Preachers read. I read because I’m not very smart—and because I’m terrified of being boring. Let’s be honest: some sermons are so dull they could be used as sleep aids. I’ve heard paint dry with more enthusiasm. Sorry, colleagues, but we might be the reason folks choose brunch over the Body of Christ. Jesus told stories that made people lean in, not nod off. So, I read, hunt, and scavenge for stories that make the Gospel feel like a live wire, not a library whisper.
The other day, I went trolling for a story in one of my Bible commentaries. I glanced at my shelf and noticed something odd. One of the volumes looked… moist. Not “anointed” moist. Just suspiciously soggy. The one next to it looked like it had been baptized by a leaky roof. I thought, “Well, that’s interesting. Maybe the Holy Spirit is hydrating my theology.”
I pulled the books down and—surprise!—termites. Not just a few. A full-blown theological buffet. These bugs had eaten the entire guts out of two volumes. I mean, they didn’t just nibble—they feasted. Paper to termites is what McDonald’s fries are to me: irresistible, regrettable, and always followed by a need for repentance.
My preacher friends had a field day. One said, “Well, at least they were feasting on the Word.” Another asked, “Were they Old Testament termites? Maybe they skipped the New Testament because they couldn’t handle grace.” Someone else suggested I start a new ministry: Exegesis for Insects.
The exterminator came out, gave me a price, and looked at me like I was the weirdest theologian he’d ever met. I’ve got carpentry repairs to make, commentaries to replace, and a new sermon illustration that’s practically begging for a pulpit.
But here’s the real question: Do you have termites? Not cellulose kind. I mean the soul-chewers. Anger, bitterness, jealousy, revenge, those little varmints that sneak in through the cracks of your spirit and start munching on your joy. They don’t knock. They just move in, set up a recliner in the lobby of your heart, and start gnawing away like it’s a buffet.
So, what’s the treatment? Grace. Not the kind you say before meals. The kind that fumigates your soul. The kind that kicks out the termites and replaces them with peace, purpose, and maybe a little laughter.
Go to church on Sunday. Your preacher’s been reading all week, dodging termites, and praying for a story that’ll wake you up, shake you up, and maybe even make you laugh while Jesus does His deep work.
For the latest local news, subscribe FOR FREE to the Lincoln Parish Journal and receive an email each weekday morning at 6:55 right to your inbox. Just CLICK HERE to sign up.
