Never Kill Anyone Unless You Have a Good Reason

Sometimes Christians are just weird.

I mean, honestly. I know God said that He would call us to be a peculiar people but of all the verses to exemplify on an Olympic level, why do we all choose that one?

My own brand of Christian weirdness came to my attention when my children were old enough to begin explaining our faith to others. I remember my young son, browsing through the video game racks with a friend making this comment: “Okay, we’re Christians, see, so we don’t do any sex or naked people in video games and we can only kill people if we have a good reason.” (The second part of that sentence derived from my ruling that battle scenes were fine while gangsters and grand theft were not.)

That’s weird, right?

One of my first jobs was as a houseparent at a group home for troubled children near Philadelphia. Each house on our property was assigned a church to attend and I was aggravated to be assigned the MOST uptight, conservative church within a 100 mile radius. Every Sunday, I had to keep ten to twelve previously unchurched kids ages six to seventeen in line for an unbearably long and boring service.

In the middle of a particularly boring sermon, two of my eight-year-olds broke out into a fist fight that sent them rolling into the middle aisle. A kind older gentleman helped me separate and reseat them on either side of me. Noting the fury on my face, one of the boys, Eric, leaned over to his cohort, Marcus and whispered, “At the end of the sermon, do what I do.” Then, he winked at me.

This could not be good.

As the pastor finished his message, he issued the same altar call he announced week after week. Instantly, Eric was on his feet, hands over his face as though he was weeping, walking forward to receive Christ. Marcus followed on his insincere heels adopting a similar pose. Both boys loudly proclaimed their repentance and women wept as the two rascals “received Jesus” into their conniving little hearts.

What could I do? It saved us all that day.

Rather than the anticipated scolding at the end of the service, Marcus and Eric received red carpet treatment all the way to our van where, believe me, the curtain was called on their little performance and they were schooled in the dangers of pretense as a means of escaping consequence.

The following week I petitioned for and received permission to change churches.

We’re so weird.

We write books where the bad guys can slice people up but they can’t swear while they’re doing it. We advertise our faith in silly slogans on church billboards. We support sending troops to war but disapprove if they drink a beer OR we protest war but break out into a fist fight with someone for refusing to recycle and save the planet for Jesus.

We’re weird, crazy weird.

Somehow, though, as aggravating as I find the weirdness, I also find it comforting. I know there will always be a place for me among the peculiar people known as followers of Christ. “But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light;” 1 Peter 2:9 KJV

He chose those of us who are peculiar so that when He moves among us and through us, the world can see Him. People know for darn sure it’s not those of us purchasing “Testa-mints” for combined breath-freshening and evangelism who are pulling off any miracles. We’re too busy naming our babies Melchizadek and Zilpah or requesting that new license plate to replace RI-666.

Okay, well, that’s creepy and weird.

In the end, it’s not about us, anyway. It’s all about Jesus.

When you know the truth, it will set you free – free to let your freak flag fly for Jesus, baby. Be weird. Be bold. Be His.

And don’t kill anyone unless you have a good reason.