Season of sadness

David died after sustaining injuries in a two-car accident near Hubbard. A pickup crossed the center line of the highway and struck David's SUV head-on. An article about David's death is posted on this website. You can read a longer version on the Corsicana Daily Sun's website. You also can visit First Baptist's website.

David was one of Texas Baptists' finest. He was an outstanding pastor, thoughtful and articulate denominational leader, and genuine friend to untold numbers of folks far and wide. He was kind and bright and compassionate. In large gatherings—such as denominational meetings—he was rather quiet and reserved. Yet he was one to whom others looked for wisdom and insight. He was the kind of person who made you feel calm and good when you were around him.

David and his wife, Lyndy, were the parents of two daughters and a son, the youngest a sophomore in high school. They were preparing to adopt two children, a sister and brother, from Taiwan later this year.

Please pray for Lyndy Edwards and her children, Emily, Kate and Evan, as well as the members of First Baptist Church in Corsicana, and the host of David's friends and loved ones, who are missing him tremendously.

 




Fourth quarter

"I feel like we're in the fourth quarter—the time when the game gets exciting," Everett told members of the Baptist General Convention of Texas Executive Board. "It's crunch time. It's time for action. We've got to call our churches to prayer. … It's going to take all of us."

 Amen and amen.

Texas Hope 2010 is the convention's  campaign to share the love of Christ with every person in the state and alleviate hunger statewide by next Easter. You can visit the Texas Hope 2010 website here, and you can read our article about the Executive Board meeting (and Everett's presentation) here.

A Texas-sized task

 Obviously, Texas Hope 2010 is a monumental challenge.

At least 11 million Texans claim no affiliation with any church and no relationship with Jesus Christ. Texas Baptists are striving to present the gospel to each of them in his or her own language and context. Achieving this goal takes both macro and micro efforts.

As a convention, we've teamed up with Faith Comes by Hearing, an organization that has developed CDs and portable listening devices with the Bible recorded in a symphony of languages. We have the technology to help people hear the words of the New Testament in their own language, even if they cannot read.

But we're also organizing at the local level to accomplish the distribution of Scripture, in whatever form. More importantly, the local level is where we're able to meet our neighbors one-on-one and build warm, caring relationships that enable us to put flesh on the Scriptures and embody the gospel. Baptists in each county have developed plans for sharing the gospel right where they live. 

And speaking of embodying the gospel, we're also making a concerted effort to ensure that every child in the state receives at least one nutritious meal each day. Texas is home to 3 million hungry people. At the Executive Board meeting, Suzii Paynter, executive director of the Christian Life Commission, told about a class of third graders in a poor community who intentionally tried to fail in school because they heard that if they failed, they would have to go to summer school, where they would receive two meals per day. This is heart-breaking. It's a travesty, an abomination for a state that fancies itself "the buckle of the Bible belt."

We can make a difference.  Churches are working to figure out how to feed poor people in their towns and cities. Groups are collaborating to take on the challenge of providing meals for people who need it. One specific task we all can do is contribute to the Texas Baptist Offering for World Hunger.

It's our quarter

Of course, the tasks are huge. But they reflect God's confidence in God's people. As BGCT President David Lowrie observed: "If Jesus has ever asked you to do something impossible, it's because he believes in you."

When my daughters were in middle school and high school, our football team, the Lewisville Fightin' Farmers, were in their heyday. My favorite cheer always ramped up midway through the second half. Everybody on our side of the stands would begin to chant: "Fourth Quarter. Farmers' Quarter." We believed our team got stronger as the game wore on. And no matter the score when the fourth quarter began, we were in it to win.

Now, it's the fourth quarter, and it's Texas Baptists' quarter. Let's suck it up and do whatever it takes to spread the gospel and feed hungry people. 

Find out how to sign up in your community at the Texas Hope 2010 website.




God bless mentors

I've been thinking about mentors, because I've spent the weekend in the company of friends who mentored me three decades ago. They made an enormous impact on my life, and I never can repay them.

About 30 or so folks who love Walker Knight gathered to honor him at Stone Mountain, Ga., just east of Atlanta. Most of us worked at the old Southern Baptist Home Mission Board at one time or another during the 1960s, ’70s and early ’80s, when Walker was director of the board's editorial department.

Journalism pioneer

Walker joined the Home Mission Board about 50 years ago, after serving at associate editor of the Baptist Standard, where he had been the first professionally trained and experienced practicing journalist to provide high-level leadership at a state Baptist newspaper. 

At the Home Mission Board, Walker pioneered a new era of journalism that blended stirring story-telling with gripping photography. Soon, journalism critics and ordinary readers were comparing Home Missions magazine with the great photojournalism icons of the day—Life and Look, as well as National Geographic.

But Walker wasn't about publishing pretty, or even moving, magazines. He had responded to God's call on his life to help people recognize the intersection of faith and life. Through the stories published in Home Missions (later re-named MissionsUSA), Walker helped Baptists confront broad themes and issues that challenged not only Christians, but all the nation, during the quarter-century of his stewardship. Perhaps more than anyone else, Walker led Southern Baptists to move from racism to racial reconciliation. He also led us to confront poverty, the Jesus Movement, generation-based social turmoil, and a host of issues and challenges.

Amazing collection

Walker would tell you he didn't do this alone. He hired some of the best writers, editors and photographers Baptists ever produced. This weekend, we marveled at many of the people who worked at the Home Mission Board on Walker's watch—and how young they were. "I had to hire them young," Walker noted, subtly acknowledging the board's low pay prevented him from "buying" veteran journalists.

Somehow, I had a chance to work there near the end of Walker's tenure. Looking back, I don't think I had the level of experience or journalism education Walker normally required, but I managed to land a job, and Joanna and I—a couple of 22-year-old kids—headed off to Atlanta for a couple of years.

What a blessing

And that brings me to mentorship. Walker signed off for Dan Martin, my first and most influential mentor, to hire me as assistant news editor. I joined a staff that included Everett Hullum, the editor of Home Missions, and Phyllis Thompson, his assistant; books editor Celeste Pennington; photographers Don Rutledge, Paul Obregon and Mark Sandlin; graphic designers Karen Mitchell and Lane Gregory;  fellow newswriter Michael Tutterow; and editorial assistant Alice Felton. Later, Dan left, and Jim Newton became my boss in the news office. We also worked alongside communications leaders Kenneth Day, Bill Junker and Jay Durham and their staffs.

I only worked at the Home Mission Board for two years and freelanced for another three years or so—just a blink of an eye, or so it seems.

And yet I benefited by the generosity of those colleagues, who poured their insights and wisdom, skills and expertise, passion and commitment, love for the Lord and missions, and their friendship and love into my life. I've always looked upon those years as my "graduate school" in journalism, and I don't think I would've benefited more if I had spent that time at any of the finest journalism schools anywhere.

Weekend to remember

Many of those longtime friends gathered to honor Walker this weekend. Death and illness prevented others from joining us. Since Walker's service spanned so many years, a special feature of the weekend was spending time with—and even meeting for the first time—others whose time with Walker did not overlap. 

It's a weekend filled with great stories—most of which we already know but thrill to hear again. It's a weekend of laughter and tears, of hugs and "catching up," of poignancy and appreciation.

As I looked on my mentors' faces and listened to their voices after so many years, I realized how blessed I was by their friendship and guidance. 

And as is the case of mentorship, I cannot repay them—except by mentoring and pouring my life into young people who come into my own life.

 




Lying for Jesus?

I've been exchanging e-mails with a missionary couple who don't want you to know where they live. Actually, they probably wouldn't mind you knowing where they live as long as they could keep militant followers of other faiths from knowing where they live and foreign governments from knowing what they do.

I stumbled into this indirectly. They sent a letter to the editor commending student summer missionaries who served with them this year. But the letter did not indicate where the missionaries live. And since our policy calls for publishing both the name and city of residence for our letter writers, I responded, asking where they live.

Clarifying exchange

They replied by sending me the name of their hometown, which has absolutely nothing to do with the summer missionaries. I doubt few, if any, of the summer missionaries could tell you where their summer supervisors grew up.

So, I wrote back and asked for their real residence. And I griped a little about the cloak-and-dagger information tactics we get from missions-sending agencies these days.

They replied—correctly—that I had been insensitive to their security concerns.

I responded—contritely—that I was sorry. I don't want to put them in harm's way.

Truth or consequences

But this exchange has got me to thinking about a question that bumps up against both missions philosophy and Christian ethics: Is it OK for missionaries to lie?

For example, the missionary husband told me: "As a cross-cultural worker who is traveling in and out of closed countries and who lives in a part of the **** that is constantly under travel advisories because of extremism and because we are following standard procedure from those above us, that (their hometown in the States) is all the infomation we can give."

This is not uncommon. Here at the Standard, we hear about missionaries who "travel in and out of closed countries" all the time. In order to get "in and out of closed countries," they must misrepresent themselves and their purposes to the governments that examine passports and issue visas.

truth vs. Truth

So, is untruth in service to the Truth a virtue?

What do you think? I could argue this round or flat:

On the one hand, we want to spread the gospel. Some countries are closed to Christian missionaries. So, the only way to get in is to lie and/or at least indirectly misrepresent the reason for going.

But on the other hand, aside from lying to the government, does the misrepresentation undermine the credibility of the gospel?

It's a challenging, but important, question.




Longing for Sabbath

On Saturday afternoon, while doing chores around the house, I caught up on some recent podcasts from Mars Hill Bible Church in Grandville, Mich. Rob Bell, the pastor, is one of my favorite authors and preachers, so I always enjoy listening to Mars Hills' Sunday worship service. Especially on Saturday, when the tedium of mundane tasks just begs for mental and spiritual stimulation.

The podcasts never said so directly, but I'm assuming Rob took some vacation this summer, because guest preachers filled in several Sundays. 

Well, this Saturday, I plugged in my iPhone and tuned in to Mars Hill, and I heard something unusual—a woman's voice. Ruth Haley Barton, president of the Transforming Center in Wheaton, Ill., and former staff member at Willow Creek Community Church in suburban Chicago, delivered the sermon.

At first, I didn't like it one bit. Not because she's a woman preacher. I'm one of those kinds of Baptists who believes God calls whoever God wills, and some of the best preachers I've ever heard happen to be women. And Ruth Haley Barton is a gooood preacher.

But I didn't like it because she crawled all over my toes. She preached about keeping the Sabbath.

Lousy at Sabbath

I've never been very good at keeping the Sabbath. 

When I was a boy, I thought Sabbath-keeping was all about don'ts. Don't go to the movies on Sunday. Don't go swimming on Sunday. Don't mow the lawn on Sunday. (Some don'ts aren't so bad.) Don't wash your car on Sunday. Don't hang out with anybody who looks like he or she's been working on Sunday.

 As an adult, I've seen Sabbath-keeping as a counter-cultural statement. For example, which day of the week do I always seem to crave a Chick-fil-A sandwich? Sunday, of course. And although I've unduly desired his sandwiches on Sunday, I've admired Truett Cathy, the founder, for his conviction to close his stores on Sunday so his employees could worship and spend time with their families. 

Just plain inconvenient

But mostly—and this is where I've had a hard time throughout my recent adult life—I've thought of Sabbath-keeping as inconvenient. 

Oh, I go to church. That's part of my spiritual DNA. And besides, I love worshipping and fellowshipping with other Christians on Sunday. In church with my spiritual family is where I want to be on Sunday.

But I confess I've been hung up on that no-working part of keeping the Sabbath holy. Even though I work as hard as I can (and friends, colleagues and family will vouch that I'm a hard and diligent worker), I just can't seem to keep caught up with everything I think needs to be done. So, particularly since the invention of the laptop computer, I've been a pretty lousy Sabbath-keeper.

But then Ruth Haley Barton has the nerve to go on and on about the value of Sabbath-keeping. She talked about how God set the Sabbath aside because God made us and knows our bodies need rest. She talked about how God knows we need time to worship and to gain spiritual nourishment. She talked about how great it is to take a nap on Sunday afternoon, and to read for pleasure, and to take long walks, and to spend free and easy time with family and friends.

And the longer she talked, the madder I got.

It's really about trust

Until she started talking about trust. She illustrated by mentioning our workaholic ways. She talked about how we try hard to good things, and how we can't imagine our work will get done if we abstain from it for a whole day. And she talked about trusting God for the results of our work the other six days of the week if we'll just give that day to God.

She bored a hole right through my heart.

And then she talked about how we long for rest—for the spiritual and physical rest that comes only from God. And she advocated taking a Sabbath from worrying. (It's kinda like she read my mind there. Like she knew that if I sat out a Sunday, I'd waste it by worrying about how behind I'm getting.) 

Well, it's a long way from my garage in Texas to the sanctuary of Mars Hill Bible Church in Michigan, but if she had given an altar call, I probably would've started walking northeast. 

I think God really meant for us to keep all 1o of the Commandments. And I'm going to try to keep the Sabbath. Learning to trust will be the hardest part.




The Holy what?

Last Sunday, our church's choir sang a beautiful and moving anthem, "There's Power in the Name of Jesus." And then our pastor preached from Acts 1:1-8, which includes this line, "But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you … ."

Back-to-back, those lines about power struck me like a punch in the gut. "Well, then, why do Christians often seem so powerless?" I kept thinking. "Why do I often feel so powerless?"

Powerlessness everywhere 

This has been a year when other powers loom large and intimidating. My sister died this spring. One of my dear friends died this summer, as did the brother of one of my best friends. Another friend is battling cancer. All these folks were/are in their 50s—too young to be leaving their families and other loved ones.

As I travel around and talk to Baptists, I see many cowering churches. They feel powerless to overcome demographics that are decimating their historic attendance base. They're cowed rather than encouraged by change. They feel weak and ineffectual.

At the Baptist Standard, we're continually battling a perfect storm—declining denominationalism, the overall downward spiral of the newspaper industry and the worst economic recession in 80 years.

Every day, the news carries stories of war, calamity, disease and abuse.

Where is the power?

Time to talk about it

Tears stung my eyes throughout the service as I pondered powerlessness and wondered if the Christians I know really believe what the choir sang and the verse the pastor read. So, while the ushers took up the offering, I scrapped the Sunday school lesson I had prepared, wrote three lines on my bulletin and decided to spend the next hour talking about power with my young-adult couples' class.

We read Acts 1:8 again. We also read 2 Timothy 1:7: "For God has not given us a spirit of timidity (The King James Version says "fear."), but of power and love and discipline."

My friends in our class moved me deeply. They talked candidly about their discouragements and disappointments. We all know them well, because we share them and pray over them week by week. They admitted they sometimes feel powerless. But then we all talked about the sufficiency of God's grace and the peace we feel when we sense the presence of the Holy Spirit in our lives.

Power and the Spirit

During that hour—and throughout the days since—I've decided we often feel powerless because we don't deeply believe in the presence of the Holy Spirit. Sure, we intellectually believe in the Trinity—God as Father, Son and Holy Spirit. But practically, I'm not so sure we really believe in the third Person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit. 

Maybe it's because we're wary of what we see as the excesses of other Christians who emphasize the Spirit. All that speaking in tongues and uncontrolled worship seems unseemly and makes us nervous. And for good reason.

But the Bible clearly teaches the power and presence of the Spirit. Jesus promised the Comforer would come alongside us. He told us we would have power precisely because the Spirit has "come upon" us. 

So, our failure to truly place our faith in the Spirit diminishes our power supply. We miss out on the power God makes available to us because we don't trust the Spirit.




Faith & volunteerism

If you said “faith-based organizations,” put a star by your name.

The Corporation for National and Community Service released results of a survey that shows religious organizations produce more volunteers than any group in the country.

More than one-third of almost 62 million volunteers nationwide served through religious organizations last year, according to a report by Religion News Service.

“Religious organizations are a key source of potential volunteers for nonprofit organizations,” Nicola Goren, the corporation’s chief executive officer, told RNS. “Nonprofits looking to expand their reach and impact may find it beneficial to work more closely with religious organizations in their communities, especially in these tough economic times.”

Not surprising

You’re probably not surprised.

Neither was I.

Why, the most persuasive people in America are members of church nominating committees. Several reasons:

• Usually, a member of your church’s nominating committee is a friend of yours. It’s hard to say no to a friend. That’s especially true if later on, say next year, you’re likely to wind up on the nominating committee. That’s when you’ll need this year’s volunteer recruiter to say, “Sure, I’ll be glad to work with 3-year-olds in Sunday school!”

  You’ve got a reputation to uphold. Even the largest churches run on relationships. People know each other and, maybe more importantly, they know about each other. You start turning down the nominating committee, and you’ll get a reputation as snooty, lazy and/or “spiritually immature.” That’s a high price for saying no.

• If you turn down the nominating committee, they’ll just bring in the big guns. Nobody wants the pastor to call up and reiterate the nominating committee’s request. Worse, it’s practically unbearable to think about the youth minister calling up and begging you to teach the eighth-grade boys’ Bible study class.

• And if all this doesn’t work, the nominating committee and your church staff can call in the Big Gun. You really, really don’t want God thinking you’re snooty, lazy and/or “spiritually immature.”

So, you volunteer.

Four good reasons

OK, seriously (although those were pretty serious reasons for volunteering), it’s no wonder Christians lead the nation in volunteering. I can think of at least three reasons, and you probably can add others:

First, Jesus taught and modeled an ethic of service. Throughout the gospels, we see Jesus healing people and feeding them. He talked about meeting the needs of the poor more than he talked about anything else, including sin and heaven. And he told us that when we do things to help “the least of these,” we’re doing them to him. So, people of faith see the world differently than other people see it, and this impacts how we live our lives

Second, Jesus also taught us to be stewards. Oh, I know. Most of the time when we talk about “stewardship,” we mean money. But it also means time. How we live our lives. We know that “to whom much has been given, much is required,” and that includes our time and talents and commitments and passions. If a person wants to live life well, then she will invest it in the lives of others.

Third (and this reason sort of sneaks up on us) we’re part of a culture of volunteerism. Churches run on volunteers. Even, and maybe especially, the service activities that take place outside of our church buildings—we call them missions and ministries—depend upon volunteers. So, most church-going folks have been watching people we look up to volunteer their time and talents for as long as we’ve been going to church. We understand volunteering is what we do. And we also intuitively grasp it’s a way to be more like the people we admire most.

Fourth, volunteering is fun and enormously enjoyable. Most of the time, it means doing something significant alongside Christian friends whose company we treasure. And no matter the task, almost every Christian who has volunteered for ministry and missions—both inside the walls of the church and out—testifies they received far more than they gave.

More and more, I’m seeing a trend toward organizing church groups to serve others. I hope that  by the time the Corporation for National and Community Service conducts another survey, more than half of all American volunteers are Christians who serve others through their churches.




Undoing the holy

More and more atheists are engaging a ritual of un-faith (Is there such a thing? Don't we all have faith in something, even if it's not God?) by practicing a new anti-sacrament. They're getting de-baptized.

It's a ceremony that apparently involves a hairdryer labled "reason" and concludes with de-baptismal certificates to validate the undoing of something once sacred but now deemed silly.

You can read all about it here and here.

How ludicrous …

I've got to admit my first reaction to de-baptism was a chuckle and a slow wagging of my head. It all seems so ludicrous. 

Why do they feel such a strong compulsion to break with a faith they no longer hold? And if they revile the rituals of the church—whichever church has been part of their lives—why do they need to parrot its practices with yet another ritual?

And a hairdryer? Couldn't they be more profound, if not symbolic.

But really serious

The more I've thought about de-baptism, the more I've grieved. Although I can understand—and even appreciate—the myriad reasons that drive people from their faith, my heart breaks to hear about souls who renounce that faith.

It's not so much the faith-renouncing that bothers me as it is the ruptured relationship with Christ. And what's even more grevious is that, usually, it's not Christ that caused the rupture. It's Christians.

Can we prevent de-baptism?

As I've pondered de-baptisms, I've wondered what we can do to prevent them. Several thoughts come to mind:

First, we should take baptism more seriously. Our Baptist forebears endured persecution and even death because they resisted infant baptism. Yet we border on it, with the immersion of ever-younger children. Often, we need to tell these wonderful, loving children: "This is tremendous. And it's so special, we need to wait awhile. You keep on loving Jesus, and let's keep on talking about what that means. And later on, when you're really ready, you can be baptized."

We also need to teach what baptism means. For 400 years, we have professed that baptism does not wash away sins. It's a symbol of our identification with Jesus' death, burial and resurrection. It's a sign of our obedience to Jesus to be baptized, to publicly claim him as our Savior. And it's a statement of our hope that one day, even though these mortal bodies will die and be buried, that death is not all there is, and we, too, will be resurrected into eternal life.

Second, we need to do a much, much better job of discipling young Christians and developing longtime Christians. Often, when I listen to lapsed Christians, to people who grew bored or angry or apathetic and stepped away from their faith, I find myself thinking, "They just don't get it." Seems like they typically believe one or the other of several misconceptions of the Christian faith. For example:

• Their faith was a transaction they completed when they walked the aisle, shook a preacher's hand and got "dunked." Then, it was over. And faith had absolutely no bearing on how they lived or thought or felt. If that's all there is, I'd get de-baptized, too.

• Or somehow, they were taught the Christian life is all about rules and about do's and don't's. This sounds a lot like what Jesus came to Earth to undo. If that's all there is, I'd get de-baptized, too.

• And some folks seem to think Jesus is some kind of a cosmic Genie. Pull out your Bible, think nice thoughts about Baby Jesus, and your wish will come true. Even if that worked, I'd get de-baptized, too.

We need to do a better job of helping folks grow in their faith. The solution runs the gamut from relevant, interesting Bible study, to caring small groups, to meaningful involvement in ministry, to focused mentoring, to vibrant worship. When we fail at these, they falter.

And third, we Christians need to quit undermining Christ. So many unbelievers and former believers base their opinions of Christ on the lousy Christians they know. Of course, we're all sinners, and we need to admit that and tell them so. We need to do the best we can to validate our faith and our calling in our lives. But we also need to point people to Jesus and to help them see that, even when we stumble, Jesus is steadfast. Even when we're unloving, Jesus is eternally loving.

Save it for another day

We didn't even get into the whole debate about whether de-baptism works. The doctrine of the security of the believer—once-saved, always saved—will have to wait for another day.

 

 




Think for yourself

Here's a letter that reflects a perspective I sometimes hear from readers:

"I am a new Baptist, a member of First Baptist Church, …, Texas.
 
"A few weeks ago my introduction to the Baptist Standard was an article brought to my Sunday school class relating that a prominent Baptist (Wiley Drake, a former Southern Baptist Convention vice president) was advocating that we pray for the death of President Obama.  While no fan of our current president, my Bible tells me to respect and honor those in authority over us and to pray for them.  I found it shocking that this article was in the publication with no commentary opposing that attitude.
 
"Today I was shocked further by learning that an article was published regarding the Episcopal bishop (Katharine Jefforts Schori) who stated that people are presumptuous to state that they can be saved.  Again, there was no commentary to refute her statements.  Her attitude is totally unbiblical, and Southern Baptists proclaim that they believe totally in the Bible.
 
"So, where is the biblical position in the official publication of my church?  I am upset about this.  I would appreciate your response so I can understand your position. …"

Good questions

I'm always grateful to receive letters from readers who wonder how and why we make decisions. For 30 years as a Baptist journalist, I've been talked about and talked to. No doubt, the members of this woman's Sunday school class were talking about me. So, I'm grateful she decided to talk to me.

I hope and pray she'll go back to church and pass along my answers to her question. Here's part of my response to her letter:

"Like you, I found Wiley Drake's comments abominable and Katharine Jefforts Schori's speech just plain wrong. But let me offer several reasons why we do not publish rebuttals for these and every other comment that appears in the pages of the Baptist Standard.

Four answers

"First, the Baptist Standard is a newspaper, not a journal of commentary and critique. The nature of a newspaper is to report the facts about significant events. Of course, we publish two pages of commentary in each issue. But a newspaper does not, by nature, publish the editor's comments on every article in the publication.

"For Baptists, the second reason is a corollary to the first. For 400 years, Baptists have championed the twin doctrines of soul competency and the priesthood of all believers. We believe God endows each individual with a mind and a discerning spirit, and we trust our readers to gather the information, consider it themselves and draw their own conclusions. We don't need to tell them what to think. Like you, the vast majority—if not all—of our readers most likely concluded Drake's views do not reflect the Spirit of Christ and Schori is theologically mistaken.

"Third, because of our biblical/doctrinal principles, Baptists do not practice top-down ecclesiology. We don't have a bishop or someone at the 'top' who tells other Baptists what to think. If the Standard felt obliged to publish the 'correct' answer to everything, we would be mimicking the kind of hierarchical practices—think Roman Catholics and a pope—we have rejected in others.

"And finally, the fourth reason relates to the other three. Because Baptists affirm soul freedom and liberty of thought and conscience, we don't agree on all things. In fact, we don't share unanimous thinking on many issues. So, if the Standard sought to tell our readers what to think on all issues, the newspaper most likely would not have survived 120 years and, perhaps, the Baptist General Convention of Texas itself would not have survived."




Fear, prayer & faith

I've been thinking a lot—A LOT—about prayer lately.

Last week, our good friend David Pearson died after a 2 1/2-year struggle with cancer. (I wrote my Down Home column about David. If you knew him, you would've loved him. Read about him here.)  If prayer, faith, courage and humor were the only variables in beating cancer, David would be so well now, he'd be whipping Lance Armstrong and everybody else in the Tour de France today.

God tallies "votes"?

So, I don't know how prayer "works." We offer prayers for friends and loved ones, and sometimes prayer seems like some sort of cosmic American Idol: Sarah gets enough prayers, and her health is fully restored; a few less, and she makes it but uses a wheelchair the rest of her life; fewer still, and she dies.

Don't shoot me. I only said it feels like that. But if you've ever interceded for someone who just kept getting sicker and sicker and died, you probably have felt that way, too. 

And for today, I don't even want to counter with theology of heaven—that a Christian is far better off after this earthly life is over. I believe that's true, but I'm still struggling to balance the goodness of heaven with all that's not good about prayers that don't seem to be answered.

Prayer in the real world

Think of my friend David, for example. We watched him suffer these past years. So, yes, he's finally done with chemo. Yes, his body no longer wastes away. He's cracking jokes with Jesus and Moses and his own friends and loved ones who went to heaven before he did.

But—and David knew this—all those prayers asking God to remove every single cancer cell from his body weren't simply about David. They were about Lezlie and their children, Hunter and Mackenzie. So, David's better off. They're not. 

Hold your fire. I respect God's sovereignty. And I realize our minds are finite, while God's wisdom is infinite. God's purposes are greater than our own. So, who am I to question God? 

Well, I'm just someone who's been on the short end of what seem to be plenty of unanswered prayers, dating back a long, long time.

God's big enough and loving enough to take my anger and disappointment. Prayer is simply talking to God, my heavenly Father. And if I can't be honest with God (who already knows the depths of my heart), then who can I be honest with?

Irresistible pull of prayer

So, I confess I don't "get" prayer—at least as a talisman for making things happen. And yet I feel irresistably drawn to prayer, especially in times of crisis and uncertainty and pain.

I want—no, I need—for God to know how I feel. Even when I don't agree with God's ultimate decision.

Today, I still lament God's answer regarding David. But I began the day praying for Lezlie, Hunter and Mackenzie, who need to feel God's presence and "the peace that surpasses all understanding." You probably don't know them, but I'd be grateful if you'd pray for them, too.

Pray for Maggie Lee

And also please pray for Maggie Lee Henson and her mom and dad, Jinny and John. Maggie Lee is the most seriously injured survivor of the bus accident involving students and sponsors from First Baptist Church in Shreveport. Maggie Lee suffered severe brain injury, and the coming hours are crucial.

I'm praying for her to recover, for Jinny and John and all those who love Maggie Lee to feel God's presence and peace, and for all the medical staff to make perfect decisions every moment.

Sometimes, all you can do—despite fear and because of faith—is pray.




Baptist reunification?

Not in his lifetime.

Most likely, not in my lifetime.

And probably not until the Consummation of Time.

Good question 

My father-in-law had a solid reason for his question. He had read my editorial about this year's Southern Baptist Convention annual meeting. It describes the generation gap within the SBC and tells how the youngish leadership walloped the old guard.

This is significant because the old guard comprises the remnants of the hard-line fundamentalist leadership that wrested control of the SBC from so-called moderates in a struggle that lasted from the late 1970s to the early ’90s. They pre-selected presidents, controlled committee appointments and named nominees to all the convention's institutional boards. 

By 1990, they controlled the SBC annual meeting so thoroughly the moderates quit attending. Immediately, they took over Baptist Press, the convention's news agency. Within the next four years, their trustees gained absolute control of all SBC institutions. Next, they reorganized the convention to their liking. Then they re-wrote the convention's doctrinal statement, the Baptist Faith & Message.  Along the way, they exerted themselves in most state conventions, and the three states with strong moderate and fundamentalist factions—Missouri, Texas and Virginia—split.

Now, a youngish faction has exerted itself over against the old guard. (I say "youngish" because that's a relative term in the ever-aging SBC. This revolution is led by two near-50 seminary presidents and a 50-something convention president, but they relate well to the rising generation of truly young pastors.) The flashpoint was a proposal to examine—and consider reorganizing—the SBC's structure.

The proposal—a motion to create a Great Commission Task Force, or long-range planning committee—quickly took on generational overtones. Most notably,  it drew the opposition of Morris Chapman, who, as president of the SBC Executive Committee, is the convention's highest staff official. Well into his 60s and far more than a decade into his job, Chapman represents the trailing edge of the old guard.

But old guard he is. Prior to the annual meeting, he editorialized against the reorganization proposal. At the annual meeting, he used his report to the convention to speak against it (a tactic youngish Southeastern Seminary President Danny Akin called "shameful"). Chapman put the full weight of his office—and, symbolically, the previously unquestioned imprimatur of the old guard—against the proposal.

And he got stomped. The proposal passed overwhelmingly.

So, my father-in-law wanted to know if this meant moderates would come back to the SBC in force and the divided state conventions would reunite.

Honest answer

No.  At least not in the foreseeable future.

Here are several reasons why:

1. Offspring. Denominational schism is a lot like a divorce. Sometimes after  divorce, people wonder if the unhappy couple will make up and remarry. Occasionally, it happens. But if one or the other marries someone else, the possibility is just about nil. And if the follow-up marriages produce children, forget about it.

That's what has happened among Southern Baptists and former Southern Baptists. At the national level, many so-called moderates have affiliated with the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship. At the state level, Baptists in Texas and Virginia who want a closer relationship with the SBC have formed their own conventions, and in Missouri, the old fundamentalist convention has cast the moderates out, and they have created their own group. Those denominational unions have produced offspring—staff, programs, institutions and even missionaries.

No pull toward "what used to be" will be strong enough for the various groups to dissolve their current relationships and abandon their dependents.

2. Worldviews. Even if the SBC's young generation  softens the fundamentalism of their fathers, they still hold a different mindset than the so-called moderates.

For one thing, they tend to come down at a different place on the socio-political spectrum. They're cultural warriors; moderates aren't. For another, they're in another place—or maybe places—theologically than moderates. Many of them still hold the theological fundamentalism of their predecessors, but they're just not angry about it. It sounds like their theology has changed, but it really hasn't.

Except where it has changed. That's among the increasing number of young Calvinist, or Reformed, Baptists. Their heritage dates back to the earliest decades of the Baptist movement. But even though old-guard fundamentalists rail against it, Reformed theology's rigorous, structured, conservative system finds more compatibility with rigid fundamentalism than it does with more open and flexible moderate theology. 

3. Time. Baptists don't own a time-travel machine, and they're not likely to go back to pre-1979.

For one thing, the people who lived through the "Baptist Battles" don't really want to go back. On both sides of the divide, their lives have moved on. They may feel nostalgia for  previous relationships, but they realize no amount of wishful thinking will undo 30 years of conflict.

For another, the young Baptists who either can't remember or weren't even born prior to the beginning of the convention conflict have no reason to visit a world that is foreign to them. Their issues are the emergent church movement, missions opportunities that are at once more approachable and less concrete than those their parents considered, the relevance of a timeless faith in a postmodern world, ever-changing technology, interaction with other world religions that reside next door, and other ideas that lie off the map of an old generation who simply sought landmarks in a battlefield between two types of  Christianity.

Looking forward

So, no, Baptists won't reunite. 

And that's probably for the best. The world needs all types of Baptists to reach people with the gospel and minister to them in God's grace. That's a challenge best served by looking forward, not looking back.

 




Church/state neighbors

This summer, as we celebrate the 233rd birthday of our republic, Frost’s proverb helps explain why the United States has been home to the most durable government and the most vibrant religious community the world has known.

Of course, America’s state and church are flawed. Some would say both have seen their better days. But still, despite the distracting calamity within the third pillar of our society, the economy, our political democracy and our religious pluralism are two major reasons to thank God our foreparents fought for freedom.

Good fences make good neighbors.

Or, to paraphrase Frost using a metaphor from Thomas Jefferson: Good walls make good neighbors.

Jefferson's 'wall'

In a letter to Danbury Baptist Association in Connecticut, President Jefferson quoted the religion clauses of the First Amendment when he wrote, “… I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their legislature should ‘make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof,’ thus building a wall of separation between church and state.”

Jefferson’s “wall” has marked a battleline between Americans who disagree about the relationship between church and state. Screaming from the far left are advocates of a naked public square, who claim the wall is absolute, that faith and religious belief have no place in public discourse, much less government. Shouting from the far right are proponents of greater collaboration between church and state, who narrowly define the First Amendment and seek government support for their religious causes.

Extremists from both ends are frightened by ironically paradoxical trends they see in society. Both groups resort to historical revisionism and, sometimes, outright distortion to support their causes. Both groups are pushing America in the wrong direction, and the clamor of their battle often makes civil discourse hard to hear.

Listen up

Hear we must. We must listen to Jefferson. Any state needs a strong, vibrant government. Any society needs strong, vibrant places of worship. But good walls make good neighbors.

That’s because state and church have different jobs to do, utilize different tactics, and yet engage the same people. At the very least, the state must provide infrastructure, civil order and defense from outsiders. It can mandate cooperation as a civil duty—paying taxes and obeying laws. At the very least, the church must proclaim its faith, serve the poor and call people to higher purpose.

But it cannot mandate participation because, to be authentic, faith must be free.
We can argue both political and theological philosophy until every firecracker in the world is exploded. But the best illustrations of why we need healthy separation of church and state can be ripped from the headlines of our summer newspapers.

Danger of extremes

The logical extensions of both the naked public square and church-state integration produce dreadful consequences for religious liberty. A totally naked public square results in oppression in places like China and North Korea, where atheistic governments repress free expression of faith. But no-wall countries like Iran or Saudi Arabia produce a toxic mix of religion and government, where all but one religious view is outlawed. And low-wall countries like those in Western Europe, where state-buttressed churches have grown complacent, have produced anemic faith.

So, as the United States celebrates our independence this summer, I’m thanking God for the First Amendment and for Jefferson’s wall. Good fences make good neighbors.