I was on my way to return a movie to Blockbuster when I decided to take a shorcut down an old road that speaks of neglect. My tire found its way into more than one pothole as I passed an abandoned CPA’s office building. There are some patches of weeds and overgrown grass along the roadside, as well as several forlorn homes that appear in need of some energetic, young couple bent on re-modeling.
In the South, you can almost literally say that a church building lines every street corner. So, there should be no surprise that I passed one as I drove, and since I take a rueful sort of delight in reading church signs, I made sure to drive by this church slowly.
Where will you be after Judgement Day?
Huh. I often wonder who believes statements (well, in this case a question) such as these are supposed to be inspiring or heart-changing.
“Well, I’ll be roasting hotdogs (the kosher kind!) and knocking back some beers with Jesus, how about you?” I would’ve loved to respond to whoever put that sign up.
I don’t really wish to bash institutional Christianity, but when I see things like that I feel a mixture of quiet mortification and sadness. One sign I saw read:
This Sunday, Jesus, A Special Guest
Well where is he every other Sunday of the year?
I don’t think I’m in the mood to go on about everything that’s wrong with our dysfunctinal Christian family. I just know that it’s my family, and like any family, there are problems. But there’s also big love and strong hands that unify us, if only we had the courage to really know it.