I’m not sure what Jesus is trying to teach me.

Recently I was moving through our offices at a rather high rate of speed. I was late for a meeting and trying to wrap up some loose ends in my office before heading down the sidewalk. Our office complex has quite a few blind corners…the kind that make us want to install those fish eye mirrors that you find in grocery stores of old. You know, the ones that help store owners know if someone is shoplifting, but the only thing they accomplish is making you think you’re in a carnival funhouse. (“Hey, did that guy just slip a bag of Doritos under his jacket? What the…THAT GUY JUST STOLE MRS. PAUL’S FISH STICKS! No wait. That’s not even a guy. That’s the Kraft Mac & Cheese display. STUPID FUNHOUSE MIRRORS.”)

So anyway, I’m blazing through the office as fast as a sedentary out of shape pastor can move, and as I round the final corner on the way out the door…my world came crashing down.

I was coming around the corner at the same time as Jason Gaston, our sasquatch of a student pastor who is something like 8’6″ (without his heels). Rev. Sasquatch had just been to the kitchen, where he’d fixed himself a nice cold beverage. A nice cold beverage that he was raising to his lips. A nice cold beverage that he was raising to his lips that put the bottom of the cup just about level with the top of my head.

Boom.

The cup went up. Cold beverage came down. Not only had I just experienced the full wrath of a face full of Sasquatch chest and possibly belly button, now I was being pummeled with our resident redneck’s backwash. Backwash in my hair. Backwash in my ears. Backwash soaking through my shirt and threatening to burn off my skin.

This, of course, comes just weeks after another backwash fiasco, when I drank our lead pastor’s leftovers for communion.

So again: what is Jesus trying to teach this OCD germ freak? Because I’d like to go ahead and learn it.

Just as soon as the skin grafts heal.

Advertisements