I wonder how many times I’ve gotten the mail from our church mailbox? Ten years. Say, three times a week. That’s…uh…roughly 3 times 50… 150 times a year... 1500 times. That’s a lot of mail. Mostly it’s pretty boring stuff. A few times a month something interesting comes. There’s a church in China that sends us their newsletter. The entire thing is in Chinese except for our mailing address. I have no idea why they send it. I’d write them and tell them to stop mailing it but I can’t read any of it, including the name of the church. I get a letter or a note sometimes, which is nice. If the Christian Century publishes something of mine in their magazine, they send a copy. It’s still kind of fun for me to see my name in print in an actual magazine. So that’s fun.

Once a month there’s a letter from a guy who grew up in Texas and went to Europe when he was in the army. He liked it better there, so he stayed. After a brief stint as a professional ballet dancer, he moved to Germany and became a brain surgeon. A very successful one, I might add. His name is Appletree. I’m dead serious. Appletree. I met him once in San Marcus, and, well, he was exactly what you would expect from a guy who was in the army and then the ballet and then became a brain surgeon. He’s the kind of guy who can carry a name like Appletree with no problem.

Anyway, Appletree has been sending our church $100 a month for YEARS. He’s an associate member, though he’s never been here. And that may not seem like much to some churches, but it is for us. I always look forward to when Appletree’s check comes. I take it out of the mailbox, shake my head, and say, “Appletree!”

Other than that, it’s mostly religious junk mail. Promotional pieces from people who want to come and sing at the church for the classic “love offering.” Letters from people or organizations that need money but somehow can afford mass mailing lists than even include small, unknown and unconnected churches like ours. Invitations to quasi-religious rallies, many of them tied to Republican political agendas - we are a Baptist church in Texas, after all. I assume if we were a United Church of Christ congregation in Massachusetts, we’d be getting similar invitations from the Democrats.

And, of course, the religious catalogs. Years ago I read one of them when I was in a depressed state. I actually felt a wave of despair wash over me. It seemed impossible that I could allow myself to be connected to some religious institution that needed catalogs filled with awful products. I had a fantasy about leaving the church which led to a strange couple of essays and, ultimately, to a series of stories about a fictional minister who DID leave the church. Yes, the humble origins of Foy Davis go back to the day I looked through that catalog. My current standing policy is not to watch television preachers or look at religious catalogs. I’m trying to hang with the Church right now. I’m trying to remain faithful to an ancient religious tradition, and sometimes it feels like trying to stand on a shaky, 3-legged stool. I don’t need the masters of schlock kicking the stool out from under me. You know what I mean?

So yesterday I was going through the mail and tossing all the junk. One of the religious catalogs was there. I was just about to toss it in the trash, but I stopped for some reason. The thing was tempting me. It was so colorful. I thought, “Eh, I’ll just take a quick glance to see if the stuff inside is still horrifyingly awful and trashy.”

Yep, some things never change.

“Baptism Ready Robes” sold in discount packs of 6.

“Gospitality Polyester Ties,” one with golf balls and a slogan that says “God of Love.”

Peppermint Candy Canes with the completely mythical account of how they were invented by a guy in Indiana who made a shepherd’s cross with red stripes to symbolize the blood of Christ. It’s all a lie, but it sells, right?

“Serve-Eze” patented communion wafer dispensers, so that the ministers hands won’t have to touch your communion wafer.

A magical balancing pen holder for the pastor’s desk.

“Pastor” license plates. You can put them on your car and let everyone know you are a servant of the Lord and fully deserving of a free parking space at the hospital. Comes in Gold or Silver!

And my current favorite, a ball cap designed to satisfy those who want to wear a “Harley Davidson” cap but feel convicted about its worldliness. Now you can wear the “Heavenly Devoted Son” cap, made to look so similar that most people won’t even notice the difference.

And it’s that last phrase that sums it all up, doesn’t it? A collection of cheap and easy Christian tack that is so similar to the kinds of things you’d find in airline magazines and discount stores that you’ll hardly even notice you’re going to church.

Sigh.

And so the Church continues to court and woo culture, hoping for the ultimate moment of consummation, the moment when no one can tell the difference between Christ and Culture because the two have become one flesh.

As for me, I must be in a better place emotionally. Or else I’ve emotionally separated myself even farther from the institutional Church of our culture. Because I laughed and cut out pictures so I could show them to you. But I didn’t feel bad at all. Because these catalog people and the people who run their churches with this kind of merchandise and with candy cane lies - they are not my people. They might be decent enough people, and I’m not denying their right to their own kind of religion.

But I have no interest in being part of anything like that.

rlp

Lest anyone's hands touch your wafer

Religious executive gifts