There is a fundamental problem faced by all of us who are trying to live godly lives. The problem is not that the world hates godliness (it does, but it always has). The problem is not that God's word is too complex (it's not). It is not that those around us create problems (they do, of course, but they always have).

The problem is that people (good, well-meaning people) keep piling more requirements on top of us.

The Bible sets out a pretty simple set of guidelines. I am to love God, to love my neighbor, to love my wife (and care for her), and to love my children (and not provoke them). Pretty straightforward. Not easy to do all the time, but not really very complicated. I am also to serve my church through the use of the gifts God gives me. That doesn't sound very hard either. When I started out as a Christian, those were the rules.

Now, however, I am bombarded with new rules all the time. I am told (or have been told) that I must be "the prophet, priest, and king of my household." What? The Bible says Christ the our prophet, Christ is our priest, and Christ is our King. I thought that was enough. Now, however, I am told that I have to not only love my wife and children, but put on all these other hats as well. The Bible never says that, but lots of Christians say it.

Then, having got that idea in my head, I am told that I must also be a "Mighty Man." What? The Bible tells me to be humble, to be gentle, to be kind, to not seek my own, to esteem others as better than myself. But, I also have to be a "Mighty Man." The Bible never says that. I guess it goes with being "A Real Man" who is "Raising Real Men" so we can get "The Real Win."

I am also, apparently, supposed to learn the "Secrets to the Marriage You Want." What? Why is it a secret? Didn't God already tell me what he wants me to know? I am supposed to learn "The Five Love Languages" (but I only speak English, which seems sufficient since my wife only knows English). Then, someone publishes a book called "Real Marriage," which seems odd to me because i do not know of any "Fake Marriages" in which I am involved. I am supposed to take "The Love Dare" and "The Respect Dare" and read about "Sacred Marriage" in hopes of finding "The Marriage You've Always Dreamed Of" somewhere down the road. I am to "Turn Up The Heat" while reading "The Love and Respect Workbook." Everyone, it seems, has a different hat to hand me. 

I cannot help but think of "The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins." You should remember the book. The hero did not start with that many hats, he started with one. He was better off with one.

As for me, I am through collecting hats. Love God. Love my neighbor. Love my wife. Love my children. Serve my church. That is enough for me. 

For husbands, Valentine's Day is a no-win proposition. You are supposed to "get your wife something to prove your love," but the only things available are essentially meaningless: candy, jewelry, clothes, flowers, cards, etc. Those things cannot prove love. They can only prove that you have cash (or credit) and 15 minutes to go shopping.

Everything you buy her is, after all, precisely like everything else of that type in the world. There are no "special candies" that only you can purchase. There are no "special flowers" just for you to purchase (you buy a pre-designed set). Everything you buy ultimately comes down to "Valentine's Day Special No. 10," or whatever it is called at the shop where they make it. They even have special Valentine's Day lingerie sales, at which you can purchase a "special" lingerie set just precisely like 100,000 other sets being sold today.

It is frustrating to be told, on the one hand, that you must "do something,": but, on the other hand, to know there is nothing that can be done that is really meaningful.

I have been married 31 years. How can I sum up 31 years in a single gift? I remember the girl I married and the woman she has grown to be and there is no box of candy that can cover 31 years of sharing our lives. Will a flower mean as much as the times she has nursed me when I've been ill? Will a bracelet make her understand how precious she has been all these years?

I remember tears and fears and great disappointments we have shared. I remember a lost child. I remember days of joy and days of unhappiness. We have disagreed and we have agreed and we have prepared lunches for thousands of days of school for our children, but there is no card that can cover all those things.

We have packed and moved and settled and then packed and moved and settled again. We have lived in Georgia, in Connecticut, in Rhode Island, in Georgia again, in Connecticut again, in Rhode Island again. We have moved from Rhode Island to Washington State, and from Washington State to Georgia and back again and back yet again. What diamond can cover all those miles?

We have raised four children together, with all that is entailed in that work. We have lived together and shared our bed for 31 years. What gift of lingerie would be sufficient to cover that faithfulness and love?

The trouble with Valentine's Day isn't the idea, that is, to do something to remind wives that they are loved. The problem with Valentine's Day is that there is nothing we can do that comes close to what we already do every day and have done every day. Anything we give, and we almost always give something, is meaningless compared to what it is supposed to represent.

Marketers stand ready to reduce 31 years of my life to chocolate-covered cherries or a necklace or a nightgown. But they are wrong. Nothing can represent my life with my wife except that life itself. And noone can reduce my love to a box of chocolates. 

So, whatever it is I may get, my wife and I will know that it is not really important. It is not a gift to "represent my love," but just a gift to get a smile from the woman I love. And, after all, a smile is a nice thing to see after 31 years together.

Many of our churches still have choirs. They are interesting tools, choirs, filled with good people who just want to help lead singing. There are very few really good singers, but a lot of people who care enough and who sound good together. 

We tend to dress them in robes, so they all look kind of alike, and that can make them appear to be rather homogenous. But, when you sit up closer to the front, you can see their faces. They are not only different in how they look but, well, in how they look. 

Watching the faces in a choir is always a challenge. 

You have, of course, the joyous faces. Almost every choir has a fair number of people who are thoroughly enjoying the service and the singing and their role in worship. They manifest joy by every move they make. They are the ones most people gravitate toward in watching a choir. They "look like choir members." I can remember a choir director telling us once that we "should all" look like that. 

Then, there are some who seem happy, but are not really joyous. You can see their happiness and, you know what, that's okay. The director was wrong, after all. Trying to "look joyous" when you are not joyous is just another way of lying to people. We should not try to look joyous when we are just happy. Happy choir members are pleasant to watch.

There are also some very serious faces in the choir, usually. These are often the men, for example, but you see it among women as well. They are there, singing, doing their duty, but they are not "lost in the moment," but are still fully there. They are either thinking deeply about the songs (unusual in the kind of songs generally sung, where it would be hard to get lost), or they are thinking about something else. These faces bother me because I wonder what is happening in their life. Did they just lose their job? Were they just informed of a friend with cancer or, perhaps, of a disease they have? Maybe their finances are difficult and they just got yet another call from a creditor. Perhaps their children are not there that Sunday because of a fight. Who knows what may be on their hearts? But they are there as they promised to be. I like the serious faces, because they remind me that worship is not a game, it is a duty. A pleasurable duty, but a duty nonetheless. 

Finally, there are the sad, troubled faces in the choir. You see them, now and again, someone who is not really involved in the choir's work. They sing along, miss a line here and there, look down frequently. Perhaps they are unsettled or nervous. They have other things on their mind. I worry about them and pray for them. 

They sit at the front of the service (in most churches) and, other than being watched, no one talks to them. Among the 10 or 20 or 200 members of a choir, there are as many stories as among any 10 or 20 or 200 other church goers. There are stories of courage and fear and there are worries and concerns. There are illnesses and burdens. 

Watch your choir, next time you sit in a church. Sit close enough to see them so you can know what is happening in that choir loft. You might find that there is a lot more to a choir than you something think. 

Here in Augusta, we have two streets that are very important. The first is Broad Street and the second, two blocks away, is Greene Street. The roads run parallel to the Savannah River, so they run from Northwest to Southeast. Between them is a single street, Ellis Street.

Broad Street is a divided, highly commercialized street. It has gone down significantly in recent years, but you can still see how it once was, with theaters and department stores. A walk along Broad is a pleasant walk, past restaurants and cafes and galleries and shops. There are large trees for shade and plenty of fancy and expensive garden work to admire. 

Greene Street was (and still is) a professional street, filled with nice buildings, lawyer offices, beautiful churches. A walk along Greene Street is a wooded, shady, comfortable walk.

And between them is Ellis Street. 

I walked along Ellis Street several times this week. A walk along Ellis Street is a walk without any shade, because there are no trees on Ellis Street. You cannot stop and look in at store windows, because there are no stores fronting on Ellis Street. It is not a fancy divided highway, but a two-lane road. The walk takes you past dumpsters and trash bins. You see, all the fancy big buildings on Broad and Greene have their back to Ellis, and no one spends money on the back of their building. There are many broken windows and boarded up doors on Ellis Street. 

It is a lonely walk on Ellis Street, because no one walks there. Broad is crowded and Greene is peaceful, but Ellis is just lonely. No one wants to go there. You don't see many cars on Ellis Street, either. 

But there is always an Ellis Street, isn't there? We put up large buildings on Broad for everyone to see. We put up big churches and homes on Greene, for everyone to see. But no one wants to see Eliis. No one wants to see the backs of those buildings. The boarded up entrances to the showplaces were originally for servants, and now they are for no one. 

There is always an Ellis Street. In every church you visit, there are lovely services and smiling people, but there is an Ellis Street there are well. There are people in pain and families in turmoil, they just don't want us to know about it. In every club, there is someplace that people actually work. There is a kitchen ("off limits to members") in every fancy restaurant. There is always an Ellis Street where the trash goes and the workers catch a smoke break. 

Amongst the barbed wire along Ellis Street, I wonder about the people with whom I work, the people among whom I minister, the people among whom I live. I know that every man has something behind what he shows. There is a dark place in most of us, an Ellis Street of the things that are true behind our images. 

So, I think I will walk on Ellis Street now and again, if only to be reminded. As a man, as a Christian, my duty is not to just admire the clean images of the people I know. My duty is to help them cope with Ellis Street. And, perhaps, to have them help me cope with mine.