by Jeff Christian, Guest Writer
August 4, 2010

The most dangerous road in America is not along the hairpin turns of the California coastline, but a never-ending, straight Texas highway between Pecos and Fort Stockton. No signs. No houses. No trees. Just an inflexibly unswerving asphalt carpet that makes Monument Valley look downright curvy.

On our way back from Colorado, I almost lost track of driving on that precipitous pathway in West Texas. It was dangerous. Not in the sense of having to negotiate obstacles, but rather in the sense of lulling the driver into an absolute daze. Hypnotic it was. Other than the oil wells and a single car, our family was treated to a scenery of nothing. And while driving that insufferably straight stretch of pavement–(Wouldn’t you know it?)–my preacher imagination kicked into high gear.

What is it that makes a repetitive lifetime of churchgoing so dangerous?

Could it be that “going to church” Sunday after Sunday after Sunday lulls us into the habit of believing we are “Christian” because we followed the traditional routine while simultaneously making sure we avoided upsetting the prescribed way we have been conditioned to read Scripture?

Or to put it more simply:

Is the 10:00 hour on Sunday morning the measure of our trust in God just because we sang, preached, and tabled “the right way”?

Or how about this:

Does God consider the way I treat the guy at the rental car counter just as important as communion? (continued)

If you would like to subscribe to gracEmail®, click on this link.