a couple kids got stomach aches later that night.  Hopefully it taught them not to neglect grown-ups’ warnings.  All was well.  And we still had pickled pigs feet to eat the following night…

photo by wenday

I’m looking forward to this week, for I get to do a few messages at the Youth Camp of our sister church in Knoxville, TN.

Last week when I put in some requests for props to use during my messages – a large rock with a face painted on it, the arm of a mannequin, a dead octopus – I remembered some great times teaching 4th – 6th graders at “Celebration,” an event our churches used to hold each May on the local campus.

One of my favorite memories is the time I taught on anger.  I created a fake M-80 firecracker by wrapping black construction paper around a prescription bottle and attaching a 3-foot fuse to it.  The fuse was a kind that is impossible to extinguish.  You can blow on it, stomp on it, even dunk it in water and it will keep burning.

I told the 300 kids that night that if we keep giving in to anger, eventually it will lead to much worse things.  “Like this firecracker,” I said, producing my fake, yet very real looking prop.  “This is an M-80, which is 1/8 of a stick of dynamite.  Once some friends threw one into a room I was in and when it blew up it was so loud I couldn’t hear afterward for a few seconds.  It felt like it sucked out all the air in the room and I couldn’t breathe.”

Now I had the rapt, if not somewhat nervous, attention of every single child in the class. I continued:

“Now if I were to keep lighting this and putting it out, eventually it would get down to the firecracker and it would blow up.  That’s the way anger is.  It leads to worse and worse things.  Now I’m going to light this fuse just once and let it burn for just a few seconds, but don’t worry, I’ll put it out before it gets down to the firecracker.”

Now I definitely had their attention.  A few kids shifted in their seats.  Some of the adult helpers began to look at one another with slightly nervous looks on their faces.

“Alrighty, here we go,” I said, striking a match and lighting the fuse.  The 3-foot fuse blazed, crackled and smoked like a sparkler.  I let it burn 6 inches, then a foot.  The tension rose in the room.  Lots of nervous shuffling.

“Don’t worry kids, I’m going to put it out in just a second.”  I waited till the anxiety level reached maximum height, then put the “firecracker” on the stage.  “Ok, I’m going to stomp it out now.”  Stomp, stomp.  The fuse kept burning.  Stomp, stomp, stomp.  “What’s going on?”  I yelled, panic in my voice.  Looking over at fellow-pastor, Bill, who was serving with me, I yelled, “Bill, it won’t go out!  It’s gonna blow!”  Then I jumped off the stage.

Pandemonium broke out.  Kids screamed and covered their ears.  Some bolted past the adult helpers and out the door and out of the building onto the campus, chased by the helpers who had been given charge of their safety.

At that point I deduced that perhaps I had gone a bit far with my illustration.  I could see the word “LAWSUIT” flashing in large neon letters in my mind.  I could see me starting my new job as a poop scooper in the local kennel, after being released from prison, saying to people, “Yeah, I used to be a pastor until I scare the living wits out of 300 kids.”

Fortunately, all the kids were corralled, no one was hurt and no one sued me.  I learned my lesson.  At least until the next night, when I gave out cookies with laundry detergent in them…

photo by gaptone

Proverbs 15:15 sums it up well: “All the days of the afflicted are evil, but the cheerful of heart has a continual feast.” (Proverbs 15:15)

Laughter helps me to have a cheerful heart.

So what makes you laugh? Here’s what makes me laugh…

- My brother, and my dad

- This sermon illustration by C.J. Mahaney

- This video by Brian Regan:

- This hilarious article by Dave Barry

- My friend Luke, who you probably don’t know, but he would make you laugh too

- This scene in Napoleon Dynamite:

Let’s create a list of things that make us laugh. What makes you laugh?

I walked into church this past Sunday.

That’s strange, I thought. The place is packed. There must be thousands of new people here. I walked up to one guy who was wearing a gold cross, a “Got Jesus?” t-shirt, a WWJD bracelet, and a hat with a fish on it. I asked him if this was his first time attending a church.

“Yeah it is, but dude, I’ve always loved church. I mean, it’s totally awesome.”  I then asked him what he loved about church. “Well you know. It’s just amazing. You know, there’s stuff about God and prayer. And, what’s that book called?”

I just looked at him and kept going.

********

As I walked toward the main sanctuary I heard a strange noise. It sounded like…

“Hey man here’s your trumpet,” someone shouted in my ear. A young couple was standing at the entrance to the sanctuary, handing trumpets to everyone who came in. I looked around and saw that everyone in the auditorium was wildly blowing on their trumpet.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” I shouted.

“You just blow on it the whole service. Especially when you get excited, like when the worship band starts playing something by Chris Tomlin or the pastor gives an awesome illustration from the show Lost.” The noise in the auditorium was deafening, but nobody seemed to care.

Another greeter came over and asked the young couple if they could help him clean up a mess in the bathroom. The couple instantly flopped forward, landing dramatically on the ground. They both grabbed their ankles and began rolling around on the ground. Apparently they couldn’t help with the bathroom.

********

The worship band got started, and everything was going well until the worship leader tried an unexpected key change. Suddenly the band was thrown into chaos. Instantly the congregation began booing and throwing bulletins, Bible covers, and anything else they could get there hands on. Finally the band got back on track and everything resumed as normal.

After worship, the offering basket was passed around. Every time someone put a significant donation in they yelled, “TTTTTTIIIIITTTTTHHHHHEEEEE!” and the crowd broke into applause.

********

Then the pastor came up on stage and began his sermon. Things were progressing normally (other than the continuous trumpeting) for 15 minutes when the pastor suddenly stopped. He pointed at a man who was walking toward the restroom.

“No using the restroom until minute 17 of the service!” The pastor then pointed to a woman who was fanning herself with a bulletin.

“No right handed fanning,” he shouted. He then proceeded to mysteriously disallow several other things, such as chewing spearmint gum and taking notes with a BIC ballpoint pen.

After forty minutes of preaching I thought things were coming to an end, but the pastor spontaneously decided to add two extra points to his sermon. At minute sixty seven, he concluded with, “Let’s pray.”

********

The moment the pastor said, “Amen,” he ripped off his shirt, threw it into the congregation, and sprinted around the auditorium. He concluded his sprint by sliding on his knees across the stage and pumping his fists. The worship team dog piled on top of him.

That signaled the end of church, and I quickly made my out of the auditorium and into the parking lot.

I didn’t want to be there when the congregation started setting chairs on fire.

–

If you enjoyed this post would you mind sharing it on Facebook or Twitter? Thanks!

I love spring.

The hard winter is past; birds are singing, carpenter bees are building fresh hives in every orifice of my home, trees are dumping billions of helicopter seeds in my yard, and my neighbors are all manicuring their lawns to look like carpet while mine looks like a prairie dog city. But best of all, it’s time to break out the grill.

I know a man who, sadly, lets his wife do all the grilling. He claims to have paper work he has to do. I have to question his manhood, for next to fishing for Alaskan King Crab, nothing says “manly” like grilling.

What else, in our emasculated society, so hearkens back to our primeval caveman days like grilling?

First of all, there is the extreme danger involved. If you read your grill’s manual, you will find a warning to check for spider webs. Apparently spiders can build nests that block the gas flow, thus causing explosions that level whole city blocks. What man would ask his wife to ferret out gas-blocking spiders for him? Personally, I don’t check for spiders, because I know if I look under the grill, a Brown Recluse is going to leap onto my face and inject me with gangrenous poison. So I just fire the grill up each spring, then run for cover. If the grill doesn’t blow up, we’re good to go.

A primary manly aspect of grilling is that it’s outdoors. Being out on my deck, with the sun and the wind and the clouds, I envision myself roasting fresh Mastodon under a prehistoric sky, Pteradactyls flying overhead as I fend off Raptors with my spatula.

Of course, nothing says manly like raw meat roasting over an open flame. The heat and smoke billowing up into your eyes. Grease dripping, flames leaping up, searing the raw flesh.

You’ve also got your manly grill tools. In addition to your stainless steel spatula on the 3 foot long wooden handle, you’ve got your oversized fork, also on a 3-foot handle, and your grill brush for slathering barbecue sauce. Women just aren’t qualified to use these weapons.

A proper finish to the whole grilling experience is to eat your meat without utensils, plates or napkins, preferably wearing a viking helmet. Wash the partially chewed flesh down with mead and toss the bones onto the floor. Grunt a lot, and laugh loud barrel-chested laughs. And rejoice that you’re a man.

photo by chatirygirl

As you probably know, I am somewhat of an expert in the field of “manpoints”, having written several extensive and well researched articles (see here and here).

However, in an effort to further the field of manpoints and help men everywhere, I’ve compiled a manpoints scorecard. With this scorecard, you can easily determine your Manliness Quotient (MQ) and identify areas for further growth.

Ladies, please pass this along to the man in your life. No need to say thank you.

Each of the following statements has an associated point value attached to it. At the end of the scorecard, sum up your points to determine your MQ.

The Manpoints Scorecard

Your jeans are appropriately loose, with no prefabricated rips or patches. (+1 point)

Your jeans are so tight that you require a system of levers and pulleys to help you put them on each morning. (-1 point)

You attended a Josh Groban concert in an effort to serve your wife/girlfriend. (+1 point)

You were in the front row and reached out to touch Josh Groban’s hand. (-1 point)

You wear a fanny pack. (-1 point)

You wear a fanny pack which contains a pistol and ninja stars. (+1 point)

Your Bible is safely secured in a Precious Moments Bible cover and has a handle which allows you to carry it like a purse. (-1 point)

Your Bible is covered in pure, unadulterated cowhide. (+1 point)

You call your pajamas “jammies”. (-1 point)

You’re a bit fuzzy on the line between clothes for church and clothes for sleeping (+1 point)

You own at least three power tools. (+1 point)

You own three power tools: an electric razor, a screwdriver, and a pencil sharpener. (-1 point)

Your usual order at Starbucks is a “tall skinny vanilla latte, extra foam, two pumps of caramel, and two splenda”. (-1 point)

You can chew your coffee. (+1 point)

You’ve ever read a novel where the main plot line involved a young Amish girl hopelessly in love with a non-Amish man, and how they overcame all barriers on the path to marriage. (-1 point)

You occasionally smell like an Amish horse barn. (+1 point)

You don’t like competition, and arrange all games so that everyone ends up a winner. (-1 point)

You turn everything into a competition, including your daughter’s birthday party.

–

Okay, how did you do? I would encourage to talk about your MQ with the guys in your accountability group, and ask for their help.

Now I need you help. What would you add to the Manpoints Scorecard?

But, in all honesty, I think the Olympics could be improved a bit. Here are just a few suggestions:

Incorporate an aging classic rock band into the opening ceremony. I watched the opening ceremonies for a grand total of five minutes, and then changed the channel out of sheer boredom. I probably wouldn’t have changed the channel if Bon Jovi had been setting a guitar on fire. The Olympics could learn from the Super Bowl here.

Impose a minimum weight requirement of 250 pounds for all male figure skaters. Male figure skaters aren’t big guys, even if you include the 4o pounds of sequins that they wear. Thus it isn’t quite as difficult for them to pull off a triple axle. It would be much more interesting to see a 250 pound guy named ‘Larry’ try the same move.

Add rifles into events other than the biathlon. I’m not sure who decided that skiing and shooting a rifle would be a good idea, but it seems like it might work in other events too. Speed skating seems like a sport ready for rifles. So does figure skating, for that matter.

Play the ‘Chariots of Fire’ theme song before every event. I guarantee that every world record would be shattered if this simple practice were adopted.

Have Morgan Freeman to do all commentary. Morgan Freeman can make a documentary on dung beetles sound fascinating. I would watch curling if Morgan Freeman was calling the game.

If anyone on the International Olympic Committee happens to read this, please feel free to contact me for more suggestions.

What else would you add to this list?

The other day I was thinking, what if Jack Bauer became a Christian, and then suddenly felt a call to ministry?

What would his church be like? His counseling sessions? Here’s what I think it would be like…

• Counseling sessions would be fast. Really fast. Because he only has two minutes, and you better tell him what’s going on or he’s going to mash your knee with his oversized Bible.

• He would scream the word “now” a lot. As in, “Tell me why you were impatient with your wife. NOW!”

• Every counseling session would end with a confession, because Pastor Jack can pull a confession out of anybody. Even if you didn’t do it.

• In every elders meeting Jack would inform the elders that “he did what he had to”.

• He would answer every theological question the same way: “It’s complicated…”

• He would probably fake his death several times as sermon illustrations.

• Scripture references in sermons would be called “backup”.

• The church would meet in an abandoned warehouse. The ushers would also be snipers and would establish a perimeter around the building.

• At least three times a week Jack would be misunderstood by his congregation and have to go “dark” until he could clear his name.

What else would Jack Bauer do if he were a pastor?

Yesterday I turned 60.  There’s lots to like about being 60.  For example:

Saying things like “Dagnab it!  Where’d I put that consarn hearing aid?”

Wearing glasses from the 80’s with lenses that could cover frying pans.

Playing the “When I was your age” card.  “When I was your age we didn’t have iPhones.  We had to talk into tin cans connected by string – and we LIKED it!”  “When I was your age, we didn’t have things like that newfangled Wii contraption.  We had to use actual baseball bats and leather covered balls – and we LIKED it!”

Collapsing time.  You say, “When I broke my ankle 2 years ago…” and your kids say, “Dad, that was back in 1987.”

Calling any man younger than you “young fella.”

Calling groups of people “outfits,” as in, “What’s the name of that outfit that does that Viva La Vino Song?” or “What’s the name of that outfit that CJ fella heads up?”

Saying things like, “Death Cab For Cutie!  What kind of a dagnab name for an outfit is that?  When I was a kid, bands had names that made sense, like The Strawberry Alarm Clock and The Lemon Pipers, and the 1910 Fruitgum Company.”

Spending 10 minutes pushing every button on the remote, saying “What’s wrong with this dagnab TV contraption?” until your son says, “Dad, that’s the DVD remote.”

Telling the same stories over and over to the same people.

Walking into the room and having no idea what you came in there for.

Jogging in extra short jogging shorts and white knee-high tube socks.

Ordering from the Senior Citizen Menu in Perkins Pancake House, and saying to the waitress, “I can show you my license if you need proof that I’m a senior citizen.”

Using the words “irk” and “ilk.”  “You know what irks me?  Outfits like Death Cab For Cutie and others of their ilk.”

Anybody have anything else to add?  Maybe things that you like (if you’re 60 or older) or things 60-year olds you know like?

Photo: Kristi Altrogge with old man by Beth Altrogge

Please supply a caption!