A Sense of Urgency

Years ago, prior to my present incarnation as an 18th century farmer, I watched one of my colleagues (we'll call him "Chad") shut a computer system down in the middle of the day--to tinker with it. Upwards of 40 people in that office had very little to do while they waited, through lunch, and the next morning, as "Chad" doodled around with their system software. He even left early on the day in question, "to avoid traffic." I watched the business owner pacing and I looked on, helplessly, as Chad took personal calls, played with system settings, ordered lunch and appeared to give every indication that he didn't know what sort of havoc he was causing.



A few months later a supplier in that industry took me into his office, closed the door, and and tried to take a breath to control himself before blurting out a necessary truth about my colleague "Chad."

"Here's the problem," the man said, "that little snot has no sense of urgency."



Among the world's various kinds of villainy, a delayed sense of obligation can be the most irritating. It's not as though you are dealing with a profane crank or price gouger or an utter incompetent. They might even be pleasant. Heck, they are likely to be very pleasant people, because, frankly, nothing bothers them. The work always gets done. Someday. But the pain isn't just the procrastination with these sorts of people; it's the sense your very pressing problems, deadline problems, don't really matter to them. It's something like people who stop their car in the middle of a parking lot, blocking traffic, just to talk to friends. There's no real emergency for them, ever, and so if their own emergencies mean nothing to them, yours mean even less.



You can't imagine theses sorts of people ever looking in the rear view mirror. They wouldn't even look out the front window if there were a way to avoid it. They just don't care about anything but the turns and stops they need to make, when they need to make them, because the rest of the world--for them--just doesn't exist.



About the same time I
was contending with "Chad," I heard a very, very prominent Southern California evangelical minister giving a sermon about a scratch he found on a brand new car. He was annoyed that he hadn't even owned the car for two hours without it being damaged, but then he remembered that, at the great and terrible day of the Lord, "it would all burn." He proceeded to tell the congregation that, essentially, nothing on earth mattered. "It will all burn." He proceeded to talk about the roof he worried about. "It will all burn," he said. The congregation laughed. He worried about his new lawn's watering system. "It will all burn," he said, "even the sprinklers." And everyone laughed.



Certainly, there is great virtue in calming down, and looking at the long-term, eternal picture, but there's a difference between doing that and checking out entirely. If the Lord gave a sermon, explaining the vast importance of the one lost sheep, it would seem weirdly disconnected to respond, "yeah, but it's all going to burn. Why even look for the sheep?"



I run into this phenomenon with phone companies a lot lately. The "business Sermons" I have to give them seem weirdly comical, and utterly obvious, but I might as well be preaching to a square block of pure rubber:

"Do you understand that we have no voice mail system?"

"Yes, I get that."

"And do you understand that we're in business? We actually advertise our phone number?"

"Yes. I understand."

"And do you understand that if we pay a lot of money to put a phone number up on a freeway billboard, it's a little weird having a voice mail system that doesn't work?"

"I understand."

"And do you understand that if we can't capture the customers' messages, we can't make sales?"

"I understand."

"And if we can't make sales, we can't pay you?"

"I understand."

"Really? So you don't mind fixing it right now--tonight?"

"Well..."

I've made this point before, but I'll make it again. The more America "checks out," the less care and love it shows the "here and now," the fewer talents we are going to have to show the Master upon His return.



And we won't be able to say "heah, it's all going to burn, right?"