My homiletics professor said it on the first day of class. “Every sermon must find a common enemy. It doesn’t matter what it is: sin, death, taxes, sex, politics. For a sermon to be effective, you need an enemy.” A marketing guru I’ve recently unfollowed said the same really. “Find their pain—and poke it!” It’s certainly a theme in the historical rendering of the behavior of the United States during World War II. A meme for WWII: “We had a common enemy that made us come together.” The question I wish to ask today isn’t about our common enemy. A six year old could tell us it’s the coronavirus.
Read MoreA frontline healthcare worker called me yesterday in high dudgeon, rip-roaring mad, ticked off, pissed, angry, mad as a wet hen. Mad mad mad mad mad. I can’t blame her. She’s a pharmacist in a major grocery store chain, and the management of the specific locale of her employment is wringing its metaphorical hands like a heroine in a melodrama about how to care for its employees. In short, they’re not. She has every right to be mad. That is, however, not why she called me.
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