Chucking Bologna and Salvaging the Cheetos

I’m growing increasingly skeptical of most sermons, which is an unfortunate situation for a pastor’s wife.  I sit through many.  I love the concept of church as a community and even the concept of meeting regularly to worship and encourage each other.  There are a few teachers who I will still listen to, like my husband, Rob Bell, Tony Campolo.  But at least once or twice a week, I sit through a sermon I distrust, wandering in and out of awareness and pretty much thinking that the deliverer has no idea what they’re talking about.  My teachers now are things like the Oklahoma trees that are still left are the icepocalypse, and the little sparrows who beg for pastry crumbs at the Starbucks in Utica Square.