(Jason Boyett has written 314 books. I don’t know if that’s the exact number but it should be, because he’s really funny. And kind too as evidenced by the post he’s sharing with Stuff Christians Like. I am a huge fan of Jason and the variety of awesomeness he provides in both book format as well as on the Internets.)

Christians are passionate about some weird stuff, to be sure. If it were not so, this site would not exist. Nor would Holy Land theme parks, or television programs hosted by people who may or may not have purple hair, or those little figurines of Jesus as a football player trying to evade a little kid intent on tackling him (“Come unto Me, children. Oops — that’s called sandal dust, boy-eeee!”).

But one of the strangest things Christians like has got to be this: the end of the world, and anything related to it. This worrisome period is otherwise known by a variety of other names, including (in no particular order) The Last Days, The End Times, The Apocalypse, The Second Coming, The Crazy Stuff That Goes Down in the Book of Revelation, and The Deal That Left Behind Guy Kept Talking About a Few Years Back. In academic circles, this fascination with the world’s end is known as eschatology, a word that is difficult to spell but fun to say, because it’s only a few letters and one syllable removed from scatology, which is the study of (or a fascination with) excrement. Sometimes, sadly, eschatology and scatology can be indistinguishable. That’s why I wrote a book called Pocket Guide To The Apocalypse. I wanted to make sure you knew the difference.

Our last-days mania takes several forms. I get the feeling lists are important in the scheme of this blog, so I’ll make one. Here are the multiple things we like about the (potential) end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it:

1. Predicting the Second Coming.
I think we can all agree that it would be helpful to know when Jesus was going to come back. We could get all prayed up, get all our sins confessed, delete all the improper files from our computer, put on our Christian t-shirts, and get our personal business settled before the apocalypse began. We could also plan a “Welcome Back, Jesus” party, because you know whoever pulls that one off will get extra credit, in the heavenly sense. (Mine will be in the form of a huge refrigerator stocked with perpetual cases of Dr. Pepper, which will have been reconfigured in heaven as a health drink.) That’s why some Christian or another has predicted the Second Coming of Christ exactly every year since Jesus first announced he was headed back someday. Our batting average so far? A big, fat 0-fer. It’s not surprising that our predictions keep failing, seeing how Jesus himself said he wasn’t even sure when it would go down. And if the Son of God himself doesn’t know, why should we believe some random televangelist?

2. Identifying the Antichrist.
People love a good mystery, especially when the stakes are as high as decoding who may, in fact, be planning RIGHT NOW to deceive the entire world in order to eventually drag them into the fiery abyss of hell. That’s why it’s important, apparently, for us to figure out which contemporary public figures may eventually morph into the Antichrist. Back in the day, people thought it might be Hitler (evil, racist) or Gorbachev (communist, splotchy forehead) or JFK (Catholic). Other less likely choices, including Prince Charles of Wales, have been pegged as Potential Enemy #1 by well-meaning End Times aficionados. If you ask me, though, the Beast is more likely to be someone with more social than political power, someone with the ability to dictate what people buy, what they eat, what they watch, and who they listen to. Someone with immense influence over our consumption habits. Someone like…Oprah Winfrey. If you ever see her give away pitchforks or pentagrams on her “Favorite Things” show, watch out.

3. Over-Emphasizing Triple Sixes.
Related to the above, thanks to the cryptic specificity of Revelation 13:18. In the 1980s, some believers suspected President Reagan might be the Antichrist because each of his three full names, Ronald Wilson Reagan, had six letters. Six-six-six. This was a powerful enough example of evil nomenclature that it counteracted his being a Republican, because everyone knows the Antichrist will be a Democrat. Or a communist. Speaking of, did you know that the numerological equivalent of “Mikhail S. Gorbachev” in the Cyrillic language computes to 1,332, which is twice the Mark of the Beast? For real. Did you know that Saddam Hussein was born on April 28, 1937, and was captured on December 13, 2003? Which made him 66.6 years old on the day they hoisted him out of the spider hole. Chilling, I know! (But considerably less chilling now that he’s dead.) Anyway, it’s easy to find some way to connect a world leader to the Triple Sixes. Just takes a calculator and some creativity.

4. Awaiting the Rapture.
Quiz time. Which of the following is true?

A. I once was scolded by a Sunday School teacher when he saw me wearing an Earth Day t-shirt. Why? Because environmentalism was a waste of time, as “we’ll all be raptured up by then anyway.”

B. There is a website that will let you write a post-rapture letter to your friends and family, promising to send it in the event you are permanently lifted skyward when the trumpet sounds. Just so they’ll know why your Twitter updates stopped so suddenly. (“Think I just heard a really loud trumpet outisde. Was that you, @JesusChrist? Wait, where’s my –”)

C. Jesus is OK with you putting a bumper sticker on your car that says “Caution: In case of Rapture, this car will be unmanned.” Because traffic fatalities and chaos on the interstate highway system is super-hilarious when viewed from heaven.

Answers: A and B are absolutely true. I’m guessing C is false, but you’d never know it based on the quantity of those stickers I’ve seen in local church parking lots.

5. Decoding Revelation.
This is related to #1 and #2 and, well, #3 and #4. Because you’re not gonna figure out all the previous stuff if you can’t crack the code of John’s whiz-bang dream-while-in-exile that we now know as the Book of Revelation. Lots of people who otherwise talk about the need to take the Bible literally don’t quite know what to do with the metaphorical weirdness of Revelation. Obviously it must be some sort of blueprint for the Last Days, right? But what in the world are those locusts with the faces of men and women’s hair and lion’s teeth and iron breastplates and scorpion tales and wings that drone like a squadron chariots supposed to represent? (Rev. 9:7-10) It’s such a strange description — fanciful and yet precisely detailed — that it HAS to stand for something, right? Obviously, then, the girly-haired scorpion assassins represent secret black UN Apache helicopters. Check that one off. Now, what’s the significance of the star in Rev. 8:10 being named Wormwood? Surely there’s some ancient European artifact made of wormwood and containing some pretechnological world-destroying virus that must be discovered prior to The End. It’s like solving a crime in the CSI lab, only with universal devastation instead of a Vegas murder.

6. Apocalypse-as-Entertainment.
This post is getting long, so let me just say this as succinctly as possible. Without the prevalence of end-times fiction and end-times films, we wouldn’t be blessed with the following: the resuscitated acting career of former Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue cover girl Carol Alt (Apocalypse II: Revelation)…and of Howie Mandel, Margot Kidder, and Gary Busey (all of whom starred in Apocalypse III: Tribulation)…and of Corbin Bernsen and Mr. T (Apocalypse IV: Judgment)…and of that Mike Seaver kid (Left Behind: The Movie). Also there was a popular series of novels about the End Times. I forget what it was called.

(For more Jason, make sure you check out his site, jasonboyett.com and his blog.

Recently someone shared his thoughts with me about Stuff Christians Like:

“stuff white people like is much better than this lame blog. its really sad that tongue in cheek christian schtick even rips clever pop culture. Clander (the author of the book Stuff White People Like) got a book deal because his stuff is original. but, you’ll probably get one because his stuff is original too. i’m sure you’re a nice guy and i hope you do well. but seriously, create don’t ape.”

There are a number of things I’d like to dissect in that comment but to do so would just perpetuate the cycle of “Christian on Christian Web Violence.” But there is one thing I can’t let slide, if only because I am guilty of it too. I am referring of course to the second to last sentence in that comment, “I’m sure you’re a nice guy and I hope you do well.”

That is such a great example of the “bless her heart syndrome” (BHHS) that I can’t leave it alone. For those that didn’t read the original post, BHHS is when you verbally slam, gossip or attack someone else and then try to save face by throwing in a comment like “bless her heart.” In the south I’ve heard it called “giving someone a piece of vinegar pie.”

The fake kindness in comments like that is easy to point out, but the reality is that sometimes other Christians are better at disguising it. Sometimes people, including me, will be a little more subtle at executing Bless Her Heart Syndrome. Here are four other variations you need to watch out for:

1. “I don’t mean to be ugly”
Sure you do and you know you’re about to be ugly or else you wouldn’t have thrown out that disclaimer at the start of the sentence. Often, if you have to explain why something you’re about to say is not hateful, you’re about to say something hateful.

2. “In Christian Love”
Most of the time people do the BHHS behind your back. But sometimes, they’ll drop some BHHS right in your lap. For instance, if anyone says, “I hope you can receive this in Christian love,” get ready to be hated on. Seriously, no one ever says, “I hope you can receive this in Christian love, but you’re doing a really good job leading that ministry” or “I find the dresses you wear to church to be both appropriate and awesome.” It’s usually an insult thinly veiled as advice or love. Not always, but usually.

3. “God laid this on my heart”
Oh snap, you just threw God under the bus. (I find myself saying “Oh snap” a lot lately, perhaps as a tribute to Biz Markie?) You just prefaced something mean you’re about to say about somebody by blaming it on God. And although I do think that sometimes God gives us messages for other people, I have a hard time believing He ever asks us to gossip about other people, “I need you to be a jerk for me. I need you to be my rod of punkitude. I need you to be my vessel of gossip.”

4. “I’m just concerned”
This is the one I am most guilty of. Sometimes in order to look smart or wise, I’ll gossip about someone else’s problems, give my insightful solution and then try to gift wrap the whole gossipy mess with the phrase, “I’m just concerned.” But the truth is I’m not concerned about the person I’m talking about. If I was, I would be talking with them, not about them. There’s a huge difference between those two words.

I think there are probably a million other variations of the BHHS. But please tell me that if we’re ever in a conversation and I tell you that “I am concerned about this other blogger…” please immediately respond, “No you’re not, you’re just jealous and now you’re trying to disguise that jealousy in nice words that make you look smart and kind.” And then give me a handful of Good n’ Plenty candy. Those are disgusting. You think they’re going to be delicious like Good n’ Fruity, but they’re not. They’re just sad little pieces of licorice wearing a candy coat shell that tastes like pepto bismol. It’s the only way I’ll learn.

Have you ever experienced Bless Her Heart Syndrome?

What’s your favorite version?

To all my single friends out there that said, “Ugh, February is going to be love month at Stuff Christians Like, I’ll see you in March,” fear not, you won’t be bombarded with love posts. I probably shouldn’t have used the word “enrobed” to describe the way love would be covered on this blog in February.

A theme month means that a few times that month, we’re going to talk about that theme. We’ve done it for six or seven months and it seemed to go OK. October for instance was “Music Month.” There were five posts related to music.

So don’t sweat February. Single folks stick around. Some of the posts are going to be about dating, some are going to be about getting dumped, some are going to be about a million other things you guys suggested. But know that I won’t Lifetime Channel you to death with love. I promise.

If God grades on a guilt system, then I want to be upfront with you, my house in heaven is going to be sick. I don’t know if we’re still judging things by their proximity to “the hook,” but if we are, you should consider my heaven house to be “off.” There’s going to be waterslides, everywhere. Not just in the pool, but between rooms. You want to get a Capri Sun from the kitchen? Hop on a waterslide. You want to go watch CS Lewis arm wrestle Aragorn from Lord of the Rings in the Ruckus Room? Hop on a waterslide.

That last thought didn’t even make sense. What’s a fictional character doing in heaven? Am I really going to call my living room the “Ruckus Room” because that’s where the Ruckus happens and the floor is made of trampoline and the walls are made of blue cotton candy and to get in you have to open presents and watch old episodes of So You Think You Can Dance? Yes, that is exactly what I am going to do, especially if the amount of shame we inflict on ourselves has anything to do with how big our mansion is in heaven.

If self-induced shame is calculated at all into the blueprints of the beyond, my house is going to be a lot bigger than yours, because I am amazing at guilt.

Even as I write this, I’m feeling guilty. It’s like an out of body guilt experience. I’m feeling guilty about something as I write about guilt. Just phenomenal.

My greatest source of shame, the record I like to spin the most is called, “The Ways Jon Lets God Down.” Have you ever heard that one? It’s got some jams on it, including:

1. Jon should know better by now but still makes the same mistakes.
2. Jon gets arrogant when something good happens and only comes to God when life is raining.
3. Jon wrestles with the simplest elements of faith and will never be a good enough Christian.

I could go on and on, it’s an album I’m really familiar with, but lately, it’s getting harder to play it. Lately, as I’ve started to explore my shame with God, I’ve started to think that maybe God sees my shame and desire to beat myself into submission with guilt differently than I do. Maybe if I asked Him, what He thought, He’d say:

“What if you struck yourself in the head with a chain every time you felt guilty or ashamed for letting me down? What if, you physically punished yourself every time you were not perfect? What if the self abuse was physical and external, instead of mental and internal? Would the scars cry for help? Would the pain you were causing yourself seem cruel and unnecessary? Would your heart break if you watched that person? This is what I see when I watch you Jon.

My son, my son, who told you that the crucifixion was not over?

Who told you that is what I require? That is not me. My blood debt was paid long ago. And yet, you bleed. With the knife of good intentions you cut and try to edit out the parts of yourself you imagine I’ll not like. You slice and cut and bleed and fall and hurt.

I see it all. And I grieve. I grieve the joy you’re missing. I grieve the lies you’re believing. I grieve. I grieve. Stop, please stop.”

I didn’t really want to write that today. It’s been sitting in my five star notebook since December 10. And saying the word “blood” is one of those Christian words that kind of make you look like a snake handler. You’ll never hear a rapper at the Grammy’s or an athlete throwing out a verbal high five to God say, “Big shout out to God. Thank you for the blood of Christ.”

I probably look like a complete Christian freak right now. But I never realized that by beating myself up, I was putting on a parade of pain before the Lord as a way to enter His presence. And I never really thought about that hurting Him. Not because He’s disappointed, but because He loves me. Madly, passionately, unabashedly, He loves us.

So let’s put down the chains. Your house in heaven is going to be big enough and you’re more than welcome to use my Ruckus Room. I promise.

What are your two words?

We’re discussing the second section of Francis Chan’s book, Crazy Love, over at ProdigalJon.com.

Come check it out and drop in the conversation today if you get a chance.

Two weeks ago at church, on my way to pick up my kids after service, the guy behind me said, “It was entertaining I guess, but that didn’t feel like church at all.”

I immediately turned around and was about to hit him with my copy of the English Standard Version of the Bible, which I’ve been told leaves bruises that are 14% closer to the original intent of the Hebrew, but he threw up the gang sign for “First Time Visitor.” I backed off instantly. If there’s one group of people you can’t strike with a Bible at church, it is first time visitors. Pastors really frown on that.

So instead, I just glared at him with a look that said, “You enjoy that first time visitor status, because next week, it’s gone. Soon you’ll just be a second time visitor and there’s not a gift basket that comes with that.” Then I backed away slowly, keeping my eyes on him.

It didn’t happen exactly that way, but I did hear someone complaining and it made me sad. Not because he didn’t enjoy church, but rather he was not partaking in the fine art of the post sermon lunch critique. He was just casually throwing out comments in the hall instead of serving them up over a buffet style lunch with friends and family. I used to be a professional. I was so good at complaining about church that I should have been interviewed on “Inside the Actor’s Studio” by James Lipton. (If you’ve never seen it before, James Lipton does an amazingly pretentious job of interviewing actors in front of a crowd of film students as if they cured Eczema with their performance in the movie Blade 3.)

Here, from inside my head, is what I would imagine that interview might look like:

James Lipton:
Ladies and gentleman, good students of life and art, today we will be joined by Jon Acuff. Oft thought of as the Goethe of Grumbling, the Handel of Hating, the Twain of Tearing apart a church service, today he will grace us with his presence and unfold the blanket of sermon analysis he has woven oh these many years. Please join me in welcoming him, I give you Jon Acuff.

Me:
You’re too kind James. Thank you for that, but to be honest, that introduction was a little long. Lots of words. Lost me there in the middle.

James Lipton:
Oh my, you’re doing it right now, aren’t you? You’re deconstructing my sentences as if they were a sermon. How delightful. Tell me, and the students gathered here today, when did you start critiquing sermons?

Me:
Well James, I realized very early on that the best way to avoid being impacted by a sermon is to analyze it. I knew that if I could pretend I was there to study it and dissect it from the outside, I could save myself all the hassle of actually learning and applying the message to my life.

James Lipton:
So instead of being a participant in the worship experience, you’re an observer?

Me:
Yes, exactly, although in that last sentence I would have worked a little harder to achieve alliteration. You could have easily said, “So instead of being a participant, you can be a pretender?”

James Lipton:
But is that what you are doing? When you critique, are you really pretending?

Me:
Good question. Some people do discuss the sermon because they want to learn from it. For me, I’m just trying to pretend I am listening and look super duper holy. To that end, I find there are a few phrases every master complainer must know:

1. I’m just not being fed.
What a fantastic way to look as if you’re more spiritual than the pastor himself.

2. That message was not meant for me.
You are so generous to have sat there patiently while someone else that needed that sermon was able to receive it. What kindness.

3. That didn’t feel like church.
What a perfect smokescreen of vagueness. How can anyone argue with your feeling? What does that even mean? More organ? Less organ? Better lasers? No lasers?

4. There wasn’t enough Bible in that for me. That felt like a business leadership book.
What’s enough? No one knows, which is why this is such a gem.

5. I’m not sure that sermon works in a postmodern world.
I’m not even sure I know what the word “postmodern” means, but it’s fun to say. Few things make you look smarter than repeating this word. Repeatedly.

James Lipton:
A master at work, truly a master at work. In closing, I’d like to leave you with a thought Drew Barrymore shared with me: “I’ve always said that one night, I’m going to find myself in some field somewhere, I’m standing on grass, and it’s raining, and I’m with the person I love, and I know I’m at the very point I’ve been dreaming of getting to.”

Me:
What? That’s how we’re wrapping up this fictional conversation?

James Lipton:
Exactly.

Is James Lipton ever going to interview me for my talent in sermon complaining? Probably not, but I’d like to think that somewhere, he’s stroking his beard with a big stack of blue note cards in front of him, quietly clapping and saying, “bravo, Jon Acuff, bravo.”

On Sunday, February 1, I’m starting a 28 day write through of Proverbs 12 on 97secondswithGod.com.

There are 28 verses in that chapter and I plan to write a new idea each day for the entire month of February.

I’ll have a daily reminder on Stuff Christians Like, but if you already broke your resolution to read more Bible this year, this might be a fun way to jump back in with something that is going to take you roughly 97 seconds each day.

My children have the uncanny ability to cough directly into my mouth when they’re sick. I don’t really even know how they do it. They go to preschool and bring home a new cold every week. First they pass it back and forth to each other like a Nerf football and then they say, “It’s dad’s turn, let’s cough in his mouth.”

When I realize they’re trying to “gift” me with some sort of whooping cough I try to walk that awkward line between “I want to show them affection but I don’t want an infection.” So for a few days I shift into “pat on the head” mode before bed instead of “kiss on the cheek.” Or at least I try to do that but then they ask me to read a story and I of course give in because I love them and they sit on my lap and then proceed to cough directly into my mouth.

But church is different. I don’t have to give in to people that are sick and refusing to stay home. The kid gloves can come off when it’s cold season and folks in your row are blowing their nose like it’s an instrument they’re adding to the worship experience.

So how do you deal with people that come to church with a cold? I have a few ideas:

1. Wave to them during the meet and greet.
During the announcements, identify anyone in your immediate area that is trying to nurse a secret cold. Look for cough drops being unwrapped and crumpled up Kleenex. Then, when the pastor says, “Turn to someone and tell them you’re glad they’re here” get ready to wave. The first few will be awkward, denying someone whose germ ridden hand is stuck out to you is never an easy thing, but by the third wave you’ll have it down. It’s also a nice way to greet the maximum number of people but that’s another post for another day.

2. Don’t buy the “it’s just allergies” excuse.
The best thing to say if you have a cold and you don’t want people to know that you plan to stay home from work on Monday but insisted on coming to church on Sunday is to tell them “it’s just allergies.” Sure it is. It’s the dead of winter, there’s not a plant species alive right now. We haven’t had pollen for months, but you’ve got allergies. Right, you’re allergic to the germs that cause the common cold. So am I. That’s why I’m waving at you.

3. Bring them Kleenex.
That’s kind. I mean the rest of this list is jerky, but me suggesting that you bring someone else Kleenex is compassionate, right? Maybe, but this next part won’t be. When you see someone trying to wipe their nose on their sleeve, hold up your box of Kleenex as if to say, “Hey sleevy, need a Kleenex?” When they shake their head yes, and this next part is critical, don’t hand the tissues to them. Kick them over to their general direction with your foot. It will take a little while for you to turn into a pew Pele, but it makes no sense to wave at someone during the meet and greet and then essentially shake hands with them when you give them a Kleenex. Trust me on this one, use the foot Luke.

4. If they bring their sick kids, just give up.
If your kids are too sick for Sunday School, they’re also too sick for big church. But sometimes we parents will insist on plopping down our mucus machines right next to 40 people in the sanctuary because we’re worried they’d get the 8 people in their Sunday School class sick. Makes no sense, but it happens. And if it does, go ahead and embrace the fact that you’re going to get a cold. Kids are just that good at spreading germs. It’s like they’re in some sort of union, holding secret meetings amongst themselves and sharing tips on the best way to projectile sneeze. (It’s my belief that during these secret meetings they also discuss ways to argue about things that do not warrant an argument. The other day my kids passionately argued with each other about whose lips were the most chapped. I was baffled at how to referee that one.)

Ultimately, I need to print this list out and give a copy to everyone around me at church. I came to service sick a few weeks ago. But in my defense, I initiated the wave during the meet and greet, saying, “Can’t shake today, I’m sick. Can’t shake today, I’m sick.” People seemed to appreciate that. Or they hated me. It was hard to tell through all that cold medicine I was on for my “allergies.”

I’ll write some more about this later, but the quick version of last night’s announcement is that on February 26 at 7ish in Atlanta, I’m taking part in an event called “off the blog” with Anne Jackson, Carlos Whittaker and Catalyst.

It’s going to be a chance to take what we all do online and do it offline. Details to come.