After a great deal of in-depth, scientific, and sociological analysis (also known as idle noodling while trimming my hedges yesterday), I have concluded that we are a nation that loves to be tickled. 

Tickled pink, preferably.

Here is what I mean when I use the word “tickled.” When we consider all the choices of how we might spend the 24 precious hours we are allotted every day, most of us would choose to spend it engaged in some form of entertaining diversion. 

You know… something that tickles us.

Whether that diversion is watching TV with a loved one, rolling in the grass with our dog, hiking a nearby trail, crocheting an afghan, attending a sporting event, singing with a group of friends, playing darts or trivia at the local pub, “getting busy” [nudge, nudge… wink, wink], with a companion, or lying comatose on a beach somewhere, boys and girls just wanna have fun, don’t they?

Some of us must work, true. But for most folks, the object of our work is financing our fun. Throw in some necessary time for sleeping and taking in nourishment, and you’ve just about fleshed out an entire day in the life of the average American.

HOWEVER! The sharp-eyed among you will notice I have left one very important human activity off this very scientific and comprehensive list. I left it off because it seems to be an activity most of us go to great lengths to avoid.  

That activity goes by different names. Some call it stopping. Some call it resting. Some call it pausing. Some refer to it as sitting and thinking. The more Zen among you might call it something like meditating.

Whatever name it goes by, this time of contemplative non-action does not seem to be a fan favorite in today’s world.

I say this with full recognition that a prognosticator can get in some serious trouble when attempting to speak for anyone but himself or herself. So, I will step up right here and confess that yes… I am talking mostly about me. I am that guy who would prefer to do almost anything except pause and ponder the vastness of the Milky Way. 

I would much rather eat a Milky Way. 

Thinking is hard. It means silencing our beloved earworms. It means putting ourselves in the path of concepts that make us squirm. It means letting go of certainty. It means daring to swallow the proposition that I might not have it all together after all. 

Sometimes thinking even means starting all over again from scratch. 

And seriously… who wants to do all that? Wouldn’t we all rather just have our fancies tickled all day and leave the thinking to the professionals?

Sometimes I wonder if this might explain where this country is right now. Many of us believe we are overworked and under-funned and deserve a little bit of “me time” when the quitting whistle finally blows. 

And besides… thinking might mean recognizing problems. Recognizing problems might mean doing something to try and solve them. And trying to solve problems in the world might seriously cut into our “Jeopardy!” watching time. 

We know our power to affect any kind of meaningful change in the world is woefully limited. So why get our panties in a twist trying to move society’s needle toward any kind of positive transformation? We say, “Let me just tend to my own amusement and let the crusader-types worry about the heavy stuff.”

Thinking for ourselves has become such a loathsome chore that we have finally programmed the machines to do it for us. Welcome, robot masters!

And so, we continue clinging tightly to our heirloom worldviews, watching our shows, fixating on clever reels and memes, shouting into our bespoke echo chambers, and planning our next home improvement project… all while trying to keep the terror at arm’s length one more day. 

We tell ourselves we aren’t really throwing in the towel… even though we know we are.

But then, along comes Jesus… sticking his annoying nose into our happy little bubbles. He tells us through his disarming parables that yes, our neighbor’s welfare is absolutely our business. He insists to us that life is about much more than growing tomatoes and having our fancy tickled. He boldly declares to us that there are an ethos and a reality far outside the limits of our tiny brains in which we are held and sustained and unconditionally favored.

He persists in inviting us to join him there and pitch our tents in this reality, calling it our true home. 

Listening to Jesus leaves us with only two options; either we shut him out completely, deny his authority, and minimize his message, turning him into some kind of quaint relic. 

Or we dare to join him in the uncomfortable place of welcoming every neighbor and embracing every quirk and twist and inconsistency of this amazing world where we’ve shown up.

Which one will it be?

Abundant blessings;