The question caught me off guard. "Do you work?"

I studied my next-door neighbor's features carefully. No, he wasn't joking. He just wanted to know.

I had been in my church for about six weeks when my neighbor threw that uppercut to my ego. I'd told him about my pastorate. I'd even talked about my faith in Jesus Christ and invited him to church. And yet just a few weeks later, he flung that insulting question at me without the hint of a smile.

With what dignity I could manage, I reminded him I was the pastor of the First Baptist Church. Oh, he remembered that, he said. But he sold real estate, and he was just looking for a few good men to consolidate his network "I'm sure your weekly message must take a lot of work," he offered, "but surely not so much that you couldn't move a little property on the side."

I never again tried to talk with him about spiritual things; in fact, I could barely find the self-respect to talk to him about the ...