Can You Die From A Sneeze?

Anton Chekhov knew how to weave a good story (Pardon my length here, there is a point...eventually)

There was a man named Ivan Cherviakov (the Russian word for 'worm' is cherviak, an intended pun no doubt), a fine office manager, was sitting in the opera, attentively cocking an ear towards the melodious lyrics as he gazed warmly through his opera glasses. When suddenly his throat tickled, his eyes watered, and his nose twitched ever so slightly. With instantaneous reflex he lay aside his brass glasses and wrenching back his neck let go a monstrous sneeze.

Ac-CHOO!!!!

He pulled out a white handkerchief, glancing to his left and right, taking inventory of any disturbance his little uproar may have caused. But it was only a sneeze, a mere sneeze at that. Everyone sneezes at times, policemen, politicians, even interns in South Carolina (like this one); it wasn't a big deal, no one ever died from a sneeze. Seeing no returning glances of disapproval, he returned to the music only to behold a horrible sight for right in front of him sat a bald older gentleman who currently was wiping his dome clean of the sudden shower of sticky moisture.

It was gross.

But this wasn't any man. No, this was General Brizzhalov (a play on the Russian verb meaning 'to spray'...go figure), a distinguished government official and an important politician in the district, not to mention a decorated war veteran. Embarrassed to say the least, Cherviakov leaned forward ever so slightly, tapping gently upon the General's shoulder;

"Pardon me, sir...your excellency...I ask your forgiveness, for I just sprayed you, my deepest regrets sir."
"Never mind son, never mind"
"No sir, what I am saying is that I sneezed....I mean, my deepest apologies to you and any inconvenience I may have caused your greatness."
"Son, it's alright. No harm done, now please let me listen if you'd be so kind."

The General turned around, facing the stage as Cherviakov once again sat in his chair, reclining slightly as he placed his hand to his face, feeling slightly upset. Upset enough where he couldn't enjoy the opera. The General did not deserve such disrespect. Of course not, the man was a military genius! He deserved an eloquent and sincere apology. Again, Cherviakov leaned forward.

"Sir, your utter greatness...I have deeply erred here and I ask humbly for your forgiveness attaining to these matters" Cherviakov bowed his head, a bead of sweat rolled past his ear.
"It's quite alright..."
"No sir, i insist I have made a huge mistake and...well, I should be able to control such things..."
"Please, Please just let it go...I wish to pay attention. No more of it!"

Cherviakov returned a third time to his seat, distraught, after all, the General did not even care to hear his entire apology, well-worded and eloquent. This irked him during the entire opera, the entire walk home, and even as he slipped into bed, keeping him up all night.

The next morning he rose early, got a haircut, bathed and slicked back his hair, and dressed in a brand new suit before going down to the office of the General. Indeed, maybe a personal visit and an outright and full apology in its full legality and regality would suffice the General's forgiveness and graces. So, Cherviakov entered, waited for a good 45 minutes, and then entered the office of the General, bowing his head as the General re-arranged papers before speaking in a deep, loud voice.

"Sir, your honor, most trusted honor, I do not know if you recall but last night at the opera I was the man who sneezed and, to my deepest regret, sprayed you. Sir, I have made a horrid mistake, a deep and horrid mistake and do solemnly hope that this matter may be resolved in some way."
The General shook his head and smiled, annoyance filling his eyes "Such pointless apologies...no harm, go now, go!" and the General ushered the next official in with a wrist flick. But Cherviakov was even more nervous than when he arrived and he inched closer to the General.
"Your greatness, most humbly let me explain..."
"Sir." The General grumbled slightly "Please drop this, you are forgiven."

Cherviakov heard the tone of the General's voice though rather than the words. He pondered how upset the General was, so upset that his filthy forgiveness was mere pocket change to such a powerful official whom he had so ignorantly offended. Cherviakov turned red, his heart quickened and skipped as he loosened his collar and wiped sweat from his brow. The General must be angry, no, furious at me! Oh God!!! What a fool I must be! His pace quickened as he followed the General out of the office.

"But Sir!...if I may trouble you...I repent fully of this error I have made...please, accept this token..."
"Seriously, are you joking son? Please leave." He pointed to the door.

Cherviakov grew dizzy, this wasn't a joke, this was serious, too serious to just leave alone. The General must be completely dishonored and it was his fault, HIS!!! Cherviakov went home, wringing his hands as he felt the lining of his stomach melt from the stress. Should he write a letter to the General? Send a basket or flowers? Maybe he needed to sleep on it, but he didn't sleep, not a wink...

He returned to the office the next morning, dressed to impress. But his face was pale, his eye black with heavy rings under his lids. His lips were cracked and his nails had been bitten down as far as one could bite them. He rushed into the General's office without invite, falling to his knees in a quasi-grovel.

"Sir, your utter greatness and honor, I did not mean for yesterday to be a joke...yes, um...I pondered it last night and saw my foolishness in such act and found it laughable to apologize so fervently for a sneeze...a sneeze of all things!...But may I...may i, your excellence, apology quite sincerely for my grievous actions yesterday..."
"Get OUT!!!" The General yelled, his face as red as Cherviakov's was white. He pumped his fist towards the door, flinging his papers across the floor.
"Please sir, my greatest and most utter apologies..." He cowered along the rug, reaching upon the General's desk.
"GET OUT NOW!!!" The General stomped his feet, shaking with rage.

Something snapped in Cherviakov, he waddled home, opened the door and leaving it so he fell onto his sofa and...he died.

Dark, huh?

'My Utmost For His Highest' today, the 17th of July (the 126th anniversary of this classic tale) speaks of how real, affective fasting by the pastor is not from food or beverage, it is fasting from speaking with such eloquence as the distract the hearers from the good news. The pastor is, as Chambers says, a representative of God, a teacher who is meant to teach rather than impress others with his infinite terminology, intelligent jargon, and his many leather-bound books upon shelves of rich mahogany. Any such over-working or wording is adding to the message that is meant to spoken.

Do I dance around in my words? Am I speaking too much when I really had it right the first time? Are we, as Christians, filling our language full of religious and philosophical idioms that those who don't know Jesus Christ won't even attempt to open up to Him since we, those who follow Him, have already alienated them with our language and exclusivism? I know we don't always try to be such, but I look at me and see that; a lot of knowledge is a pretty powerful tool, a bit too powerful I feel at times for this 21-year old Michigander who still has quite a bit to learn about application of such knowledge (that's wisdom, I surely hope it comes with age!)

The mark of a true Christian teacher? One who makes hard things easy, difficult terms relatable, and takes the darkness and lights it. If it is only because of my preaching and teaching that people desire to be better, then they will never find Jesus Christ. As Socrates and Gorgias; an two-bit junk bond trader can be an orator, but a teacher, a true teacher...now that's a challenge!

If we, as Christians, wish to share the good news, maybe we need to stop being concerned with the elegance and well-worded presentations and start with Christ (it's a good place to start) and stop trying to put a medium rare filet Mignon where a juicy quarter pounder will fit quite nicely.

So yes...sneezes can kill.

Pray often, love you all!

Blake