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In everything do to others as you would have them do to you....
-- Matthew 7:12

Everybody's got pet peeves -- annoying things that you'd correct or eliminate from the face of the earth if you were Director of the Universe.

While I'm particularly peeved by restaurants that charge extra for blue cheese dressing and refills and people who are fortunate enough to have just enough paper in the duplicating machine or staples in the stapler so they didn't even know they were empty when I showed up at 4 a.m. to use them and political partisans who like the odds of fooling all of the people some of the time and some of the people all of the time and courses like Augusta National which are harder to get into than heaven, there are two pet peeves at the top of my hit list.

Before I mention number two, I think it's important to mention that I've served as a police chaplain, highly esteem our law enforcement officers, and feel an especially close kinship with them because of my last name.

Though I know where real culpability ultimately resides (avec moi), I'm really peeved when I'm stopped for speeding on an open highway in the middle of nowhere. Being in the middle of nowhere, I don't succumb to the temptation to say things like, "Thank God there's no real crime in this area so you can ticket tourists in mini-vans and ruin a family's vacation before it starts," or "Your mom must be so proud." And when I'm asked if I know how fast I'm going, I've had to bite my lip to resist replying, "If I guess right, do I win a prize?"

I think of a story just sent to me by my son.

A state policeman stops a car puttering along at nineteen miles per hour. As he approaches the car to investigate, he notices five older women in the car. Obviously upset, the driver blurts out, "Officer, I don't understand why you stopped us. I was doing exactly the speed limit. Why did you stop us?" Quickly figuring out the problem, the officer chuckles, "Ma'am, I'm not going to give you a ticket. I was just very concerned about your driving so slow on a major road. The nineteen you saw isn't the speed limit. It's the route number. You're on Route 19." Though a little embarrassed, the woman grins and thanks the officer for pointing out her mistake. But before she rolls up the window and moves on, the officer inquires, "Before you go, Ma'am, I've got to ask why the rest of the women in your car look so shaken and afraid. They haven't said a word since I stopped you." "Oh," the woman explained, "they'll be all right in a minute or two. We just got off Highway 119."

Then there's the story about an older woman in a big Cadillac about to pull into the last parking space in front of a busy store. But just as she is about to maneuver her big car into the parking space, two young tarts in a small convertible zip in, bounce out of their car, and announce, "That's how it's done when you're young and agile." Without hesitation, the woman smashes her Cadillac into the little sports car, backs up, smashes into it again, backs up, smashes into it again, and then rolls down her window and exclaims, "That's how it's done when you're old and rich."

I hope that's a good segue to my number one pet peeve: boorish behavior.

If there's anything I can't stand about myself as well as others it is a lack of manners. My director of the universe -- my wife -- refers to it as the absence of common courtesies.

There's a lot of wisdom framed and hanging in my study which says, "No kindness shown no matter how small is ever wasted."

Conversely, no unkindness shown no matter how small is ever harmless.

I am reminded of the Texan who was visiting Princeton University. He asked a young Ivy Leaguer, "Excuse me, boy, but where's the library at?" The bluenose replied, "I'm sorry, sir, but a Princeton man would never end a sentence with a preposition." "Sorry," the Texan proceeded, "but can you tell me where's the library at ... jerk!"

Jerk seems to be a good description for the kind of people in this world who aren't very kind, considerate, or Christian when it comes to others.

Jerks are mannerless.

If golf is an appropriate metaphor for exploring the higher issues of life, it also exposes some of our baser instincts.

"Every golfer," Kathy Murphy stated in "Starter Set" (Golf Journal, July 1998), "should know and practice proper etiquette. That means knowing how to act so that other golfers can also enjoy the game and helping to respect the condition of the course."

Can you see the parallels?

Every person should know and practice proper etiquette. That means knowing how to act so others can also enjoy life.

Or as Jesus said, "In everything do to others as you would have them do to you" (Matthew 7:12).

As we've already noted, golf may do more to reveal than build character. The quickest way to check out somebody's attitude, ethics, and discipleship is one round of golf.

You learn a lot about somebody who always complains, curses, cheats, pounds and throws clubs, talks or hums or whistles or walks while you're putting, and generally shows no kindness or consideration for others because of her or his navel-gazing self-absorption.

It's like Fuzzy Zoeller observed: "I can't believe the actions of some of our top pros. They should have side jobs modeling for Pampers."

I was playing in a church outing several years ago on a little course just outside of Tarentum, Pennsylvania, called Woodlawn Golf Course. Number 5 at Woodlawn is a treacherous par four with hazards on the left and right and a landing area from the tee about the size of your average baptismal font. As I struggled to a true six, I watched one of our more notorious members chop his way up and over and around and through the hole. I counted at least eight hacks before he got to the green. After three-putting thanks to a self-awarded four-foot gimme, we walked to the next hole together. I turned to Eric our scorekeeper and said, "I had a six." The other guy who could teach Congress a lot about solving the deficit called out, "Me too!"

No wonder Paul Harvey commented, "Golf is a game in which you yell, 'Fore,' shoot six, and write down five."

Or as Bruce Lansky lamented, "Golf has more rules than any other game, because golf has more cheaters than any other game."

I don't know how George Washington or Abe Lincoln or Jimmy Carter would have deported themselves but "Golf does strange things to people. It makes liars out of honest men, cheaters out of altruists, cowards out of brave men, and fools out of everybody" (Milton Gross).

While golf has worked for me as a positive therapeutic distraction as it teaches me a lot about myself, others, and many of life's issues, it's not for everybody. It brings out the worst in some people. And when that happens, it's time to consider alternatives.

It's like the old aphorism: your cure is somebody else's curse.

Everybody needs a therapeutic distraction.

Everybody needs a positive addiction.

That truth is a regular part of my pastoral care and counseling. I don't care what it is as long as it brings out a person's best. If it brings out anything less than a person's best, it's not positive or therapeutic and must be abandoned as the search resumes.

I'll never forget talking to Ralph Wrobley, a lawyer in Kansas City who was an especially good tennis player, about why he quit the sport. "When it became more work than play and evoked more anger than tranquillity," he confessed, "I knew it was time to quit."

So I've come up with two ways to determine if your current distraction is therapeutic and worth keeping.

First, does your game heal or hurt you?

Harold Mele is the most honest pastor in my experience. And I'll never forget the day that Harold, Eric, and I were playing nine holes at Vandegrift Golf Club in Vandegrift, Pennsylvania. After a particularly awful shot on the third hole, Harold just picked up his ball and walked off the course toward the clubhouse without a word. When Eric and I returned to the clubhouse about an hour later, Harold had breakfast waiting for us. He said, "I didn't want to spoil your game. It's more important to you guys. I just realized I don't really like golf all that much."

Then Harold went fishing. Golf wasn't for him.

It's not for everybody. But everybody needs something. Everybody needs a therapeutic distraction. My advice is to keep searching until you find the one that heals.

Second, does your game heal or hurt others?

One of my favorite stories is about a young boy who walked on a beach and saw a very old man preparing to catch crabs. The young boy had never seen anyone catch crabs before. So he sat in the sand and watched. The old crabber worked his strings and nets and soon began to catch lots of crabs. He threw them into a big bucket. It wasn't long before the little boy noticed crab legs inching over the top of the bucket. "Mister," the little boy said to the old crabber, "you better put a top on your bucket or all of your crabs are going to get away!" "Not a chance," the old crabber said to the little boy, "because whenever one of them gets to the top, the other crabs just pull it back down."

Aside from the fact that people don't want to play with crabs which is an excellent barometer of whether it's time to look for another game, you know you've found your game if your participation is for better than worse with your partners.

We could say that minding our manners is the best way to determine if we've found our game.

Does it heal or hurt us? Does it heal or hurt others? If it heals, we've found our game. If it hurts, it's time to give it up and take up another.

When it comes to golf, Abe Mitchell, the great British champion, was right, "The sum total of the rules of etiquette in golf is thoughtfulness."

That sounds a lot like the sum total of discipleship.

Jesus said, "In everything do to others as you would have them do to you."

Any game is worth keeping that treats us well. Any game is worth keeping that treats others well.

Our distractions cannot be divorced from our discipleship. All we are and all we do in all things at all times cannot be separated from who we are and what we are called to do as His.

That's why we must mind our manners.