Let me ask you a question: "How well do YOU know yourself?" No, I am not playing some psychological game, I am serious. Recently I learned that I have carried a bias for over thirty years - and never knew it. First let me state that I believe there are different levels of bias, i.e., I may like strawberry ice cream - and you may hate strawberry ice cream. Have you ever asked yourself, "Why?" That is a personal bias, a choice.
And, at the other end of the spectrum, there can be a very deep-seated bias which has come from a trauma in your life.
I recently discovered that I have carried an erroneous personal bias against Lentil soup since 1985. Weird? Yes.
In 1985 I was hired as a Regional Sales Manager, Computer Graphics, for Ferranti International Controls Corporation headquartered in Houston, Texas. Ferranti International was the U.S. arm of Ferranti Computer Systems Wythenshawe, a division of Ferranti International plc, in England. Being a large user of computer graphics in their various products for industry and government, Ferranti made a decision to develop their own computer graphics product - for their own use and to sell to other companies.
When I was hired Ferranti did not yet have that computer graphics products. So my first assignment was to do a marketing survey across America, visiting Engineering and Corporate Management representatives in companies large and small, in different market segments,including government agencies, to see what features should be designed into the Ferranti graphics system to best fit the needs of key market segments.
For three months I traveled around the country doing face-to-face marketing interviews. Back in Houston, we organized my findings and then, along withwith three engineering and marketing management associates, flew to Manchester, England, and sat down with engineering and division managers at Ferranti Computer Systems Wythenshawe to plan our new computer graphics product.
Now, back to my personal bias of Lentil soup. The hotel where we stayed near Manchester was a small, two story hotel with about 30 rooms. And the hotel had an excellent French restaurant. Actually it seemed the main focus of the hotel was the restaurant, which was first class. One evening the four of us were having dinner and Bob (Ferrranti International VP of Engineering) wanted to order soup. He asked the waiter what kind of soup they had and was told it was Lentil soup. Bob hated Lentil soup - so he ordered the second choice on the menu, their soup du jour.
When his soup came, Bob took one look and asked the waiter, "What is your soup du jour?" He did not know, but called to another waiter across the room, "What is our soup du jour today?" His answer, "Lentil." So, the special soup for that day was Lentil - and the soup du jour was Lentil. Bob was not a happy camper.
Since I had never tasted Lentil soup, I unwittingly accepted Bob's dislike of it. And, for over thirty years I have avoided Lentil soup - until recently. For dinner one recent evening I wanted soup, sandwich, and a salad. When I went to my cupboard - the only soup I had was one can of Lentil soup. How did that even get there?
Left with no choice, I ate the Lentil soup - and, wonder of all wonders - I LIKED IT! All these years I have avoided Lentil soup, I guess because Bob hated Lentil soup. And, that evening I had a revelation, I like Lentil soup! Yes, we humans can be strange characters.
But, back to my main thought. How about that deep-seated trauma based bias?
I grew up in a single-parent family, just my mom, my older brother, and me. Her mother died of pneumonia when she was an infant, so mom was raised by her five older siblings while their dad worked. Living in the rural South of the early 1900s, since her siblings only went a few years in grade school, they saw no reason to send my mom to school. So she grew up not knowing how to read or write. However, before I went into the Air Force at age 17, she had taught herself to read and write - an amazing accomplishment.
I believe my mom was a perfect example of what Paul teaches in Romans 2, that all people are born with an innate desire to know God, even though many learn to suppress it in their lives:
We often hear this referred to as an "empty hole in our souls which only God can fill." And I believe that empty hole in my mom's heart was in play when my brother, Bob, and I were young.
My mom wanted to go to church, but because she could not read nor write she was too embarrassed. She was afraid they would ask her to read the Bible or something else. The only time she felt comfortable going to church was at a Wednesday night service or an event such as a revival meeting where she could be anonymous, one hidden in a crowd.
Yet, when I was about ten, she wanted my brother, Bob, and me to go to church. Since she could not go with us, she sent us to the closest church. That church was the Nazarene church which was about two blocks from our home in Sheffield, Alabama. Bob and I would to to Sunday School, but most often would skip out after that.
Fast forward a couple of years, she was married to my step-dad and they were going to a revival meeting at the Nazarene church. Mom really wanted me to go with them. Bob was about fifteen then, so he was off with his friends. Not wanting to hurt mom's feelings, I agreed to go with her to the revival meeting. Keep in mind that I was only twelve years old, not really a church goer, and definitely not a believer even though I had heard all about Jesus Christ in Sunday School.
The revival meeting began and the traveling revival preacher got up a full head of Pentecostal steam. Then, he paused and told us, "Everyone please stand up."
Everyone stood. Then, he told us, "Those who are saved believers, sit down." That left a handful of us still standing. At that point, numbers must have begun to ring in his mind, for he told us, "After you decide to come forward and let us pray over you, then you can sit down." In other words, let's add another conversion to my tally sheet.
Thinking back on it later, as an adult, if a preacher had pulled that stunt - I would have turned and walked out of that church. But, as a twelve year old boy there with my parents, and who did not want to lie about such an apparently important issue as salvation - I could not sit down. I had only one alternative - go forward and let them pray over me.
When I got to the altar, the revival preacher and three or four of his accomplishes began to really build up a head of steam, laying hands on me, praying, and pronouncing "Hallelujahs" over me. And, I will admit that with such a thing happening to a twelve year old boy - I got caught up in the excitement and went home believing I was saved - whatever that meant.
What happened after that? Well, being a twelve year old boy and being full of testosterone I found that I still got funny feelings around pretty young girls. How could that be happening? Didn't that revival preacher tell me that I was saved and not a sinner anymore? So, how could I still have these sinful thoughts? You can see what was happening. With no one to explain to me what it meant to be saved, with no one to explain to this twelve year old boy that he was still only a supposedly "saved sinner" - my self image went into the basement.
And, in my mind, because I was obviously a fallen saved person with no hope - I did not want anything more to do with anyone called a "preacher" or any "revival meetings." The secular world seemed much more accepting and warm to me, a fallen ex-supposedly saved person - so I jumped into the secular pool with all my being.
After the trauma of my so-called conversion - that 12 year old boy began a journey of running from God. And, for the next thirty-eight years, until I was fifty years old, I mindlessly swam in secular society's polluted pond. Until one day, as an answer to Dory's ten years of praying for me - God led me to a pastor who would love me to the cross of salvation.
When I was 50 years old, I found a pastor and a church, Pastor Sam Lacanienta and the Fil-Am Church of Irvine (CA), which loved me to the cross. He did not drag me kicking and screaming as that Revival Preacher had done all those years before. Finally, I found a pastor and a church who, in love, calmly pointed me through teaching sermons, discussion Bible studies, and Sunday School classes - to the foot of the cross where I met my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
In 1987, Pastor Sam Lacanienta led me, through love, to Jesus Christ - and I have been a believer, a "forgiven sinner" since then.
Today, I have been a Christian believer for thirty years and counting, and "intellectually" I understand what that early revival preacher did to me. And I want to believe that, in his heart, he believed what he was doing was right.
Yet, to this day I cannot address anyone as "preacher." I will address a person as pastor, pastor/teacher, or maybe brother - but never "preacher" for that brings back memories I would just as soon forget. In the early 1990s, my brother and his wife were visiting from Alabama and we took them to our church, Fil-Am Church of Irvine (CA), for Sunday worship.
After the service, my brother told Pastor Vince, "Preacher, that was really a good sermon." I literally had to bite my tongue to keep from telling Bob, "Don't call him 'preacher' - he is our Pastor."
Yes, I have to admit that the 12 year old Bill Gray still is inside me. While I love my Pentecostal brethren and praise God for their enthusiasm for the Lord - their passionate, fiery, and often over-enthusiastic sermons awaken that 12 year old boy inside me.
When I see a pastor like TD Jakes and others who, when giving a sermon will start yelling, stomping his foot, and pounding on the pulpit - I have to change the channel or, if I am in a service, get up and walk out for a while - to give the 12 year old Bill Gray time to relax and go back to sleep. Talk to me and I will listen. Yell at me and I may be there physically, but I am gone mentally.
While I have been saved for thirty years, several times over those years I have felt called to go forward and rededicate my life to Christ. Once, at the Irvine church, I went forward with our daughter, Lana. And a couple of other times I have done the same - when I felt the Holy Spirit putting it on my heart. Those times were when I chose, at the urging of the Holy Spirit, to go forward for special reasons.
But, if someone tells me, "You come forward now!" or "You kneel and pray right now!" - my 12 year old Bill Gray hears that Revival Preacher from years ago, saying, "After you decide to come forward and let us pray over you, then you can sit down" - and that still young Bill Gray inside tells me, "Watch out, there is that Revival Preacher again!"
Even today when the preaching gets too excited or someone "tells me" to come forward - I will often get up and go outside for a breath of fresh air. For, in my mind, an altar call is an invitation - not a command.
So, my Friends, now you know the real Bill Gray, warts and all. I love Lentil soup - and my child inside awakens when the messenger gets too excited! Other than that, I am just your everyday "forgiven sinner."
God bless, have a wonderful, blessed day,
Bill
And, at the other end of the spectrum, there can be a very deep-seated bias which has come from a trauma in your life.
I recently discovered that I have carried an erroneous personal bias against Lentil soup since 1985. Weird? Yes.
In 1985 I was hired as a Regional Sales Manager, Computer Graphics, for Ferranti International Controls Corporation headquartered in Houston, Texas. Ferranti International was the U.S. arm of Ferranti Computer Systems Wythenshawe, a division of Ferranti International plc, in England. Being a large user of computer graphics in their various products for industry and government, Ferranti made a decision to develop their own computer graphics product - for their own use and to sell to other companies.
When I was hired Ferranti did not yet have that computer graphics products. So my first assignment was to do a marketing survey across America, visiting Engineering and Corporate Management representatives in companies large and small, in different market segments,including government agencies, to see what features should be designed into the Ferranti graphics system to best fit the needs of key market segments.
For three months I traveled around the country doing face-to-face marketing interviews. Back in Houston, we organized my findings and then, along withwith three engineering and marketing management associates, flew to Manchester, England, and sat down with engineering and division managers at Ferranti Computer Systems Wythenshawe to plan our new computer graphics product.
Now, back to my personal bias of Lentil soup. The hotel where we stayed near Manchester was a small, two story hotel with about 30 rooms. And the hotel had an excellent French restaurant. Actually it seemed the main focus of the hotel was the restaurant, which was first class. One evening the four of us were having dinner and Bob (Ferrranti International VP of Engineering) wanted to order soup. He asked the waiter what kind of soup they had and was told it was Lentil soup. Bob hated Lentil soup - so he ordered the second choice on the menu, their soup du jour.
When his soup came, Bob took one look and asked the waiter, "What is your soup du jour?" He did not know, but called to another waiter across the room, "What is our soup du jour today?" His answer, "Lentil." So, the special soup for that day was Lentil - and the soup du jour was Lentil. Bob was not a happy camper.
Since I had never tasted Lentil soup, I unwittingly accepted Bob's dislike of it. And, for over thirty years I have avoided Lentil soup - until recently. For dinner one recent evening I wanted soup, sandwich, and a salad. When I went to my cupboard - the only soup I had was one can of Lentil soup. How did that even get there?
Left with no choice, I ate the Lentil soup - and, wonder of all wonders - I LIKED IT! All these years I have avoided Lentil soup, I guess because Bob hated Lentil soup. And, that evening I had a revelation, I like Lentil soup! Yes, we humans can be strange characters.
But, back to my main thought. How about that deep-seated trauma based bias?
I grew up in a single-parent family, just my mom, my older brother, and me. Her mother died of pneumonia when she was an infant, so mom was raised by her five older siblings while their dad worked. Living in the rural South of the early 1900s, since her siblings only went a few years in grade school, they saw no reason to send my mom to school. So she grew up not knowing how to read or write. However, before I went into the Air Force at age 17, she had taught herself to read and write - an amazing accomplishment.
I believe my mom was a perfect example of what Paul teaches in Romans 2, that all people are born with an innate desire to know God, even though many learn to suppress it in their lives:
Romans 2:14-16, "For when Gentiles who do not have the Law do instinctively the things of the Law, these, not having the Law, are a law to themselves, in that they show the work of the Law written in their hearts, their conscience bearing witness and their thoughts alternately accusing or else defending them, on the day when, according to my gospel, God will judge the secrets of men through Christ Jesus."
We often hear this referred to as an "empty hole in our souls which only God can fill." And I believe that empty hole in my mom's heart was in play when my brother, Bob, and I were young.
My mom wanted to go to church, but because she could not read nor write she was too embarrassed. She was afraid they would ask her to read the Bible or something else. The only time she felt comfortable going to church was at a Wednesday night service or an event such as a revival meeting where she could be anonymous, one hidden in a crowd.
Yet, when I was about ten, she wanted my brother, Bob, and me to go to church. Since she could not go with us, she sent us to the closest church. That church was the Nazarene church which was about two blocks from our home in Sheffield, Alabama. Bob and I would to to Sunday School, but most often would skip out after that.
Fast forward a couple of years, she was married to my step-dad and they were going to a revival meeting at the Nazarene church. Mom really wanted me to go with them. Bob was about fifteen then, so he was off with his friends. Not wanting to hurt mom's feelings, I agreed to go with her to the revival meeting. Keep in mind that I was only twelve years old, not really a church goer, and definitely not a believer even though I had heard all about Jesus Christ in Sunday School.
The revival meeting began and the traveling revival preacher got up a full head of Pentecostal steam. Then, he paused and told us, "Everyone please stand up."
Everyone stood. Then, he told us, "Those who are saved believers, sit down." That left a handful of us still standing. At that point, numbers must have begun to ring in his mind, for he told us, "After you decide to come forward and let us pray over you, then you can sit down." In other words, let's add another conversion to my tally sheet.
Thinking back on it later, as an adult, if a preacher had pulled that stunt - I would have turned and walked out of that church. But, as a twelve year old boy there with my parents, and who did not want to lie about such an apparently important issue as salvation - I could not sit down. I had only one alternative - go forward and let them pray over me.
When I got to the altar, the revival preacher and three or four of his accomplishes began to really build up a head of steam, laying hands on me, praying, and pronouncing "Hallelujahs" over me. And, I will admit that with such a thing happening to a twelve year old boy - I got caught up in the excitement and went home believing I was saved - whatever that meant.
What happened after that? Well, being a twelve year old boy and being full of testosterone I found that I still got funny feelings around pretty young girls. How could that be happening? Didn't that revival preacher tell me that I was saved and not a sinner anymore? So, how could I still have these sinful thoughts? You can see what was happening. With no one to explain to me what it meant to be saved, with no one to explain to this twelve year old boy that he was still only a supposedly "saved sinner" - my self image went into the basement.
And, in my mind, because I was obviously a fallen saved person with no hope - I did not want anything more to do with anyone called a "preacher" or any "revival meetings." The secular world seemed much more accepting and warm to me, a fallen ex-supposedly saved person - so I jumped into the secular pool with all my being.
After the trauma of my so-called conversion - that 12 year old boy began a journey of running from God. And, for the next thirty-eight years, until I was fifty years old, I mindlessly swam in secular society's polluted pond. Until one day, as an answer to Dory's ten years of praying for me - God led me to a pastor who would love me to the cross of salvation.
When I was 50 years old, I found a pastor and a church, Pastor Sam Lacanienta and the Fil-Am Church of Irvine (CA), which loved me to the cross. He did not drag me kicking and screaming as that Revival Preacher had done all those years before. Finally, I found a pastor and a church who, in love, calmly pointed me through teaching sermons, discussion Bible studies, and Sunday School classes - to the foot of the cross where I met my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
In 1987, Pastor Sam Lacanienta led me, through love, to Jesus Christ - and I have been a believer, a "forgiven sinner" since then.
Today, I have been a Christian believer for thirty years and counting, and "intellectually" I understand what that early revival preacher did to me. And I want to believe that, in his heart, he believed what he was doing was right.
Yet, to this day I cannot address anyone as "preacher." I will address a person as pastor, pastor/teacher, or maybe brother - but never "preacher" for that brings back memories I would just as soon forget. In the early 1990s, my brother and his wife were visiting from Alabama and we took them to our church, Fil-Am Church of Irvine (CA), for Sunday worship.
After the service, my brother told Pastor Vince, "Preacher, that was really a good sermon." I literally had to bite my tongue to keep from telling Bob, "Don't call him 'preacher' - he is our Pastor."
Yes, I have to admit that the 12 year old Bill Gray still is inside me. While I love my Pentecostal brethren and praise God for their enthusiasm for the Lord - their passionate, fiery, and often over-enthusiastic sermons awaken that 12 year old boy inside me.
When I see a pastor like TD Jakes and others who, when giving a sermon will start yelling, stomping his foot, and pounding on the pulpit - I have to change the channel or, if I am in a service, get up and walk out for a while - to give the 12 year old Bill Gray time to relax and go back to sleep. Talk to me and I will listen. Yell at me and I may be there physically, but I am gone mentally.
While I have been saved for thirty years, several times over those years I have felt called to go forward and rededicate my life to Christ. Once, at the Irvine church, I went forward with our daughter, Lana. And a couple of other times I have done the same - when I felt the Holy Spirit putting it on my heart. Those times were when I chose, at the urging of the Holy Spirit, to go forward for special reasons.
But, if someone tells me, "You come forward now!" or "You kneel and pray right now!" - my 12 year old Bill Gray hears that Revival Preacher from years ago, saying, "After you decide to come forward and let us pray over you, then you can sit down" - and that still young Bill Gray inside tells me, "Watch out, there is that Revival Preacher again!"
Even today when the preaching gets too excited or someone "tells me" to come forward - I will often get up and go outside for a breath of fresh air. For, in my mind, an altar call is an invitation - not a command.
So, my Friends, now you know the real Bill Gray, warts and all. I love Lentil soup - and my child inside awakens when the messenger gets too excited! Other than that, I am just your everyday "forgiven sinner."
God bless, have a wonderful, blessed day,
Bill
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