Sacred Moos

Also some of the Asiarchs who were friends of his sent to him and repeatedly urged him not to venture into the theater. Acts 19:31 NASB

Not to venture – Day 3. I don’t worry too much about sacred cows. Cows are really pretty docile animals. They usually just go wherever they are led. I worry about what cows do. They moo. They make noise. They leave cow pies behind. They disrupt the peacefulness of the quiet earth. It is the actions of sacred cows that cause me concern. If you have a sacred cow, no problem. Just let it munch in its own field, contentedly consuming God’s green earth. But if you cause your sacred cow to start bellowing, creating disturbance and demanding attention, then I’ll have something to say. “Why don’t you keep that sacred cow under control? I mean, if you want a sacred cow in your backyard, hey, be my guest. But don’t let your sacred cow start crying for the attention of all the rest of the creatures in the Kingdom. It’s your sacred cow. Feed it if you wish. But don’t expect me to take care of your cow’s mooing.”

I suspect that most of us have a few sacred cows occupying the spaces between our considered opinions and our feelings of Presence. We need those cows to remind us that life is oh-so-peaceful.   Pastoral paradise on four hoofs. In truth, we probably use those cows to provide us with the milk of justification. That’s kind of like spiritual pasteurization. We heat up our rationalizations in order to remove any microbes of doubt. Fully convinced that our cows have the right kind of milk, we expect total homogenization where everyone else’s sacred cows finally fall into alignment with our lead cows. The goal is agreement. No cream rising to the top. Just nice plain uniformity.

The problem with uniformity is its contempt of difference. But difference is the fodder of community. If you and I agree about everything, there is hardly any point in talking, is there? I can have that sort of conversation any time I like. Just listen to me. When there is no difference, there is no need to speak. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why sermons seem so boring. I am told what I already know and what I know I will hear another fifty times this year. God loves me. I’m a sinner. I need forgiveness. Jesus is the way. So what? All those sacred moos don’t make me examine my chronic malnutrition. I’ve had enough sacred moo milk to make me vomit. I need a little chaos in my life—a little barb of disturbance, a little thorn in the flesh, a little cognitive dissonance. I need something that doesn’t come homogenized. In the end, what I really need is pain. I won’t stop trying to feed myself of moo milk until I know the nausea it produces. Cream rises to the top, but only if you don’t emulsify the fat. Cream can only exist in a world that allows difference.

Here’s a serious exercise for those of us who can no longer digest sacred moo milk. Feel the pain. Stop anesthetizing. Stop pretending. Stop avoiding. Stop. Feel what hurts in your life. Weep. Shake. Shout. Clench your fist and throw invectives toward heaven. Get real for a change. “No, I’m not fine, thank you very much. And if you really care about me, you will listen to my pain.” We are really Greek when it comes to this kind of reality. The Greeks reasoned that if something bad can happen to you, it can also happen to me. Therefore, I really don’t want to know anything about the hurts in your life. It’s just too scary.

Did you notice that even Paul’s friends didn’t want him to “venture” into the crowd? It’s interesting that the word here is dounai, from the verb didomi which means “to give.” Paul’s friends didn’t want him to be vulnerable. They wanted him to keep it for himself, not to give his message to a hostile crowd. Blend in. Don’t be different. The translators gloss the word so we don’t see that vulnerability is about giving.

Go watch Brené Brown again. Are you willing to be vulnerable—even with yourself?

Topical Index: moo, sacred cow, vulnerable, give, didomi, Acts 19:31