I will never again assume that quasi has to describe my declaration of the gospel at religious gatherings in the community.
Cal LeMon

One of my fears in seminary was that the watching world would peg me as "Mr. Mush Minister." You know the type — in commercials when the script calls for a little sanctimonious sentimentality, they drag out this middle-aged, balding wimp with wire-rimmed glasses and a benign smile.

Well that's not me. I may be middle-aged and balding, but I can't be sold to the highest bidder who needs a little God for an otherwise undivine life. I can't see straight when I get the impression someone wants to use me.

That means I have a problem: "being used" is part of the job description of the ministry.

Let me explain. I'm convinced that everyone, sinner or saint, thinks he needs a little of God. Even to many unchurched, the mention of God, by someone who speaks for God, can usher in great comfort. And comfort is part of our portfolio. As much as I loathe the implications, ...

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