When others insult Christianity, should we laugh, be silent, or get mad?

Did you hear about the so-called Christian group that’s protesting the upcoming video game “Dante’s Inferno”? Claiming they were from a church in Ventura County, California, about 20 members of S.A.V.E.D. (an acronym for “Salvationists Against Virtual and Eternal Damnation”) handed out pamphlets outside of the Los Angeles Convention Center during the Electronic Entertainment Expo last month and held picket signs that read, “Hell is not a game” and “Trade in your PlayStation for a PrayStation.” The group also posted a website and YouTube videos.

I should tell you right now: The whole thing is a publicity stunt for the video game company Electronic Arts. Yet two reputable newspapers, the Los Angeles Times and the San Jose Mercury-News, initially reported this “protest” as actual, factual news. Online posts and blogs on the topic indicate a number of folks are taking it seriously. Regardless of whether they’re in on the joke or not, many are offering the same comment: “Can’t Christians take a joke?”

Once again, Christianity’s been portrayed as laughable. Most Christians will get an earful of jokes, pokes, and even some outright insults in our lives. When this happens, should we laugh it off, express our hurt, or get angry?

How life keeps messing up my “Spiritual Walk”

It’s time for my nightly devotions. I fluff my pillows, wedge them against the headboard behind me, and arrange my spiritual arsenal. A dual translation Bible lies open on the comforter, an assortment of inspirational tomes arranged to my left and right.

I select a favorite daily-walk book and begin. Maybe the day’s theme is “Extending Grace to Others” or “Expressing Divine Patience.” Maybe it’s more along the lines of “Becoming the Servant of All” or “Showing Humility in the Face of Provocation.” Whatever the topic (and I made those up; no need to cast aspersions on any fine devotional writers), I quickly find myself amazed at how the words ring so true in my mind.

Extending grace sounds so simple. The path to Divine Patience seems so clear, so easy to follow. I understand it, desire it, even commit to it.

Service? That appears within my grasp. I effortlessly assimilate the simple steps to Becoming the Servant of All. And I feel utterly prepared to respond with humility in the face of any provocation.

Could it be that I’m really starting to get this stuff? That I’m becoming insightful? Spiritually mature? Profound, even? I think so . . .

I take time to pray, mentally ticking off all the people on my list. Then I set my books aside and drift peacefully into the unruffled sleep of the just.

I’m a good hater and a slow forgiver. It took a dog to show me I was wrong.

He was a tri-color, collie-shepherd mix whose whole world was a cardboard refrigerator box with a short kennel run, tucked behind a seedy motel. A Rottweiler shared the same space. As the bitter months of winter bore down on Illinois, the two huddled together for warmth. But a cardboard box isn’t much protection against the cold.

Someone alerted animal control, which came out and saw the two dogs braving the increasingly raw weather with so little shelter. The owner was warned that unless the dogs were given a better refuge, they’d be seized. The warnings were ignored.

When the January wind chills began their slow descent to thirty degrees below zero, animal control came for Max and his Rottweiler friend. He and his dog pal were taken away from their rough “home” —perhaps the only one they’d ever known—and sent to the shelter, headed for euthanization. At the shelter, the two dogs were separated, but barked so piteously for each other that they were put together.

The truth about our secret judgments

In the newsroom where I work sits a counter where people put doughnuts and cookies for everyone to share.

Today someone set out a container of humungous cookies, each with 480 calories and 23 fat grams. For those keeping score, one cookie is 12 Weight Watchers points, which is more than half my daily allotment.

I’m telling you this because I am not eating any, not even a taste. Instead, I’m drinking a cup of decaf coffee, sipping it slowly as I listen for the sounds of other people nibbling massive amounts of caloric sinful indulgence and feeling quite pleased with myself.

Liberty University boots Democratic club; inspires Holly to take a stand.

I’m publically issuing this ultimatum to the Republican Party: Take a pro-life stand in a big, visible way, or I’m leaving.

TCW readers will recall that just two months ago, I suggested Christians reserve discussion on abortion for the right time and place. I’m seizing the opportunity presented by a Gallup poll conducted this May, which found 51 percent of surveyed Americans identify as “pro-life,” while 42 percent identify as pro-choice. Get this: It’s the first time there’s been a pro-life majority since Gallup began conducting the poll in 1995.

Additionally, I’ve been inspired by a bit of controversy at Liberty University, the private university in Lynchburg, Va., that was founded by the late Rev. Jerry Falwell. In May, Liberty officials notified the student Democratic club that their status as a University-sponsored organization was being revoked. The reason: the club’s charter stated that members would support the Democratic Party’s platform and candidates.

I don’t want to squander my independence

Old people are fussy, stubborn, and downright cantankerous.

Anytime I catch myself applying these labels to individuals born a few years ahead of me, I try to stop and think: Does my occasional impatience with “old people” really stem from the thoughtless way I take my own independence for granted? I think it does.

Case in point: I had some minor surgery awhile back. It was nothing serious, just a few days on crutches until I could be up and around. But it quickly reminded me how much I take my mobility for granted.

If the trash needs emptying, I tie the bag and walk it out. If an ice cube springs to the floor, I bend over and pick it up. I go for a walk, take a bike ride, feed the dog, lift a heavy skillet, stretch for the top pantry shelf, anytime I want, all without breathing a single “thank you” for the privilege.

Letting go of fear and changing focus

"FLU IS HERE!" blared the boldface headline of my local paper. Rattled, I picked up the New York Times. Smaller type, but no less reassuring: "World Health Organization Raises Swine Flu Alert Level" and "Containing Flu Is Not Feasible, Specialists Say."

At the coffee shop where I write in the mornings, flu fear talk filled the air. Anyone who sneezed or coughed got "the look" and a wide berth. If people hadn't been so frightened, it would have been funny. But people were - and are - afraid . . . and that's not funny.

Our access to constant information is both a blessing and a curse. I love punching a few keys on my computer and accessing a weather forecast, finding traffic conditions for a trip, or Googling some obscure factoid. Thanks to technology, I can look up a recipe for Key lime cheesecake at the click of my mouse or watch a YouTube video on how to pack for a camping trip.

This instant information is also overwhelming, as evidenced by this latest flu scare. We get our news in short sound bites designed to grab us. As the media vies for my attention among so many distractions, the headlines take on an urgent - and often alarmist - intensity. Murder! Ponzi Schemes! Famine! And now: Pandemic! How do we keep this barrage of fear-news from running our lives?