Have you ever had a natural gas leak in your home or office?

Gas leaks can be deadly, you know.  They are invisible, they are poisonous, and left untreated, they can kill with deadly force.

It's the same with church cliques. They are invisible, they are poisonous, and left untreated, they can kill with deadly force. The problem is, lots of people claim they can identify a clique at their church...but almost NOBODY would ever admit to being a part of one.

So let me offer this three-part exam to help you assess yourself.

Number 1: If you have ever secretly regretted someone else being a part of a church project or ministry that you're working on, you might be part of a clique.

Number 2: If you honestly (but quietly) resent it when new people come join your circle of friends at church, you might well be a part of a clique.

Number 3: If you cannot recall inviting someone newer to your church over for dinner...or to a social function of any kind...you might just  be part of a clique.

Cliques, by the way, are rarely the product of intentional design.  They are, rather, the byproduct of an unchallenged—even sanctified—selfishness.  Nor are they new. 

Church cliques go all the way back to the first church.  Paul took a look around and observed rather bluntly that “Some were of Apollos.  Some were of Cephas.  Some were of Paul.”  But Paul made it quite clear that such cliques were unacceptable.

So how could we possibly be so unaware of them creeping into our churches?  And how could we possibly allow them to flourish...through our own participation?

Any time... any thought... any word or any action excludes any one...it's a clique.  Meaning a clique could be made up of just two.    So let me ask you—honestly.  Are you part of a clique?  Or are you moving away from a clique?    Only one of those two statements can be true about you.

There will be no cliques in heaven.

There ought not to be cliques on earth.

At first, it struck me as blasphemous—then incredulous.

A satirical newspaper, known as the Onion, ran a recent headline as follows: “Christ Reluctantly Enters Area Man’s Heart.” The article went on to profile a fictional mortgage broker—Derek—who supposedly invited Christ to be his Savior. Derek is not a particularly nice man. Not the kind of man that you and I would necessarily choose to have a relationship with.

The article quotes Christ as saying, “When a believer reaches out to me with faith in their hearts, I kind of have to reach back, even if it’s Derek.”

Now please understand—I get the fact that this article is not only erroneous—it is blasphemous. Jesus has never known a hint of reluctance toward the worst of us. By contrast, the Bible sets the record straight assuring us in II Peter 3:9 that God is “patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance.”

But here’s what blows me away—the real “headline.” The Onion is a printed newspaper, distributed in Milwaukee, Chicago, Denver, Indianapolis, Omaha, Sana Fe, Ann Arbor, Columbus and Providence. The paper has a circulation of more than 200,000. It is entirely secular—and features articles often laced with profanity.

But here on the front page was a powerful (though satirical) illustration of the saving grace of God. The piece goes on to tell us Jesus—quote--“allowed His divine love to wash over” this guy.

As for his part, the fictional Derek is quoted as saying this was “only the start of a long intimate journey with the Lord by His side.”

A satirical newspaper in a post Christian culture has gotten it almost entirely right. On the front page is a somewhat blasphemous, incredulous article that tells the outrageous truth: Whosoever will…may come. Now THAT's awesome. That's Jesus!

Houston, we have a problem: adults are not memorizing the Bible.

Not like we should, anyway.

I don't know about you but I struggle in committing Scripture to memory.

When I was a kid, it was much easier to memorize the Bible.  Awana was a great experience.

But time is not kind to our brains.

Or is it that we adults have allowed too much data clutter on our hard drives?

Either way, we don't memorize the Bible—at least not much.

I've taken survey after informal survey and the results rarely vary.  “When I was younger I used to memorize...but not so much anymore.”

But how have we dismissed Scripture memory?  On what basis have we jettisoned all sense of accountability--all legitimate guilt?  Last time I checked, there wasn't even a hint of age restrictions in the admonition, “Your word have I hidden in my heart that I might not sin against you.” And how could the Psalmist claim, “I meditate on your law day and night” unless he had memorized a good portion of it?

Folks, this is not an incidental problem, a minor issue. It's huge.  I think it strikes at the core of why the Church is so much like the world.  It's part of the reason we divorce so much... part of the reason we're able to look at on line porno with virtual impunity.   We have not embedded sufficient quantities of Scripture to point our moral compass toward true North.

You know what my conclusion is?

We don't memorize because we don't want to memorize.

Okay, so memorizing for adults is hard.  So what!  Too bad!

Were you and I called to a life of ease?   Is personal comfort our measuring stick?

The truth is, it IS harder.  But it's NOT impossible.  My own struggle—and the struggles of countless others—proves it CAN be done.  It just takes a little more time and a lot more effort.

Shouldn't “denying ourselves and taking up our cross daily” possibly include doing the hard work of Bible memorization?

It's time to stop making excuses.

It's time to start memorizing the Word.

Amid the many small town fall festivals of Illinois, Stillman Valley Days must rank among the finest.  There’s the usual stuff: craft shows, carnival rides and overpriced funnel cakes.  For fans of fireworks, Stillman Valley Days is probably one of the season’s last and best displays in the whole state—which is why we try never to miss.

But because Stillman Valley is definitely in farm country, there’s always a display of small gasoline powered implements.  These antique machines are said to have performed important functions on farms of the last century.  Indeed, some of them are more than a hundred years old.

But because I’m not a farmer—and certainly no mechanic—I lack the imagination required to figure out what many of these contraptions actually did.  I saw Flywheels without pulleys….crankshafts with nothing to crank.  One machine, hiccupping white smoke, had a lever that went up and down endlessly.  Watching the three dozen machines that made up this display, I couldn’t help but observe the folks in charge: a cluster of old men, seated in lawn chairs.   Keepers of the past.

In the gentle racket of missed cylinders, combustion chambers backfiring and the chatter of a small town extravaganza, my mind wandered.  It occurred to me that this sorority of rusted relics was a metaphor for the senior citizens in so many of our churches.

Sometimes by choice—but I suspect more often by default—our seniors are left with little role other than Keepers of the past... Relics of the rested and rusting.

Surely this is inconsistent with biblical mandates that show seniors in mentoring relationships, offering wisdom, guiding the younger.   Surely we have, in many cases, bought into the world’s concept of merely tolerating our older members, rather than celebrating their years of experience.

In a day when churches are increasingly hiring outside consultants…you have to wonder how much wisdom is sitting there rusting away…unknown…untapped…unused.

That’s ungood.

As society judges people, Orville was one of the most un-cool guys I’ve ever met.   Most of his teeth were missing. And the few that remained poked up at odd angles in a mouth that was often caked with dried saliva.  A sizeable paunch rendered his physique something other than cool.  His few strands of hair were as wiry as they were wild—definitely not cool.   Truthfully, there was little about Orville’s appearance that suggested he was anything other than a country bumpkin.

Orville was a farmer all his life and I didn’t know much about the man—apart from his appearance—until I observed the 175^th anniversary of the church he attended all his life.  Amid the many tributes that were made, Orville’s name came up several times.

I listened as an older man stood up and recounted the story of his coming to Christ.  It was Orville who had first invited him to a men’s Bible study.  It was Orville who followed up when the man failed to show at the men’s’ group. It was Orville, who helped this frightened new believer work through his first time praying out loud in a group. “You just follow me,” said Orville, who prayed simply and gently and continued to work with his friend.

There were other tributes to Orville. And it all got me to thinking.  Maybe we Christians have been swept up in the world’s notion of coolness.  Of being “really in.”

But as I read the Bible, the one “in” that Jesus is most preoccupied with: being “in” the Lamb’s Book of Life. Helping others get their name in!  And I’m guessing by that standard, Orville’s life must might put mine to shame.

When my wife and I were married, it was Orville who volunteered to clean up the reception.  Cups and plates and napkins…crumbs and spills.  Orville made sure it was all cared for…so we could drive off to our honey moon.  And he did it all with a near toothless smile—and not a single ounce of self-congratulation.

He’s been dead a good fifteen years now.  Yet Orville’s name and reputation and investment in the kingdom of God lives on—as the names of the righteous—always do.

Know any people who are completely uncool?