Frankly, I Don't Cotton to the Idea

We took one of our nieces to the circus over the weekend. Good time, especially for her – which, of course, was the point.

One of the must-have additions to our niece’s Barnum & Bailey experience was the admittedly odd pairing of a large colorful hat and a bag of tri-colored cotton candy, packaged together, I assume, to sucker people like Shari and me into finding value in the combination’s $10 price tag. The hat was a souvenir; the candy was a both a treat and hark back to one of my past loves.

I remember being such a cotton candy fan in my youth, especially the conquest of stuffing large handfuls of the airy concoction into my mouth. My latest encounter with the stuff, however, has me wondering what I ever liked about it.

I pulled a large piece from the bag as a taste test, expecting it to prompt a nostalgic trip down my culinary memory lane. Instead, what I experienced was the sudden – make that instant – deflation of the alleged candy once it hit my tongue, disappearing to a sugary pinhead within seconds. A large web of spun satisfaction within a breath or two reduced to nothing, prompting a similarly empty look on my face. Subsequent tests produced the same result, leaving me to conclude that either candy contained better cotton forty years ago, or I didn’t have much of a discerning palate in those days.

Now much older and a bit wiser than I was in my youth, I can explain the candy’s disappearing act. I know how it’s made, that its “cotton” is an intentional illusion, an attempt to convince purchasers that there is more there than meets the eye. As I took my first bite from the bag, I knew what I was getting into, I knew that it was “eye candy” in the sense of candy to the eye much more than to the mouth.... I had just forgotten.


When people come to our churches looking for spiritual food, what do we offer? What does your church offer to its hungry patrons?

To people looking for a taste of the nourishment they once knew, to people valuing spiritual nostalgia who seek to reconnect with their sacred side, what do we offer?

How do we feed those new to the table, people who know little more than that there is something missing in their lives, something they can’t provide themselves?

A criticism made of some of today's largest, most popular churches and preachers focuses on a question of substance. “It’s all entertainment!” critics protest, fluffy theology gift wrapped in high energy, low necessity worship whose nutritional value diminishes rapidly...like circus cotton candy.

Some so accused are no doubt guilty, but the fact that their churches thrive in this spiritually contentious and skeptical era tells me somebody’s being fed. Said preachers and churches may be preparing and serving the ingredients (God, Jesus, the Bible, etc.) differently than we do, but somebody’s obviously liking their cooking. We don’t have to eat what’s on their plate, but we had better pay attention to it.

And what about us who live in older, established churches? What do we offer? How do we prepare and serve the Word? “Friendly” servers and “helpful” hosts are a start, but today’s spiritual restaurateurs demand more. They know meat from gristle, and natural flavors from artificial. They won’t tolerate the disappointment of spiritual cotton candy, however it is packaged or presented.

Think about Jesus feeding the 5,000. The first need of the crowd was physical, not spiritual hunger. Caring little for his or his disciples’ convenience, refusing to understate the power of faith, Jesus responded with bread and fish aplenty. Need identified. Need met.

Consider the wealthy man who sought from Jesus the spiritual satisfaction of eternal life. Jesus commanded him to expand his vision of faithfulness beyond following commandments, to include sacrificial giving and devoted following. The wealthy man refused the food, but once again Jesus identified and met the need.

What are the needs of the people in your community? What are you doing to meet those needs?

When the circus sells that hat/candy combo, its principal aim is instant cash, not lasting enjoyment; with help from my family, the Ringling boys may consider that a mission accomplished. When we in the Body of Christ “sell” Jesus to others, what’s our main objective? The moment’s experience, or a life’s transformation?


Pray with me:
God, give us modern Christians the passion and vision we need to feed the modern multitudes. Help us tailor our message to feed hungers, to quench thirsts, to direct people to the bread of life and living water. We are much too polished at fancy place settings and elaborate presentations. Show us the way to the cupboards that are forever well stocked in the name of Jesus, Amen.