It was a clear crisp autumn afternoon. I was on an airplane headed for a preaching mission in Centerville, Kansas. As I got settled into my seat, a big muscular man wedged his way into the seat beside me. The man took a quick glance at a magazine, then turned to me and said, “What do you do?"

For most people that must be a simple question. For me it is a temptation to tease rather than answer. So sometimes I say, “I bury people." This guarantees moments of silence. Sometimes I say, “I stand up and make 20-minute speeches and it takes ten people to carry the money to me."

This man was big. He seemed good natured enough. So at the risk of becoming entangled in a two-hour conversation about the woes of religion, I said simply, “I am the pastor of Trinity Hill United Methodist Church." He g…