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?

Is it just me...or is the evangelical subculture on a trajectory toward the outer edge of Christian conduct and lifestyle?  I say yes, it is.

Perhaps it's a reaction to the 60s and 70s when many Christians almost defined themselves by the cultural things they DIDN'T do.  Today's generation appears bent on ramming right up against the outer edges of acceptability.  Statistics show that in general, they drink more, watch more R-rated films, use cruder language, and are much more comfortable than previous generations playing violent or sexually explicit video games.

Now clearly it was a non-biblical world view to define yourself by the stuff you DIDN'T do. No question.  But there's hardly a biblical trophy set aside for most-worldly-cultural absorption.

Conveniently stashed away by many in today's generation—either by ignorance or choice—are biblical commands to be holy—that is set apart.  And if that “set apartness”--that essential call to holiness--does not influence our choices in entertainment or leisure, or speech, then exactly what is it for?  A reminder to show up for Sunday School (providing you're not too tired from the over-night Halo party)?

But if we watch the same sexually explicit films as our unsaved friends, play the same violent video games, use essentially the same salty language, and hoist a sudsy mug with the same frequency as our unsaved friends, exactly how set apart can we claim to be?

To those who disagree, let me ask this simple question: If your Monday through Saturday is loaded with entertainment choices and language choices and leisure choices that are identical to the world, doesn't it seem like you have watered down most any hope of a lifestyle contrast?   Exactly what are you left with—the fact that you go to church on Sunday?

I saw a great headline the other day in “The Onion,” a spoof newspaper.  Went like this: “Nation just wants to be safe, happy, rich comfortable, entertained at all times—also healthy,   fulfilled, successful and loved.”

The article went on to quote a supposed Maryland resident, Lena McCarthy who said, “It’s not that complicated.  At the end of the day, all I want from America is a good job, a nice house, romantic fulfillment, beautiful sunny weather during the day, star lit skies at night, low gas prices, independence from foreign oil, free food, free healthcare, free media, everything free.”

At first I laughed.  But the more I thought about it, the more I thought about it.   This is exactly how most Americans feel, deep inside (or maybe not so deep).  We want it all, and we feel entitled to it all, and we want that “all” all the time.   Now that's bad enough for the public at large.  But when Christians grasp at the same things for the same reasons, we have a serious problem on our hands.   And increasingly, that's the case.

Look around and you'll observe that many Christians are as hot and heavy in pursuit of the good life as we are the God life.  The truth is, we've all been sucked in to a lesser or greater extent. I wish I could tell you honestly that I myself haven't wished for the good life.

But such a longing is in direct conflict with the Bible. Scripture calls us to be salt and light in our culture—not consumers of that culture.

Why this doesn't bother us...OUGHT to bother us.

I think we need a daily reminder—I'm serious—that we do not belong here.  Maybe it's a card we stick on the refrigerator.  Maybe it's a graphic we put on our smartphone—or wall paper for our computer.  Whatever you choose, the message ought to be this:  We're here for a season—not for the long haul.  So our ambitions, our affections ought to be—as Paul said, “on things above, not on earthly things.”