Faith is a placebo,” said the young man, “you’re just experiencing what you expect to experience.”  Wow.  Hadn’t heard that one before.  I must admit, though, that it really got me thinking. A placebo is fake medicine, a sugar pill, which sometimes makes the people who take it feel better even though it has no medicinal value.  It’s a mental thing – they expect to feel better, so they do.    Does faith do this as well?   And if it did, why would this matter?

  Bill was a church kid through and through.  As a child, his parents had read him Bible stories and Christian books.  He’d gone to Sunday School and Christian camp.  He’d sat through hundreds of sermons.  Now, as a college student, away from all this Christian influence, he was seeing the world through fresh eyes.  One of things he began to notice was that, while many of his classmates did not claim to be followers of Christ, in the end they seemed a lot like him. 

 Bill was a church kid through and through.  As a child, his parents had read him Bible stories and Christian books.  He’d gone to Sunday School and Christian camp.  He’d sat through hundreds of sermons.  Now, as a college student, away from all this Christian influence, he was seeing the world through fresh eyes.  One of things he began to notice was that, while many of his classmates did not claim to be followers of Christ, in the end they seemed a lot like him. 

 Despite all the hoopla over the last few  years about atheism, a 2016 poll stated that only about 3% of Americans call themselves “atheists” with an additional 5% labelling themselves “agnostics”, which means, “I’m not sure what I believe”.  The vast majority of Americans still believe in God.  We could debate why this is, and it would be a valuable dialogue, but that’s not the focus of today’s discussion.  I want, instead, to ask a couple of different questions.

 Do you go to church anywhere,” I asked my mechanic in the last town.  “No,” he replied.  “When I was growing up my parents made me go to church.  So now I don’t go any longer.”  He sounded slightly aggrieved, as though his childhood rights had been violated; that his parents had somehow overstepped their bounds.  At the very least, the experience of going to church, whether he wanted to or not, had left a bad taste in his mouth toward the church.

   A friend of mine recently confronted his boss over mistreatment of both him and his fellow-employees.  The boss routinely placed staggering loads of work on their backs, not because it was unavoidable, but because it made more money for his company. It was an unreasonable amount of unnecessary stress.  “Everyone in the yard wants to quit,” my friend told him.  He’d might as well have been talking to the wall.  The boss put on his “so what?” face.  If they didn’t like it they could leave. 

 “If God already knows my future actions, then do I really have freedom to do something different if I choose?”  This is a question most Christians ask themselves at one time or another.  It’s a tough one and I have no intention of trying to answer it today.  I simply want to use it to point out one of the challenges every Christian faces.  That challenge is part of the larger task of   trying to figure out how all of the Bible teachings and facts fit together.

   In his first letter to Corinth Paul’s barely started before he gets right in their face. . . “My brothers, some from Chloe’s household have informed me that there are quarrels among you.” (1 Cor. 1:11).  In the local body of Christ at Corinth, the body parts are bruising one another.

  If you are a believer, where do you place yourself on the theological spectrum?  Are you conservative or liberal/progressive?  Far right or far left?  Evangelical or fundamentalist?  Moderate or some other designation? 

  Our world adores excellence and rewards it.  Yet, last week, I noted that, while excellence itself can be useful and worthwhile, our perspective on excellence can create problems. Excellence, at least in the sense of being better than others, is not God’s primary goal for our lives.

         “A” is for excellence.  We live in a society that adores excellence.  Valedictorians rule, as do Super Bowl winners, Nobel prize winners, state champions, Academy award winners, billionaires, and so on.  These are the cream of the crop.  Excellence, of course, has many levels.  An excellent first-grade swimmer is no Michael Phelps, nor is a local class valedictorian an Einstein.

        Sound familiar?  While local churches often provide a place of comfort and support, they can also be hotbeds of hostility. 

         “A” is for excellence.  We live in a society that adores excellence.  Valedictorians rule, as do Super Bowl winners, Nobel prize winners, state champions, Academy award winners, billionaires, and so on.  These are the cream of the crop.  Excellence, of course, has many levels.  An excellent first-grade swimmer is no Michael Phelps, nor is a local class valedictorian an Einstein.

  “I’m glad you preached out of the New Testament,” said the man.  We were chatting after the morning worship service.  “I don’t like the God of the Old Testament,” he added.  I suspect that he reflects the perspective of lots of people today.  Jesus, they think is cool.. 

     In a previous article/broadcast, I discussed denominations.  I found them to be a mixed bag.  They create problems in the Body of Christ, but they also serve a useful function.  I don’t think eliminating them is possible or necessary, but I am concerned with maximizing our ability to enjoy deeper fellowship and cooperation with other denominations  Our lack of concern for and cooperation with one another, I believe, is hurting the Church as a whole.  It’s part of the reason for our declining influence in America.  We seldom work together as a team.

 When I was in seminary I was fortunate to receive excellent spiritual mentoring from the pastor whose church I attended.  I was theologically sharp, but had a lot to learn about loving people.  This was my pastor’s strength, fortunately, and, over time he helped me become better at caring and connecting.  During that time, one day, he happened to mention that he did not attend the local ministerial.  When I asked why, he said, essentially, that there were theological liberals in it, and he did not want to identify with them.  He would hang with his own kind.

     My wife, Paula, tied the knot with me in 1986.  We celebrated thirty years of marriage last year.  It’s been a typical journey with its ups and downs, pleasures and pains, and lots of growing up to do (especially on my part).  But, I’m grateful to report, that Paula has become my treasure.  I love being with her.  All glory to God. Sometimes marriage love grows, and sometimes it fades. We don’t always have control over that, either.  It takes two to make it fully happen.

 I just finished David Baldacci’s novel, The Escape, gulping down one to two hundred pages at a sitting.  That man can write.  One of the elements of a gripping novel is the twist factor.  Just when you think you have the characters or plot figured out, they take a sudden turn in an unexpected direction.  The good guy turns out to be the bad guy or the bad guy is actually the hero.  This ratchets up the tension and keeps us interested.

Are you mired in spiritual baby-land, in other words, are you still stuck suckin’ rather than chomping; still needing milk rather than solid food?  For the last two weeks we’ve been considering the plight of perpetual spiritual infanthood as discussed by Paul in 1 Corinthians 3:1,2 where he says:          “Brothers, I could not address you as spiritual but as worldly—mere infants in Christ. 2 I gave you milk, not solid food, for you were not yet ready for it. Indeed, you are still not ready.”  Here’s today’s question:

What constitutes “solid” spiritual food?

     A baby Christian on the bottle is darling.  A twenty-year believer still on the bottle is pathetic. Unfortunately, it happens all too often.  Even the Apostle ran into believers who refused to grow up.

It’s not a good idea to feed a baby a porterhouse steak.  Or even a sirloin, for that matter.  Doesn’t matter if it’s well-done.  When it comes to babies, steaks have to wait.  The cows don’t mind.  But when it comes to milk, babies go ga-ga.  That’s what they need and one shriek makes that clear. On the other hand, if you see a fifty-five year old man still sucking on a milk bottle, quietly step out of the room before he sees you.  He’s got problems.