In fact, one of the best arguments for strict church-state separation comes from a theologically conservative pastor, Jimi Joban of Terra Nova Faith Community  (here's its Facebook page ) in Las Vegas, Nev. He's a graduate of the fundamentalist Liberty University—where founder Jerry Falwell proudly embraced the "fundamentalist" label—and contributes to the political blog The Briefing.

A friend sent me a link to an article Joban wrote, "The Conservative Case for Separation of Church and State," and it's one of the best arguments I've read. Ever. 

It's posted on the RD Magazine (short for "Religion Dispatches") website. It's well worth your time. Not only to read, but to ponder. 

The United Methodists have been asking that question, and they commissioned a survey to get to the bottom of it. United Methodist Church leaders worked with the Towers Watson consulting agency to survey 32,000 Methodist local churches, looking for "key factors impacting vital congregations." Religion News Service reported the findings.

Researchers created a "vitality index" to measure churches. Their survey showed all kinds of churches are vital, no matter the size, location or context. 

Four health factors

Among all the variables, the survey identified four key aspects of church life that support and sustain vitality:

• Small groups and programs.

• Worship services that mix traditional and contemporary styles with an emphasis on relevant sermons.

• Pastors who work hard on mentoring and cultivating laity.

• An emphasis on effective lay leadership.

The study determined church health is not linked to any one specific component of the four factors, and even the size and scope of church programs doesn't matter. "An essential finding of the research was that it's the combination of factors that contribute to vitality," RNS noted.

We can't necessarily extrapolate the Methodists' findings to other denominations, like Baptists, the report indicated. But links likely exist. For example, a survey conducted by the Hartford Institute for Religion Research discovered 64 percent of churches that switched to contemporary worship in the past five years experienced an attendance increase of at least 2 percent.

It all adds up

All this makes sense: Warm, engaging groups. Meaningful, relevant worship. Caring, nurturing ministers. Strong laity.

How healthy is your church? 

Do you believe America trusts in God? Is God the ground—the center—of our faith? 

When we think about our personal future, which do we depend upon more—our faith in God or our retirement accounts, Social Security and medical insurance?

When we're concerned about our loved ones, about how things are going at work or even about the next big venture for our church, where do we look—to God's grace, our hard work and social skills, or the help of others?

When we consider the course of our country, do we trust God or political power? And what about our trust in the U.S. military?

'An obvious lie'

As my friend Dick Bridges observed regarding our national motto: "It is an obvious lie. We trust in money and power and politics and votes. The nation shows no evidence of trusting in God."

Not surprisingly, "In God We Trust" has become a battleground in the culture wars. About three years ago,  the U.S. Mint released the first of a series of dollar coins. Immediately, a false rumor began to circulate, claiming the new currency did not include "In God We Trust." Critics chalked it up as "another way of phasing God out of America." Actually, the mint stamped "In God We Trust," as well as the motto from the Great Seal of the United States, "E Pluribus Unum," on the side of the coins.

Tangible irony

Whatever you think of the motto—and let's set aside all the church-state arguments for the moment—isn't stamping or engraving "In God We Trust" on money ironic?  I'm preaching to myself when I say most Americans trust money way more than we trust God. God may be fine for the sweet bye and bye, but when we're planning for today, tomorrow and all the time in-between, we want a storehouse of money.

I wish every American completely trusted in God. But what if we really trusted in God? 

From personal experience, I can say my life is more joyous, outward focused, grace-filled and generous when I truly trust in God. Sure, I want to provide for my family, and I don't want to be a burden to them when I am old. But when I look back and see how God has provided for my needs—not always my wants, but my needs—up to now, I face the future with calm assurance. Even in the midst of a great recession and uncertainty, I can look ahead with expectation, because God is and will be present.

Keep believing

Sometimes, I tell myself all this so I'll keep believing it. The worries and concerns of the day mount up. That's especially true when the economy falters and the great institutions of our land tremble. 

Then, it doesn't help to consider what's written on a dollar. I must turn my heart toward heaven and trust in God.

 The Library of Congress' preservation research and testing division recently conducted a high-tech test, called hyperspectral imaging, on Jefferson's rough draft of the Declaration of Independence. The test shows Jefferson originally described Americans as "our fellow subjects." But then he apparently thought better of it, rubbed out "subjects" with his hand and instead wrote "citizens." (You can read about it here, here and here.)

 Words have specific meaning, and Jefferson's choice of "citizens" over "subjects" signaled a political earthquake. the Tectonic plates of history shifted. Jefferson and his fellow Americans determined they would forsake a monarchy and constitute a democracy. They not only declared independence from Great Britain; they also staked their future on a whole new form of government.

We can understand why Jefferson initially wrote the word "subjects" to describe Americans. All his life, he had been subject to the king. In the Age of Enlightenment, Jefferson and the Founding Fathers determined government "of the people, by the people and for the people" (Abraham Lincoln's description, spoken 87 years later) would be more just and durable than yet another monarchy dependent upon the wisdom and beneficence of a royal family.

And so, "citizens" took charge of their new country. Like freedom, citizenship is both a privilege and a responsibility. It's quite a blessing to be a citizen—to have the opportunity to help shape the future, to help mold policy, to have a stake in the success of the whole. And yet it's an enormous responsibility, because it also means each and every citizen is accountable for the good of the whole.

That's Jefferson's lesson for us today. If we were subjects, someone else would be in charge. We could blame the queen or king. We could pass responsibility along to those born in privilege. But we are citizens, and that means each of us is responsible, collectively and individually, for the health and the well-being of our country, our society.

At its root, of course, that means voting intelligently. But it means so much more. It means remaining involved and holding elected leaders responsible for their actions. It also means holding corporations and unions and other large organizations responsible for how they behave and the decisions they influence. It means holding other individuals responsible for their actions—paying taxes, obeying laws, behaving prudently.

Ultimately, it means holding ourselves individually responsible. Doing right, acting justly. Considering and ensuring the common good, not just what's best for me and mine. Working hard all day for a day's wage. Not taking more than my share. Not expecting others to pay the costs for my mistakes. Cheerfully paying my share of taxes. Owning up to my duties in the public square. Speaking honestly about others. Encouraging free expression from others. This list could go on and on. 

America has gotten soft and selfish. We act as if Jefferson wrote "subjects," and everything is someone else's fault, obligation and problem. But he wrote "citizens" and meant it. The true patriots today are the ones who own that word, not only for its privileges, but for its responsibilities.

Molly, our younger daughter, and David Leverenz became friends during their undergraduate days at Baylor University. Friendship is a great foundation for romance. Couples who begin with friendship and move to romance enjoy the benefit of learning one another through clear lenses. That's what happened with David and Molly.

They met—thanks to the networking skills of Molly's Aunt Julia, who attends University Baptist Church in Fort Worth, Texas, with David's family—when they were seniors in high school. Jules figured our families should get acquainted, since the youngest Leverenz and Knox progeny were Baylor-bound.

David and Molly attended the same Line Camp the summer before their freshman year in Waco, and they hit it off as friends. Through the semesters, David's name would crop up in stories of events on campus, special occasions and the ongoing "stuff" of Molly's life. 

I realized their friendship was deep and significant during the spring semester of Molly's junior year, when she studied in the Netherlands. Any time she faced a challenge, she wanted four people to know about it and to pray for her—Joanna, her mother; Malsi, her best friend from high school and a student at Texas A&M; David; and me. She trusted David and leaned into his spiritual maturity.

The next fall, just before Molly decided to go for broke and ask David out on a date, he gathered up his courage and asked her out. And the rest, as they say, is history. They've been together ever since, even after they graduated a little more than a year ago. They got engaged on the Baylor campus on the Saturday of homecoming last fall.

Since then, we've been running a wedding-preparation marathon that has turned into a sprint. (By "we," I mostly mean Jo, but I've tried to do as I've been told.) Now, we're down to ironing out the final details, which range from ironing the bridesmaids' dresses, to helping Molly and David move into their apartment, to polishing the wedding ceremony, to picking up the dress, to making sure the church is ready, to preparing the house for company.

And Jo and I are preparing our hearts for the marriage of our daughter. We're delighted, of course. This is an event for which we've prayed all Molly's life. We started praying for "that boy out there who one day will marry Molly" when these young people were babies. We've thoroughly enjoyed watching their love grow. We've been thrilled by the passion of their faith in Jesus and their desire to build their marriage and family on him. We're excited with them and for them as they face all the bright possibilities of their future.

But still, the wedding of a daughter or son is a bittersweet moment. We've relished millions of moments raising this child of ours. And while she'll still be our daughter after she walks up the aisle on David's arm, things will be different. The major part of our parenting task will be over—of course, it already is, but I can remain in a tiny bit of denial until he plants a ring on her finger—and they will be a new family. 

My buddies know I'm a sappy, sappy dad. They're already talking about whether or not I'll cry during the wedding. I'm going to try to keep the proverbial stiff upper lip, since I'm performing the ceremony and don't want to detract from the happy couple.

But if I do, you can bet they'll be tears of joy—for a lovely daughter and the love of her life.

The 2010 SBC was the convention's most anticipated event in recent memory. It certainly proved to be the most significant annual meeting since 1990, when proponents of the so-called "conservative resurgence" sealed their victory.

Back then, their conventional wisdom called for the turgid waters of theo-political conflict to part, providing a smooth path to the Promised Land. With their theological orthodoxy pure and secured, they expected God to reward their purge of "liberals" with unlimited growth and grandeur even exceeding their  superstar preachers' tailored suits.

But the Land of Promise has been hard, rocky, barren and drought-stricken. Many of the lions who led the Baptist Battles of yore have died. Others are in poor health or have become caricatures of their former selves. Their influence has waned. An iconoclastic generation that "knows not Joseph" has risen to prominence. On top of it all, years of stagnation and decline finally forced them to admit all is not well.

Plan for paradise

And so, last year, the SBC created the Great Commission Resurgence Task Force. The convention commissioned it to provide a plan for recapturing paradise.

Paradoxically, the task force's recommendations were both too timid and too bold.

Convention observers who hoped for and expected creative, radical change thought several big moves might be in the offing. Like merging the International and North American mission boards. Maybe pairing down the number of seminaries. Thinking about new channels of cooperation and collaboration. Nada.

Long-term leaders just hoped they would please, please, please leave the Cooperative Program—the convention's unified budget—alone. After wrangling and compromisiong, the task force finally said the Cooperative Program is OK and should be affirmed. But they also tweaked wording to assuage the egos of megachurch pastors, whose congregations only give a tiny fraction of their budgets to the CP and whose feelings have been hurt when they have been called chinchy, by saying the money they spend on other missions programs is "Great Commission," too. 

Symbolic gesture—1%

The most substantive outcome of the 2010 SBC is a symbolic gesture. The task force recommendations call for increasing the funding allocation that goes to the International Mission Board from 50 percent to 51 percent of the Cooperative Program. And the proposal calls for taking that 1 percent from the Executive Committee. That amount would increase the mission board's budget by just 2 percent, but it would cut the Executive Committee's budget by about 30 percent. 

That's payback for Morris Chapman, the Executive Committee's president, who has fallen out of favor with most of the SBC's leading pastors and elected leadership, as well as many of his fellow SBC executives. Ironically, however, Chapman retires Sept. 30, and his successor, Frank Page, is the one who will pay for wrath directed at Chapman.

Tick-tock, tick-tock

Meanwhile, the clock is ticking. The last two years, attendance at the SBC annual meetings has been marked by a noticeable increase in young pastors. Their presence gives the feel that the graying of  the denominaton—or at least its leadership—could be reversing. However, they have given notice that they want change—more hands-on missions, more passion for reaching the lost, more missions in the places where the gospel is not welcome, and a more vigorous, youthful tone from a convention long guided by wealthy older suburban pastors.

If satisfactory change doesn't come soon, they young bucks will move on. Many feel more comfortable in a nondenominational context, anyway. And there's another irony. Many historically oriented observers predict the erosion of the Cooperative Program means the SBC will become a much looser, smaller collection of quasi-independent churches. 

So, the next big move will be writing the 2011-12 Cooperative Program budget. Then we'll find out if churches will respond to the changes by giving more money and sending more missionaries. Or if they go off and do their own thing.

Is the SBC standing on Jordan's banks, ready to cross over? Or is its Promised Land a long, dusty walk away?

Those questions popped to mind when a good friend forwarded a link to a presidential proclamation declaring June as Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Month. 

"I cannot believe we have lived long enough to see Sodom and Gomorrah
re-invented!!" the person who started the e-mail string wrote. "We might as well turn out the lights," my friend added.

Really? Once upon a time—1776? 1860? 1954?—was our nation holier than now?

Long line of sin

As much as we revere our forebears, it's seriously difficult to believe God blessed our nation on account of its righteousness. In the earliest days, Christians of various persuasions beat, imprisoned and sometimes killed people—including other Christians—for not believing as they did. Our Baptist brethren were among the most persecuted, particularly in Massachusetts and Virginia.

For the first 250 years white people lived on this continent, many of them—our Baptist ancestors included—owned other human beings. They treated most of them as less than human. The Southern Baptist Convention was founded by slaveholders who got angry when Baptists in the North would not allow slaveowners to be missionaries.

Even when they no longer could own them, our predecessors in the South treated nonwhites maliciously and did everything they could to deny their basic rights.

And until about 100 years ago, women did not have full rights as citizens.

This is to say nothing of ongoing racial segregation, as well as systematic corruption and abuse of unskilled laborers, no matter their color.

When was sin "invented"?

Most Baptists and many other Christians cite the words of the Apostle Paul from the New Testament, whose straightforward interpretation declares homosexual activity to be sinful, and outside the will of God.

But no matter how you view homosexual practice, an honest reading of history reveals Americans did not invent sin in this generation.

We can take ironic comfort in closely observing human behavior throughout history. Go all the way back to Genesis and see  not much has changed. A sad constant since Adam and Eve has been the strong human inclination to sin. Unfortunately, we sin both individually and corporately. Throughout time, people have committed sins against nature and sins against people. Both are sin, and both are practiced individually and corporately.

If you look closely, no generation has been particularly worse than others. But the manifestations of behavior been different. I don't know which grieved God worse—racial segregation or sexual immorality. Both violate God's plan for people.

Thank God for grace

So, we must not diminish the severity of our current moral climate. But neither should we diminish the moral failures of previous generations. We can take heart in the constancy of God's love. I tremble when I think of my own tendency to sin, which makes me enormously grateful for grace.

"For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith-and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God … ."

I started praying for mud when BP officials announced they would attempt a "top kill" procedure to plug a wrecked oil well almost a mile beneath the Gulf of Mexico's surface. Engineers began pumping mud into the well, hoping to stop the flow of crude. So far, at least 19 million gallons of oil have gushed into the Gulf.

This is a tragedy of epic proportions. Already, it's the worst oil spill in U.S. history, and nobody knows how bad it get be before it's over. 

News and photos about the spill are disheartening.  Our family particularly resonates with this disaster, because we have spent some of the best, happiest weeks of our lives vacationing on the Gulf Coast. Imagining those pristine white beaches spoiled by crude and tar and dead sea animals is harrowing.

Epic tragedy

And yet we know our sense of sorrow is miniscule by comparison. The families whose livelihood depends upon the Gulf—who catch fish and shrimp, who feed and house tourists, and who, ironically, drill for oil—could be scarred for years and even decades. In already-perilous economic times, some may lose their livelihoods and find themselves forced to flee inland. 

Beyond that, the loss of marine life and waterfowl, marshlands and coasts is incomprehensible. The Deepwater Horizon catastrophe has violated God's creation, and that is a sin of enormous magnitude.

From the start, we've heard blame and seen fingers pointing. This, too, is dispiriting. It serves no useful purpose, since the intention is not to find and fix problems but to mitigate legal damage and score political points.

Plenty of guilt

Truth is, guilt abounds in every direction. According to news reports,  all the petroleum-producing companies involved in the Deepwater Horizon cut corners, ignored regulations, disregarded the safety of workers and just plain failed to do their jobs.

They were abetted by lax regulators, who apparently cozied up to the very industry they pledged to oversee. It's ironic that so many people want deregulation and yet they're surprised when unregulated or barely regulated industries create calamities of epic proportions. 

Look inward

The list of fault goes on and on. But we miss the point if we fail to look in the mirror.

• Oil companies can afford to spend billions of dollars to build and operate fleets of deep-sea  drilling rigs because of our ravenous thirst for oil. They know we'll drive them to profits, one tank of gas at a time.

• They can afford to risk the lives of their employees because of our ravenous thirst for oil. They know we'll get more upset if we have to wait in line at the gas station than we will when we read about 11 lives lost on a single rig.

• They can afford to destroy the Gulf's fragile ecosystem, maul the Mississippi delta's rich marshes, and bedraggle beautiful beaches because of our ravenous thirst for oil. They know we'll eventually forgive them as long as we don't have to pay too much at the pump.

• Regulators can cash in on perks and other favors from the industries they allegedly regulate, because of our ravenous thirst for oil. Thanks to the cash we fork over at filling stations, the industries—not the people they' regulators are supposed to protect—have all the power.

 • Politicians can play the blame game, because of our ravenous thirst for oil. They know they'll confuse us with their excuses and fake us with their finger-pointing. And then, as long as they pump in enough campaign money from the industries they should be watching, they'll spend enough advertising money to get re-elected.

Until we as citizens of the Earth learn to simplify our lives, demand better fuel efficiency, call out and pay for greener energy,  and hold business and government accountable, we'll continue to face one disaster after another.

Admittedly, this isn't easy. One petroleum expert estimates that if the Deepwater Horizon wreck spills 5,000 gallons of oil a day, that accounts for only two minutes of oil consumption in Texas.

So, in addition to praying that the mud will hold and the well will stop spewing, let us pray that this disaster will awaken a desire to be stewards of God's blessings. Let us pray that we will have the resolve to prevent a disaster like this from happening again—both by changing our habits and by insisting petroleum companies, regulators and politicians change theirs.

How often have you heard that little caveat as prelude to a profound discussion? It surfaces repeatedly on news and talk programs as well as the myriad websites and blogs that comprise our digital town hall. People inevitably chalk being a “religious person” to personal preference, like it's a coincidence of birth or casual choice. It’s not much different than whether someone is a “dog person,” likes Thai food, or hates the Yankees. It’s a value-neutral perspective, with no objective basis in truth or reality.

This notion that someone either is or is not a “religious person” presents significant implications for Christian evangelism. Several come quickly to mind:

Denying truth

First, it denies the universal imperative that everyone needs a personal relationship with God in Christ. Christians understand all people sin, or miss the mark of God’s ideal plan for their lives (Romans 3:23). The natural result is eternal estrangement from God, but we are offered reconciliation with God that lasts forever (6:23). God loved us so much that Christ died to make this happen (5:8). All that is required of us is to acknowledge, “Jesus is Lord” (10:9, 13). When this happens, we make peace with God (5:1), and absolutely nothing can separate us from God’s love (8:38-39).

If the world is divided into the religious and nonreligious, then no single truth applies to everyone. Any explanation of sin, estrangement, redemption and reconciliation only applies to the “religious person” and is limited to that person’s subjective view of reality. The nonreligious receive a get-out-of-hell-free card simply because they are not interested in heaven or hell. It’s just not for them.

Trumping transcendence

Second, it diminishes, or maybe reinterprets, the human desire to seek transcendence—something beyond oneself. This is one of the battlegrounds of science vs. religion. If religion is a purely personal choice, then something elsemust explain all that lies both beneath and beyond the surface of human existence. Ta-da! It’s science.

Unfortunately, too many religious people have been suckered into this dichotomy. They fail to understand faith/religion addresses the Who and why of all the big questions of existence, while science seeks to explain what and how.

Denying spiritual meaning

Third, it glosses over the substantive understanding of the spiritual meaning of events. This probably is a corollary of the second issue. Every day, the news is filled with events that are crammed with spiritual significance—from oil spills, to earthquakes and volcanoes, to wars and global recession, to divorces and car wrecks and a million more. The “not a religious person” crowd can’t possibly mine the depth and complexity of this life if they don’t contemplate the possibility that what happens on Earth is full of religious meaning.

Equating faith with fanatics

Fourth, it unfairly lumps the faithful and the fanatics into the same category. Someone who says, “I’m not a religious person” implies the world is divided into two and only two camps. And then the differences between sweet-spirited people who sacrificially serve others and the zealots who blow up, brand and butcher others in their god’s name.

Gateway to conversation

The idea that the world is divided into religious and nonreligious people presents a significant challenge, in part because it is so pervasive. But we can turn pervasiveness into opportunity—through thoughtful, respectful, directed conversation.

When someone professes not to be a “religious person,” why not ask, “What do you mean by that?” Most people are more religious than they let on, particularly if someone carefully and considerately connects the dots for them. Use the conversation to explore the links between events in the world and what you know about God. And in talking about the God you know, demonstrate how pure religion is all about a relationship with God experienced through Christ.

My jury summons arrived not long ago, and I was expecting it.

For some civic reason, I seem to be a member of Dallas County's every-six-month juror program. The last time the county called me up, I went down to the courthouse and begged off. Early February is a busy season on the Baptist calendar, and I told the bailiff my schedule would be a wreck if I had to serve on a jury for a trial that lasted more than a couple of days. He was extremely nice and told me I'd hear from them in three months.

Sure enough I got my summons right on time. And that's why I found myself sitting in the Central Jury Room of the Frank Crowley Courts Building bright an early one morning. By the time I get to be really old, I'll probably show up two days early for big events. I just hate to be late and don't trust traffic.

Slice of life

So, when I walked into the Central Jury Room, only a handful of my fellow citizens had arrived. But by the time a judge showed up to swear us in, the place was packed with what appeared to be a precise cross-section of our county's population. Men and women. Visibly rich and obviously poor. Myriad races and ethnicities, plus every conceivable shape and size. Since practically no one knew anybody else, the prospective jurors didn't say much, but I'm guessing if they had the opportunity to express themselves, they would have demonstrated that both the intelligent and the ignorant both were represented generously.

A jury pool surely must reflect the truest representation of a community. Think about the other places where large groups gather: Practically everybody goes to the grocery store, but each store only pulls from its neighborhood. Thousands of people attend sporting events, music concerts and plays, but they're people with enough cash to spend with discretion. Churches, mosques and synagogues draw crowds, but we all know how segregated they are.

About the only adults who don't show up for jury duty are undocumented aliens and the very old. The former are officially off the grid, and the latter are exempt from service.

So, if you want to know what your community really looks like, do your civic duty and appear in court the next time your number comes up.

Time, wheels, cogs and truth

This time, my trip to the courthouse reminded me of a few truths.

First, free time is delicious. Since I couldn't count on wireless access, not to mention an electrical outlet, I left my laptop in the trunk of my car. That meant I couldn't work. So I read a book. Ahhhh. What a delight. Reading for pleasure. Reading for hours. Reading with few interruptions. Suddenly, I thought being called up for jury duty isn't so bad, after all.

Second, the wheels of justice really do grind slowly. We had to be there first thing in the morning. Byt the time the court officers divided everyone into separate pools for all the courts that meet in that massive building, the morning was well-spent. And then, by the time the judge and the lawyers and the plaintiffs and defendants finished talking, bargaining and whatever else they do behind closed doors, my particular jury pool wasn't called into the courtroom until almost noon.

Third, the cogs on the wheel of justice are unpredictable. Once we all found our seats, the judge smiled broadly, told us the people involved in our case had agreed to settle, and told us we were free to go. That's it. We waited all morning, and we spent less than a minute in the courtroom. "You have done your civic duty, and Dallas County thanks you for your service," the judge said.

Oh, and fourth, one of the great treats of life is receiving an unexpected gift of time. When I awoke that morning, I expected to spend all day—and maybe even several days—at the courthouse. Then I got to put in a half day in the office—a half day I never expected. All the work I accomplished that afternoon was like a bonus. What a terrific surprise.

The moment I got the news is frozen in memory. Joanna and I just arrived home from church, and she checked voicemail while I let the dog out. Jo came to me, her face stricken with shock and grief. "Marv, I think Martha's dead," she told me.

We listened to two broken messages from my father and then reached him on the phone. Martha suffered her entire 50 years with kidney and bladder problems. A kidney donated from Daddy worked for around 13 years. Then she endured dialysis again for about 18 month and had been approved for a second transplant. A relatively minor medical procedure led to complications, and a blood clot in her lung took her earthly life.

Martha also had been deaf her whole life. She worked as a teacher’s aide at the Wichita Falls Regional School for the Deaf for 26 years and taught scores of children how to speak with their hands. More than that, her example taught them how to live a full, rich, fun and meaningful life despite numerous physical challenges.

My sister, my hero

Martha was my hero. She faced down more pain and difficulty than most people could endure in 10 lifetimes. And she always bore it with smiles and laughter and her persistent reply to adversity, "No problem."

So many times throughout the past year, I've wanted to be in Martha's presence again. She was my first friend and my inspiration. I've wished we could laugh together at the silliness and irony of life. I've wished we could hug—tight and hard, as always.

Just before the anniversary of Martha's death, I drove out to southwestern Oklahoma to spend part of a day with our parents. Mother and Daddy have grieved the worst this past year. Parents shouldn't have to bury their children, and I don't think they ever get over it. I know mine haven't—and won't. Their love is deep and abiding, and the wound of losing Martha is gaping.

Expectation

And yet we talked with gladness and hope. For all our missing her, we know Martha no longer suffers. And we look forward to a glad reunion with her, when she will hear our voices for the very first time.

A friend once observed that grief undulates, and he was correct. At times, Mother, Daddy, my brother, Martin, and I have felt better. At other times, Martha's absence has been palpable. And so it will be, both better and worse, for as long as we live.

But we will live in hope, because Martha entrusted her life and soul to Christ, who has made her whole. She will be our daughter and sister for eternity. Our earthly goodbye was not permanent.

Cecil Sherman will go down in history as the first coordinator of the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship. At the time, it was a fledgling group of so-called moderate Baptists who lost their place in the Southern Baptist Convention in 1990 and set out to continue to practice their “free and faithful” Baptist heritage. That was a noble, adventurous and monumental undertaking in its own right.

But Cecil was so much more than that one shining accomplishment.

Exemplary role model

He was a bastion of courage, integrity, wisdom and faithfulness. He embodied Baptist principles and distinctives, such as fervent belief in soul competency and the priesthood of all believers, and their corollary, the autonomy of the local church. He modeled authentic, respectful evangelism. He lived out a lifelong commitment to ministry and missions.

Several years ago, Cecil visited our church in Kentucky. He preached in the morning service and then he spoke at a luncheon on “being Baptist.” I wish every Baptist who bears the name could have heard him speak. Not only did he nail the basic doctrines and practices Baptists have championed for 400 years, but he also described them so fervently that he made all of us want to reflect them more accurately and honestly in their own lives.

Pastor & leader

Cecil was a practical-yet-passionate pastor. I remember him talking about moving to Fort Worth to lead Broadway Baptist Church. At the time, the old downtown church was suffering the declines that have afflicted many congregations separated from suburbia. Cecil knew and respected the church’s traditions for exemplary worship. He was an excellent preacher, and he contributed mightily as that church enjoined God. But he also understood the church would dwindle and die if it did not attract young families. And so he set out to do that. The hard-but-effective way. He got in his car and drove all over the city and sat in their living rooms and visited with the parents and joked with the children and loved them into the church. He would say you can’t cut corners on doing church right. And he never did.

For years, he wrote Sunday school lessons. They were simple and approachable by all laity, and yet they were deep and profound. He wrote simple, direct sentences so well, he would make Hemingway jealous.

Holy moment

Early on in his recent bout with cancer, the Associated Baptist Press board of directors presented its Religious Freedom Award to Cecil. At the time, he could not move among crowds, and so I was privileged to visit his room in M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, where I stood with his daughter, Eugenia, and his brother, Bill, and talked to him about how many people love and admire him. About how we have taken strength from his courage and guidance from his integrity. Standing in his presence, talking about values that have provided Baptists with backbone for four centuries, was one of the holiest moments of my life.

Cecil rallied then and returned to a productive life in Richmond, Va., where friends and colleagues from ABP later presented that award publicly. He served and encouraged folks up until the end, when he was felled by a massive heart attack last week.

His funeral services are being held Tuesday, April 20, in Richmond and Friday, April 23, in Asheville, N.C. You can read his obituary here and link to streaming video of his services here.

We will not know another like him.