Be Still and Pass the Potatoes
A Field Report from the Church Potluck
One day at the church potluck, somewhere between the third crockpot and the seventh identical macaroni-and-cheese-with-mystery-crumb-topping, I had a realization so profound it nearly knocked over the folding table:
I am surrounded by people who do not believe in moving.
Not philosophically. Physically.
These are good, God-fearing people who have deeply internalized one particular Bible verse:
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
They have interpreted this not as spiritual advice, but as a fitness plan.
Be still.
Remain seated.
Preferably near the desserts.
The Gospel According to the Recliner
To them, “be still” clearly means:
Do not walk if driving is available
Do not stand if sitting is possible
Do not sit if reclining is an option
Do not recline if lying flat is achievable
This verse, as practiced, is less about contemplation and more about muscle atrophy with confidence.
The original meaning—stilling the mind, quieting the monkey brain, calming the inner chaos—has been quietly replaced with a much simpler doctrine:
Motion is suspicious.
Deep breathing? Meditation? Mental stillness?
No, no. The verse is obviously a divine injunction to cancel Planet Fitness.
“Let us not go,” they seem to say.
“Let us see how long they last.”
Exercise: Not Hard, Just Unpopular
Here’s the dirty secret no one wants to admit at the potluck table:
Exercise is not hard.
A push-up is not hard.
A squat is not hard.
A pull-up—fine, aspirational, but not gymnastics.
Walking? Walking is literally what humans evolved to do.
This is not Cirque du Soleil.
No one is asking you to dismount from the Holy Rings of CrossFit.
The hard part is not doing the push-up.
The hard part is doing it again.
The 100th push-up
The 50th pull-up
The walk when it’s boring
The day after you skipped a day
The week after you skipped a week
That’s the real difficulty: showing up after the novelty has died and the excuses have resurrected.
You Become Like the People You Eat With
They say you become like the 10 or 20 people you hang out with. Which is alarming when those people:
Drive three blocks
Park as close as possible
Treat walking as a theological risk
Believe God invented elevators for a reason
I looked around the fellowship hall and felt genuine existential dread.
These people believe in God.
They believe in miracles.
They believe in eternal life.
They do not believe in knees.
Be Still ≠ Be Sedentary
“Be still” was never about the body.
It was about the mind.
It’s about stilling the monkey mind—the endless chatter, the anxiety, the inner squirrel on espresso. It’s the same insight Buddhists arrived at with breathing exercises, except without casseroles.
But somehow, in translation, it became:
“Remain motionless and wait for heaven to handle it.”
Which brings us to…
Other Popularly Misunderstood Bible Verses
1. “The meek shall inherit the earth.”
Apparently misread as:
“The passive-aggressive shall inherit the church committee.”
2. “Give us this day our daily bread.”
Not intended to justify eating like every meal is the Last Supper rehearsal.
3. “My yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
This is spiritual reassurance, not a divine endorsement of skipping leg day.
4. “Faith without works is dead.”
Somehow interpreted as:
“Faith without works is fine, as long as you really mean it.”
5. “Man does not live by bread alone.”
Which is ironic, considering how aggressively bread is represented at potlucks.
6. The Rapture™
There is no rapture in the Bible. Most Christians know this. The verses people quote—“one will be taken, another left behind”—mean something else entirely.
But for some pastors, the rapture is the whole show.
Resurrection?
“Eh, maybe.”
Justice?
“Complicated.”
Ethics?
“Contextual.”
But the rapture?
Definitely happening. Any minute now. Please keep tithing.
The Barabbas Oversight
And let’s not forget Barabbas.
The crowd chose Barabbas over Jesus.
Which should have triggered at least a basic prophecy audit.
“Wait,” someone might have said,
“Isn’t Barabbas literally named Son of the Father?”
But no. No one did the background check.
They skipped the prophecy footnotes.
Classic administrative failure.
Final Benediction (Stretch First)
Look, I love church. I love community. I even love potlucks—within reason and sodium limits.
But maybe—just maybe—“be still” doesn’t mean “never move.”
Maybe the body, like the soul, requires participation.
Maybe walking isn’t heresy.
Maybe sweat is not a sin.
And maybe, just maybe, God did not intend eternal life to begin with a recliner and end with a casserole.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a walk.
If anyone asks, I’ll say it’s contemplative.
The Glum Among Us
A Modest Proposal for Cardio-Based Deliverance
There’s a guy at church. Always glum. Permanently glum. The kind of glum that doesn’t fluctuate with the liturgical calendar. Christmas? Glum. Easter? Extra glum. Pentecost? Tongues of fire, face of damp cardboard.
This is not philosophical glumness. He is not wrestling with Plato. He did not wake up haunted by Kierkegaard. He is not pacing the sanctuary whispering, “What is the Good?”
No.
He just doesn’t exercise.
That’s it. End of mystery.
The endorphins are locked outside, pounding on the door like, “Bro, we’re literally designed for this.” But no. They are not allowed to kick in. The door is shut. The body is sedentary. The soul follows.
When Brooding Becomes a Ministry
Some people pray.
Some people serve.
Some people sing.
He broods.
Brooding is his spiritual discipline.
Service, to him, is what you pray other people will do. He will handle the brooding. The watching. The standing slightly too close to exits like a gargoyle with opinions.
And here’s the problem—because he is a white male, all that glumness and brooding does not come across as “internal struggle.” It comes across as unprocessed resentment with legs.
Even if you mentally remove race from the equation—and you can try, like removing a Jell-O mold from a pan—it still reads as jealousy.
Gym jealousy.
The quiet rage of a man who knows, deep down, that ten squats a day would have changed everything.
The Laying on of Hands (Please Don’t)
You attend worship. You sing. You feel uplifted. The music hits. The sermon lands. The Spirit is moving. You are charged.
Then, on your way out, he reaches out and touches you.
Just a hand.
A shoulder.
A moment.
His idea of the “good deed for the day.”
And instantly—it’s gone.
The whole service drains out of you like a punctured balloon.
It’s as if the worship never happened.
Like you were spiritually Venmo’d a negative balance.
You walk to your car thinking, “Why do I suddenly feel like I argued on Facebook?”
The Exorcism Incident (Unscheduled)
One day I said to the pastor, quietly but with conviction:
“He is on the other side. He is with the dark forces.”
The pastor blinked. That long, careful blink pastors do when they are deciding whether to intervene or let the Spirit… or the insurance company… handle it.
Then I turned to the man.
“There is an evil spirit living inside of you,” I said, helpfully. “Let me help you out.”
I placed my two palms on the sides of his head.
“Evil spirit, leave!”
Nothing.
Not a tremor.
Not a twitch.
Not even improved posture.
I turned back to the pastor.
“It didn’t work,” I said. “You try.”
Other Glum Archetypes in the Wild
Churches are full of them. Like Pokémon, but lower energy.
1. The Parking Lot Sentinel
Arrives early. Leaves late. Never smiles. Guards cones like sacred relics. Has never broken a sweat but deeply resents those who do.
2. The Hymn Judge
Does not sing. Evaluates. Arms crossed. Head tilted. Facial expression suggests he is disappointed in the key change and your life choices.
3. The Coffee Hour Lurker
Hovers near the refreshments but never partakes. Judges those who do. Radiates “I could have baked something better” energy without ever having baked anything.
4. The Volunteer Who Hates Volunteering
Signs up for everything. Enjoys none of it. Carries the moral authority of someone who has suffered unnecessarily and wants you to know.
5. The Handshake Assassin
Grip too long. Eye contact too intense. Transfers unresolved emotions through skin contact. OSHA has no guidelines for this, but they should.
A Radical Proposal
What if—hear me out—the solution is not more prayer, more brooding, or more unplanned exorcisms?
What if the solution is… a walk?
Ten minutes.
Around the block.
No theology required.
Because sometimes the demon is not metaphysical.
Sometimes the demon is sedentary lifestyle plus suppressed endorphins.
And sometimes the most powerful deliverance ministry is a pair of sneakers and a mildly elevated heart rate.
Can I get an amen.
(And please—no touching on the way out.)
Bless Her Heart: A Field Guide to High-Octane Polite Racism
Or, When Enthusiasm Does the Damage
The most polite lady at church is also—by a wide margin—the most racist.
Not loud racist.
Not angry racist.
Not tiki-torch racist.
No, no.
She is smiling so hard while doing it.
This is the kind of racism that shows up early, brings a casserole, compliments your shoes, and then gently, lovingly, with the confidence of someone who has never been corrected, proceeds to explain your own existence to you.
The Ice Cream Incident
She once showed a man from Kenya how to use the ice cream machine.
Let’s pause here.
This is a man from Kenya.
A country with:
electricity
engineering degrees
frozen desserts
functioning wrists
But she saw him standing near the machine and thought:
“Oh sweetie. This must be very confusing for you.”
And with Olympic-level cheerfulness, she explained:
which lever to pull
how soft serve works
the concept of cold
Not slowly.
Not cautiously.
With enthusiasm.
The racism here is not subtle. It is high-octane. Premium grade. The kind that burns clean and leaves no visible soot—just emotional residue.
The Smiling Colonialism School
This is not hatred. That would be too honest.
This is confidence without curiosity.
This is the racism that says:
“I don’t see color. I see opportunities to help.”
And help she will. Aggressively.
Other Examples from the Polite Racism Hall of Fame
1. The Accent Complimenter
“Oh my goodness, your English is so good!”
Said to:
a doctor
a professor
someone who has lived here since 1993
She means it as praise.
It lands like a passport check.
2. The Geography Encourager
“So where are you really from?”
Answered.
“Oh! I meant originally.”
Answered again.
“Oh! No, I mean before that.”
She is not asking a question.
She is drilling for oil.
3. The Cultural Translator
At potluck, leaning in confidentially:
“Now this dish—this is your food, right?”
Ma’am.
It is lasagna.
4. The Missionary Spirit
“We just feel called to pray for your people.”
No clarification.
No follow-up.
Just vibes and a firm hand on the shoulder.
5. The Volume Adjuster
When speaking to anyone brown, foreign, or vaguely Mediterranean:
SHE.
SPEAKS.
SLOWER.
Not clearer.
Slower.
As if English operates on a RPM limit.
6. The Over-Complimenter
“You’re just so articulate.”
Translation:
I did not expect this from you, and I am delighted.
7. The Name Simplifier
“Oh, that’s a beautiful name! Can I just call you… something else?”
She says this kindly.
As if doing you a favor.
As if your parents were just brainstorming wildly.
Why It’s So Powerful
This form of racism is unstoppable because it comes wrapped in:
politeness
baked goods
a voice that says “honey”
plausible deniability
If you object, you become the problem.
“What? I was just trying to help!”
“I didn’t mean anything by it!”
“I have friends who are—”
And suddenly you are arguing against a smile, which is like punching a cloud.
Final Benediction
The danger is not the shouting bigot. You can hear that one coming.
The danger is the woman who beams at you, pats your arm, and gently explains how ice cream works—because she has already decided, with love in her heart and assumptions in her brain, that you must need help.
She will never raise her voice.
She will never say a slur.
She will never think she’s wrong.
She will just keep smiling.
And pulling the lever for you.
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