My favorite Christmas memory involves torrential rain, then ice, then a car crash, followed by two days iced in a roadside motel, and finally a wild Christmas Eve ride on rutted highways.

It was fantastic.

This happened years ago, when Joanna and I and our daughters, Lindsay and Molly, lived in the southern Midwest, and our extended families all dwelt in the Southwest. So, our Christmas ritual consisted of cramming kids, coats, suitcases and snacks in our compact car and—literally—driving over the river (the mighty Mississippi) and through the woods (western Kentucky, a sliver of Tennessee, western Arkansas) to grandmother's house.

Greatest adventure

Our greatest adventure happened when Lindsay and Molly were in third grade and kindergarten, I guess. The day after school let out, we packed up and headed down the highway. Into a winter monsoon. The rain fell so hard that, if I weren't leaving for Christmas, I would've gathered gopher wood and pitch, built an ark, rounded up animals and prepared to ride out The Flood.

We drove as far as West Memphis, Ark., ate dinner, tucked the girls into bed and prayed for the rain to stop.

The next morning dawned cold and cloudy. But no rain. Thank God, no rain.

We rolled through Little Rock making great time. A few miles later, the drizzling began, and the temperatures started falling. Not far east of Russellville, Ark., we picked up sleet.

Oh, that little red sportscar …

That's about the time a gal in a little red sportscar zipped past us.  She zoomed under an overpass through a patch on the road where rain froze into black ice. A nanosecond after her brake lights flashed, she spun 540 degrees and plowed up the embankment on the outside of the highway.

As I slowed down to avoid skidding and prepared to check on her, I glanced in my rear-view mirror. It framed a real-life "Far Side" cartoon.

A guy with a scraggly beard gripped the steering wheel of one of those old GM mini-vans with a front-end that looked like needle-nosed pliers. I couldn't tell which appeared larger—his gaping mouth or his bulging eyes. He skidded a little sideways, and I looked over at Jo and said something like, "Oh, boy," before WHAM! He smacked us on the passenger side of the rear bumper, and we caromed across the ice into the median.

I've never heard anything as quiet as that car for the next five seconds. We all looked at each other, and everyone signaled they were OK. 

When I climbed out of our car, I could see the driver who creamed us stagger a step or two as he hopped out of his mini-van. I noticed Florida license plates.

As we approached each other, he spoke first, and I swear these were his exact words: "I ain't never drove on nothin' like this afore."

Sometimes, you've just got to laugh. "That's pretty obvious," I chortled, and he looked confused. We both agreed nobody in either vehicle was injured. By that time, other drivers were checking on the gal in the little red sportcar—the gal who started the whole ordeal.

We pulled the fender off our right-rear tire and tied the trunk down with a bungee cord. Mr. Far Side's car seemed safe to drive, too. So, we exchanged information and headed west.

Sleet really adds up

After Jo, Lindsay, Molly and I stopped for lunch and lowered our blood pressure, Russellville lay under a good quarter-inch of ice. Sleet fell faster than before.

So, we did what intrepid travelers have done in weather like that for generations. We bedded down for the night. 

Lindsay and Molly seemed to be the only small children in that roadside hotel crowded with Christmas refugees. We ate all our meals in the coffee shop, pervaded by an atmosphere of storm-weather expectation, ramped up by cabin fever and softened by yuletide goodwill.

Strangers strolled from table to table, telling their stories—where they were from, where they were headed, whether they thought the roads would clear.

'Santy' who?

Inevitably, old people would stop at our table, size up our little girls and offer seasonal words of encouragement: "Don't worry. Santy Claus will find you."

What they didn't know was Santa's tiny sleigh would look like an 18-wheeler alongside our car. Planning ahead, we shipped all our Christmas gifts to Oklahoma. So, I spent my spare moments on Dec. 23 contemplating how many bones I would break in my Christmas Eve slide-walk to WalMart to fetch gifts for Lindsay and Molly. And if you think Jo and I were about to let Santa get the credit for that bounty, well, you probably believe in the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, too.

At breakfast on Christmas Eve, somebody said trucks had worn ruts on Interstate 40, and a car could put wheels on pavement. So, we said a prayer and headed out. A long and harrowing ride later, we pulled into my parents' driveway, shortly before weathermen across America began reporting low-altitude sightings of a fat man in a red-velvet suit, flying in an open sleigh behind eight reindeer.

Wonderful memories

Our two-day car trip stretched to four. And what I remember most is how wonderful it all was. Stranded in Russellville, we played out side, told stories, read books aloud and watched movies. And we laughed and sang carols and laughed some more. 

Scores—maybe hundreds—of times, I've thanked God that everyone survived those wrecks without so much as scratches. And I've thanked God for the grace-gift of an indelible Christmas memory of love, laughter, anticipation and adventure. 

I hope you don't endure a car wreck this Christmas. But I pray God surprises you with joy and gladness and memories you'll cherish for decades.

Merry Christmas.

It's true. A company called BrickHouse Security is donating scores, maybe hundreds, of global positioning system—aka GPS—tracking devices free to churches and other organizations that present public Nativity displays.

 The Christian Post's website features BrickHouse's "Saving Jesus" program. I saw it at RealClearReligion.

Sacred text; divine email

Churches and other groups that participate in "Saving Jesus" receive a Spark Nano GPS Tracker device, which they hide in or on the Jesus figurine in their creche. If thieves snatch Baby Jesus, the owner gets a text or email alert, reporting the Holy Child has been stolen. The system then enables the owner or police to follow the trail of the Christ Child and retrieve him from the bad guys. 

Widespread thievery

The program also covers Santa, reindeer, menorahs and other holiday symbols.

"The theft and vandalism of holiday stuff happens more than you might realize," Marc Horowitz, editorial director for BrickHouse Security, told The Christian Post. "It happens in community after community, all over the country. … We designed this program to do something helpful."

The company provides the tracking devices to any nonprofit, religious group or community that asks—shipping and set-up included.

Just think: If the magi had a GPS device trained on Jesus, King Herod would've been none the wiser.

Old song; new verses

And a popular Christmas carol would have proclaimed: "We Three Kings of Orient are / totally ignoring that big, bright star.  / GPS tracker seeking yon Master / we're following Him from afar. / O, O, GPS wonder; GPS right; / GPS with Holy Babe in sight. / Westward leading, still proceeding / we'll surely arrive tonight."

Balancing Christmas and commericalism isn't as easy as it used to seem. Not with the economy in the doldrums, unemployment in the rafters, and a graph of your retirement fund imitating the EKG of a loyal Texas Baptist watching the fourth quarter of a Baylor football game.

If you're like many thoughtful Christians, you've been advocating more of Christ and less of commercialism for as many Christmases as you can remember. But be honest now: Weren't you at least a little bit relieved to read headlines trumpeting the success of Black Friday?

Seasonal paradox

We're facing a paradoxical Christmas, and truth exists at both ends of the spectrum.

Of course, eternal spiritual truth remains. Christmas isn't about presents and "stuff" and material goods. God gave the only truly valuable Christmas gift when he sent his Son to Earth, so that everyone who believes in Jesus will not perish, but experience everlasting life. 

Not only is topping that gift impossible, but every other attempt is so different in kind and scale, you can't even make rational comparisons. Still, along the way, Christ-followers began imitating the Magi, who brought gold, frankincense and myrrh to the Infant Babe. The difference, of course, is that Christians celebrated Jesus' birth by bestowing those gifts upon each other, rather than upon Jesus.

But still, at least the Christmas tradition of gift-giving transferred people's attention from themselves to the people they love. Outward affection is good. 

Gifts of charity

Along the way, Christians began celebrating their Savior's birth by caring for the people who touched Jesus' heart. That's the major reason the Christmas season also is the season of charity (well, that and end-of-year tax breaks). Many Christians express their gratitude to God for the gift of Jesus by helping to meet the needs of the folks Jesus called "the least of these"—the poor, disenfranchised, sick, widowed, orphaned and otherwise needy. And many groups, such as Baptists, historically collect money at Christmas to support mission work, enabling them to present the best Christmas gift of all—the story of God's love in Christ—to people who have not heard.

Charity remains the best way to celebrate Christmas.  But in tough economic times, many folks respond to a practical, commercial aspect of charity. They go shopping. Maybe they think, "Hey, if shopping is a solid strategy for fighting terrorism, then it's also a good way to defend capitalism."

Econ 101

The thinking goes like this: Our economy is in a slump. Business has scaled back. Companies have laid off labor, and people are out of work. If we buy products, companies might ramp up to replace them. People will go back to work. Investors will regain confidence. The stock market will rise. Our retirement funds will increase in value. Happy days will be here again.

Of course, that's an oversimplification, but it's not far off. And so we have arrived at a Christmas season when it seems like the charitable and patriotic thing to go shopping.

How do we live out our faith in a season such as this?

Balance … balance

Well, perhaps as is true in so many aspects of life, balance is the key. 

Thoughtful, prudent gift-giving can make a difference in people's lives—and not simply the ones who untie your ribbons and open your packages on Christmas morning. Of course, going into debt to make it happen isn't wise. But if you've got the money, maybe this year is a good time to give durable goods that improve the economy and bless loved ones.

Still, this isn't the time to indulge in selfish materialism at the expense of others. More than most Christmases in memory, people need tangible help. Gifts to ministries that serve hurting people deserve our sacrificial support.

And the whole world needs Jesus as never before. The best and most valuable gifts are the funds we invest in spreading the story of the first Christmas and what that Baby means to the whole world.

My friend Blake, the church leadership editor on our FaithVillage.com website, mentioned he encouraged his life group to list 100 things for which they’re thankful. So, although I’m not part of that group, I took him up on that challenge and discovered the hard part was settling on only 100.

Well, now I’m passing that challenge on to you. This week, take time to write your own Thanksgiving list. And in case you’re wondering, here’s mine. Among many other things, I’m thankful for …

1.     A personal relationship with God Almighty—Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer.

2.     Joanna, my wife, best friend, confidant and partner in raising two lovely daughters. Jo rejoices with me, keeps me company, prays for me. And she makes me laugh almost every day.

3.     Our daughters, Lindsay and Molly, their husbands, Aaron and David, and our little grandson, Ezra.

4.     My mother and father, Margaret and Marvin; Jo’s dad, Jim, and the memory of her mother, Margie; my brother, Martin, and his wife, Valorie, and their kids, Shelby, Jamie, Tanner and Mackenzie; the memory of my sister, Martha; Jo’s sisters, Janis and Julia, and their kids and grandkids; and my centenarian grandmother, Grammar. (OK, if I run short on 100, give me credit for listing 14 names and alluding to a slew of others, all in one slot.)

5.     Friends too numerous to count and too precious to forget.

6.     Topanga, the world’s friendliest dog, who never has a bad day.

7.     The beef enchilada dinner at El Rancho Grande on North Main in Fort Worth.

8.     Crisp, fall days.

9.     Electricity.

10. Hot showers on winter mornings; cool showers on summer evenings.

11. Waves crashing on the beach.

12. Lyle Lovett and his Large Band.

13. Peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches.

14. Underwear. Oh, you’re not grateful for underwear? C’mon.

15. Apples. Both the fruit and the amazing digital products.

16. Adversity. How else would we grow strong?

17. Dinosaurs and forests that died millions of years ago so we can benefit from oil and gas today.

18. “Raising Hope,” my current favorite sitcom.

19. Reruns of “M*A*S*H,” my all-time favorite TV show.

20. Books.

21. Breakfast burritos.

22. Coffee, natch.

23. Fireworks.

24. Running. More precisely, the ability, space and opportunity to run, and how it keeps me (semi-)sane.

25. Freedom.

26. FaithVillage, the website that will gather a vast community of teens and young adults and strengthen Christian faith for generations to come.

27. James Taylor and his acoustic guitar.

28. Grouper and gouda-cheese grits at a little restaurant called The Red Bar in Grayton Beach, Fla.

29. Bees.

30. The Bible. How else would I truly know God?

31. The Texas Rangers’ 2011 season—two times only one strike away from destiny.

32. Memories of fishing with Popo, my mother’s father.

33. The Internet. God bless Al Gore’s heart.

34. Cows, chickens and pigs. I’m not a vegetarian.

35. Mountains.

36. A fire in a fireplace on a winter night.

37. Two questions: “Why?” and “Why not?”

38. Sweet-potato chips at Blue Mesa, one of my Top 5 Mexican joints.

39. Heart-bypass surgery, which saved my dad’s life.

40. Cars. A manifestation of #s 17 and 25.

41. The United States Constitution, particularly the First Amendment.

42. Good-night kisses.

43. Orange. The color. The fruit is great, too.

44. Harry Potter.

45. Clean bathrooms on long road trips.

46. The telephone.

47. Plastic. Oh, I know it has a bad name, but most modern medicine would be all-but-impossible without it.

48. Clean water.

49. Impressionist painters.

50. My wife’s laughter—especially at my jokes.

51. Jokes.

52. Something to joke about.

53. Education.

54. Indoor plumbing.

55. Pistachios.

56. Rain. I think I remember it.

57. Jo’s shredded-beef burritos.

58. Cowboy boots.

59. High school football.

60. My own bed.

61. Newspapers.

62. Mother’s fried chicken, with mashed potatoes and cream gravy.

63. This American Life.

64. Meatloaf, macaroni and cheese, green beans, and buttermilk pie. If I’m ever offered a last meal and Jo’s around to cook, that’s it.

65. Trumpets.

66. Barbecued brisket.

67. Crossword puzzles.

68. Hymns. I know they’re out of fashion in most worship services these days, but they still thrill me.

69. Hammocks.

70. Red oak trees.

71. Iced tea.

72. Jo’s chocolate-chip cheesecake.

73. Church.

74. Our fun, loving, fun-loving Bible study class.

75. Salsa and chips.

76. Music. Just about any kind.

77. Garrison Keillor and A Prairie Home Companion.

78. Soap.

79. Phone calls from Lindsay and Molly.

80. Pictures on Facebook.

81. Road trips with my phone full of podcasts.

82. Dinner with friends.

83. Pancakes on Sunday night.

84. Sitting in my grandfather’s rocking chair, reading on the patio.

85. Shrimp.

86. Long discussions about religion with our friends Marc and Vicki.

87. Talking about books with our friends Bill and Sharon.

88. Cereal, yogurt and bananas. The breakfast of guys my age training for half-marathons.

89. Brilliant sunsets.

90. The miracle of medicine and mind-blowing surgery, which saved my friend Brent's life.

91. Red, ripe home-grown tomatoes.

92. Bow ties.

93. Friendly dogs.

94. Eyeglasses.

95. Snow.

96. Old photo albums, brimming with memories.

97. Historians.

98. My co-workers, chosen family.

99. Strawberries, blackberries, raspberries.

100.       You. You’re why we produce this site. Thanks for reading, and thanks for walking alongside us in this journey through life.

The other day, I read about an intriguing way to determine if you are relatively poor or relatively wealthy. Are you more concerned about jobs or the stock market? If your answer is jobs, then you're oriented toward the lower edge of society, where a job—and the next paycheck—is the only safeguard against dire consequences. But if your answer is the stock market, then you're more likely thinking about how well off you intend to be, particularly in retirement, and you're considering the strength of your safety net.

Or so the theory goes. (I apologize for not providing the link. I read this in print somewhere and didn't write it down so I could help you see it yourself.)

Economics = complexity

Of course, you can think of reasons why this idea isn't accurate. First, economics isn't that simple. Jobs and the stock market are inextricably linked. Second, you might be a wealthy business person, and you depend upon a strong jobs market to propel your profits. Third, you might be poor and without a job, but you know many businesses aren't going to hire until they're confident the overall economy, measured by stock prices, improves. And on and on.

Self-revelation

Still, this little test gave me pause. I've long thought of myself as blessed but never considered myself wealthy. But I realized that, since I have a very good, steady job, and I've been saving for retirement for a long time, I probably am much more oriented toward wealth than poverty.

Sure, wealth is relative. But in many ways, poverty is absolute. If you don't have enough to eat, don't live in a safe and secure place, can't get decent health care and can't see to the proper education of your children, you're hurting.

Painful increases

Unfortunately, extreme poverty is on the rise in America. The website yolohub.com reports U.S. Census Bureau data reveals the highest rate of extreme poverty on record. 

"Extreme poverty" is defined as living at 50 percent of the poverty level. Americans living in extreme poverty struggle to get by on "an income of $5,570 or less for an individual or $11,157 for a family of four." That includes 20.5 million Americans, or 6.7 percent of the population. That's the highest level of extreme poverty in the 35 years the Census Bureau has kept such records.

Yolohub.com reports other poverty facts:

• Last year, more than 2.6 million Americans joined poverty ranks—the largest annual increase in U.S. poor since the federal government began keeping track in 1959.

• 15.1 percent of all Americans live in poverty.

• 22 percent of U.S. children are poor.

• More than 20 million American children depend upon school meal programs to keep from going hungry.

• The number of people aided by U.S. food pantries and soup kitchens has increased by 46 percent since 2006.

Americans concerned

Americans are taking note. A new survey by the Public Religion Research Institute shows 60 percent of U.S. adults believe society would be better off if income distribution were more equal. Except for participants in the Tea Party, "Americans strongly support proposals to address economic inequality at both the top and bottom end of the income spectrum," the institute reported. The 2011 American Values Survey uncovered the new findings.

"Seven-in-ten Americans, including majorities of all major religious groups as well as Democrats, Independents and Republicans, support increasing the tax rate on Americans earning more than $1 million per year," the institute noted. "Two-thirds of Americans—again including majorities of all major religious groups and Democrats, Independents and Republicans—also support raising the minimum wage from $7.25 to $10.00 per hour. Majorities of Americans who identify with the Tea Party oppose both proposals."

Christian challenges

Christians are just as divided as the rest of the country over what to do about these challenges. However, we could present a winsome testimony of Jesus' love, as well as improve the lives of millions of people, if we could agree to radically reduce poverty and, in the meantime, alleviate the damage it inflicts.

This will require direct action—not only food pantries, soup kitchens and clothes closets, but also training programs and "hand-up" opportunities. We already do much; we must do more. 

And it will require changes in public policy. This is the hardest part, because it exposes our divergent perspectives. But if we believe the Lord is the God of reconciliation, then we can find ways to come together—and bring society together—to rebuild a more just and loving nation.

Absolutely, but not in the way most people seem to think. 

(By the way, before I forget … here's a link to a terrific column on this topic by E.J. Dionne of the Washington Post.)

Article VI of the U.S. Constitution states, "… no religious test shall ever be required as a qualification to any office or public trust under the United States." So, constitutionally speaking, Mitt Romney's Mormonism is just as out-of-bounds as was John F. Kennedy's Catholicism and Jimmy Carter's and Bill Clinton's Baptistness, as well as George W. Bush's Methodism and Rick Perry's non-denominational evangelicalism.

"No religious test" means "no religious test." Neither the nation nor any of its states can prohibit a person from running for office because of religious belief or unbelief.

Practical application

That's official, but it's not practical. People can — and should — take into account everything that shapes a politician before voting him/her into office. For most candidates, that means their political faith, as well as a host of other formative beliefs that shape how they behave, the decisions they make and, if given the chance, how they will vote.

 The challenge comes in assessing the meaning or weight of those religious beliefs as valid criteria for whether the person who holds them is qualified for public office. It shouldn't matter what a candidate thinks about the theological value of underwear (Mormons), or baptism by immersion (Baptists, Church of Christ, others) or the transubstantiation of bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ (Catholics). Those are pure religious issues. Whether voters think they're wacky or wicked, delusional or divine doesn't really matter.

Faith matters

But the faith of candidates matters, because it typically shapes how they decide vital issues. And whether or not you agree with a candidate makes all the difference in how you vote.

Problem is, voters can't make clear distinctions about candidates' qualifications based on their religious banners. When they consider public policy, Baptists split votes with Baptists, Catholics with Catholics. They may sit on the same pew at church, but they read the Bible very differently, and they come to opposite conclusions about important matters.

So, as this political season heats up, we must read and listen carefully, think deeply and vote prayerfully. And we must do it all in a spirit of humility. Devout Christians will vote oppositionally, for sincere and devoted reasons of faith. 

Humility and civility

Perhaps if people of strong faith could relate to each other and the rest of our citizens with humility, we could offer a pattern of civility that could transform our culture. 

Today, the challenges we see as problems—jobs, the economy, education, infrastructure, you complete the list …—aren't the major problem. It's the fractured way we're going about solving these challenges. We've declared winner take all, and that just isn't working. We need humilty.

And people of faith need to recognize we can be faithful and still disagree.

Have you heard of "Tebowing"? According to a website of the same name, it means "to get down on a knee and start praying, even if everyone else around you is doing something completely different."

The practice is named for Tim Tebow, the former Heisman Trophy winner and current quarterback of the Denver Broncos. Tebow is a fervent Christian who takes his faith and his witness seriously. Rather than wild and raucous touchdown dances, he is known for bending down on one knee and quickly offering a prayer after a significant football moment.

Not everybody takes this in stride. After sacking the Christian quarterback, Detroit Lions linebacker Stephen Tullock bent down and pretended to pray a la Tebow, an action most football fans interpreted as a taunt. (I wonder if Tulloch noticed the irony of a Lion bowing to pray over a Christian?) Tebow's legions of Christian fans have given Tullock—what else?—hell for it.

Flattery or foul?

Some aspects of Tebowing are more ambiguous. The tebowing.com website is  agnostic on the subject. It features pictures of people Tebowing all over the world. Some appear to be making fun of Tebow and his faith, while others seem to be mirroring their hero. 

The New York Times' football blog, The Fifth Down, poses a perceptive question: Is mocking a very public Christian for his extremely public ritual fair game? Blogger Toni Monkovic asks: "Tebow invites scrutiny with the very public nature of his religious beliefs, his evangelistic side. But let’s imagine that a player displayed a Muslim religious ritual or one based on Hinduism? Would it be fair to mock those displays as well? If not, why is it fair game for Tebow?"

I don't want to encourage the folks who claim middle class—or, in this case, wealthy—U.S. Christians are persecuted. Disagreeing, and even vehemently arguing, is not the same as persecution. And even being made fun of isn't all that rough. Still, Monkovic asks a fair question. 

Faith in public

Beyond that, Tebow's public-prayer practice, along with his host of mockers and mimickers, ought to prompt Christians to ask an important question: How should we behave in public?

Admittedly, sports figures face many more opportunities to demonstrate their faith than normal people. A Christian plumber isn't likely to bend down and offer a prayer after unclogging a bathtub. And even if he did, who would see? 

Tebow violates a literal reading  of Jesus' teaching about prayer in the Sermon on the Mount: "But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you" (Matthew 6:6).

Still, I'm not prepared to sack the quarterback. We've been watching him since he entered the University of Florida six years ago, and his faith rituals seem intended to represent his dependence upon Christ rather than to puff up his pride or build his tribe.

Still, how should Christians live out our faith before others?

Two bad options

On the one hand, haughty, judgmental, hypocritical and just plain mean-spirited Christians have given unbelievers and people of other faiths plenty of reasons to hate and to mock our Savior. If our public expressions of faith fail to demonstrate humility, love and care, then we harm Jesus' good name and hinder his cause.

But on the other hand, for most of us, that's not the problem. Too many Christians live in fear of being mocked or, less painfully, misunderstood. Christians who only want to blend in and whose relationship with Jesus does not shape the way they deal with others hinder his cause.

We live in a complex, conflicted, confusing world. Before we express our faith in words and deeds, we should think carefully and prayerfully about how they will be received. And if they do not represent Christ winsomely and well, we should either think of a better way or stand up and shut up.

Then you need to read "The Evangelical Rejection of Reason." It's an excellent op-ed column in the New York Times by Karl W. Giberson and Randall J. Stephens, professors at Eastern Nazarene College.

Giberson and Stephens wrote a "wish I'd said that" piece to counter the anti-intellectual fundamentalism of attention-grabbers such as Ken Ham, David Barton and James Dobson.

They provide a concise and compelling case for the integration of faith and reason. You don't have to despise science and hate knowledge to follow Christ.

Faith and science each seek truth. They seek it from different directions, but those searches are not mutually exclusive. It's like my pastor/father has been preaching for more than five decades: "Science seeks to answer 'What?' and 'How?' Faith answers 'Who?' and 'Why?'"

Of course, all this is a shock to fundamentalists of various faiths, as well as atheists. They have much more in common than they will admit.

If you balance the claims of science and the Bible and you wish you could answer critics from the left and right, read Giberson and Stephens.

And finally, here's a shout-out of appreciation to my friend Dick Bridges, a faith-filled pastor who reasons well, and who mentioned the profs' op-ed piece.

Joanna and I watched Moneyball, Brad Pitt's new movie about Billy Beane, general manager of the Oakland A's, who developed a new way to evaluate talent and lead a baseball franchise.

(The movie is based on the book by the same name, written by Michael Lewis.)

Unconventional wisdom

Frustrated by losing pennants to deep-pocket teams like the New York Yankees, Beane and his assistant general manager, Paul DePodesta, realized they couldn't follow the conventional wisdom that dominated baseball for generations.

Big-spending teams like the Yankees could (and still do) afford to pilfer the rosters of small-market, low-payroll teams like the A's. They could hire away fielders with the highest batting averages, pitchers with the lowest earned-run averages, runners with the most stolen bases.

So, Beane and DePodesta figured out how to evaluate talent differently. They looked for qualities that would help them win games but that other teams traditionally overlook or even devalue.

For example, they studied players' on-base percentages, which measure how often they reach first base, including taking walks. They could afford a player like Scott Hatteburg, traditionally devalued because of a relatively low batting average and weak arm, but who consistently recorded walks. They also looked at players' results, even if their style seemed unorthodox. That meant they could afford a pitcher like Chad Bradford, undervalued by other teams because he threw almost underhanded.

Looking deep

They valued quiet qualities like character and patience and the ability to learn. And they passed on flashy qualities that made players fan favorites, media darlings and managers' dreams.

And they won. In their first season under their new scheme, they set a record for winning 20 consecutive games. They competed with, and beat, the big-money teams.

What about the church?

As I watched that movie, I thought about how we in the church  evaluate people the way everybody traditionally sees them. Often, we're just as attracted to obvious traits—good looks, talent, money, the "right" lifestyle—as anyone else.

But what if we look at people as Jesus sees them? What if we reach out to  people whose outward appearance or apparent features the rest of the world overlooks or devalues? 

Of all people, we should see the image of God in every person. If a baseball team can succeed by pooling the abilities of a band of castoffs, then the church of Christ can change the world by banding together with all God's creatures.

They're scaling back operations at Glorieta, the retreat center located about 25 miles from Santa Fe in New Mexico's gorgeous Sangre de Cristo Mountains. In fact, if they can get a buyer, they'll sell  the 2,100-acre slice of heaven on earth.

Since the conference center opened in 1952, about 3,000 Glorieta campers per year have made spiritual decisions to follow Christ or draw closer to him, according to LifeWay statistics. On top of that, a staggering 75,000 people have accepted calls to ministry at Glorieta.

Faded glory

But you have to be "of a certain age" to recall Glorieta's glory days. Over the past 25 years, Glorieta has finished in the black just once. Along the way, its storied "weeks" of conferences that focused on missions, ministry, Sunday school, music, families, leadership and students have scaled back again and again. 

The trail-off in Glorieta's viability started about the time the Southern Baptist Convention's ultra-conservative faction took control of the SBC and systematically cast out Baptists who didn't go along with the new regime. This made increasing numbers of Texas Baptist churches feel uncomfortable  sending their members to Glorieta for training and inspiration. And, given Texas' proximity and abundant Baptist population, it severely altered the conference center's bottom line.

Other factors came into play, too. Fewer churches emphasize widespread lay-leaership training. And more of those that train do it at home. Many other churches began taking advantage of newer training opportunities, such as the satellite conferences offered every year by the Willow Creek Association.

And although I can't document this empirically, numerous conversations supplement my hunch that increasing numbers of middle-class Baptists decided they  prefer vacations focused on their families than on a week of training for church jobs.

Now, a slumping economy and eroded campground infrastructure kicked the final props out from under Glorieta.

Lump in the throat

It's a nostalgic passage for many thousands of middle-aged and older Baptists. Count me among them. Some of my best boyhood memories happened on those hallowed grounds and in the surrounding mountains. In recent years, I've enjoyed participating in the annual retreat for Texas Baptist retired ministers, which attracts several hundred fine souls to Glorieta each fall. 

Perhaps Glorieta is a place whose time has come and gone. But no matter what happens to the land, it will remain holy in the memories of folks who changed forever in that lovely place.

We’ll begin by thanking God for my father’s successful heart bypass surgery. Everything else will be “gravy,” as they say. Or, considering the first item on our list, maybe everything else will be “nonfat turkey broth.”

Recently, I wrote an editorial about the perspective gained from sitting beside my father’s bed in the coronary care unit of St. Anthony’s Hospital in Oklahoma City.

Techno-zombie dad

I wrote that piece to the tune of a symphony of beeps and buzzes sounded by a montage of monitors above and beside his bed. That night, Daddy looked like a techno-zombie. By my count, at least nine hoses and four needles protruded from his head, neck, torso and arms. And I couldn’t even see all the electrical wires taped across his chest.

At the time, his medical team focused on two major tasks—managing pain and weaning him off the ventilator. I never thought about it before, but those are competing interests. When the nurse supplied enough morphine to alleviate his pain, his central nervous system slowed down, and he couldn’t breathe on his own. But when she backed off the meds, his pain—and blood pressure—skyrocketed.

About midnight, Daddy’s head cleared, and we talked. I knew he agreed to withstand more pain in return for pulling the ventilator out of his throat. He kept writing “gag” on my notepad, and I told him, “If you can take some pain, you can wake up enough, and we’ll yank this thing.” He nodded vigorously, and a couple of hours later, he started breathing on his own, through his nose.

Another scare

We didn’t know it, but that night after his surgery was only the second-scariest portion of the week. A few days later, the pain medications hid the husband and father we’ve known for decades and replaced him with someone we scarcely recognized. As Daddy talked, Mother and I communicated with our eyes: “Who is this guy? And will Marvin Knox ever return?” The same thing happened when my brother, Martin, helped out.

For the second time that week, a major adjustment in pain medication resulted in a significant upward turn in his health. Once acetaminophen replaced the “strong stuff” floating through his brain, Daddy started peeking out of the eyes of the medical patient who occupied the third room from the end of the hall on the fourth floor of St. Anthony’s.

Sufficient grace

Through it all, God’s grace was sufficient, not only for my father’s every need, but also for the worries and anxieties of his family. We thank God for healing Marvin Knox. And we thank God for modern miracle workers—cardiologists, surgeons, nurses, techs, physical therapists and medical researchers whose work is absolutely inspired. And perfectly divine.

Thanks to a professional conference followed by my father's heart-bypass surgery, I've spent most of the past two weeks in downtown Oklahoma City. Day by day, the commemorative coverage of the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks multiply on television, in newspapers and on the Internet. Meanwhile, I look out the window over my right shoulder, and I see the site where an earlier bombing claimed the lives of 168 innocent Americans—including 19 preschool children—and injured almost 700 others.

Terror in the heartland

On April 19, 1995, Timothy McVeigh parked a rented truck filled with ammonium nitrate directly in front of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building on Fifth Street in Oklahoma City. At 9:02 a.m., the homemade bomb ignited, blowing away most of the building and shattering our national innocense, not to mention our sense of security.

Less than 90 minutes later, an Oklahoma state trooper pulled McVeigh over for driving without a license and arrested him on a weapons charge. Investigators quickly connected McVeigh and Terry Nichols—Americans and self-proclaimed Christians—to the bombing.

For slightly more than six years, the Oklahoma City bombing stood as the most destructive terror attack in U.S. history. Of course, 9/11 obliterated that feat, taking the lives of nearly 3,000 people.

Terror & religion

Because of 9/11, Americans tend to connect terrorism to Islamist extremism. That's natural, and we can point to abundant evidence that some fanatical proponents of a deviant version of Islam do desire to harm others, particularly Westerners and Christians.

But the Oklahoma City bombing reminds us that Islam is not the source of terror. Throughout history, and in Oklahoma City, terror has been no respecter of religion, as well as irreligion. People have done horrible things to others in the names of their gods. And others have done horrible things in defiance of any god.

Sources of terror … & an antidote

Hatred breeds terror. McVeigh embodied the pathology of hatred for the federal government. Irrational hatred snuffed out almost 170 lives, including children.

Perverse, aberrant religion fuels terror. While in no way reflecting the faith and beliefs of many millions of peace-loving Muslims, a violent, active minority twist their scriptures to justify their evil actions.

The 10th anniversary of 9/11 reminds us we must remain vigilant to guard ourselves and others against terror. But Christians also must defeat terror with love. John the Evangelist promised, "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear …" (1 John 4:18).

That seems to work on at least two levels: (A) Inspired and powered by God's love, we ultimately prevail, because (B) love transforms the fear that produces and fuels terror.

This seems too simplistic. Yet in a violent, terror-filled world, the simplicity of love is our most powerful weapon.