Preparing for major surgery (they are all major when they are mine) often proves more difficult than surgery. It certainly takes longer. I’ve concluded that the medical establishment prefers not to work with sick and hurting people – too messy, too risky. But they must; we’re their largest clientele.
However, they possess leverage. They control the hospitals and all the sharp objects. And before they let us broken people in, we must first prove ourselves physically, psychologically, and financially fit. Two out of three will move a person along. Recent survey results, conducted by pre-certification advocates, reveal what we have feared for years: one out of four patients expire before their eligibility is established. It’s tragic, but it cuts insurance costs. I’ve spent two months preparing for a two-hour surgery. I now have other parts that need repair. I’ve worn out my good knee running (actually limping) from scan to test to sample. I’ve given enough blood to build another person. I’ve been scanned, x-rayed, and photocopied so many times that I glow in the dark.
I’ve started taking high blood pressure medicine as a result of chronic pre-certification anxiety. The last specialist gave me a 50/50 chance of making my surgery date. I’m scared, and the technicians at the lab yesterday sensed it. They can smell blood.
“May I help you?” asked the receptionist.
“I’m here to make a deal,” I whispered.
“How so?”
I looked around to see if anyone was listening.
“I’ll trade you a quart of blood for a quart of courage.”
“Sorry, flesh out, I mean fresh out,” she responded, shaking her head.
“The Good Fairy doesn’t come on Wednesdays.”
“Got any magic dust to sprinkle on my tail?”
I pleaded, unwilling to stop the negotiations.
“Please take a seat, Mr. Carlson, the sticker person will be with you in an hour or two.”
I hobbled to the magazine rack, hoping to land a new National Geographic or Atlantic Monthly or some other publication I can’t afford at home. No such luck. The first magazine I spotted was “Baylor Health,” dated 1983. It had never been handled. Pristine. A collector’s item in a few years. The twenty-fifth Anniversary Edition coming soon. I dug down looking for something a touch more stimulating. I picked up “Radiology Today”. I was overwhelmed with excitement. Finally, something that really turns me on!
“Good golly, Miss Molly,” I shouted across the room to the receptionist, “do you have anything in here worth reading?”
“Keep looking,” she said, “there are some really wonderful magazines in that stack.”
“Oh, yea!” I shouted, “here is another of my favorites: ‘Modern Imaging.’”
I held it up high for all my damaged peers to see.
“This is fabulous! I’ve never felt more at home! Please, no one interrupt me while I drool on the pictures of the new MRI machines.”
People stared.
“I wish I could afford one of these beauties at home,” I told my friend in the nearby wheelchair. “Ain’t she somethin’?”
I flopped it down and snatched from the person next to me this month’s copy of “Advanced Laboratory.”
“Let me see that!” I told her. “I’ve been going to the mailbox everyday waiting breathlessly for my own copy.”
Folks in white lab coats appeared from all directions armed with big needles. “I love laboratory news,” I explained to Nurse Rachet.
“Will you please come quietly with us?” she said.
“The doctor has something to calm you.”
“Not unless I can take this giant ‘Mammography Superstore’ catalogue with me.” It’s the last thing I remember, and now that they’ve freed my arms, I’m quite comfortable. I’m reminded I need experiences like this. They help me remember the importance of communicating in a relevant and contemporary medium. If I want to serve others and create a positive environment, I need to know and understand their interests. I need to meet them where they are and speak their language. No doubt the left-brained technicians working in the lab enjoyed “Radiology Today” and “Advanced Laboratory,” but there wasn’t a single customer on six floors who had any interest what so ever. We want Time and People. Give us Us. Lay out some Good Housekeeping and Sports Illustrated. Treat us to Men’s Stuff and Shiny Fast Cars. Make friends with Easy Money and Bigger Houses. Pacify us with the New Yorker. Entertain us with Reader’s Digest. But don’t beat us down with Modern Imagining.
We need to get smart. I can make fun of the lab because we do the same exact thing in the church. We lay out reading material that has no interest to anyone but us. We often speak a language familiar to our Christian cousins, but foreign to folks beyond our doors. We get to thinking that everyone is really turned on by Sanctification Monthly and Adventures in Leviticus. We’re church nerds, Bible geeks, and Holy dorks. We’re strange and alien, alright, but in many of the wrong ways.
It’s okay to be odd (thank goodness!) in the name of Jesus, but it’s not okay to be stupid. Let me ask a question. When was the last time a potential customer walked through your church doors, headed straight to the track rack, grabbed a fiery article on “Why Christians Don’t Dance,” read it eagerly, and begged to be baptized for the forgiveness of sins?
If they ever do, don’t; it’s a trick. Brethren, listen up! Put your King James in the trunk. Burn your track rack. Ditch the frumpy threads. Drop the whole “holier-than-thou” presentation. Study the competition. Note what they read. Discover their needs. Learn how they think. Meet them where they are. Preach the gospel in a language in a place in a fashion that they will get it. Jesus models proper technique. He shows us how to relate. He made scripture relevant, contemporary, powerful, personal, and real. So should we.