There are some words that we go through our whole lives praying we'll never hear. "Hello, this is the IRS audit department and we need to see you as soon as possible" is one word group we all fear.

Or how about "Yep, that's asbestos in your walls, all right."

Even more devastating are the words, "I don't love you anymore" or sometimes it's just the single word "Good-bye" we can't bear to hear.

But among all the fearful phrases we try to dodge and duck throughout our lives, the two most universally terrifying phrases are "You have cancer," and "You're fired." Both are perceived as potentially fatal attacks on our very self.

So of course, we now have yet another new reality show, another guilty pleasure we indulge in that revolves around the phrase "You're Fired!" Here's a show that broadcasts the most humiliating, ego-crunching, self-esteem destroying moment in anyone's life for the entertainment of others.

On Fear Factor contestants spend a lot of time puking up atrocious and unmentionable concoctions they've tried to force down their throats. Yet their failure only testifies to the fact that they have a weak stomach and perhaps ultimately, good sense.

But to be on The Apprentice the contestants pour all their creative juices, all their intellects and energies into trying to stay in the game. When Donald Trump looks at them across the mahogany table of the dimly lit Board Room, points his finger and declares "You're Fired!" these players that are now us know without a doubt that they've failed in every way possible. We've failed to play the game; we've failed to communicate ourselves and our ideas to the big guy; we've failed to stand up to and withstand the strategies and standards of our fellow contestants. Our style, our substance, our self-identity all are fired in front of the whole world.

And we, the TV-viewing public, can't get enough of it. Like rubbernecking, freeway drivers who slow down to gawk at some horrible traffic accident, millions are tuning in each week to see who the next loser is to hear the words "You're Fired!"

There's a German word that might stand as another word for reality TV: that word is "Schadenfreude," which literally translates as "sorrow-joy," but which means in English, "pleasure in other people's pain." Realty TV is really an exercise in Schadenfreude, the taking of pleasure in other people's pain.

And The Apprentice is one big Schadenfreude. Maybe it's the distinctly final judgment scenario of the Big Boardroom finale each week. Certainly Donald Trump seems to envision himself as God and plays the part accordingly. He delights at pointing his can't-be-escaped finger at the week's big loser and pronouncing his death-to-career sentence, "You're Fired!" After all, what could prove Trump's power more graphically than to be able to puncture the entire future of an individual with end of his fingertip.

How about the power to forgive? How about the power to erase all our sins and shortcomings? How about the power to bring reconciliation and wholeness into a world of broken hearts and broken spirits?

In today's epistle text Paul preaches this astonishing message to the confused, squabbling unsure Corinthians. To all who are in Christ, Paul proclaims that God has so transformed, so re-formed them that they are no less than a new creation and that everything old has passed away (verse 17).

God sent Christ to "fire" our old way of life. Everything old our old self, our old sins, our old failures, our old hatreds, our old insecurities, our old fears, our old distrusting nature, our old suspicions, our old alienations, our old despair all of this is fired by the redeeming, re-creating act of Christ. Christ doesn't say "You're Fired!" to our old way of life with a lone finger. Christ says "You're Fired!" to our old way of life with his body on a cross.

Once the old has been fired, Paul declares, a whole new reality becomes clear to those who are no longer trapped with the shortsighted human point of view. The gospel Paul preaches, the power God reveals, is that in Christ, God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them (verse 19).

There's really only one way to visually translate that verse: in Christ, God was reconciling the world to himself. In Christ, God is hugging us. When Christ fires our old way of living, Christ doesn't point a finger at us. Christ hugs us. In fact, Christ for Paul is God's hug.

Have you been hugged? Have you let God hug you? Some of you are like a rebellious child, who flails away with all your might, struggling to break free of God's bear hug-arms named Jesus. But all the while, I bet you're like every rebellious child hoping that the arms never let go, that they're strong enough to resist your resistance (with thanks to Peter Balaban for this image of the child).

And God proved the strength of those arms. God's hug is strong and loving enough to resist whatever you can flail or throw at it: fists, kicks, whips, chains, spikes, thorns, nails, spears, crucifixion. There's nothing you can do to make God stop loving you and hugging you. God will stop at nothing, not even death on the cross, to let you know how much God loves you. As the Passion reveals, God's love is overwhelming, an all-consuming fire.

But first you have to hear these words: "You're Fired." Old things must pass away for all things to become new.

Will you receive God's hug this morning? (You're altar call can be to come and receive a hug from the elders/deacons, or to have a "hug in" in the pew, or something that brings together the words "You're Fired!" with the body language of God reconciling the world to himself.)