Whatever else happens this year, we already know 2010 will be remembered for the earthquakes that devastated Haiti. The raw suffering and unimaginable scope of this tragedy have grieved our hearts. Of course, we do not know the outcome—the extent of the loss of life, the impact upon the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere, the outcome of the devastation. But we pray for the people of Haiti, and for relief to their anguish. As we support relief ministries in Haiti, we pray that the food and water and medical goods we send, as well as the Christian sisters and brothers who go to help, will deliver a strong message of Christ's love, and that lives will be drawn to God, even through tragedy.

(For a comprehensive story that lists the ways you can support  Baptists' ministry in Haiti, click here.)

Tragedy nearby

Tragedy also has struck closer to home in this young year.

On Jan. 19, fire destroyed the sanctuary and, most likely, the the  office building of First Baptist Church in Temple. Aged  church buildings—especially auditoriums with vaulted ceilings and wooden beams—burn rapidly. Of course, flames in a church do not merely destroy wood, brick and mortar. They engulf memories. Baptisms. Weddings. Funerals. Spiritual renewal. Christmas Eves with family and friends. Children's choirs and youth musicals. Generations of personal faith history took place in that room. It was a repository of sacred memory.

This tragedy took on personal dimensions, because my brother, Martin, is pastor of that dear church.  He now ministers to people who share a unique loss—not of a loved one, but of a loved place. And as the pastor who worked from there, he also and his staff colleagues suffered a special loss of their ministry libraries.

Even more personally,  the Knox family experienced deep grief when our oldest daughter, Lindsay, and her husband, Aaron, lost their baby to a miscarriage. We know miscarriages are not rare. In fact, we've heard from numerous friends and loved ones who have walked the path that Lindsay and Aaron, or Joanna and I, are walking these days. And still, the grief is profound and absorbing. We are sustained by the prayers of people who love us.

Sufficient grace

Still, in face of fresh tragedies in a new year, we do not lose heart . Our hope is in God, who abides with us through the dark valleys of life. 

•  We know God is our refuge and strength, and we will not fear.

•  God is the great Comforter, even when we are tempted to feel disconsolate.

•  We trust Jesus for all of life, time and eternity, not merely what we see now.

•  While we do not believe God caused these tragedies, we believe God will bring blessings out of each of them.  This confidence does not negate the tragedies, nor does it diminish the sorry. But it makes them bearable, for we believe God walks with us through them, endures them beside us, and grieves even more deeply than we are capable.

•  We do not know what the rest of this year will bring. But we face each new day confident that God's grace is sufficient for us. Even when our hearts break.

By now, you know the Tiger Woods story of 2009. It's a story that transcends golf: Serial adultery. Depending on who's counting, more than 1o, maybe 13, mistresses. A marriage in tatters. Abandonment by advertisers. Shame.

The issue came up on Fox News Sunday Jan. 3. Hume, a senior political analyst for Fox News and a regular on the program, weighed in on what he believes will be required for Woods to get his life, not his golf game, in order.

Here's what Hume said: "Tiger Woods will recover as a golfer. Whether he can recover as a person, I think, is a very open question, and it's a tragic situation for him. I think he's lost his family. It's not clear to me if he'll be able to have a relationship with his children. But the Tiger Woods that emerges once the news value dies out of this scandal—the extent to which he can recover—seems to me to depend on his faith. He's said to be a Buddhist; I don't think that faith offers the kind of forgiveness and redemption that is offered by the Christian faith. So my message to Tiger would be, 'Tiger, turn to the Christian faith and you can make a total recovery and be a great example to the world.'" (You can listen for yourself on this YouTube video.)

Storm of protest

 As you might imagine, Hume's comments ignited a verbal firestorm. He upset many Buddhists, of course. Jon Stewart, host of The Daily Show, and Tom Shales, TV critic for the Washington Post, vilified him. Ann Coulter, a political commentator and author, defended him. The blogs have been full of Hume lately—some for, some against.

Most of the arguments for and against Hume's comments have focused on (a) the propriety of a political commentator "proselytizing" on behalf of Christianity in a national news program and (b) the propriety of a famous Christian seemingly disrespecting another world religion in a national news program.

Missing the point

The more I read the blogs and the op/ed pieces and the transcripts of TV shows, the more I feel they're missing the point—at least from the Christian side of the equation. Two aspects of this are worth noting:

Wrong debate

First, Christians who agree with Hume should not be debating whether Hume had the right to say what he did (it's a free country, after all) or whether the people who have criticized him are fair to Christianity (some are; some aren't). Instead, the discussion should be about whether Hume's approach was the best way either to answer the plaguing problem of infidelity or to spread the gospel.

The answers are no and no.

With all the famous and semi-famous Christian adulterers making the news and/or the local gossiplines, proposing Christianity as morally superior to other religions gets zero traction in the publi square. Of course, Christians know our faith points to a higher ideal. But the moral failures of so many Chritian leaders, politicians, athletes, celebrities, clergy, deacons and what-not undermine public assertions that Christianity is superior to Buddhism or just about any other faith. Unbelievers just aren't buying it. And if you were they, you wouldn't, either.

Also, one of Christianity's major problems with evangelism—and maybe it's the major problem with evangelism—is that so many Christians start out by making practically everyone else angry. Sure, they defend themselves by quoting Jesus from Mark 13:13, "All men will hate you because of me, but he who stands firm to the end will be saved," as if social condemnation were a badge of honor. But Jesus' Great Commission to "make disciples" of all people requires more winsomeness than wilfullness. If Hume really wanted to help Woods turn his life around, he should've made an appointment, bought the golfer a cup of coffee and told him how Christ transformed Hume's life when his oldest son committed suicide more than a decade ago. That's a far better approach that using a major cable news program to suggest Woods can "trade up," religiously speaking.

Tell the truth clearly

And that leads to the second point: Christians should be discussing the theological accuracy of Hume's claim.

At it's simplest, it's on target: Faith in Christ can help turn anyone's life around. Coulter expressed it in a more earthy, yet memorable, way: "God sent his only son to get the crap beaten out of him, die for our sins and rise from the dead. If you believe that, you're in. Your sins are washed away from you—sins even worse than adultery!—because of the cross."

The problem isn't with what Hume says, but what he didn't say. OK, I know he was on TV and speaking time is measured in tenths of a second, so he didn't have the opportunity to dive into systematic theology. But still, his flat statement undersold Christianity to a broad audience that has multiplied many times over because of the controversy it touched off.

No cheap grace

Yes, Christianity can turn lives around. But Christianity is not cheap or easy. It's not some sort of cosmic/divine "Get Out of Jail Free" card. Millions of people heard—with justification—Hume imply a Christian can sin all he or she wants and it's all OK. That's not the gospel. Don't believe me? Read the Apostle Paul's letter to the Galatians. 

I wish Hume had been more nuanced. I wish he had explained the concept of repentance within redemption. Probably the show's producers wouldn't have allowed it. Not because they're anti-Christian, but because TV has to run on time. 

More than that, I wish Hume had used his clout and credentials to get a private meeting with Tiger Woods. Imagine the impact if the world's greatest golfer, now a tragic figure and the butt of jokes, could stand alongside his new Christian friend and say, "Just like Brit Hume, Jesus Christ transformed my life."

This year contained a moment sadly seared into my memory. On Sunday, April 26, Joanna and I had returned home from church and a quick lunch. She checked the voicemail while I let the dog out. As I straightened up from petting our puppy, I saw the strangest look of distress on Jo's face, and she said, "Marv, I think Martha's gone."

Sure enough, she understood the brief message my dad left on our phone. After 50 years and countless surgeries on her kidney/bladder system, Martha, my sister, went to be with the Lord. 

While heaven no doubt greeted her passage with joy, and while we who remain felt relief that my deaf sister now hears and possesses a healthy, whole body, we have grieved for ourselves. My brother, Martin, and I have grieved for our own loss, but we have felt the sharpest grief as we have borne witness to the agony our mother and father continue to endure. No parent should bury a child, no matter how old.

Death, disease & disaster

A couple of months later, my friend David died after fighting cancer for more than two years.  His death dealt a blow to our entire church, First Baptist in Lewisville, Texas, because we miss him so. He was far and away the friendliest guy in a church full of friendly people. I can't tell you how many times I've stopped short, thinking about how he enjoyed life and how he made everyone's life better. 

This year, we learned about the cancer that grows inside three friends and even a dog I call my friend. God only knows if they'll be around when the clock winds down on 2010.

And these are merely the personal tragedies of 2009. As a nation and as a world, we've endured wars and terror, financial chaos, and the deaths of the famous and the noble. We've seen suffering brought about by disasters, both man-made and products of nature. We've witnessed atrocities that defy the imagination, and we've watched human grief and sadness that defy description.

And yet still splendid …

But 2009 was a good year, too. A splendid year, in fact.

The depths of my pain at Martha's loss reflected the heights of the joy I experienced at her side and in her presence throughout our lifetimes. Same thing for the tears I cried when David died. All that pain couldn't hurt so bad had it not mirrored joy and gladness of equal or greater degree. And so, in death and other sources of sadness, I leaned into  grief to remind me of the beauty and joy and happiness of their lives. I bet you did, too, if you lost a loved one this year.

This is a year I'll also never forget because of the events that marked our children's lives. Lindsay, our older daughter, and Aaron, her husband, moved back to Texas from Florida, where he had been in seminary. Then Forest Glade Baptist Church near Mexia called him to be their pastor. And, after that, Lindsay and Aaron told Jo and me we will be grandparents for the first time next year. Meanwhile, Molly, our younger daughter, graduated from Baylor University and started a master's program at Texas Christian University. She also said "yes" to David, her best friend, and they will be married next summer.

Those are red-letter events in our family history. But other, more ordinary, days were splendid, too. We ate luscious meals, laughed with each other, played with friends, listened to lovely music, read fascinating books, and cried at sappy movies. We cheered ball teams, played on the beach in Florida, oohed and ahhed the beauty of fall foliage in New England, and even stood out in our front yard to appreciate the full effect of the first white Christmas to befall these parts in ages.

Looking ahead

The death and sadness of 2009 make me glad to usher the old geezer out the back door. But I'll look back in fondness, not only on all the splendid things that happened, but even the sad. They are part of the story of life. 

And all that  transpired  this past year leads me to look ahead with wonder at what will take place in the next.

Of course, he's quoting the prophet Isaiah, who predicts Jesus will be called "Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace." But neither the prophet nor the composer took a coincidental approach to their work. In that line from Messiah, "Prince of Peace" climaxes a phrase and resolves a chord. Everything comes together. So, too, with the prophecy. This final name for Jesus telescopes his mission—deep, ultimate, everlasting peace.

Some folks—committed and passionate Christians among them—might downplay that idea. They might insist God cares about eternal life and saving relationships, and Jesus' purpose in coming to Earth was to reconcile people to God. How true.

The point: Peace

But that's just the point. From the Bible's standpoint, peace isn't just the absence of war or conflict. It's wholeness and completeness. It's the way things ought to be. The way God created them to be.

Peace defined Eden before the fall. Complete, unashamed relationship with God. Pure love. Innocence. Harmony. Perfection.

And peace is God's aim for us all. For two millennia, Christians have argued about the Bible's descriptions of "the end of the world as we know it"—the gathering of the saints, the final defeat of evil, heaven and hell. Those would be enough arguments for all humanity, but they don't even take into consideration the perspectives of other world religions. How ironic: Interminable arguments about ultimate peace.

But confusion and conflict aside, we celebrate Christmas as the advent of peace. The Prince of Peace came to earth to bring peace—to reconcile us to God, to make us one in God. 

Un-peace

Of course, we're horribly off track. We've always been off track. "Wars and rumors of wars" dominate the news and our common thinking. And that's just the start of it. In America, the partisan debacles on Capitol Hill push us further from peace. The devastated economy unsettles us and causes us to feel anything but peaceful.

Then there's the stuff of life. Internal turmoil about big decisions. Concerns about health—either for ourselves or for people we love. The bumps and grinds of family life, work and friendships. So often, we feel many senses and emotions, but peace isn't one of them.

And yet Jesus came to bring peace. It's God's ideal. 

The way of peace

Almost immediately after Isaiah called Jesus "the Prince of Peace," he offered a formula for lasting peace: Jesus will establish and uphold justice and righteousness. Justice and righteousness may be ultimate goals for the consummation of the age, but they also provide paths to peace in our time. If we seek justice and righteousness, we pursue the best for others. If we put others first, we restore relationships, and peace and harmony result.

These are ideals. Yet the Prince of Peace, whose birth we remember, told his followers  the Kingdom of God already had arrived. We're living in it. So, as we celebrate Christmas, let us set our vision for a New Year upon realizing the peace Christ's birth promises.

The precise electrical term for my outdoor Christmas lights is "iffy."

Sometimes they shine. Sometimes they don't.

Here's what I do with Christmas lights at our house: I bought long strands of Christmas light sockets that hold the "big" bulps like we used to light Christmas trees back when I was a kid. And I bought wire stakes that hold the lights at intervals along the rock border of our flowerbeds across the front and down the street side of our house. Every year on Thanksgiving weekend, I string the lights and turn them on each night.

Light-bright Christmas yard

Some people string lights along the rooflines of their houses. I do not. Some of my friends think I won't string lights on my roof because I'm afraid of heights. This is not true. I won't string lights on my roof because I'm afraid of falling from heights. This is a big difference. If I owned a cherry-picker, I would put lights on the roof. But since I've got a rickety aluminum extension ladder and an eight-foot stepladder and neither will get me comfortably everywhere I need to go, I prefer not to spend the Advent/Christmas season—and possibly part of the New Year—in traction. 

So, I've taken the lights-close-to-the-ground route for several years.

And they're beautiful. My light strings feature alternating red and clear bulbs. Given my tendency toward obsessive-compulsive behavior, you can bet they're set at precisely the same height and at precisely the same one-foot intervals. And you won't see a burned-out bulb in the bunch, at least for more than one night.

Lights out

Except when they don't shine altogether.

And that's when my Christmas lights remind me of my Advent behavior.

The lights fail when they get wet. Mostly, that's when we get rain. Or, in the case of last Sunday, when Joanna tells me to fertilize the pansies, and I actually sprayed water on the lights myself.

When the bulbs get wet, the lights come on—for about 15 seconds. And then they short out, and the shock-fault interrupter pops out in the main electrical plug in the garage. And we don't have lights that night.

Like I said, the lights work most nights. And when they come on, they're gorgeous and festive and cast our yard in a shimmering Christmasy glow. But when they're wet, it's a no-go.

Steady source of power

The water in the lights reminds me of the busy-ness and distractions of this season. When I get caught up in (a) all the fussiness and frenetic activity of getting ready for Christmas or in (b) the rush of getting all the end-of-year activities done at work, it's like rain in the  sockets of my soul. I fizzle and pop, and the lights go out.

What my lights and I both need is a dry connection to the source. I'm not a good-enough electrician to figure out how to rain-proof my Christmas lights. But with a bit of calendar tweaking and time management, I can take care of my soul during Advent and Christmas. 

And since I don't have to go up on the roof to light Advent candles, I should be good to go.

We buy our ketchup in squeeze bottles because we don't like to wait when we try to pour it. We get annoyed when the microwave oven takes too long to heat our leftovers. We think the ideal Christmas present would be a switch for the car, so we could turn all traffic lights green.

We're lousy at waiting. So, how are we supposed to enjoy Advent, as we await the birth of the Christ Child?

To compound the situation, we already know "the rest of the story," because we've read the Gospels and celebrated Christmas year after year after year. (If I were a betting guy, I'd bet most pastors would tell you the most difficult sermons to prepare are the ones they deliver the Sunday before Christmas and on Easter, because their listeners already know the stories. Finding fresh, unique insights is almost impossible.)

Oh, and another challenge we all recognize: Commercialism just about bleaches the color clean out of Christmas.

It's time

Still, here we are: Just past the first Sunday of Advent, turning our eyes—and our hearts—toward Christmas. How do we go about the counter-cultural business of waiting? How do we anticipate Jesus' birth, yet again.

Like most activities of the heart and spirit, waiting through Advent requires discipline. Amid the bustle of shopping, decorating, preparing cards, planning family get-togethers and travel, not to mention all the year-end business activities, Advent beckons us to practice the discipline of slowing down. 

We can get to the heart of Christmas if we take at least a few minutes a day to prepare. It's all about trying to think God's thoughts—and maybe Mary's and Joseph's thoughts, and even the shepherds' and the innkeeper's thoughts. It's about putting ourselves into this Divine Story of love and grace and surprise.

Gather ’round the wreath

For several decades, our family has been blessed by gathering around an Advent wreath evening by evening. We light the appropriate candles, read meditations on the themes of each week—hope, love, joy and peace—and sing carols. This simple daily devotional leading up to Christmas is one of our family's most-loved traditions.

I'll admit stopping each evening to celebrate Advent was easier when our daughters were home, but our old Advent wreath still beckons Joanna and me. Now, we particularly enjoy reading from Advent guides prepared by the church where we were members when Lindsay and Molly were young girls. In addition to heightening anticipation, the dailly readings also bring back lovely memories of special seasons in our family history.

It's your time

If you don't already celebrate Advent, our family would recommend it—especially if you have children in your home. If I remember correctly, here's where we bought our wreath, or maybe it was here, because this is an exact copy of the one we have used. Or, you can make your own. 

If your church doesn't prepare an Advent guide, you can type "advent meditations" in  an Internet search engine and find many options. Also, you can use "Following the Star," an excellent daily online guide, prepared by our friends at Passport, a wonderful Christian camping program.

May your Advent be filled with anticipation and wonder.

 I'm starting by giving thanks for doing pretty well with "Complaint-Free Wednesday" on Thanksgiving Eve, Nov. 26 .  If I don't have to count the times I thought about complaining, I did amazingly well. Never mind that nearly everyone in the office took off early for the holiday, so I didn't really have anyone to complain to. Like the Dallas Cowboys—Arlington's Team—I'll take a "W" however I can get it.

This year, I'm particularly thankful for life. It's not been an easy year. And I was reminded of it on Wednesday, when one of the items on my to-do list caused me to work through the address book in my computer, name by name. I was stunned how many contacts I needed to delete because of death. The two that took my breath away were my sister, Martha, who died in the spring, and my good buddy David, who died this summer.

Frankly, I've been surprised by the arc of my grief. Martha was my greatest hero, and David was one of my funniest and most courageous friends. Their deaths left huge chasms. Not just for me, but for their beloved family and friends. But when I think of them, my mind and heart immediately turn to how blessed I have been for them to have been such significant parts of my life. The depths of my sorrow mirror the heights of the joy Martha and David bestowed.

And so now, I look at family and friends differently. I appreciate them more. Life is sweeter, because I take it much less for granted. They're sweeter, because I take them much less for granted.

That's why something as ordinary and exquisite and grand and stupefying as LIFE is No. 1 on my Thanksgiving list this year.

And while I count my blessings this weekend, I'll think of other things for which I'm grateful. My list will grow throughout the weekend, but in absolutely no order, here's my starter list (and you can start your own, if you haven't already):

• Music I can carry in my pocket through my phone. So many things to be grateful for in there, from God's creation of music, to musicians' genius, to inventors' imaginations.

 • A great move by Lindsay, our oldest daughter, and Aaron, her husband, this year. Last Thanksgiving, they lived in Orlando, Fla., where he went to seminary, and this weekend, they're settling into a parsonage in Mexia, about 100 miles from our home.

• Blossoming love between Molly, our youngest daughter, and her fiance, David, who will be married next summer. They remind me of Joanna and me when we were engaged. Makes me thrilled.

• And Jo still thrills me, too. She's my best friend, confidant, teacher, pal, fellow-traveler and the love of my life. I'm so blessed I get to come home to her every day.

•  Our extended family, which just seems to keep growing, with a new generation coming along now.

•  Tremendous friends. I could start naming names, but I'm particularly sappy around Thanksgiving, so while I'd make myself cry, I'd just bore you. So, substitute the names of your best and most funny, loyal, caring friends, and you'll know how I feel.

• Topanga, the greatest dog in the world. Even if she relapses every now and then, she's the definition of extreme affection and unconditional (puppy) love.

• Iced tea and enchiladas.

• Chicken-fried steak.

•  Pie. Any kind except pumpkin. 

•  Sunsets.

•  Knees. Mine still let me run, which is such a joy.

•  Books, even if I can't keep up.

•  A great Sunday school class of young adults, whom Jo and I adore and from whom we learn week by week.

•  Freedom, particularly to think and speak.

• Jesus, whose birth we particularly begin to anticipate this weekend.

I'm so blessed, this could be a never-ending blog. But I'll stop now. Whatever day you read this, Happy Thanksgiving.

Rep. Emanuel Cleaver thought he had a great, wholesome idea: Propose the day before Thanksgiving be declared "Complaint-Free Wednesday." Who could be against promoting a positive attitude, especially the day before tha nation stops to express its gratitude?

He should've known better.

As thanks for his intention, Cleaver has been tarred and feathered—verbally, at least.

Cleaver became a punching bag for bloggers and talk-radio hosts. Although he founded the House Civility Caucus and is a leader of the National Prayer Breakfast, folks savaged his idea.

Seems people want to uphold their constitutional right to complain 365 days a year. 

Cleaver says he got all kinds of grips about his no-complaining proposal. My favorite is his paraphrase of a common call to his office: "I want you to show me where in the Bible it says I shouldn't complain. I haven't seen anywhere Jesus asked us not to complain."

 For heaven's sake.

So, we don't need a congressional resolution urging us not to complain for 24 hours. Let's try it this Wednesday. Just one day. C'mon. We can do it.

When you're tempted to gripe, start counting your blessings. Name them one by one. You'll be surprised what God has done. (And don't gripe that I just stole a couple of lines from a great old hymn.)

If I'm tempted to whine, it'll be when I remember that America has become so polarized that people can fight about whether or not they should spend a whole day accentuating the positive.

The precise understanding of "ummah"—the Islamic notion of community—lies at the heart of of deep religious and sociological questions behind the shootings. From a theological perspective, should Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan, the wounded-and-suspected shooter, have been more loyal to Islam or to the nation that commissioned him as an Army officer?

Asra Q. Nomani, an American Muslim author and activist, has written a fascinating article about Islamic identity, loyalty and duty on The Daily Beast website.  You can read it here.

The article provides fascinating insight into a debate  between moderate Muslims and Islamist extremists. People of other religious beliefs who have watched fundamentalism within their own faiths have had a hunch this internal battle raging among Muslims.

Baptists and others who have observed heated conflict over interpretation of the Bible will find Nomani's description of Islamic arguments over Quranic interpretation spell-binding.

But now, more and more evangelical Christians are thinking seriously about how their duty as followers of Christ impacts their responsibility to take care of creation.

It's about time. (And, by the way, more progressive Christian thinkers such as Robert Parham at the Baptist Center for Ethics and staff members of the Texas Baptist Christian Life Commission have been talking about this for years.)

Merritt and ethicist David Gushee addressed God and creation care at a recent conference held at Mercer University. 

It's a fascinating article, which was published by the Baptist Standard's New Voice Media partner, Associated Baptist Press, and you can read it here.

Did you read or hear about the  15-year-old girl who was gang raped while she was walking across school grounds to where her father waited to pick her up from a dance?

Police believe up to 24 people saw the rape and/or heard her cries and did nothing to help her. Didn't even call police, much less intervene.

Here's a link to the Associated Press story about this tragic and humiliating episode.

 Apparently, Richmond, Calif., where the rape occurred, has a reputation for violence and criminal activity. But, still, you wonder where else this could happen. 

Neil Smelser, a professor emeritus of sociology at the University of California-Berkeley, called the witnesses' reaction "bystander indifference." He speculated to the AP that the people who heard or saw the incident failed to intervene because they "didn't have any emotional or social ties to the victim."

We see other less-appalling but still-troubling examples of "bystander indifference" all the time:

• The plight of the needy  and hungry and destitute in our world.

• The social institutions—community organizations, schools, local and state government—that languish for lack of volunteer support.

• Ongoing examples of unchecked racism, sexism and other forms of bigotry.

We fail to intervene because of "bystander indifference." Too often, Americans just don't care.

And lest we feel smug, that's a plight of our churches and denomination. Apathy. 

One of the great heroes of Jesus' parables is the Good Samaritan. But more and more, Americans act like the priest and the Levite.

On the one hand, we reveal ourselves by how we utilize our own power. Are we careful stewards, who exercise power for good? Whether it’s as parents, bosses, teachers, coaches, customers or simply well-off middle-class Americans, does our use of power benefit others?

On the other hand, we demonstrate our virtue by how we relate to others who have power. Are we appropriately respectful? And, perhaps more importantly, do we hold powerful people accountable, even risking ourselves to protect those with little or no power?

Diana Garland and Vicki Marsh Kabat of the Baylor University School of Social Work have written an insightful, fascinating Bible study series, Power and the Christian.

The study grows out of their ground-breaking research on clergy sexual abuse. And while Power and the Christian explores that topic, it provides a much broader survey of types of power, uses of power and responses to power.

Garland and Kabat look at the stories of Jesus welcoming children; the young girl Esther, and the powerful men in her life; God’s call of Samuel and the boy’s relationship to his mentor, Eli; and King David’s abuse of power over Bathsheba and Uriah. They also focus on how Christians can please God in relationship to power.

You’ll find yourself thinking about your own response to power as you read these studies. Like just about everything that comes out of Baylor's School of Social work, these studies are first rate. They should be preached from pulpits and taught in Bible study groups far and wide.