Friday, Sept. 30, 2005

I've joked to my parishioners that I'm in my "zone" between 9 a.m. and 10 a.m. each morning. That's when I do my sermon crafting. "Crafting," of course, being a fancy word for reading, writing, and agonizing. I don't know what happens to me during that hour. I suppose I try to be focused on the task at hand, but it also makes me a little irritable if someone crashes my zone. Our family ministries coordinator did that yesterday. She knocked on my closed door, apologized profusely for interrupting, and asked if I could help her unload some computers from her car. I've been thinking about compassion a lot lately so you would think that I would use this opportunity to jump up and immediately help. You would think. But I think I put on my best put-out look and asked, "Now?" as if to say, "You realize I'm in the zone and am not to be interrupted!" Yes, now, she needed my help. As I unloaded the computers, I reflected on my childishness. I'm preaching this week on how putting Christ at the center of our lives affects the choices we make, both big and small. I was given a test case in the midst of that preparation and failed miserably. I suppose I need to, pardon the cliche, literally practice what I preach.