BY KARL HAFFNER

T WAS AN EVENING OF ROPIN', RIDIN', BUCKIN', AND BUSTIN'-- mutton-bustin' that is. The idea of mutton-bustin' is basic: kids mount sheep that gallop around like rabid bulls wearing wool sweaters. When the sheep explodes out of the fence, cowboys in the audience leap to their feet and shout things such as "Ride 'er low, Joey-Jim-Jerry-Johnny-Bob!"

My first exposure to the sport came a few summers ago when I received some free tickets to the Rooftop PRCA Rodeo in Estes Park, Colorado. I stared in disbelief as child after child bit the dirt--much to the delight of people whom Jeff Foxworthy talks about a lot.

Then a hick-town sheep with a New York City attitude bolted from the gate with its rider, 7-year-old Shannon Williams. She was clutching fleece and catching some "face peel" when the animal, doing about Mach 10, rammed Shannon into a fence.

She dropped limp onto the dirt as the crowd gasped. Paramedics scurried to the scene.

To no one in particular, I asked incredulously, "What parents would be insane enough to let their kid do that? They must have the combined IQ of rope."

Only after the politically incorrect blooper escaped my big mouth did I notice that the woman next to me was praying. Suddenly she snapped out of her vigil and said, "That's my daughter."

"Ooooops." I dismissed myself immediately.

Finally the girl stood to her feet and walked unassisted out of the corral. The audience erupted in applause. The tinny speakers informed us, "Good news! She's OK, folks. How 'bout another round of applause for Shannon Williams?"

I camped at the popcorn stand just long enough for the mom to leave. I would have left except I needed to go back to the stands to retrieve some valuables (namely, my wife and daughter). When I thought it was safe I returned--only to find the mom still there with her now-famous daughter.

My fears of awkward silence quickly evaporated as the kid was keen to tell everyone within earshot, "It was great! There's nuttin' better! I hit the wall, and the whole world looked this big."

She gestured a small circle with her thumb and finger. "Then I realized I was staring through the earhole in my helmet! Mom, can I do it again?"

Can you believe that after all that she wanted to give it another shot?

Sure, because life is more fun when you get out of the stands and onto the field. David Jackman once said: "Today we are so used to watching--before the TV set, at the ball game, even in the worship service. . . . We have lost the thrill of being in the rough and tumble, amidst the ups and downs. We forget what it is like to be on the inside, with all its heartache but with its exultation too. Our highs and lows are experienced vicariously. We are shadows of our real selves."

Get in the Game
Don't be a shadow. Get in the game. Your church needs you to participate in any one of dozens of ministry opportunities. Whether you volunteer at the hospital, go on a mission trip, read to children at the local Adventist school, join Pathfinders, start a ministry for seniors, or serve as a deaconess--you are needed.

Perhaps you are resistant because your soul is still bleeding from the last time you ventured into the action. I've heard the war stories: "I served that ungrateful church for 15 years as head elder, but as soon as my marriage blew up they kicked me out."

"I taught a Sabbath school class that solely focused on grace. The pastor felt threatened by our growing numbers, so he shut it down."

"After my business went bankrupt nobody from the church came by to visit anymore."

I confess that some things in the church haven't changed. Saints still struggle with sin. The church family is still a potpourri of pilgrims with problems aplenty. Mind you, preachers are not always up front about this. We often posture ourselves and our church as the squeakiest of the clean. Listen carefully, and you'll notice how often preachers spin stories that mask the blemishes.

For example, ever hear a preacher refer to a TV show by saying, "I was just flipping through the channels the other day and I happened to see. . ."? The disclaimer is subtle but meant to be noticed. The preacher hopes you hear: "I don't watch much TV. I just so happened to have 26 seconds between seven Bible studies and 13 baptisms when I tuned in and saw . . ."

Well, the truth (about this preacher, anyway) is that sometimes I sit down and watch TV. Bag of Cheetos in the left hand, bowl of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey in the right---and I'm not flipping channels. Nor am I watching 3ABN; sometimes I camp out on Fox. That's the truth about this preacher. I'm imperfect--just like all the "saints" in the pews.

Pastors and parishioners alike, we mess up. Sadly, we bruise people in the process. But that doesn't change the fact that every part of the body is still needed. Just because my eyesight is not 20/20 (my contacts are as thick as silicon sacks) doesn't mean I pluck out my eyes. Like every part of my body, I need my less-than-perfect eyes to thrive. Every part matters.

When It Hurts
I was reminded of this recently when I hurt my pinkie finger playing football. The problem? When the game was over at 10:00 p.m. there was no walk-in clinic that was open. My only option? The emergency room. That option felt like overkill, but my finger was throbbing.

My friend Troy drove me to the hospital (given my serious injury, you wouldn't expect me to drive myself, would you?). I marched past the flashing lights and wailing sirens to the receptionist.

"Excuse me," I said.

"Yes, and what's your emergency?"

I wanted to display a bullet wound or complain of a broken back, but instead I mumbled, "Um, ah, my pinkie hurts."

An hour later the doctor pointed to a line on the X-ray and said, "You definitely broke your finger. You can see the fracture in the bone right there."

"Hallelujah!" I squealed. "It's a bona fide sports injury. Better give me a full body cast!" (After all, you can never be too careful when it comes to a serious accident.)

"I think a finger splint might work better," the doctor replied.

"OK. I'm just glad you found something wrong. I didn't want to explain to all my friends that I rushed to the emergency room just for pinkie pain."

Through that experience I learned two valuable lessons. First, every pinkie is important. (If you don't believe what I'm saying, break your pinky and try typing this article.) Second, you can still play football with a broken finger (the following evening I was back in the huddle). It's a tougher game, but it's still more fun than standing on the sidelines.

When it comes to the body of Christ--His church--the same two lessons apply. First, every part matters. God didn't make spare parts. Second, you can always get back in the game, even if you're in a cast. You may get bloody and bruised, but you'll always have more fun than the spectators.

The apostle Paul put it like this: "There should be no division in the body. . . . If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it. Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it" (1 Cor. 12:25-27, NIV).

_________________________
Karl Haffner is senior pastor of the Walla Walla College Seventh-day Adventist Church in College Place, Washington.