I do not believe in karma. People have always told me that I’m not supposed to, so I don’t. I’m a Christian; karma comes from the more eastern religions such as Buddhism or Hinduism. I am neither one of those. I have always talked about karma in church settings. The super-Christian old wigs have always shot at me with incorrect definitions and grunts. How can I believe in karma and be a Christian? I wonder if those dudes knew what, at its core, karma is?
Karma is a word that in basic spiritual context says that what goes around comes around. I do a bad thing to you; one day, a bad thing is going to be done to me. We could go way deeper in to it, but that would be boring and not funny, at all. In jail, I would tell you to “get it how you live, homes”. In church, if you are a better Christian than me, then you would say “you reap, what you sow”.
I have always tried to skirt this rule of life. I have literally spent most of my life trying to trick God. It has never worked. Sometimes the more painful things I have reaped in life have been no laughing matter, but sometimes things that happen in my life seem to be direct messages from the Creator with a smooth 😉 hittin on the end.
One of the newer fads at church, that I’m really into, is we bring drinks into church every week. Most people drink coffee. I burned myself out on coffee about 2 years ago, but I do love a large Polar-Pop Coke from Circle K. I’ve gotten some looks from smug coffee-drinkers, who think coffee and coke don’t belong in the same church. The only looks I am concerned about are the ones of me laughing at these people when they spill their coffee in church.
Our sanctuary has 3 columns of pews. Each column has an estimated 35-40 rows of pews. It’s a fairly large church. The floor slopes downward towards the stage when you walk in the back of the sanctuary. This sets up a nightmare of a situation if/when someone spills their drink. Before a few weeks ago, I had never seen anyone spill their drink during the service.
I have sure thought about it a lot though. It seemed like my worst nightmare. I could envision my horror, while watching with my mind’s eye as my drink spills in slow motion creating a river of Coke streaming and pooling all the way down until it reached the “important people” sitting close to the preacher. In my vision, I saw people on each row turning their heads, one after another, as the drink reached their feet. Before I could snap out of it, each person was looking past the person standing directly behind them until the stares of many people became 1 suped-up-strong stare focused, through a magnifying glass, lazered directly at me. It was horrifying. I went through this on a weekly basis.
That was until about 3 weeks ago. I was standing as we sang praise songs. I look over to the section next to me and saw a dude scrambling to pick up a coffee-cup as the his neighbors in front of him shuffled their feet to dodge the flow. At first, I thought I was just having my same ol, same ol, paranoid vision. Then I realized this dude looked nothing like me. He also wasn’t handling the situation like I would have. He had a real situation on his hands. He was moving quickly if not gracefully trying to maintain the damage.
I felt bad for him; I really did. I also found it absolutely hilarious. There was guy sitting next to me, that I didn’t know. I did feel like he may be a kindred spirit. We were sitting next to each other learning about the same Gospel. Surely, that made us something. As I laughed, I tapped my neighbor and said, “Dang, sucks to be that guy!! Lol.”
He smiled and chuckled. To me, this meant others probably needed to see what was going on. Two women were sitting in front of me. They needed to know of this coffee-drinker’s, from another section, misfortune. As I slurped cold coke through my straw, I tapped one of their shoulders and said, “Yo, look at that dude. I’d say he needs some prayer.”
Obvs, they laughed. The worship leader led the song for the congregation, but I was leading the back, right section in a back-up symphony of laughter. I was absolutely in my element, among friends. Bardin was feeling pretty proud of himself. Looking back, I think God found it funny too. I don’t think he found it funny for the same reasons I did, though, because, then last week happened.
Our church pews are awfully close together. For once, I got there early and was sitting in the end seat of the pew closest to the wall. My old neighbor from before snuck in beside me. We gave each other a customary nod as he squeezed by me. I couldn’t say much, because I was too busy guzzling my coke down. After this drink, I set it down at my feet and continued worship.
The two girls from the week before were sitting in front of me again. I felt comfortable around people I had laughed with before. As I sang, a guy tapped me on the shoulder. He and his girl wanted to squeeze by my neighbor and I. I gave him a nod as I tried not to touch him or her as they snuck by me.
About 3 seconds after they passed by, the girls in front of me started dancing. I don’t go to a Pentecostal church so I really didn’t know what they were doing. Then one of them looked back at me as she moved her belongings off the floor and said, “Did you spill your drink?”
I looked at her, thinking of my nightmare. I then looked down to see my 32 oz Polar-Pop turned over. The top had fallin off and liquid was gushing out. I inadvertently whispered a word not made for church as I reached down to grab it, but thankfully, I still had not admitted to this being my drink. I was just trying to help. I knew I had a good buddy sitting next to me. We had history, so when I got done picking the cup up, I pointed at him, cut my eyes, and told the 2 girls that this was, in fact, his Polar-Pop and not mine. I was just being a Good Samaritan trying to help him clean up his mess. Best case, they were completely taken aback and didn’t know what to say. Worst case, they were silently judging me for being the liar that I was.
Thankfully, the girls attention soon left me and turned to the framed culprit. He was still processing that I had blamed the spill on him. I didn’t breathe, for what seemed like an eternity, as I waited on his response. He really didn’t give me much to work with as he said, “No, its not. That drink belongs to you.”
Whoa, I was not expecting that. I figured we were better than that. We weren’t. Cutting my eyes at the girls in front and looking hurt, I patted my oldest church buddy on the back, as I said, “Aw, dude, I’m just playing with you. It was my drink, what should I do? I don’t know what to do? Did any of y’all bring napkins to church, or is it it too late to worry about the other 27 ounces we missed on the original clean-up?”
The girls were still listening. After the let down my pew-mate gave me, I wasn’t expecting much out of those two either. I must have been holding my eyes and mouth just right, because one of them winked and said, “Don’t worry. It’s too late to worry about cleaning it up. If anyone says anything, we will just blame it one someone sitting even farther behind us.”
That was the perfect response. I knew the Lord had led me to try and save these people from the bomb for a reason. He knew that I would need their encouragement on a day like this strange Sunday morning.
During the sermon, every time someone 1-10 rows in front of us would move their feet, I could hear the sound of stick shoes sticking to the floor. I almost brought this up to my neighbor but decided to keep it to myself.
I know it may seem to you that I got exactly what I deserved. I had laughed and gotten other people to laugh at a poor stranger who spilt his drink during church. I wish I could say that I would play it differently next time. Honestly, I probably wouldn’t. I had a good time at church, but if karma is God laughing at me, then I plan on giving him ample opportunities to get His kicks in the future. This last week, I walked into church and said hello to my neighbors, as I slurped down my ice-cold Polar Pop.
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