I’ve developed a spiritual hearing impairment, I hate to admit. Having been raised in a believing home and after many years in the faith, my inner sensors no longer react to Christian jargon as they once did. Every now and then I need a fresh word to jolt me into new appreciation for an old truth.

For example, take the word sin. Sin no longer stings, no longer horrifies, no longer makes me gasp, because well, it’s just sin. Our culture throws the word around in all kinds of innocuous ways: fudge is sinfully delicious; it’s a sin that Mary still looks so stunning at age 50; or “Curt and Debra are living in sin (wink, wink).”

No wonder sharing the Gospel is such a challenge. Few understand the true meaning of sin anymore. I suggest defining sin with a more culturally potent word—abuse. Check your reaction here:

For all have abused and come short of the glory of God…Rom 3:23

My first response is, “Who me? An abuser? Never.” Abusers are the lowest of the low in society. In fact, the way psychologists talk, abusers are considered beyond redemption. Mention that I am a sinner and oh well, ho hum. Accuse me of abuse—and I react.

A few months ago a friend invited me to a beginning movement class. Thinking it preparatory to ballet, I joined only to be confronted with heavy New Age teaching. In many ways I felt as if my teacher spoke another language. As opportunities arose, I tried to accurately communicate my faith using terms my classmates would understand. But it was quite a challenge to connect to words like “fluid,” “water,” and “floating” in a spiritual sense.

So this experience made me think about using emotionally relevant language when sharing my faith with non-believers. Words like “sin,” “God’s love,” and “born again” need definitions that communicate the original meaning with congruent, emotional potency.

I so easily stagnate when my ears no longer thrill to the old, familiar sounds. Language does play a role in keeping me spiritually alert. God’s Word is far too precious to take for granted.

If we confess our abuse, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our abuse and purify us from all unrighteousness. If we claim we have not abused, we make him out to be a liar and his word has no place in our lives. I John 1:9-10

Rejoice with me! We were so blessed to see our oldest son married in January. I finally have a daughter! God is good.

Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. (Luke 10:41)

Were all Martha’s preparations wrong? After all, someone had to cook the meal. The Lord didn’t tell her to drop out of the kitchen, he addressed her attitude—overwhelmed by her tasks, she lost perspective.

I can picture Martha that morning before the guests arrived, having a PMS day and exasperated that Mary was daydreaming instead of helping. And I wonder what her initial reaction was when the Lord rebuked her in front of all her guests, regardless of his gentle tone. I think I would have felt stung that the Lord didn’t take my side and quickly retreated to the kitchen. Maybe I would have sulked for a while before “getting it.”

Her tasks were “preparations that had to be made.” (Luke 10:40) The Lord didn’t dispute that. Nor did He say, “Why don’t you skip the gourmet lemon tart you plan to make from scratch.” He gently reminded Martha that their relationship was all that mattered. In the midst of her work, Martha could still enjoy “the one thing needed.” After all, the Messiah, the Prince of Peace, sat in her very own living room. Wouldn’t this be enough to make you dance about with the dust broom and forget your troubles?

“Only one thing is needed…”

With the wonder of the Lord’s presence in her heart, how would Martha’s perspective on her busyness have changed?

How will yours and mine?

So here I am, trying to valiantly run the race, or at best, trudge after Jesus. In all honesty, let me describe a more accurate picture of what I so often look like:

Carry cross for about three steps. Whine. Stop to take it down. Notice all the splinters and rough edges of burden. Cry. Get worn out. Realize I’m not getting anywhere. Sigh. Hoist cross onto back again. Follow Jesus a few more steps. Decide to take load down to analyze if possibly it could be made lighter. Nope. In staring at it, notice more things that are difficult. Lay down in despair. Weep, mourn and wail. After exhausting that drama, decide I’d better get back to following. Repeat, repeat, repeat…

It’s finally dawned on me that for good reason Jesus said to “take up” your cross. It means to place the package life has handed you squarely on your back where you can’t see it.

Right. Got it. Gonna keep my eyes on the Good Shepherd, not the cross.

Grunt. Hoist. Shuffle, shuffle…