Every so often a news story comes along that just speaks volumes about the times we live in. Today's story comes from Nebraska.

More precisely, the story comes from that state's Senate, where they open each day's session with prayer delivered by various clergy. Some folk don't like the practice itself, but the content of the prayers themselves rarely becomes a big issue.

Until one day in January, when the Rev. Tom Swartley stepped into the legislative chambers.

A few sentences into his prayer, Swartley was asking God's forgiveness, not just for sins in general, but for very specific sins. He cited legalized abortion, a "33-year-long bloody nightmare," and the public's indifference: He confessed that "We go to work and school and come home and watch TV while genocide, infanticide and homicide [are] being committed against our own children." He also cited the "religion of evolution," committed to teaching "that we are only here by chance, that we are here for no reason." He said that "We put our children in the same category as other mammals and then we wonder why sometimes they act like animals."

You get one guess how that went over. Lots of senators predictably cried foul, and one (Ernie Chambers of Omaha) reportedly stormed onto the floor to proclaim himself "enraged and furious" and declared that "this day has been poisoned for me."

But the more interesting reactions came from legislators who might've been expected to be more sympathetic. Sen. Ed Schrock of Elm Creek (where Swartley serves at First Christian Church) told the reverend he should've steered clear of the controversial stuff. As Schrock put it, "We have enough trouble keeping prayer here without having political issues inserted."

And most telling of all was the reaction from Sen. Jim Cudaback of Riverdale, who had invited Swartley along with other clergymen in his area to deliver the prayer. "You don't bring that kind of subject," he said. "You're here to make us feel good."

Ah, so that's the job of a Christian minister. I must admit, I missed that part in the Bible. I noticed a lot about speaking God's Word. And I couldn't miss all that talk about sin and judgment and repentance and forgiveness. But somehow I can't recall any verses to support the Cudaback interpretation. No Thou shalt all feel good about thyselves. No Pat thyselves on thy backs without ceasing. Zero. Zip. Nada.

So what should we make of all this?

Well, I can't help but be struck by the sheer arrogance of the "feel good" remark — not only that elected officials would think it, but that one would say it out loud, in front of the press. It tends to confirm my long-held view that the worst corruption in politics isn't money or even power per se (though the latter is closer to the heart of the problem): It's ego. When you think you can tell men of God that their purpose is to please you and your colleagues, you're afflicted with a pretty severe case of self-importance.

And yet, the politicians aren't really the heart of the problem. A bigger part of the problem is that Christians have let things get to this state.

For a long time now, most Christians in the West have been cutting deals with the world — continually swerving to avoid any sort of conflict with it, any clash that would violate the unwritten cultural peace treaty. We all know the terms of the treaty. Everyone can do whatever they want, and no one is allowed to so much as speak out against it, much less, on occasion, actually restrain them from doing it. Someone might feel bad.

Christians should be the first people to recognize the "treaty" as a variant on the devil's bargain: "You shall be as God, knowing [defining for yourself] good and evil." (Now that part really is in the Bible.) And really, we can see that; we just don't want to. What we want is to have it both ways: To call ourselves Christians and feel like Christians, and yet to get along smoothly with the world around us.

So we keep on going to church, and we want the world to leave us alone inside those walls. Some of us go further, surrounding ourselves with "Christian culture" (radio, music, books, videos, etc.). Most, however, implicitly if not explicitly accept the terms of the treaty: The people outside don't want to hear from us as Christians (as opposed to "as neighbors" or "as co-workers" or "as fellow sports fans"), and we'll steer clear of anything that intrudes on their personal autonomy. Above all, we'll steer clear of saying that we're all answerable to the same God.

Only it's not quite that simple. Because a lot of the people outside do want to hear from us as Christians — so long as it makes them (back to this phrase again) feel good. Few people want to think of themselves as atheists, and many want a general sense that God approves of them. But this is a far cry from wanting God Himself. They'll take a substitute deity traveling under the same name, thank you; one who leaves them ample room to believe and act as they like.

Many a Christian goes along with this sort of thing. It's easy to rationalize: "They may not be Christians, but at least they want to join us in prayer, so that's better than nothing and may lead them in the right direction."

But will it? Are we really doing people a favor when we give the impression they can "drop in" on Christianity when it suits them, and thus consider themselves part of the faith, yet spend much of their lives rejecting God's authority (not just sinning, but denying that they're sinning) and believing/doing what they choose? Or are we acting as their enablers, and watering down the Word of God we're supposed to proclaim in its entirety? It's one thing to reach out and minister to non-Christians. It's a very different thing to encourage their delusion that they are, essentially, Christians already.

Regrettably, we're often so eager for any sign that the world might acknowledge God that we don't see what's happening. Many of us are happy to get a generic prayer to "Almighty God" in a public institution, like a legislature. Yet we forget that Christians can and should pray for everyone, but can only pray as they ought with each other — with people who confess the same things about the same Lord. We should have no place for a generic prayer to a generic god. And that's the kind of prayer you get in public institutions.

Which brings us back to the Rev. Swartley, who tried to deliver a decidedly non-generic kind of prayer. I think his effort was misguided in one important way. Since these senators weren't his fellow church mates, his words should have come either in the form of a prayer with his fellow believers or a message presented to the senators. The distinction is important, even crucial, for the sake of what God would have prayer be.

But the main objection among the senators wasn't for God's sake; it was for their own. They expected to hear about a tame deity who would give them a feel-good faith filled with warm fuzzies. They got, instead, One Who hates sin and names specific things as sin. They also got a call for forgiveness, but they wouldn't hear it because they wouldn't admit to sinning in the first place.

If Christians regularly spoke the truths we're called to speak, the senators wouldn't have been surprised by what they got. They wouldn't have liked it, and they probably wouldn't have allowed anyone to pray to begin with. But they wouldn't have been surprised by it, because Christians would have given them no reason to expect a bland, inoffensive effort to "make us feel good."

Much as we should and do want to speak the truth in love, we have to remember that the operative words are "speak the truth." There's no such thing as hiding the truth in love — not the truth about God's Word. The results, we know, will include a lot of strife, for Christ tells us so: and the divisions will come among those close to us, within our own families. But it's not our job to control the results any more than it is to make people feel good. It's our job to be faithful.