Mike Paschall . com

Honestly, our doorbell doesn’t ring that much. Other than the UPS drivers who seem to be able to ring the doorbell and then evaporate before you answer the door, there isn’t much solicitation in our neighborhood. Giles rings every Monday morning because he wants to mow the backyard. It’s a weed-patch back there and he needs the money, so he mows whether it’s necessary or not. Sometimes he’ll ask for something to eat and a soda. It seems that the Lord has a few of us in our neighborhood that are providing him work so he’s got a reason to put money in his pocket. Ding-dong ding-dong ding-dong. Giles is a trifecta ringer at my house.

Yesterday, as I was leaving to go to the club to workout, the doorbell rang as I simultaneously opened the front door. My hasty exit startled the three strangers standing on my front porch. The bibles and the big pamphlet announced who they were before I asked. I wasn’t in the mood for a big showdown. Before they could get into their pitch, I made sure that they understood that I have a fairly strong belief system and what they were selling wasn’t suitable to my theological palate. I’m sure they got the point rather quickly, but I doubt they felt love in any of my words.

As they moved on to the next house and I drove towards the club, I thought about the difficulty of trying to love people who are on a religious mission to move you to their camp. I’ve got my own problems with religion and regretfully my tolerance for religious dialogue and theological grain splitting is at an all-time low. I didn’t feel great about that encounter on the porch, but I’m also unclear how it could have been better. They were not going to hear one thing I might have said to them. They weren’t there to listen. They weren’t there for a conversation. I was the target of a religious agenda and quite frankly it feels gross.

Once I got to the club there was a guy roaming the parking lot carrying a fairly large box. He spotted me and headed in my direction. It was as if I had rang his doorbell and he was obliged to answer. I was beginning to think that I might be in some kind of weird pizza dream. He said, “Hey buddy, are you a fisherman?” “Well sorta, but whatever you’re selling, I don’t even have my wallet.” (true statement)

This guy was frumpy, unkempt, dirty, and I was fairly certain that whatever was in the box didn’t get there by just cause. He paid no attention to my words, “Look in here. I need to move these plastic worms.” It looked like stuff that had been in an old tackle-box for years. For some unknown reason I responded with, “Dude, I’m a fisher of men. (kind of true, but it’s overtly religious) I don’t get to the lake anymore.” I have no idea where that came from other than maybe I was just trying to get the boy out of my grill. He scratched his head and looked me over and said, “Man, I’d figure you for a fisher of women… not men!” OMG! I couldn’t stop laughing. His toothless grin confirmed that I had been busted and he had totally owned me in that skirmish. I giggled for a few more moments and then I realized that it was all too odd not to pay attention.

I thought about all that weirdness most of the day.

ISN’T IT STRANGE THAT WE ARE WILLING TO COMBAT A RELIGIOUS SPIRIT WHEN IT TRIES TO INVADE OUR RHYTHM, AND THEN WE TURN AROUND AND USE THE NASTY THING WHEN IT BENEFITS US IN SOME WAY?

If I’m not mistaken, that is hypocrisy. Sigh

When I posed the dilemma to the Lord, I sensed a small word about treating everyone with respect regardless of the baggage. We usually see the baggage first and the people second. As life happens all around us it takes a lot of discipline to laser in on the major stuff and not get distracted by the minor things. Unfortunately religious zealousness messes with everyone’s lenses. If you participate with religiousness, it messes with your lens. If you hate religiousness, it messes with your lens. And people usually get bashed in the process no matter where you are in that spectrum. I’ve wondered if it’s remotely fixable in this world.

I’m tempted to offer additional thoughts, but I’d probably only muddy the waters. Besides, someone is ringing the doorbell. Gotta run.

Mike

xo