One of my favorite urban legends is about a young man who was training to become an Olympic diver. He wasn’t a Christian man, and really, the only religious influence in his life came from one of his outspoken Christian friends. The young diver never really paid much attention to his friend’s “frequent sermons” and preferred not to think about the matter.

One night, however, the diver was feeling very troubled by the cares of the world so he went to the indoor pool at his college thinking that making a few dives would help him relax. The lights were off, but as the pool had big skylights and the moon was bright, there was enough natural light for him to practice.

We say it all the time. It has become part of our lingo, and we don’t realize we are saying it. Most church meetings begin with these words: Let’s have a quick word of prayer. I believe these seven words grieve God’s heart, because He desires a lasting conversation—not lip service.

The underlying message is, “Before we get to the important stuff, let’s rush through the God stuff.” It becomes a rote habit that bypasses our heart. It helps us look spiritual, but lacks power. Connecting with God can't be rushed. God must think, “There they go again! I wish they wouldn’t think of Me as a ritual or a rabbit’s foot that they can rub for good luck before they start their meeting.”

Touchdown celebrations have reached a whole new level these days. High-fives from your teammates just don’t cut it anymore. After making a touchdown catch against the Giants in week 15 of the 2003 season, New Orleans Saints’ wide receiver Joe Horn pulled out his cell phone from the goalpost and made a call from the end zone. One NFL coach responded, “This is a team game. There was a quarterback that threw the ball, and there was an offensive line that protected for him. I just think that when you draw attention to yourself, it’s not necessary.”

I recently was told a story about a promising young man who left high school and sports to pursue a singing career. As I heard of his actions, I felt a questioning look cross my face. The person sharing the story said, "Well, he wants to be famous." I cringed—not because the young man didn’t have musical gifts, but because he desired more to be known than to be great.