I know. Like we really need a whole month set aside to make us aware of stress. Maybe you're right in the middle of Stess Awareness Year. Sometimes, I think I'm trapped in the vortex of Stress Awareness Life. So, a month is no big deal.

You've probably seen calendars in which every single date is designated as So-and-So Day. Sometimes, I wonder who designates all those Blah-Blah Days or Zig-Zag Months. Usually, I blame the greeting card industry. If Favorite Cousin Day is next week (and don't hold me to that one; I'm just making it up), then you need to run out, buy a card and drop it in the mail. But since I've never even seen, much less received, a Stress Awareness Month card, maybe someone else is to blame. If I were a betting man, I'd put money on psychologists. But maybe it's antacid manufacturers. Or maybe even CPAs, since Tax Day lands smack in the middle of Stress Awareness Month.

If reading about Stress  Awareness Month would soothe your nerves, check out Barbara Brotman's column in the Chicago Tribune. 

My friend Dick Bridges, who told me about Stress Awareness Month, says it's wholly unnecessary. "I don't need any reminder of the stress of day-to-day life," he explains. "If you need that sort of reminder, it can only mean you are just now coming out of a coma. Stress is the shadow that clouds all our modern days."

Dick is a retired pastor, and he suggests a couple of Scripture passages to help  relieve stress.

First is Psalm 46:10, "Be still, and know that I am God." Sometimes, we act as if we're God—that the responsibility for fixing everything is up to us. It's a relief to know God is the Creator, and we're part of creation. We're not Ultimate, so everything is not ultimately up to us.

Second is John 14:27, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give  you. I do not not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid." Jesus offered that advice while promising the presence of the Holy Spirit. It's comforting to realize we're not alone, and we do not work entirely in our own strength, wisdom and vision.

The truth of those passages reveals itself through prayer. When we converse with God, we open ourselves to recognizing God's supreme place in our world and, more particularly, in our lives. And we open ourselves to receiving God's peace.

When I'm stressed, I try to remember  Philippians 4:6-7, "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Ahh. Amen.

Then I get up and get some exercise. Physical activity releases endorphins, and they can bless you physically, emotionally and spiritually.

And while I'm running, I count my blessings. The old hymn "Count Your Many Blessings" is great advice. When we consider how we're blessed, we're reminded of God's goodness and faithfulness, which are sufficient to carry us through all our stressful days … and months.

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Every Easter, I thank God that divine providence did not propel me into the pastorate. I'd make a really lousy Easter Sunday preacher.

I fear I would grip the podium, look out across the congregation and bellow, "And where have you been seen Christmas Eve?"

Oh, I know. Pastors, church staff, deacons, ushers, nursery workers and just about anybody else with church responsibility bends over backward to make everyone feel welcomed on Easter. And that's as it should be, I guess. We only get one or two shots per year at the Chreasters—folks who show up at the church house on Christmas and Easter. We want them to love and follow the Lord. And so we treat them like fragile heirloom ornaments or Grandma's fine china we only use for lunch at Easter.

Gospel inoculation?

But I can't shake the feeling people who only attend church on Christmas Eve and Easter leave with just enough of the gospel to inoculate them from the real deal. It's adequate to help them feel good about themselves, but not sufficient to make a difference in their lives.

That's a viable issue for the church. Pastors and church leadership should take it seriously as they plan worship on the holy days.

Meanwhile, closer to home …

But picking on the Chreasters is too easy. During this week following Easter, I should be concerned about what difference Easter makes in my own life and in the lives of the brothers and sisters I see at church practically every week.

Of course, I believe in Jesus' resurrection. And I've asked Jesus to be my Savior. But do I live in the grace, confidence and hope of Easter?

For my part, I don't doubt the big stuff. Jesus' death, burial and resurrection? Of course, I believe. Going to heaven when I die? Count on it.

But daily throughout the year, I find myself tripping on the smaller issues.

• If I believe Jesus arose victorious over the grave, then why don't I trust him to guide me through the myriad decisions that make up a typical week?

• If I'm confident Jesus defeated death, then why won't I allow him to overcome my fears about budgets and schedules and the details of the Baptist Standard and FaithVillage?

• If I believe Jesus suffered, died and rebounded from the grave to forgive the whole world of its sins, then why won't I accept his forgiveness and forgive myself?

• If I believe Jesus secured eternity, then why do I get wrought up over what's about to happen in the next month?

Those are my challenges as I walk in Easter's light. How about you?

Most of the year, I know how to greet people. Seasonally, we can proclaim, "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Easter." Most of the time, around these parts, a weather word will do: "Man, it's hot" or "Hot enough for you?" or "Can you believe this heat?" If you know a person's predilections, then a sports allusion is appropriate, such as, "Sic ’em, Bears," "Hook ’em, Horns," "Gig ’em" or myriad other phrases that utilize the common-denominator "’em."

But right now—Holy Week—I fumble for words. Even though we know "the rest of the story" and recognize the joyous Easter Sunday coming up, I've always found Holy Week to be the most somber seven days of the year. 

Exuberance, or agony?

On the surface, Palm Sunday seems downright exuberant, if not ebullient. Just think about the crowds who lined the road to welcome Jesus into Jerusalem. They threw their cloaks into the road and laid palm fronds on the pathway, just to make the trip easier on his donkey, for crying out loud.

And cry out loud is  what I feel like doing when I realize how badly that cheering throng misunderstood Jesus' calling. And that doesn't even account for how quickly they deserted him when they realized he wouldn't convert his divine power to military might and crush the Roman oppressors.

So, the jocularity and mirth of Palm Sunday quickly evaporate, replaced by quiet, solitude, resolve and, eventually, abandonment. (By the way, when you read the miracles, do you ever wonder what happened to all those people whose limbs and lives Jesus healed? Did they decide to abandon him, too? Or were they conveniently somewhere else during this horrible week? Just wondering.)

Which is harder to ponder: How alone Jesus felt in the garden, when his closest friends couldn't even stay awake to pray with—and for—him? Or how alone Jesus actually was on the cross? Both drip with agony.

I was there, too

And occasionally, I realize that, spiritually speaking, I also fell asleep in the garden and quietly vanished into the crowd at the crucifixion. God, help me! I can hardly take it.

So, wishing people a Happy Holy Week is absurd. Other useful words of well-meaning don't work, either—like "Pleasant" or "Joyful" or even "Expectant." Words like that anticipate Easter too quickly. They denigrate and deny Jesus' passion, his pain, his suffering, his aloneness.

Similarly, praying this week is fraught with peril if we do not pay attention. Of all the year, this is when we should ask God for hard times, for a rough week.

Predawn prayer

The other morning, I ran in the dark. I thought and prayed about Jesus, the Cross, his death and, of course, Resurrection and Easter. The zeal of the moment directed me to request the deepest experience of Easter joy. Simultaneously, the analytical side of my brain called for contrast. What better way to appreciate the highest high than by enduring the lowest low?

So, as my feet pounded out a rhythm, my words tumbled out a prayer. "Lord, allow me to understand the depths of your suffering so that I might comprehend the breadth of your joy. Show me the darkness of my depravity so that I might squint in the brightness of your purity." 

When I realized what I'd just requested, I stumbled and almost fell in the street. And I did not trip. Could I endure an answer to that prayer? I almost took it back, but then I realized my heart desires what my mind doesn't wish to consider.

Maybe running through predawn darkness offered a metaphor for living through Holy Week. We struggle. We cannot see clearly. We do not know what is near us, much less what is far away. The end is beyond sight. Yet we trust we are running toward light, running toward the Light.

Prayer for you

May you experience a thoughtful and reflective Holy Week. May you courageously ask God to reveal your true self to you. And may the blinding light of the Resurrection Morning cover you in the redemptive glow of Jesus' sacrificial—and sufficient—love.

Of course, I don't know enough about economics to claim Franklin Delano Roosevelt's New Deal would stimulate our 2012 economy. But we definitely need the courage, compassion and conviction of a leader like FDR today.

Seventy-nine years ago this month, he stood on the steps of the U.S. Capitol and delivered his first inaugural address. In the opening moments of that great speech, he delivered lines that echo across eight decades: "This great nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper. So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life, a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory. I am convinced that you will again give that support to leadership in these critical days."

(You can read the entire speech, as well as watch and listen to parts of it, here.)

It's not hard to argue America in 1933 faced a much bleaker future than we consider today. The Great Depression gripped the nation, and the threat of conflict (which exploded into World War II) darkened the eastern horizon.  Yet President Roosevelt urged citizens to look forward with courage.

Fear sells

Unfortunately, fear is today's political currency. Politicians of both parties fear they will lose power. You get the feeling most pols reason sending the country into a spiral is a fair trade for maintaining control of Congress and/or the White House. So much for the common good.

Meanwhile, we, the people, fear. Rich people fear losing their stuff; poor people fear grinding poverty. Republicans fear socialism; Democrats fear fascism. People of one race fear other races. Many folks still fear a black president. Parents fear for their children's future; old people fear losing their health care. Fear, fear, fear.

Fear grips America, so deeply that citizens won't risk politically helping people who are observably different. And politicians stay in power by stoking that fear.

A way forward—love

It's time for Christians of both parties and no party to step up and lead our beloved nation past the fear that so thoroughly besets us.

John the Evangelist advised the first Christians to live in love: "By this, love is perfected with us, so that we may have confidence in the day of judgment; because as He is, so also are we in this world. There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves punishment, and the one who fears is not perfected in love. We love, because He first loved us. If someone says, 'I love God,' and hates his brother, he is a liar; for the one who does not love his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen. And this commandment we have from Him, that the one who loves God should love his brother also" (1 John 4:17-21).

Of course, some modern Pharisees will interpret "brother" to mean only fellow Christians.  The spirit of John's admonition transcends such narrow terms. We must love others—all others—because God has loved us.

Casting out fear

For years, I have loved and pondered verse 18: "There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear … ." This message cuts two ways.

First, Christians need not fear, because God's perfect love overcomes all that may frighten us. No matter what happens, God's love and grace are sufficient to carry us through. And even in the worst of times, God is present with us, redeeming even our suffering. We know this to be true: "Greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world" (1 John 4:4).

Second, God's love working through us can cast out fear in the world. If anything, this is a more splendid and miraculous thought than the truth that God's love overcomes our own fear. If we properly love others and seek their best interest, that love can shine light into darkness. Such good can overwhelm evil. 

So, what if Christians truly started acting unafraid? We would trust God's goodness and mercy and refuse to fear the prospect of need and want and uncertainty. And by truly envisioning and working toward everyone's good, we would eliminate reasons for others to fear. We would move our nation, and world, toward a better future.

You may consider this naive. Perhaps. I hope it's simply faithful. If all the pols and the preachers and the good Christians who trade in fear would turn toward love, we would not call this naive. We would say it is fearless.

FaithVillage.com is our new website that provides Christian community and resources for teens and young adults. We've just opened our new beta-testing phase, and we're inviting our friends to come look around town.

Here's the condensed version of how FaithVillage came about: As you probably know, the past 30 years have been difficult for (a) the newspaper industry, (b) denominations and (c) denominational newspapers. Almost four years ago, after months of fervent prayer fueled by hot tears, I became convinced the Baptist Standard needed to branch out beyond the news business.

After all, we enjoyed numerous strengths. These included almost 120 years of continuous ministry, a strong heritage for serving churches, a committed staff, a courageous board of directors, strong relationships with many Christians and an array of ministries. We just couldn't sell many newspaper subscriptions.

So, as I drove several of members of our board of directors from Love Field in Dallas to our office for our spring meeting, one of them asked what we were going to do that day.

"Think bigger"

"I'm going to ask you to create a new position, called resources director," I answered. "This person's job will be to find terrific non-news content that will help individual and churches, and post it on our website."

One board member asked, "What's this person's job description?"

"Well, he or she will need to be a bright, creative networker, capable of finding the best resources available," I said. "But since she or he will be 'it' for resources, this person also will need to stay close to the computer and post all this material on our website."

"I've hired lots of staff through the years, but I've never met anyone who possessed both of those skills," the board member replied.

In that ride to the office, the three board members in the car convinced me to hold off on requesting on new position. In return, they asked me to think bigger and to consider what we needed to do to impact the church, and then the world, for Christ using Christian resources.

Fortunately, we had just hired Brad Russell as our new marketing director. Brad is a former church planter with an advertising and marketing background. Brad has a heart for reaching people—particularly teens and young adults—with the gospel and helping them grow in our faith. Brad was the perfect person to join us at that moment.

A whole new strategy

Over the next several months, Brad and I wrote a new strategy plan for Baptist Standard Publishing, our parent company. It described a vision for not only publishing news, but also distributing a broad array of Christian resources — articles, podcasts, blogs, movies, webinars and more.

Our board of directors enthusistically endorsed the vision. Then they told us to follow best practices to move ahead with creating a website that would fulfill the vision. 

We began by doing our research. We conducted a nationwide poll of young-adult evangelicals, asking them how they use the Internet, how it intersects with their faith, and what would they like to see in a website built just for them. Then we analyzed what they told us and worked with a team to design exactly that kind of site. We also collaborated with an expert in web-based commerce to draft a business plan that will guide the new site toward self-sufficiency. After that, we hired technology, design and marketing support and got busy building the site, FaithVillage.com. Along the way, we started raising money to pay for it all. We named Brad senior editor and COO of FaithVillage. And we hired a bright, faithful, enthusiastic young staff.

That last paragraph is short, but it reflects about three years of work.

And that brings us to today.

FV is open

FaithVillage.com is up and running. It provides all kinds of Christian resources, all in one site. In fact, you'd need to visit more than two dozen separate sites to find all the kinds of content we've placed on one site. 

In FaithVillage.com, you'll find articles, blogs, videos, podcasts, etc. on everything from marriage and parenting, to missions and ministry, to training church leaders, to Bible study and devotionals, to entertaining musical performances and uplifting sermons.

And did I say we built this on a social networking platform? So, each person who registers in FaithVillage will have a personal page. Members can post their own personal information, plus pictures. They can communicate directly with their friends, form groups, join groups.

Churches can use this feature, too. We provide FaithVillage.com free to individuals and churches. And we think both of them will love the communication/social networking tool. In fact, churches can use FaithVillage.com for their congregational communications program.

Get ready for some links.

If you want to look at the homepage, click here. You'll see our terrific navigational structure—a virtual village, where each building represents a separate content channel.

To check out the social-networking component, click here. You can register any time you like. And feel free to invite your friends. We'd particularly love it if you would encourage your church to bring its youth and young adult ministries into FaithVillage.

If you've got a faith-oriented blog and want to talk to us about placing it in FaithVillage.com, go here.

To learn about registering your congregation as one of our church partners, here's your link.  I think I told you this is free. Just think about improving your intra-church communication and saving money.

If you're affiliated with another ministry and want to learn about how you can place content on our site, visit our content partner page here.

I could go on till Jesus comes back. But I'll stop now. Please visit FaithVillage.com. We'd love for you to be our neighbor.

Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent arrived at the perfect time this year. No, I'm not talking about the calendar and the fact the weather already feels like spring, so Easter must be not far away. I'm talking about the news cycle and my feelings of righteous indignation. 

So there I was, full of wrath and fury. And for good reason, too.

An apple who rolled far from the family tree

Just this week, Franklin Graham proclaimed himself to be the arbiter of salvation, or at least the keeper of the roll that shall be called up yonder. On MSNBC's "Morning Joe" program, the son of revered evangelist Billy Graham questioned Barack Obama's faith while adding there's "no question about it" that Rick Santorum is "a man of faith." He also said he takes thrice-married Newt Gingrich's faith at his word that he's a Christian. 

I keep on wanting to like Franklin Graham, mainly because I love his dad and believe his Samaritan's Purse ministry is terrific. But his Pharisaical judgmentalism keeps on cropping up, particularly on national TV. And it embarrasses me. So, I get mad.

What's in a name? Oh, loads

And speaking of getting me hot under the collar, that's what the Southern Baptist Convention did, too.  A task force is recommending the SBC keep its name, but also allow Southern Baptists to call themselves "Great Commission Baptists," too.

Many folks in the Southern Baptist Convention have been wanting to change their name for years. Lately, even leaders with clout have realized they've got a bad "brand," to use a crass but perfectly accurate marketing term. 

Ironically, most of them think the bad part of the name is "Southern," because they want to plant churches and evangelize folks in the Northeast, Midwest and West. In those parts, "Southern" is downright pejorative. As one preacher said, that would be like opening a "Yankee Baptist Church" in Alabama. So, they have a point.

Unfortunately, "Baptist" has become a damaged brand, too, after so many years of denominational infighting, compounded by a whole mess of wanna-be leaders who have tried to trade their religious affiliation for political clout. No wonder outsiders confuse Baptists for squabblers and political hackers, which adds up to the same thing as hypocrites.

Bad idea on so many levels

But then the notion of one particular group trying to lay claim to the "Great Commission" label annoyed me for several reasons.

First (and this should come as no surprise) is the bald-faced arrogance. The implication, of course, is these are the only Baptists fulfilling the Great Commission. An odd assertion for an outfit whose conversion numbers have been heading south (and I don't mean Mississippi) for several years. Co-opting "Great Commission" seems kind of like trying to copyright part of the Bible. Like saying you've got sole rights to John 3:16.

Second is the sheer dumbness. If the SBC leaders think using "Great Commission Baptists" is good PR, they should hear folks try to explain it on the radio. The SBCers don't like "Southern" because they're afraid people north and west of Dixie won't like them. But they fail to realize those same unwashed sinners don't have the devil of an idea what "Great Commission" means. 

(No, on second thought, maybe it will work. Baptist churches everywhere will be flooded with new-convert real estate agents and car salespeople who want to get in on the "great" commission. They'll be expecting 7.5 percent commissions on new-home sales and 10 percent commissions on every sedan that rolls off the lot.)

If the Southern Baptist heavyweights want a name that might attract people, they could try "People Who Care About You" Baptists. Or maybe "We Don't Hold Stuff Against You" Baptists. But, of course, that would be baiting and switching.

A good giddy gone bad

So, there I was, feeling all giddily spiteful about my wayward brother Franklin and all my Can't See the Forest for the Trees Baptist siblings. Embarrassed once again, and angry about it. Then, along came Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. And even though most of those Baptists don't think twice about Ash Wednesday and Lent, I do. 

As I tried to ponder preparing my heart for Easter, I examined my own life. You won't be surprised to know I wasn't thrilled with what I saw. Because at that moment, I was ticked off to a faretheewell at folks with whom I share at least a few spiritual chromosomes.

So, like I said, I'm going to try giving up anger for Lent. Specifically, I'm trying to let go of anger at Baptists and other fellow Christians. That doesn't mean I agree with Franklin Graham's assessment of salvation or think the Southern Baptist bigwigs are humble, smart and know beans about marketing. But it means they're also sinners saved by grace. In that, we've got a lot in common.

And besides, getting angry is hard work. It's constricting work. And it resists God's grace, which I treasure more with each passing day.

Biery is chief judge for the Western District of Texas, and he has presided over Schultz v. Medina Valley Independent School District, a school-prayer case. The Tex Parte Blog of Texas Lawyer magazine reported on a “personal statement” attached to his Feb. 9 opinion and order, which announced the settlement of the case.

Tex Parte blogger John Council notes Schultz is “the school prayer case that Republican presidential candidate Newt Gingrich has referred to in several stump speeches, calling for Biery's job to be eliminated because of the judge's previous rulings.” He cites the San Antonio Express-News, which quotes a Gingrich speech: “We need to reset the judiciary, explain to them the limits of the American Constitution and prove to them that judges appointed for life cannot be dictators and they cannot threaten our children with jail for saying the word ‘prayer.’”

“Biery noted that the parties had reached an agreement, writing, ‘All things work together for good,’ referring to Romans 8:28,” Council reported and then reprinted Biery’s “personal statement” attached to the order:

"During the course of this litigation, many have played a part:

• “To the United States Marshal Service and local police who have provided heightened security: Thank you.

• “To those Christians who have venomously and vomitously cursed the Court family and threatened bodily harm and assassination: In His name, I forgive you.

• “To those who have prayed for my death: Your prayers will someday be answered, as inevitably trumps probability.

• “To those in executive and legislative branches of government who have demagogued this case for their own political goals: You should be ashamed of yourselves.

• “To the lawyers who have advocated professionally and respectfully for their clients respective positions: Bless you.”

Well said.

Now, hear me out.  If a congregation adopted the disposition of my dog, it would smooth over its ruff edges and em-bark upon an incredible journey.

That's because Topanga possesses numerous wonderful qualities. They combine to make her the World's Greatest Pet and, potentially, the World's Best Church Consultant.

The only real obstacle to my plan is her obvious difficulty with speaking English. Oh, she understands English all right. For example, I cannot say the word "walk" in her presence, unless I expect her to spin around in circles three times, jump up and put her paws on my leg, and then run over and stare at the drawer where I keep her leash. She knows other words and phrases, too. Like "dinner," "treat," "night-night" and "do your business."

But despite our best efforts, she hasn't gotten the hang of talking. Yet. So, like Shari Lewis and Lamb Chop or Frank Oz and Yoda, I'd need to tag along as her spokesperson. Together, we could teach churches how to welcome strangers and treat fellow members with gladness and appreciation

Using Topanga as a role model, churches would learn to be friendlier, happier, warmer centers of joy and welcome. Churches would learn:

Friendliness is a perpetual state of mind.

As surely as the sun rises in the east and football breaks your heart, Topanga is warm, outgoing and welcoming. Usually, she hears the garage door open in the evening, and by the time I walk through the back door, she's standing in the middle of the den, waiting to run nuzzle my leg so I can bend down, and we  greet each other like we've been apart for years. No matter what kind of day I've had, Topanga's cheerful welcome always brightens my disposition.

If greeters, ushers and Sunday school teachers were as friendly as Topanga, folks couldn't wait to come to church. Unconditional affection is a tremendous tonic.

Time. What's time?

People who should know say dogs have no sense of time. If Topanga understood the fine art of comparing and contrasting, she'd probably agree. Whether she  stays in the laundry room for five minutes or five hours, she always acts the same—cheerful and happy to run around the house in search of her current-favorite stuffed toy. She's impervious to time.

But what happens at church if the pastor's sermon goes five minutes "over" time? Deacons are looking at their watches, and choir members are getting pinch-faced. Seems like we're always in a rush. If we lived in dog-time, not only would we be more patient with worship, but we'd also make more time for each other. And then think how much deeper our relationships would grow.

Bear no grudges.

Even when Joanna and I both are gone for hours and Topanga stays holed up in the laundry room, she doesn't hold it against us. (OK, maybe she lost track of time.) Even when I'm too busy, and we don't have time for a walk in the evening, she doesn't growl or nip my britches leg. Even when … . Well, you get the picture. Topanga doesn't keep score, and she doesn't hold grudges.

Think how much better churches—your own church—would be if they went to the dogs. What if we didn't didn't keep score of slights and wrongs, didn't remember annoyances? Wouldn't you want to join a church like that?

Observe details.

Canine specialists say dogs observe emotion and body language in great detail. In fact, I heard dogs are being trained to help people with diabetes who live alone. Dogs notice slight changes in body language and behavior and can alert their owners before the individual even knows something is wrong. We don't have any issues like that at our house, but I know Topanga watches my slightest movements and anticipates what's about to happen without any word from me.

So, what if church people paid that close attention to each other? Imagine how much better we'd be at meeting spiritual, emotional and even physical needs if we simply observed more closely. We might become real community.

Appreciate the little things.

Topanga absorbs even the slightest gestures of my love. Like a crunchy treat after dinnertime, or a new toy, or a ride in the car with the window rolled down. Even the tiniest favor delights her little canine persona. And she always, always reciprocates with a twitching tail and snuggly affection.

Churches would be happier, more joyful places if we appreciated each other more. Too often, we take each other for granted. But if we expressed how much we appreciate others' care and concern—and responded in kind when we have the opportunity—then true koinonia might just break out.

If Topanga could talk, she'd probably suggest a few other lessons our churches could learn from our canine cousins. She'd make a doggone great consultant. 

That has nothing specifically to do with Rick Santorum, their consensus choice. Nor is it about Mitt Romney, whom they oppose, nor  Barack Obama, whom they despise.

It has everything to do with the fallacy of a bunch of preachers and other religious leaders deciding they have the right—much less the wisdom—to anoint the next president.

No violation, but no effect, either

Unless some of them convince their organizations to endorse a specific candidate, these leaders—acting as a collection of individuals—have not violated the First Amendment's ban on the marriage of church and state.

And unless Santorum pulls a stunning upset in the South Carolina Republican primary, they most likely did not impact the outcome of the presidential election. (Except, of course, they nailed the lid on the White House aspirations of Texas Gov. Rick Perry, whom many of them backed last summer. But Perry's debate gaffes already ruined his chances well before the would-be power-brokers assembled on a ranch near Brenham.)

Black-eyed Jesus

Rather than select the next president, these folks continued their quest to give Jesus a black eye.

David Neff, editor-in-chief of the evangelical Christianity Today Media Group, stated the issue pointedly: "By conspiring to throw their weight behind a single evangelical-friendly candidate, they fed the widespread perception that evangelicalism's main identifying feature is right-wing political activism focused on abortion and homosexuality."

Over and over again, conservative U.S. Christians ask: Why does "the world" hate us so much? The answer is rather simple: Too many Christians act like judgmental jerks, and "the world" is not stupid.

Over the past 40 years, evangelical politics has boiled down to sexual politics. More recently, many of conservative evangelical leaders have been co-opted by financial politics. The result is the justifiable public perception that "Christians" judge everyone else harshly, oppose and condemn weaknesses in others while ignoring their own foibles and hypocrisies, and serve the purposes of powerful people who dupe them and play them for rubes.

These perceptions may not be entirely accurate. But they're built upon sufficient real-world examples that millions of non-Christians believe them to be true.

If you doubt this, visit major news websites, read articles that touch on issues of faith and religion, and then read the comments that follow. You'll see depressing and overwhelming evidence that many of our fellow citizens feel condemned, hated and despised by Christians and the church. You may not condemn, hate and despise them yourself, but their repeated statements testify to the harsh, judgmental situations they have experienced with people who called themselves Christian.

Light, yes; political lackey, no

Of course, issues such as the leadership of our nation and the policies that guide our government are vital. Christians should be "salt" and "light" in the discussion and formulation of our shared future. We must speak to issues, and we must be sure to vote.

But to align with either political party and to throw religious endorsement behind candidates only alienate people and narrow the opportunity for them to relate to Jesus. Besides, all human institutions, including—or maybe especially—political parties are fallible and broken. When we place the banner of Christ over one or the other, we ensure the inevitable association of the Savior with corruption and sinfulness.

As evangelical columnist Cal Thomas wrote two decades ago, when a dozen years of evangelical fealty to a conservative political party failed to affect policy change: Christian faith is not in principalities and powers. The power of Christianity is not in engineering electoral landslides. It resides in gentle, loving persuasion—urging individuals toward fairer, nobler aspirations. 

Persuasion such as that cannot be tabulated, much less tendered, by a straw poll of wanna-be kingmakers on an East Texas ranch.

“I don’t know.”

Only moments after the Executive Board voted 69-1 to name him the Baptist General Convention of Texas’ top staff member, Hardage climbed the back stairs of the Baptist Building in Dallas, sat down with Baptist Standard Managing Editor Ken Camp and me, and talked about his new job. (See Ken's article here.)

The conversation ran the gamut of issues confronting the convention. But when I looked back over my notes, I realized a dominant theme was his open acknowledgement he’s got a lot to learn, and he’s not bringing pre-packaged “fixes” to the job.

Mulitiple questions, terrific answer

Queried how he would reconcile disparate desires of small churches, which demand a broad array of convention resources, and larger churches, which have been shifting their ministry money to other causes, he said: “I don’t know yet.”

Asked if he would develop a “compelling vision” to rally Texas Baptists around a singular cause or event, he replied: “Probably. What it will be, I don’t know yet.”

Questioned about how he would evaluate programs and priorities in order to allocate budget funds most wisely, he noted: “I’ve got a pretty big learning curve. … I don’t know yet.”

Three good reasons …

These are terrific answers, for at least three important reasons.

First, they’re honest. Texas Baptists’ opportunities and challenges are ominous and complex. Nobody knows all the solutions. Any pretense otherwise is disingenuous and off-putting.

Of course, Hardage already knows quite a bit. He’s the first executive director who has served in all three major spheres of Texas Baptist life—as pastor of congregations, director of an association of churches and staff member of a BGCT institution. He’s been in hundreds of churches, knows associations well, and has witnessed both the incredible strengths and enormous needs of institutions. He knows a lot, but he doesn’t pretend to carry around a briefcase full of fixes.

Second, they open the pathway for cooperative efforts at finding the solutions. The only way—the only way—to go about discovering those solutions is to (a) admit we don’t know them yet and (b) invite Texas Baptists to join together to help find them.

Hardage stressed he wants to be a catalyst for enabling Texas Baptists to discover solutions and advance together.

“I plan to meet pastors and be in churches,” he told Executive Board members shortly before their vote. “I would love for every Texas Baptist pastor to feel this is their building. I will open the doors to the executive director’s office.”

One of his primary initial tasks will be “finding out what the churches need and providing it (with) high quality,” he said in the interview.

Three, Hardage’s “I don’t know” answers evoke a sense of humility that, if it spreads, will do Texas Baptists a world of good. Pride and independence are the twin strands of Texans’ DNA. And self-regard and autonomy are key ingredients of Baptists’ chromosomes. So, when we combine our traits, we trend toward hubris and self-righteous isolationism. One of our biggest problems as a convention is we all want everything done our way. We’re not very inclined to seek the common good. So, a dose of humility—embodied by our leader—will improve our predisposition.

Pray, brothers & sisters, pray

Join me in praying for David Hardage and his wife, Kathleen, as he steps into this vital position. Lord willing, we’ll come up with solutions together.

The recent death of Christopher Hitchens brought agressive atheism back into the spotlight. The so-called New Atheism—which Hitchens, Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris have front-lined—has been giving Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism and other world religions a run for their theological money.

But a new article, published first in USA Today and reprinted in Religion News Service, points to an obvious, more pervasive adversary. That, of course, is apathy.

 "The real dirty little secret of religiosity in America is that there are so many people for whom spiritual interest, thinking about ultimate questions, is minimal," the article notes, quoting Mark Silk, a professor of religion and public life at Trinity College.

So what?

The USA Today/RNS article cites sobering statistics about the size of what it calls the So What Set:

• "Forty-four percent told the 2011 Baylor University Religion Survey they spend no time seeking 'eternal wisdom,' and 19 percent said, 'It's useless to search for meaning.'

• "Forty-six percent told a 2011 survey by Nashville-based evangelical research agency, LifeWay Research, they never wonder whether they will go to heaven.

• "Twenty-eight percent told LifeWay, 'It's not a major priority in my life to find my deeper purpose.' And 18 percent scoffed at the idea that God has a purpose or plan for everyone."

• And "6.3 percent of Americans turned up on Pew Forum's 2007 Religious Landscape Survey as totally secular — unconnected to God or a higher power or any religious identity and willing to say religion is not important in their lives."

Heart-breaking news

If you believe the gospel is good news for all people, this has to break your heart. 

Unfortunately — and tragically — many unbelievers can take pointers on living apathetically from supposed Christians. While few professing Christians would answer those research questions the same way the So What Set does, apathy is epidemic in the church. Far too many Christians live as if their faith doesn't really matter. They've bought their "fire insurance," and now they can go about their lives however they want.

So, who can blame an apathetic world when they don't seem all that different than their Christian neighbors?

Who cares? A loving God does. And we should, too.

Ezra reminds me of many Christians I know. But at least he has an excuse. He's not quite 1 year old.

One of the most fun-and-fascinating aspects of grandparenthood—at lease where babies are concerned, which is the limit of my experience—is observing all the changes that take place from visit to visit. Each time, it's almost like getting acquainted with a brand-new child.

Ezra and his mama, Lindsay, have been at our house for a few days. This is Ezra's first trip to Jody and Marvo's since he got the hang of crawling. Now, he scoots practically everywhere. I'd forgotten the tedious nature of baby-proofing a house in the two decades since his Aunt Molly crawled our floors.

Since he's been with us, I've had nothing better to do than hang out with Ezra. Come to think of it, what could be better than playing in the floor with my grandson?

New tricks, one pattern

Ezra learns new tricks by the hour, and he never ceases to amaze me. But he's been following one pattern consistently: When he wriggles through a door, he stops, sits up and looks back. You can watch his face and see the little wheels turn. Sometimes, he decides to crawl back into the room he just left. Other times—especially if he just entered the kitchen and the dishwasher is open—he squirts dead ahead across the floor.

Although they don't get down on their hands and knees, and their domain is temporal rather than geographic, grownups often mimic Ezra's behavior.

We cross from one point in life to another, and we stall out. We sit and swivel, staring back to the past and then glancing toward the future. Something in our past—perhaps regret or shame or remorse, or maybe even joy and delight and fondness—keeps capturing our attention. We can't decide if we want to forge ahead or turn back.

Only one choice

Unlike Ezra, of course, our choice is not viable. We can sit and stagnate. We can long for the past, obsess on it, refuse to get over it. But we cannot return. 

Problem is, if we fail to face the future, we ensure that we won't appreciate it. We won't embrace all its possibilities and potential. And it will diminish before our eyes, just as we ourselves diminish.

Ezra reminded me of all this when he stopped in the doorway between our den and kitchen, plopped on his little padded bottom and looked back at his toys. Newspaper, TV and magazine commentators supplemented that observation as they opined about 2011 and prognosticated about 2012.

Christians fail to fulfill our calling if we, like Lot's wife, look back in longing. We must appreciate the past and learn from it. But we cannot go back. We adopt the Apostle Paul's purpose as our own: "Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:13-14).

2012 lies ahead. Let's make all we can of it for the glory of God and for the sake of Jesus' kingdom.