Five men came together to organize a football tournament with
their respective families: Mr. Talbot, Mr. Fuller, Mr. Masters, Mr. Westminster,
and Mr. Goldengate. After agreeing on a time and location, the men decided they
would meet early before the game in order to decide on the official rules and
regulations. The morning began with a cordial introduction.
GOLDENGATE: Hi everyone, I'm Goldengate.
FULLER: I have a message for everyone--I am Fuller.
WESTMINSTER: Though I am indeed Westminster, I'm sure you'll
see Christ in me.
TALBOT: Nice to meet everyone, I'm Talbot.
MASTERS: Masters, called to be a founder of the game in the
kingdom of football, to the men of the five founders, grace and peace to you.
After introductions, small discussion broke out about some of the decisions that
had already been made.
FULLER: Look at the beautiful weather; it's obvious that we
were meant to be here.
MASTERS: The weather has nothing to do with our meaning.
The consequences of that thinking would lead us to believe that the meaning of
life is shared by all within the same ecological community that experiences the
same weather patterns together. That's irresponsible belief.
TALBOT: It is a nice day. Could be God's will, but we'll
have to wait till heaven to find out.
WESTMINSTER: You're just not looking hard enough for the
signs.
GOLDENGATE: Have you seen the pricing to rent out this
football field? It's way too expensive. I'm gonna go do my own thing.
Goldengate left the group in order to start his own football game at a much
cheaper field with cheaper facilities and cheaper equipment and cheaper
regulating officers. The remaining four began to discuss how to deal with his
loss:
FULLER: We have to win him back!
TALBOT: Yeah, I agree.
MASTERS: We have to win him
over, not
back. He obviously was never really a
football player to begin with
WESTMINSTER: That's true. If he were a football player from
the start, he never would have left.
FULLER: No! He was a football player first, but then chose
not to be one anymore, but he can be one again if he changes his mind!
TALBOT: Seriously, it doesn't matter, we should still try to
convince him to stay.
Alas, the four could not resolve their discussion until it was too late and
Goldengate was far gone. So the only thing left to do was discuss rules. Each
man was allowed to contribute one non-negotiable rule to the game. Masters went
first.
MASTERS: There will be One Referee, and His Word is Law.
Whatever He says is perfect, without error, sufficiently for play and practice,
and a source of inspiration for teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in
football.
The other three men seemed a little shifty at his contribution. Fuller thought
it would be better to have everyone be a referee so they had more ownership and
control of the game, removing authoritarian despotic implications. But the
others knew that this would definitely lead to everyone thinking they were
referees and their calls would conflict with each other and it would be utter
chaos. Westminster then contributed his rule.
WESTMINSTER: Three points. The game will have three
points.
Nobody understood why he was adamant about this rule. But he refused to allow
any more or any less; no one could add a point or take away a point. Talbot
went next.
TALBOT: Each quarter will be its own distinct dispensation
of gameplay, wherein the Referee will operate with different protocols in order
to elicit various gameplay styles. Though we give a prize to the winning team,
a remnant of the losing team will also receive a portion of that prize.
Masters agreed, Westminster did not, and Fuller didn't really care because he
was still trying to argue that there should be more than one person who could
make calls with the authority of the Referee. Finally Fuller gave his rule.
FULLER: It is tackle football.
WESTMINSTER: What?
MASTERS: No, that's dangerous, chaotic, and unruly. We
agreed on flag football.
FULLER: You can pull flags, but you can also tackle.
MASTERS: No.
FULLER: Why not?
MASTERS: Because you're losing the point of the game. You
sacrifice orderly gameplay for sensational madness.
WESTMINSTER: Talbot, what do you think? Should we have
tackling?
TALBOT: Uh, I guess I'm open, but cautious.
The four men eventually decided that Fuller could tackle, but the rest of them
would use the flags. When they finally came to agreement about their other
rules, they started with a practice game--a scrimmage. During this time,
Goldengate returned to try to re-enter the game.
GOLDENGATE: Oh man, you guys started already?
TALBOT: Already, but not yet. We started practice, but the
real game starts after this.
GOLDENGATE: Great. Even though I found a cheaper place to
play and practice, I thought I'd join you guys for the special events and stuff.
FULLER: Welcome back brother! I hope as we play today, you
will be overcome by a force that you cannot control that will lead you to tackle
the other players.
WESTMINSTER: I don't know if you should be allowed to play
until after you've read the rules and gone through the question-and-answer
guide.
MASTERS: You should first admit that you were never a
football player, and that your cheaper game is an imitation of the true sport,
and leave those habits behind and commit fully to the real thing which will
satisfy you beyond what any other game could offer.
GOLDENGATE: Okay, well, can my sister play too?
FULLER: Of course!
WESTMINSTER: I'm not sure.
MASTERS: Over my dead body.
TALBOT: It's up to you.
End.
I am a master Game Creator. I create all sorts of games, and
they are all good. Have you tried them?
One day, I decided to make a game called "Basketball." It
would be very fun. It would involve two teams--yes, a team game--where one team
is trying to gain possession of the game ball and throw it into a hoop on a
given side of the game court. The opposing team tries to do the same with the
same ball, but into a hoop on the opposing side. In this way the game would be
fun.
On the first day I said, "Let there be lights." And there
were lights. And I saw that the lights were good.
On the second day I said, "Let there be an expanse to
separate hoop from hoop." I called the expanse 'court'. And it was so.
On the third day I said, "Let the ground on each side of the
court be gathered to one place and let seating appear." And it was so; I called
the seating 'bleachers'. And I saw that it was good.
On the fourth day I said, "Let there be scoreboards in the
sky to separate one team from another, and let them serve as signs to mark
points and quarters and time." And I saw that it was good.
On the fifth day I said, "Let the bleachers teem with fans."
I blessed them and said, "Be fruitful and increase in number and fill the
bleachers." I saw that it was good.
On the sixth day I said, "Let the court produce enforcers to
regulate gameplay." And I made referees, coaches, and announcers, according to
their kinds. And I saw that it was good.
Then I said, "Let us make players in our image, in our
likeness, and let them play ball in front of the fans of the bleachers, the
coaches of the sidelines, and the announcers of the sports network." So I
created players in my own image, in the image of me I created him; offense and
defense I created them. I blessed them and said, "Play ball and increase in
number; own this court and subdue it."
I created the basketball court, the basketball fans, the
basketball players--but most importantly of all, I created the basketball
rules. I set down ten simple commands to sum up the game (ie. Thou shalt not
double-dribble). But I knew that given the free choice of will to follow the
rules, it was also possible for players to choose to 'foul'--that is, to break
the rules. So I warned the players that if they fouled, they would surely be
kicked out of the game. And foul, they did.
In spite of their inclination to foul, I devised in my
basketball rules a plan of redemption: the free throw. This was already
designed in the rules before the creation of the court, that fouls would not
destroy my creation and the show would go on. And all that I had created: the
lights, the court, the bleachers, the fans, the coaches, the players--it was all
good.
But some upstart kid came up to me the other day and said,
"Hey, my dad got kicked out of the game yesterday, you jerk."
I said, "He fouled."
The kid said to me, "HE didn't foul. YOU did. You made this
stupid game. You made it KNOWING that people would foul, so YOU are the one who
created fouls."
I said, "I didn't create fouls, I created the rules. Your
dad chose to break them."
The kid said, "That's stupid. You should have created a
basketball game where there were no fouls; where it wasn't possible to foul."
I said, "You're stupid. That means if you don't have the
choice to foul, you don't have a choice to play the game or not."
The kid didn't get it, and decided to play basketball in my
court, but didn't care to follow my rules. He was a fouler, in the greatest
sense.
I didn't create fouls. And God didn't create sin.
I had always been an underweight individual. Throughout the
years of my childhood and teenage years, I was unusually short and skinny.
Today, I'm just short. Here is a track record of my weight benchmarks:
6th grade: graduated at 80 pounds.
8th grade: graduated at 85 pounds.
12th grade: graduated at 108 pounds.
2nd year college: ended at 115 pounds.
4th year college: graduated at 125 pounds.
As you can see, by the time I was 23 years old, I still only weighed 125
pounds. Today, 27 years old, I weigh 180 pounds, but I have not gained any
height since my 4th year of college. My goodness.
My recent history (within the past 3 months) was riddled with
health problems: etrocious weight gain, hypoglycemia, acid reflux, hypertension
blood pressure, and my very first ulcer. The combination and cumulation of
these things started getting me thinking that I should watch what I eat. But
here's the dilemma I faced after speaking with several 'healthy eaters':
1. I can't eat sweets because the sugars are bad for my hypoglycemia (which
borders diabetes).
2. I can't eat fast foods because the cholesterol is bad for my blood pressure.
3. I can't eat sit-down restaurant foods because the high fat content is bad
for my weight.
4. I can't eat sour foods because the acidity is bad for reflux.
5. I can't eat starchy foods because the carbs are bad for my figure.
6. I can't eat salty foods because the sodium will make me retain water and
fat.
7. I can't drink soda because the poison will kill me early.
8. I can't drink alcohol because the diuretics will dehydrate me.
9. I can't drink milk because I'm lactose intolerant.
10. I can't chew gum because the stickiness is bad for my crowns.
All I was left with was water. And I could not help but want
to maim all those people who wanted to have a say in what I eat because every
single one of them presented an unrealistic, unreasonable, unfulfilling diet. I
honestly would rather just die early from diabetes, a heart attack, dehydration,
stomach explosion, or whatever else was around the corner because at least I
would die with a smile on my fat face instead of living for a hundred years
having forgotten the taste of a single stupid french fry.
I saw these rules as absolutes. I thought I could NEVER have
sweets, fast food, soda, etc. I didn't understand the role of wisdom,
moderation, caution, or self-control in my diet. I wanted black-and-white, to
not have to deal with decisions. This way I knew if I was good (obeying the
Law) or bad (breaking the Law).
And that's when I realized that I was trying to live by the
Law. The Law of Nutrition, that is. I was trying so hard with my dietary
behavior to obtain the perfection of body that all it did was lead me to the
conclusion that I simply could not do it. The Law made me see that what I
really needed was a miracle. What I needed was grace.
So I searched God's Word and soon found people like
me--people who tried so hard to live by the Law to obtain the perfection of
soul. But they had commited themselves so much to this Law that it was
unrealistic, unreasonable, unfulfilling. And all that Law did was make them see
that what they really needed was a miracle. What they needed was grace.
They saw their rules as absolutes. They could NEVER work on
the Sabbath, touch a dead body, eat with a Gentile, etc. They didn't understand
the role of wisdom, moderation, caution, or self-control in their hearts. They
wanted black-and-white, to not have to deal with decisions. This way they knew
if they were good (obeying the Law) or bad (breaking the Law).
Well, God provided the Law to let man understand his need for
grace. And as I tried to figure out exactly how that applied to my dieting--how
I could know grace in the way I eat, instead of Law--I came upon the most simple
answer: "Whatever you do, whether you eat or drink, do it all for the glory of
the Lord."
That was it. That was God's instruction on eating. He
Himself had personally removed all dietary laws and restrictions--in fact, he
had to tell Peter THREE TIMES to get it through his skull. There was no divine
mandate to eat only salads, avoid fatty substances, stay away from carbs...none
of that was there. The opposite came out, as if He said, "Eat it, Pete. All
that stuff you thought was bad--I'm telling you it can be good if you know how
to eat it humbly and thankfully."
I am coming to realize that the way I eat is a manner of
worship. It's not the nutritional value of the food, it's the way a meal points
me back to the grace of God and makes me say, "You are the best."
So today, as I spent the entire day by myself, I drank three
cokes, ate half a bag of salted pistachio nuts, consumed half a pound of
Skittles, made a pot of ramen with three eggs in it (yokes included) and added
two cups of white rice.
I fought the urge to say, "I should only eat healthy foods so
my body is healthy", as if that's what worship was.
Instead, I spent the whole day enjoying everything that God
had allowed me have in my home. I was more thankful for those Skittles than
most meals I've prayed over. I was more thankful for pistachio nuts than many
of the thanks I gave in sermon benedictions. And I was more thankful for a
greasy pot of noodles than I have ever been in a very long time.
For all that God's given me, I was thankful. And everything
I enjoyed pointed me back to Him, saying, "You are the best." And right now,
one thing I'm really thankful for is being free from the Law that once held me
captive. To no longer be under the age of Law, but to be in the age of grace.
Whatever we do, whether we eat or drink, may we do it all for the glory of the
Lord.
In the dark city of Gotham, Bruce Wayne dons cape and cowl to
fight the Never-Ending Battle against evil.
In New York, Peter Parker hides a spidery suit under his
clothing, in case an emergency calls for his aid.
And beneath the walls of a stately mansion and school lies a headquarters for
mutantkind who build X-jets and Cerebros to facilitate their war on tyranny.
Of all the heroes of comic book lore, one stands out among
the ranks. For Bruce Wayne, who has always been Bruce Wayne, has to wear a mask
to hide and become the Batman. Peter Parker, who has always been Peter Parker,
has to wear a mask to hide and become Spiderman. But earth's greatest
protector, Superman, has always been Superman, and he alone is the only hero who
must 'put on a mask' in order to be human.
The motive to remain anonymous and inconspicuous drives
Superman to reverse the notion of secret identity. He is who he really is when
he flies around and saves the world. And it's really all just an act when he
finally goes home to have dinner with Lois.
The psychology behind the Man of Steel of interesting to me.
Every way he behaves as Clark Kent is a means to fitting in like a normal human
being and not sticking out. He is mild-mannered, considerate, responsible, and
kind. He is dedicated, independent, hard-working, and moral. And this
communicates either one of two things:
1) Either he believes this is the way humans are, and so he's
trying to dissolve, unnoticed, in their midst.
2) Or he believes this is how they ought to be, and he is
living a life that can be followed by those around him.
Judging from his incessant bouts with evil forces, our option #1 is simply ruled
out. Superman acts like Clark Kent because that's the way he wants humans to
be.
Though he is not real, I have a deep and profound respect for
the last son of Krypton. It was never a diabolical scheme that made him so
important in the comics, it was never the growing love interest for the damsel
in distress that made us root for him. And the fact that he had no fault was
not a point of disinterest.
It was simply the fact that he was in all ways "Super".
He was a force of otherworldly power, immeasureable,
uncontainable, indescribable, unstoppable, burning energy in the flash of his
eyes, bound to no law of man or nature--not even gravity, able to destroy yet
devoted to protect, incalculable strength that could crush moons, but a heart
that would bleed at a baby's cry.
This invulnerable titan was a god among insects, and yet
chose to make himself one of us, to show us a life which we can all follow.
And the greatest moment in all the Superman stories is always
when Lois Lane finds out that Clark is not really Clark at all, but is Superman
walking among us. The wonder, confusion, fear, and yet deep reverence that
rends her soul and spirit is what I wish I could one day know:
"How could I have ever thought I knew this man? I thought he
was mild-mannered, considerate, responsible, and kind. I thought he was
dedicated, independent, hard-working, and moral. I thought he was a good man, a
nice man...JUST a man. But he has turned out to be so much more."
Can it be that in the mind of Lois Lane, she now regards this
Clark with a more 'deep and profound respect' when she walks with him at work?
Does she feel fear when driving in the dark nights when he sits by her side?
Would she consult him last when trying to figure out what to do about her life?
For those who sense that Lois would be drastically changed by
knowing that a Superman walked amidst daily planet, we can simply say: Welcome
to Jesus.
For many, he is a story, a set of lessons, a weekly sermon,
or a so-called savior.
But were we to really know that Jesus was not just a good
man, a nice man, and really not JUST a man--were we to know that he was a force
of otherworldly power, immeasureable, uncontainable, indescribable, unstoppable,
burning energy in the flash of his eyes, bound to no law of man or nature--not
even gravity, able to destroy yet devoted to protect, incalculable strength that
could crush moons, but a heart that would bleed at a baby's cry--were we to know
this, I honestly believe that we would then regard Christ with a more deep and
profound respect when we walk with him at work. And we would rethink our fear
when we are alone at night. And we would consult him first when trying to
figure out what to do about our lives.
Superman: Man of Steel, last son of Krypton, come to earth
disguised as a man to show us how to live.
Jesus: Son of Man, only Son of God, come to earth disguised
as a man to show us how to live.
Whether in fiction or reality, may our hearts be drawn to
earth's greatest protector. Let us look at our lives and ask honestly whether
or not we are beholding the otherworldly power that walks among us--even today.
For Lois, that moment always changed her life.
May it continue to change ours
I met a caveman today while walking outside. I told him “I’m Rand. Welcome to my home.”
We got to talking for a bit and I discovered that he, being a caveman, was deeply interested in knowing who God was, and what He could do. I told him that God was a good, all-powerful creator of everything. He was intrigued and said he would ask God for a good hunt so he could bring home some meat for his cavewife.
Meat! How rude of me to not offer food for my caveman friend—after all, one gets hungry after thousands of years. So I decided to take him to the mall so he could choose some food from the food court that fit his tastes.
We got into my car and I turned on the engine and immediately a sequence of explosions within a combustion chamber thrust pistons and axles in cylinders to set my vehicle in motion. I tried to explain it to my new friend. “Fire” thought the caveman. “I guess so, but it’s not like your fire. It’s compressed in a tank, fueled by gas, controlled by my foot on a pedal, and harnessed to create force instead of heat.”
As we drove, it started to get hot in my car because this caveman was emitting a lot of heat (I guess that’s how he survives in winter without a jacket…in a cave.). So I pushed a button on my dashboard and instantly the vents in the center and sides of the car began to spout a cool breeze. “Air” he said as he smiled with his eyes closed. “Yeah, air CONDITIONER. Freon gas makes it happen, but don’t worry, you’re not breathing any of it in.”
We got to the mall and walked through the parking lot. My caveman kept staring at the pavement and almost didn’t notice when we walked through double doors and landed ourselves onto metal stairs. Each step was coming out of the ground to meet us on a level plane, and then they would rise to lift our bodies to a higher floor. “Earth” said the caveman. “Escalator, my friend. It’s mostly metal. We left the stones out in the parking lot and concrete.”
When we stepped out onto our floor, I took my friend to the bathroom so he wouldn’t eat with grimy hands. I placed his hands under a faucet and a motion sensor blinked twice and responded with a gentle stream. “Water”. “Yes, water. We really have to work on adding a second word onto your sentences.”
Finally we took a look at the restaurants in the food court and to my pleasant surprise, my caveman friend chose to eat McDonalds. I directed him to the menu and he pointed to the Big Mac which I described as “all beef patty, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame bun.” He liked the picture so he pointed, nodded and smiled. “Two big mac combos, please” said I to the person taking our order. Within seconds, workers in the back threw meat into microwaves, potatoes into slicers and oil baths, cups into fountain drink dispensers and not more than a minute later our food came out. I picked up the tray and turned to hand it to my caveman friend only to find him on the ground lying prostrate before me screaming “Good hunt! Give good hunt!”
“Uh, excuse me?” I was confused.
“I am very smart caveman. I know who you are. You are God!”
“No I’m not. I’m just a dude.”
“You say God is good, all-powerful creator. You are good to me. You are all powerful over fire, air, earth, water. I point to picture and you create. You are God!”
Well, it took all afternoon to explain to this caveman that he was mistaken, but in the end he got it. But I got to thinking that I can’t really blame him for coming to the conclusion he did. There is nothing we can’t do as men in 2007. All the elements are at our command. Information is instantly available on the internet, travel between continents takes less than a day because we learned to fly. Pills and chemicals we create can program our bodies to fall asleep or stay awake. Surely we are gods in some sense. So no wonder we lose fascination with knowing a Creator. No wonder we lose inspiration in knowing Yahweh.
Our view of Him can be so small, like a caveman’s view. And because it is small, it is not very different from our view of ourselves. God’s powerful? So are we. God’s smart? So are we. God’s good? So are we.
But we are not God. Not even close. What is strength to All Mighty? What is knowledge to All Knowing? What is time to Eternity? What is space to Infinity?
I lose fascination with God when my view of Him is small. Yet it makes me afraid of Him when my view of Him is big. During those times, I find myself falling prostrate before Him crying out “Good hunt, give good hunt” for whatever it is I need.
So I turn to my caveman friend and ask “Caveman, what is your name?”
He says to me, “Rand”
I should have known that all along, the one who thought I was God was me.
Motorcyclists wear helmets.
Accident studies, of course, show that they don't really
protect the head from dangerous impact--they're more like brain buckets to
contain the mess from spilling onto the concrete.
No, motorcyclists wear helmets to keep the bugs out of their
face. And I respect that.
But I saw a strange sight yesterday. I was driving in my
neighborhood on my way to school, and right in front of me is a motorcyclist.
We wait patiently for the left-turn lane to turn green, when all of a sudden I
hear the familiar sound of the Verizon cell phone ring. I quickly reach for my
phone, but I find that it isn't ringing at all; the sound is coming from the guy
in front of me. So I watch.
The motorcyclist, in a frenzy, searches every pocket on his
person and eventually retrieves a tiny little flip-phone. He opens it up and
says "HELLO...HELLO....WHAT THE @#$%! SPEAK UP I CAN'T HEAR YOU! HELLO"
Now I've had that happen to me many times--calls that can't
be heard on one end. But the curious part of this was, the person on the phone
was so loud that EVEN I could hear faint glimmers of shouting from my car. The
reason why this guy wasn't hearing anything was cuz HE STILL HAD HIS HELMET ON.
And the best part was, he struggled with this phone message,
cussing and swearing in frustration, for a good long time, and then finally pulls
the phone away from his helmet, stares at it with deep contempt and slams it
shut and throws it back in his pocket---as if it was the phone's fault.
The episode was funny to me because he never seemed to figure
out what was really the problem. It wasn't the person on the phone. It wasn't
the phone itself. Dude, I thought,
just take off the helmet. You are the one
keeping his voice out, and then you blame him.
Can I be allegorical for a moment?
So I got to thinking: how many times do we do that to God?
How many times do we, during our lives that are desperate to find
direction/purpose/fulfillment, hear that crystal clear message coming from him,
but simply won't take off the helmet on our head that distracts us? Maybe it's
another worldview, a political angle, a sin that engrosses us, a relationship
that fills a void for now, etc. It happens to the saved and the unsaved.
We keep these helmets on and wonder why God isn't SPEAKING
UP, when really the message is there. We simply put things on that make us deaf
to him. We keep him out.
Put simply: we treat him like a bug. And then we blame him.
...
What's your motorcycle helmet?
Hebrews 12:1-3
...let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily
entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us
fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith....Consider him...,
so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.
Back in college I spent a lot of time wondering why everybody had experience with failed dating relationships, myself included. Dating seemed like a popular sport where people would indulge themselves in the mock-semblance of looking for a God-centered relationship, when in reality His lordship wasn't the guiding force behind it at all. Anyway, I ended up writing a simple poem to dedicate myself to remaining single until the time I was ready to commit myself to marrying someone. This is the poem I wrote:
I spent countless hours chopping at trees
In the “Forest of Possible Wives”
I have picked up my ax and have done what I please
To bring happiness into our lives
I have swung, I have missed; these trees never tip!
I have never struck straight and true
Cuz I pick the wrong reasons for relationship:
I lack God between ‘me and you’
There’s a Rock I can trust, a God that I love
To sharpen me into this blade
He can wield me to live with strength from above
And His Character never will fade
And so I remember God planted these seeds
To be firmly rooted in grace
And if a tree grows to live out His deeds
It’s here that my ax I should place
So instead of chopping in mindless loop
All year round I will sharpen on He
Who will give me the life to (with one fell swoop)
This tree make fall for me.
After a very long time, and by God's grace, the next tree I saw was the one that I felled. We've been married now for 4 months, and each day is better than the last.
110%
Today two different people coincidentally said to me
they were giving their 110% to their work. Wow, 110%? That's a lot. At first
I was really impressed. But then as I began to think about it, I realized that
this presents a bunch of problems.
Premise: 110% of someone's effort is a logical
impossibility. How can one give more than one is capable of giving. If you had
10 apples, how can you give me 11? If somehow you managed to pull that off,
then 11 was 100% of your apples, not 10. So with this in mind, here are the
troublesome conclusions that came to mind to explain the 110% anomaly:
1. These people are bad at math. They do not understand the
proportionate semantic given by the term '100%', nor the term '110%'. They
erroneously believe that one can give 110% as a sign of giving all they have.
Or worse, they may even think that 110% is only a fraction of what you can
do...perhaps giving your all would be 120%? 130?
2. These people are stealing. If you had 10 apples and gave
me 11, you may have simply given me your 10 and taken someone else's 1. This is
sin. Do not steal. The next time I hear you say you gave 110%, I will turn you
in.
3. These people are Jesus. Jesus was actually able to
distribute more than 100% of his bread and fish. In such a case, this is good
news, for the second coming has occurred (though the rapture seems to be running
late then). Miraculous power could very easily smoothe out the apparent
discrepancy of reality.
4. These people are really hard to impress. They watch you
give your all--that is, your 100%--and yet, they still think that's not good
enough. One of the prerequisites to satisfying their elitist criticisms is to
provide a mathematical error which they don't notice, or steal, or perform a
miracle. In any case, the remedy is simple: just ask them to give you a
'high-5' by slapping your hand. When they do so, act disappointed that they
only provided 5, not 5.5 or 6 fingers.
So I sent an instant message to the friend of mine that gave
his 110% to his work. I said, "How sure are you that you are going to heaven,
as a percentage?"
He said, "100% sure".
I said, "You lack confidence. About 10% of it."
Rebuked and ashamed, he logged off a sadder, but wiser man.