Within days of each other, two North Texas news stories gained global attention. We likely care about one more than the other.

On Jan. 13, Stewart Rhodes—founder and leader of Oath Keepers—was arrested in Little Elm on charges of “seditious conspiracy.” On Jan. 15, a man identified as Malik Faisal Akram—a British national—held Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker and three others hostage at Congregation Beth Israel in Colleyville.

Rhodes, though only recently moving to Texas from Montana, holds at least one view in common with many Texans who believe Donald Trump won the 2020 presidential election and Joe Biden’s win should be overturned. It seems Rhodes was willing to see that happen violently.

The other story may have gained less attention among Texans, because it involved a synagogue and a British national. Neither seem to be particularly high on Texans’ give-a-rip meter.

Finding comfort where there is none

When we encounter news of Rabbi Cytron-Walker and his congregants being held hostage, we might distract or comfort ourselves with the idea no one was killed, it wasn’t one of us, and Akram was a Muslim.

As grateful as Rabbi Cytron-Walker is to be alive, the fact he and his community live with pervasive and persistent antisemitism that can turn violent at any time offers little comfort for them. It should not be any comfort to us, either.

The fact a foreign national was the perpetrator—this time—is no comfort, either, because there have been plenty of incidents of homegrown antisemitism. You can read a record of them here.

Nor does a foreign national being the perpetrator relieve us of our responsibility to look after the welfare of our Jewish neighbors here.

Furthermore, any notion of finding some comfort in the hostage-taker being a Muslim obscures several facts. It insinuates the incident somehow makes sense by virtue of a Muslim being involved, as though we forget many American Christians have a very low view of Muslims. It ignores the fact many Muslims do not wish Jews harm, while overlooking the fact many Americans do loathe Jews. We should find no solace or quarter in shifting the blame.

We must care about antisemitism, but how will we come to care?

Two paths to giving a rip

The numbers don’t seem to generate much concern among us. The simple fact antisemitic incidents continue unabated in the United States suggests the overwhelming volume of hateful actions and words aimed at Jews here is not enough to raise our level of concern to the point of stopping such harm.

Unfortunately, we are not likely to care about our Jewish neighbors as we should until one of two things happens: (1) we become friends and/or (2) we become targets.

One reason some people pull back from interfaith friendship is a fear that non-Christian convictions will weaken Christian ones. Bob Roberts Jr. and others like him have been showing us for years this doesn’t have to be and isn’t necessarily the case.

Pastor Roberts co-founded Multi-Faith Neighbors Network with Imam Mohamed Magid and Rabbi David Saperstein. Their working relationship is built on personal relationships of trust and respect developed with intention over years.

The mission of MFNN is to build “neighborhoods and cities that are more interconnected and resilient to hate and violence,” even among “faith groups that are suspicious and even antagonistic to each other.”

In doing so, “MFNN believes that multi-faith relationships allow everyone to hold onto their own beliefs while still building deep bonds with other faiths and serving their city together.”

Roberts and his co-laborers’ work to build trust, respect and friendship across faiths produced positive results during Congregation Beth Israel’s terrifying ordeal.

Not everyone chooses the path of friendship, however. Seeming to choose a much harder route, some only begin caring when they begin suffering, too.

Martin Niemöller is one of the best examples. Niemöller gave up his support for the Nazis in 1930s Germany when they took control of the churches. He is perhaps most famous for “First They Came,” his poem describing his change of heart.

“First they came for the Communists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Communist
Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist
Then they came for the trade unionists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a trade unionist
Then they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Jew
Then they came for me
And there was no one left
To speak out for me”

History and human behavior suggest as long as Christians are not regular targets of hatred and violence, we aren’t likely to get too worked up about Jews being held hostage in a synagogue—even when it’s in our own neighborhood. We’re more apt to tune in to arrests for “seditious conspiracy.”

But here again, we are comforting ourselves with falsehoods. We cannot claim to follow Jesus and simultaneously be callous or indifferent to hatred against others.

We cannot look away from hatred against Jews here because such hatred is not directed at us. To do so is not only to deny our Jewish neighbors; it is also to deny millions of our brothers and sisters around the world who experience just such hatred regularly.

We do better to learn the path of friendship, not because it will prevent violence—it won’t—but because it reflects Christ’s love for people.

We do better to reject the temptation not to care.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP. The views expressed are those solely of the author.

A sermon John MacArthur preached Jan. 17, 2021, is back in the news. That’s the same John MacArthur of Beth Moore fame.

MacArthur framed his hour-long sermon around the idea that “20/20 always signifies clarity.” One of the things he claimed God made clear in 2020 is the wrongness of religious freedom.

Have Baptists been wrong about religious freedom all this time? Centuries, even?

What did MacArthur say?

MacArthur gained clarity in 2020 about several things. He began his sermon naming all the reasons he loves his church. He read from 1 Thessalonians 1, saying Paul’s description of the church in Thessalonica also describes MacArthur’s own. May all churches be described so.

He then turned to leadership. He described the lack of control in 2020 as being “the closest thing to the experience of the church in war.” His church was “under a massive assault,” he said, with “all kinds of people … telling us what to do, what we could do and couldn’t do.”

MacArthur spent almost half an hour detailing how he and Grace Community Church responded to that “massive assault” through ministries, with much celebration of the kinds of ministry any church would celebrate.

He then declared his church to be “the people of the truth” and “all about the truth” in keeping with 2 Corinthians 13:8.

At this point, MacArthur turned on what he called a “superficial, shallow, false form of Christianity.” He described much of his ministry, what has driven him, as calling “the people who say they are Christians to act like Christians, to follow the word of God, to be faithful.”

“Superficial Christianity made a lot of money,” he contended. “The biggest churches in America are part of it,” he said, labeling them and their leaders as “corrupt,” “phonies,” “liars, frauds and conmen.”

At just past 44 minutes into his sermon, MacArthur seemed to change the subject, saying, “And, oh, by the way,” before launching into a critique of religious freedom.

When questioning “the new administration[’s]” upholding religious freedom, MacArthur put up his hands and stated, “I don’t even support religious freedom.”

“Religious freedom is what sends people to hell,” he continued. “To say I support religious freedom is to say I support idolatry. It’s to say I support lies, I support hell, I support the kingdom of darkness.

“You can’t say that. No Christian with half a brain would say, ‘We support religious freedom.’ We support the truth.”

Put another way, John MacArthur contends Baptists are not people of the truth, but that we support idolatry, lies, hell, the kingdom of darkness, and that we have no more than half a brain.

Is this true? No.

He went on to assert government support of religious freedom will result in an increase of religious persecution, because such freedom aligns with “the devil’s lies” and not “the truth of Scripture.” His and his church’s role is to “expose all those lies as lies.”

What do Baptists believe about religious freedom?

Baptists, who view the Bible as “the supreme standard by which all human conduct, creeds, and religious opinions should be tried” (Baptist Faith and Message, 1963, 2000), base their view of religious freedom on none other than the Bible.

The Baptist Faith and Message lists as biblical support for the Southern Baptist view of religious freedom the following Scripture references: “Genesis 1:27; 2:7; Matthew 6:6-7, 24; 16:26; 22:21; John 8:36; Acts 4:19-20; Romans 6:1-2; 13:1-7; Galatians 5:1, 13; Philippians 3:20; 1 Timothy 2:1-2; James 4:12; 1 Peter 2:12-17; 3:11-17; 4:12-19.”

The section on religious liberty begins and ends with: “God alone is Lord of the conscience, and He has left it free from the doctrines and commandments of men which are contrary to His Word or not contained in it. … A free church in a free state is the Christian ideal, and this implies the right of free and unhindered access to God on the part of all [people], and the right to form and propagate opinions in the sphere of religion without interference by the civil power.”

Herschel Hobbs, in his commentary on the Baptist Faith and Message, states: “Religious liberty is the mother of all true freedom. It [and freedom in general] is rooted in the very nature of both God and man created in God’s likeness (Gen. 1:27).”

Religious freedom is not created by the state, Hobbs asserts, but exists prior to the state, within the nature of God and humans’ God-created nature.

As such, human beings are free—without the coercion of government or any other—to worship or not worship God according to conscience. As Hobbs’ commentary makes clear, such freedom entails “responsibility and demands inner and personal controls.” It is not mere tolerance.

Baptists who disagree at several points—such as Albert Mohler, Russell Moore and the SBC Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission, Adam Greenway, Karen Swallow Prior, Elijah Brown and the Baptist World Alliance, and Amanda Tyler and the Baptist Joint Committee for Religious Liberty—agree on the importance of religious freedom.

Why Baptists support religious freedom

Baptists are not ignorant of or naïve to the kind of persecution MacArthur spent so much time talking about through the remainder of his sermon. Nor are Baptists unaware of Jesus’ teaching about the connection between following Jesus and being persecuted.

On the contrary, Baptists have championed religious freedom more than 400 years, because they have sought to follow Jesus faithfully. And they have seen and experienced throughout those centuries—right up to the present—the persecution that comes when only one form of worship or no worship at all is permitted by law.

A Baptist might wonder, if MacArthur doesn’t support religious freedom, does he then support religious persecution? Does he support the imposition of one and only one legal form of worship or legal prohibition of all worship? Does he support that?

This is a question of import at present for several reasons, not least of which is the simple fact there are Christians who would love to enforce a single strand of belief on the American populace—Christianity as they define it. Christ never compelled such allegiance.

History demonstrates any time only a single strand of thought or religious belief is allowed, those who define what religion is approved also find it easier and easier to whittle the ranks of supposed adherents.

Human claiming to speak the truth all too often are a prelude to just this kind of will to purification. All the more reason for those who claim to follow Jesus to be very familiar with Jesus’ teaching.

How many times did Jesus watch as people turned him down, as even his closest friends abandoned him? And he let them go, yes, even when it meant their destruction.

Is religious freedom wrong? Ask Jesus.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP. The views expressed are those solely of the author.

There’s a reason the new year starts with January. January honors the Roman god Janus, the keeper of passages and god of beginnings, the first god to be invoked during prayer. His festival took place Jan. 9. Thus, all who order their lives by the Julian and later Gregorian calendars begin their year with January.

January 6, for those unfamiliar with the liturgical church calendar, commemorates a competing passage. Jan. 6 is Epiphany, or a commemoration of Christ revealed as the Son of God.

On Epiphany, the Western church commemorates the magi’s visit of the Christ child (Matthew 2:1-12). Eastern Christians use the day to commemorate Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan River (Matthew 3:13-17).

This year, Jan. 6 has a stronger association for most Americans. This Jan. 6 is remembered as the first anniversary of the storming of the U.S. Capitol.

Just as Jesus’ birth and baptism marked a direct confrontation with the political rulers of his time, so Jesus continues to pose a direct confrontation with the political rulers of our time.

The confrontation centers on who will order our steps. Will Jesus Christ order our steps, or will the political powers in our time order them?

What we believe about Jan. 6 is a prime example of who is ordering our steps. Is Jan. 6 about a protest, an insurrection or Christ?

Redirecting our attention

Labeling an event like Jan. 6 is a powerful act. Labels shape our thinking and our responding, thereby ordering our steps.

On Jan. 6, 2021, the labels “protest” and “insurrection” were beginning to be applied, each term signifying a larger set of ideas, confronting us with where we stand in relation to those ideas, ordering our steps.

Within days, the debate was underway about what exactly to call what happened. Was it a protest, a mob, a riot, an insurrection? Was it innocent or malicious? Was it justified or criminal? A select committee of the U.S. House of Representatives was formed to find out.

Muddying the debate were the numerous representations of Christianity on display among the crowd at the Capitol. The direct tying of Christianity to support of Donald Trump and his claims about the election raised yet another question. Was the event purely political or also religious?

Whatever truth or falsehood may exist in any one label as applied, we are expected to believe Jan. 6 is about either an insurrection against the government of the United States or a protest of a fraudulent election. Both choices are deeply loaded by political powers who desire to order our steps in accordance with their respective purposes.

We must be vigilant

We must keep our eyes and ears open to the ways political power in our day attempts to order our thinking, our responding, our steps. One recent example jumps out.

While others already have given attention to Donald Trump Jr.’s remarks during his appearance Dec. 19 at AmericaFest 2021, my focus here is how his characterization of Jan. 6 is part of ordering our steps.

Trump Jr. sought to distinguish between the “insurrection” label as applied to Jan. 6 and how he contended it hasn’t been applied to “burning down the federal courthouse all over the West Coast, taking them over, trapping police inside.”

“That is not an insurrection, folks, but if your grandmother was somewhere within 200 miles of Washington, D.C., on Jan. 6th, they’re being investigated by the FBI,” he asserted.

We all know he was exaggerating in the moment, but the label was skillfully applied. Presumably, one is supposed to ask: “If one event is deemed an insurrection, shouldn’t both events be, and if one is deemed legitimate protest, shouldn’t both be?”

He then wrapped his argument in the rhetoric of freedom and liberty—“We are the frontline of freedom. We are the frontline of liberty”—and a call to action—“If we band together, we can take on these institutions. … If we get together, they cannot cancel us all.”

Trump Jr.’s next assertion should have broken whatever spell he held over listening Christians of any political persuasion.

“We have turned the other cheek, and I understand, I understand, sort of, the biblical reference. I understand the mentality, but it’s gotten us nothing. OK? It’s gotten us nothing.”

He contended conservatives need to play “hardball and cheating” like their opposition.

According to this reasoning, obeying Christ can take a back seat if it gets in the way of freedom and liberty. If it’s OK in politics, how long will it be OK elsewhere?

How subtly our thinking, our responding, our steps can be ordered, not according to Christ, but contrary to Christ.

One part of the whole

Some have pointed out Trump Jr. did not question Jesus’ authority and teaching in its entirety. They seem to justify his derision of “turn the other cheek” as purely political, a call to “American conservatives … to be more pragmatic and ruthless in pursuing their political aims,” as Snopes puts it.

Be that as it may, the problem for the Christian is that such a call relies on casting aside even just one teaching of Christ. If a Christian can be convinced to make that first step, how much else can the political powers in our day—Republican, Democrat, conservative, liberal, moderate, whatever—order our thinking, our responding, our steps?

An investigation is in progress to determine who ordered an unruly assault of government last Jan. 6, if such an assault was ordered at all.

This Jan. 6—as with all days—Christians ought to order the day differently. How we do will reveal who orders our steps and our lives.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP. The views expressed are those solely of the author.

“They may call you Doctor or they may call you Chief
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody …”

Bob Dylan said it as well as anybody, painting a lyrical picture of Jesus’ caution against trying to serve two masters. While Jesus gave as options “God and money” (Matthew 6:24), Dylan puts a finer point on the choice: the devil or the Lord.

The choice between the two is more of a tightrope walk than we often realize, the lean away from God profoundly subtle. Especially when the lean is wrapped in Christian language.

The attention given to Trump at First Baptist Church in Dallas Sunday morning, Dec. 19, begs just this question: “Which master is being served?”

I do not understand the thinking behind inviting, accepting or allowing Donald Trump to speak from the pulpit during a Sunday morning worship service. For all the people who would not be given that space at that time—their sins being given as prohibitive reasons—it’s hard to understand Robert Jeffress doing so. It’s enough to raise the question of servitude.

The center of the service

The timing of Trump’s appearance at First Baptist Dallas is problematic all by itself. The service was described as “this special Christmas Sunday.” That being the case, no political candidate (And who thinks Trump is not a political candidate?) should be given top billing in a Christian church’s Sunday morning worship service at any time of the year, certainly not during a service purportedly focused on the birth of Christ.

Beyond the timing, the tone of the service was set before it even started. We could go back to the announcement that Trump would speak at the service, but we don’t have to go back that far. In the fashion all U.S. presidents are introduced, the service was preceded by heralding Trump.

Next, the opening song, “O Come, Let Us Adore Him,” declares Christ as Lord in each chorus, but it immediately followed Trump’s heralded entrance beside Jeffress. We all know Trump has been compared to the Messiah. He himself stated while looking heavenward that he is “the chosen one.”

Speaking of the Messiah, the third song was, in fact, “The Hallelujah Chorus” from Handel’s Messiah.

During the welcome that followed, Jeffress appealed to his audience to “tell your friends and family members around the country that I’ll be on Fox News three times later this week.”

True, he also said his appearances will be to “share the true meaning of Christmas.” Even so, interrupting a service to remind a global audience—which Jeffress later numbered in “the hundreds of thousands” and “the millions”—of his friendship with Fox cuts across the purpose of the service—to worship God.

During the same welcome, Jeffress acknowledged his special guest—Donald Trump—saying Trump would speak at the end of the service. He went so far as to say, “He’s going to be the climax of the conclusion of the service,” meaning Trump’s words were to be part of a worship service.

Still later, during the introduction of his sermon, Jeffress again brought attention to Trump. Later in the sermon, as he described Caesar Augustus, Jeffress noted only one person in his audience knew how it feels to be the most powerful man in the world. Jeffress referenced and addressed Trump throughout the sermon.

This carefully crafted service placed Trump at the beginning, middle and end. Ironically, the service was intended to hail the birth of the only One who is to occupy the beginning, middle and end. His name is Jesus.

What our friends suggest

Jeffress was intent on drawing a very close connection between himself and Trump.

“He has certainly been a great friend to me. I’ve known him now for about seven years, and I count him as one of my closest friends,” Jeffress said.

“He’s not only a great friend of mine, but he is a great friend of this church, and he is a great friend of Christians everywhere. He is,” Jeffress continued.

All of that may be true. I have no way to contest Jeffress and Trump’s friendship. I can say we are known by our friendships. The people we call “friends” say a great deal about us, and those we call “great friends,” even “one of my closest friends,” says even more about us. Our friendships can suggest which master we serve.

More important to Jeffress, however, seems to be what followed. With ascending passion, he declared, “I can say this without any dispute at all: He is the most pro-life, pro-religious liberty, pro-Israel president in the history of the United States of America.”

As a close friend of the former president, those three “pros” seem to outweigh a well-known list of significant “cons” before and throughout Trump’s presidency—including what Trump said stars like him are allowed to do to women; his mocking a disabled reporter; his litany of racist remarks; and his propensity to insult, well, anyone; among others.

This is the kind of person Jeffress calls “one of my closest friends.”

Trying to mix two masters

Jeffress preached for 25 minutes, issued the standard gospel invitation, prayed and introduced Trump, inviting him to share “whatever is on your heart” as a return favor to Trump. Jeffress then invited Trump to the pulpit to greater applause than any mention of Jesus received. Upon reaching the pulpit, Trump received an “I love you” and a hug from Jeffress.

Trump spoke for about 11 minutes—almost half the length of Jeffress’ sermon. It was a patently political message—a typical-though-tame Trump-stump speech, regardless of Jeffress’ protesting otherwise. Trump’s asserting, “Make America great again,” and “America first” can’t be taken any other way.

Trump, known for his inaccuracies, did speak the truth when he said he isn’t our savior. Saying our country needs a savior, he noted: “And that’s not me. That’s somebody much higher up than me, much higher up.”

But then he mixed the admonition, “We have to remember that Jesus Christ is the ultimate source of our strength and of our hope, and here and everywhere and for all time, Jesus Christ” with, “We want to just thank everybody who believes, because we’re believing in our country, we’re believing in the world, we’re believing in life.”

Nope. There’s no mixture. We can’t serve two masters.

Trump and Jeffress walked off the platform together, lauded with chants of, “USA! USA!” followed by a rousing “thank you” from First Baptist Dallas Executive Pastor Ben Lovvorn.

So much for Jesus. The tightrope walk of a Christmas service couldn’t help but look down.

Disclaimer: Lovvorn, gleeful over Trump’s presence, was sure to recite with a straight face, “It is our longstanding policy as a church that we do not endorse or oppose any political candidate for public office or otherwise intervene or engage in any political campaign.” He and the audience got a laugh out of that as he announced the service’s conclusion.

The service concluded with a reprise of “O Come, Let Us Adore Him.”

The truth about us

I’d like to say I don’t have the same struggle. I’d like to say I walk the tightrope of allegiance to God without the slightest wobble, but it’s simply not true. The pull away from God is just too subtle for all of us, as the Bible and all of human history consistently evince.

A Christmas service at First Baptist Dallas is not the only time or place the struggle for allegiance to one rightful master occurs. It just happens to be one well-publicized example.

All of us struggle to walk the tightrope, that narrow path of faithfulness to God. We each must remember it’s not a choice of which side to fall on; it’s a choice between staying up or falling below.

The competing master is below, wooing us in infinite and subtle ways. If we will just switch allegiance, we won’t have to walk the tightrope anymore. It’s so tempting to look down.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP.

Life is a casserole, but many of us prefer a cafeteria tray with no two foods touching. That’s also how we want our Christmas—all sugar, hold the coffee and cream.

But Christmas is a casserole, too.

The baby we want to adore today later will issue challenges to our preferences, allegiances, cherished sins. If only we could take the baby without the man, but we can’t and call ourselves “Christian.”

Let us not forget the baby we celebrate today came to be the man we rejected and crucified. Oh, yes, we rejected him and crucified him. Unless, of course, we’re John the beloved disciple or one of the Marys. In which case, we couldn’t be Simon Peter, James or any of the other close associates—friends—of Jesus.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we? That’s Easter; this is Christmas. As if the two have nothing to do with each other.

Christmas is just the beginning

Here we are at Christmas. Unto us a child is born. This baby with his sweet, little head shed his sweetness when he became a man.

As a man, he confounded us in word and deed. He condemned the righteous and accepted the wicked. He touched the untouchable and loved the unlovable, and he had the gall to expect us, command us, to do the same.

This baby came to do his Father’s will, but not the father we expected. With the whole of his life, he fulfilled the Law and the Prophets, and he called us to such obedience. But we like our food not touching. We’ll take the Law or the Prophets, not the two together.

Some will take law and order. Some will take justice and love. Still others will take a dollop of moderation like the soothing of heavy whipping cream.

The baby we adore became the man we condemned. He subverted the nation, stirred up the people, they said (Luke 23:2,5). Our cries slurred, no, whiplashed from, “Gloria in excelsis Deo” to, “Crucify him!”

We fawn over the baby. We proclaim him the reason for the season, yet leave the manger forgetting our adoration of him as quickly as we forget the preacher’s sermon between the pew and the parking lot. We lay our gold-plated, frankly empty mirth before the child and caravan home as though we’ve done all that’s expected.

This baby lays claim on us

This baby lays claim on us, each one of us and all of us. Either this baby is Lord at his birth and Lord for all time, or this “Christmas” child is stillborn.

If we declare this baby alive and thriving, he lays claim on us. If we believe he went to his Father’s house as a preteen and taught the religious experts there, he lays claim on us.

If we believe he overcame the devil’s temptings, he lays claim on us.

If we believe he preached a paradigmatic sermon on a mountain, he lays profound claim on us.

If we believe all of what the Gospels proclaim about him, claim gives way to obligation, with the proper response of obedience, which is to adoration as wine is to the grape.

Let’s consider just one example: peace.

The angels proclaimed Jesus’ birth heralded peace on earth. Jesus blessed the peacemakers. He said he left his peace with us. Where is such peace these days? Where are the peacemakers?

I don’t know about you, but all too often, I’m closer to adoration than obedience. Just the other day, I chose a spoonful of self-righteous indignation over a healthy portion of peacemaking.

I wasn’t as unchristian as I could have been, and I wasn’t as Christian as I should have been. I was among a throng of people sending Christmas mail, and I forsook Jesus’ teaching about mercy (Matthew 18:21-35).

You’re not a Christian if you only adore the baby

Such seemingly mundane moments fill our lives. We might think they have limited or minimal consequence, yet they morph—not all at once, but almost imperceptibly—into movements of hate, like eggnog left on the counter too long.

Self-justified moments of anger, if ignored, become spittle-flung tirades at school board meetings. Well, that got awfully specific—as all hate does.

The eggnog’s on the counter, and the baby is growing old. The world cares little about his cuteness, much less about his commands. The milk is turning sour, and we haven’t noticed. We’ve poured a glass and brought it with us, even into the church, inviting it into our pulpits and pews.

In a few days, we will adore a baby named Jesus. We’ll approach the manger, knowing exactly who he will become, what he will do, and what he expects of us.

We’ll raise a glass of that sour brew and toast him “the reason for the season.” Then we’ll wobble away from the manger, mumbling something about “I love thee, Lord Jesus … stay by my side until morning is nigh,” and forget all about whatever it was we declared the night before.

*******

“Then Simeon … said to Mary: ‘This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many … and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul, too’” (Luke 2:34-35).

*******

Mary. Mary held in tension the whole truth about her son. She carried him, nursed him, cleaned him, clothed him, raised him, followed him. She saw him loved; she saw him hated. She witnessed his birth and his death.

Just as Mary held the whole truth about Jesus, so must we, Christian. So must we.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP.

According to Google Maps, the walking trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem is more than 90 miles. For comparison, Austin to San Antonio is about an 80-mile drive.

Depending on the time of year and travel conditions, Mary and Joseph could make as much as 20 miles a day. The trip would have taken five days at that rate—five grueling days, especially when you’re nine-months pregnant. There would have been plenty of time to think.

What was Mary thinking on the way to Bethlehem?

On Mary’s mind

Nine months prior, an angel told Mary she was going to carry and give birth to “the Son of the Most High,” “the Son of God” (Luke 1:30-35). Besides the position this put Mary in among her local community, the angel’s announcement put her in the center of the political unrest of her time.

N.T. Wright describes the situation in Simply Jesus, using the metaphor of a perfect storm. Rome aspired for world dominance and imposed its will everywhere it went, including Judea. The Jews, longing for the glory days of Israel, anticipated the fulfilment of God’s promises of their best days still to come.

On the Roman front: Augustus Caesar, the one who sent Mary and Joseph on their 90-mile errand, was known to all as “the son of god,” having declared his father—Julius Caesar—to be divine.

What must Mary have thought about carrying a baby declared divine—the Son of God—by none other than God’s messenger? And that, while she traveled 90 miles on the self-proclaimed “son of god’s” errand—ready to give birth the whole way? What did it mean to Mary to be the bearer of Rome’s rival king? Or more, Rome’s rival God?

On the Jewish front: The best days to come required the downfall of one evil empire after another. First was Egypt. Babylon, Persia and the Greeks were later. As Mary and Joseph made their way to Bethlehem, it was Rome. Would the baby Mary carried be the one to throw off Rome?

The world’s hopes and fears intersected in Mary’s womb.

What must she have thought about carrying a child who would sit on “the throne of his father David” and would “reign over Jacob’s descendants forever” (Luke 1:32-33)?

Mary’s first child sure was going to be a doozy. Did she think about any of that?

Or was Mary more concerned with how uncomfortable she was, whether walking or riding? With how hungry she was? With hoping she would deliver somewhere suitable? With needing to go to the bathroom?

On Joseph’s mind

If it were today, I think I can get in Joseph’s head better than Mary’s. If my first child was heralded by angels and due in nine months, I would think about our financial future. The stock market looks good—most days. The job market looks weird. Inflation looks horrible.

If I was a father-to-be, I would wonder how I will provide for my family. Or, at least, how I’ll be able to pay the medical bills I’m about to incur.

I would think about the current pandemic. I would hope for a safe pregnancy, delivery and hospital stay—assuming, of course, the delivery will happen in a hospital and not, say, in a stable.

I would think about where we would live. I would wonder what we will have to navigate socially and politically, and if there is anywhere free of such divides. Seems unlikely.

I know during the nine months, I would wonder what kind of world my child will grow up in. I would think about all the strife in the world and wonder if my child will see the end of racism, war, hunger, poverty, violence, fear. I would hope the angel was right. And I would wish I had done more to give my child a better world.

If it took me five days or five hours to drive my laboring wife to the hospital, would any of this cross my mind on the way? Or would I be overwhelmed with adrenaline, concerned only with getting my wife to the hospital in time? Hoping her water didn’t break on the way?

On our minds

Two thousand years later, the story’s the same; only the actors are different. Many aspire to be “the son of god,” and they all want our allegiance. Will we give it to them?

We’d like something as unmistakable as an angel to tell us not to be afraid. We’d like to know we’ve found favor with God, especially when we’re running other gods’ errands. We’d like at least one person’s word never to fail. Will we find any of this among modern “sons of god?”

Will we consciously or unconsciously bow to the autocrats, the fearmongers, the ultra-wealthy—these “sons of god” of our time? Will our hearts and minds, our thoughts and feelings be captivated by these “sons of god” or by the Son of God?

I don’t know what deep thoughts Mary had on her way to Bethlehem. I don’t know how far into the future beyond giving birth she wondered. I am certain she was aware of the stakes. I imagine at least one thought echoed in her mind all the way: “Do not be afraid, Mary.”

Maybe between contractions, hunger pains and nature calling loudly, Mary remembered: “You have found favor with God. … No word from God will ever fail” (Luke 1:30, 37).

Maybe Mary smiled occasionally, knowing at least one thing Augustus didn’t. When she left home, her family numbered two. Before Caesar’s count was finished, her family would number three. And what an addition the third would make!

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP.

With the 2022 mid-term election approaching and the 2024 campaign not far behind, Christians have reason right now to pay attention to what Christmas teaches us about power. It isn’t what we’re being told to believe about power.

What we’re told to believe is we must accumulate enough earthly power—namely, political and financial—to obtain and keep the upper hand. Otherwise, we are weak, and weak people lose.

Christians who believe that line aren’t paying attention to the Christmas story.

A recent study found 91 percent of Americans celebrate Christmas, while only 22 percent of us feel confident we “accurately could tell the Christmas story found in the Bible from memory.”

Interestingly, 65 percent of Americans identify as Christian, which requires a certain amount of familiarity with the Bible. Apparently, however, many who long have identified as Christian do not have enough familiarity with the Bible to be able to tell one of Christianity’s central stories without leaving out details. Might one of those details relate to the role of power?

Power and Jesus’ birth

The biblical account of Jesus’ birth—the Christmas story—tells us Jesus was born into a poor family. His mother, Mary, was put in an exceedingly compromising position by none other than God. Thankfully for her, God intervened in her life a second time, telling Joseph not to ditch her.

Mary had no earthly power, and what limited power Joseph had was limited further by God making his standing in the community tenuous. Not an envious place for a poor man to be.

Additionally, Jesus was born among a poor and oppressed people. At the time of his birth, his parents were doing what Rome forced all its subjects to do; they were traveling at their own expense to be … counted? Yes, they took days away from earning a living, and risked life and limb just to prove they existed.

Once they got where they had to go—that “little town of Bethlehem” in the shadow of power—Jesus’ parents couldn’t buy or impress their way into a better place to sleep or give birth than near a manger. I’ve slept in roach motels better than that.

They welcomed shepherds that night. No dignitaries.

Sometime later, magi arrived. They may have been the only dignitaries to notice Jesus’ birth. Herod, the only other person of note, was alarmed by the magi’s visit and exerted the power Rome allowed him. His order to kill all Jesus’ young peers sent his parents fleeing with Jesus for their lives, and the magi sneaking back home.

No, there’s not much power—earthly power—on Jesus’ side of the Christmas story. In fact, there’s not much earthly power on Jesus’ side of his entire life story. The whole of Jesus’ way ran counter to earthly power. It still does.

Earthly power vs. Jesus’ way

Between Pentecost and when Constantine co-opted the cross of Christ for his own military and political ends—a span of almost 300 years—Christians understood earthly power was not Jesus’ way or, by extension, theirs. As a result, they often were misunderstood, derided, despised and even persecuted.

Ever since Constantine, however, Christians—especially those in the West—have clamored for earthly power, and they clamor still. They clamor now.

The Christ of Christmas never clamored for earthly power. Indeed, that Christ, that King is the crucified one. Meanwhile, many who identify as that Christ’s followers are swinging for Malchus’ ear (John 18).

Early Christians who took Jesus’ teachings seriously knew their power rested in their weakness. The apostle Paul was one such follower of Jesus. His letters could be characterized, in part, as treatises commending human weakness as a portal of God’s power.

Today, however, some Christians believe the exact opposite, that their power—earthly power—is God’s power. They believe those who do not fight using earthly power to gain and keep earthly power are weak—without power.

Counter to the countering story and life of Jesus, some of these Christians are ready to use force to gain earthly power, and to do so in Jesus’ name. Some of them are agreeable to violence even if their political efforts are succeeding.

Peace on Earth, indeed.

A contrary story

Another of Christmas’ teachings is that Jesus came to us by way of virginal purity. Is there such purity in earthly power these days? Has there ever been? Yet, earthly power would have us believe it is pure.

Much of earthly power is a pimp looking for bodies to sell, and any body will do. Jesus’ way is not through consorting with such power, and to prove the point, Jesus went to the cross. Even without Jesus’ example, God’s prophets regularly and consistently warned God’s people against going to bed with earthly power.

Christians will need to remember this in the days ahead, when they are told they will lose if they do not align with one politician or party. Christians will need to remember the Christ of Christmas and the Christ of the cross when earthly power seeks to seduce them with a different story.

Thankfully, there are Christians serving in powerful places who are mindful of the difference between God’s power and earthly power. They know the risks of the latter and seek to honor God with what power they have. This, too, is part of the Bible’s story.

Christmas teaches those with eyes to see and ears to hear that earthly power is the contradiction. That so many Christians are chasing after earthly power makes one wonder if they have eyes to see and ears to hear.

Christmas teaches Jesus’ way is counter to the way of power. Christians, of all people, ought to pay close attention to this lesson from Christmas. Especially this Christmas.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP.

In this season of hope, pro-life advocates are hopeful the current U.S. Supreme Court effectively will overturn Roe v. Wade with its decision in the Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health case being heard today, Dec. 1. Pro-choice advocates are hopeful the court will uphold legal precedent and not overturn Roe.

Hopeful eyes on both sides are turned on the court’s newest justice—Amy Coney Barrett—who more than 20 years ago made known her position on abortion as “always immoral.” Watchers wonder if she will recuse herself from the Dobbs case as she indicated she must in the same position paper (Catholic Judges in Capital Cases, 1998).

Whether Roe v. Wade is overturned or upheld, we must give attention to what comes after the court’s decision. We must, because unlike Justice Barrett, we have no grounds for recusal from our obligation to live as Christ commanded us.

Equal concern for sexual abuse

Many factors lead women to seek abortions; so many, it’s not possible to cover them all in one editorial. Dobbs, Casey, Roe—none of these significant cases does anything about these factors. That work is left to us. Will we be as passionate about heading off abortion as we are about banning or allowing it?

Of all the reasons, one—sexual abuse—stands out because of the attention it has received over the last couple of years.

Pro-life advocates have to understand their passionate hope for the overturning of Roe plays against the backdrop of sexual abusers being ignored or protected by some prominent pro-life advocates. Pro-life advocates must operate within this uncomfortable truth.

Abortion opponents’ hopes may be realized; Roe may be overturned by this court. Even so, they still will have sexual abuse to deal with. One can hope they will be as passionate about preventing sexual abuse and assault as they are about the legality of abortion.

Such passion should drive pro-life advocates to teach boys early to be at least as sexually responsible as they expect girls to be. Boys should be taught early and consistently to respect girls and women, so they do not grow up to be men who think they can do whatever they want to women … and girls … and boys.

While there are female sexual abusers, too, and girls also need to be taught to respect boys and men sexually, the lion’s share of the problem is not a lack of respect among women and girls.

Sex and the whole person

When it comes to sex in general, some will argue for teaching abstinence—no sex outside of marriage. Yes, not having sex makes it much more difficult to get pregnant, while also making abortion much less likely.

But teaching abstinence cannot ignore the propensity of people to have sex outside of marriage, even after they’ve been taught abstinence or they have committed to True Love Waits. When such a situation arises, pro-life and pro-choice advocates alike are obligated to ensure there is adequate support for a girl or woman who becomes pregnant. Whether Roe stands or falls will not remove that obligation.

Obligated may seem too strong a word here, but the positions both sides hold to do commit them to caring for the whole person, not just the acts of abortion or sex or the period of pregnancy. This is why we must give attention to what comes after the court’s decision.

Sanctity of life involves the whole person—with or without sex, with or without abortion. We should do everything we can to maintain the sanctity of life from its beginning to its end, and that involves far more than what any number of Supreme Court justices decide about abortion.

Good news and abortion

We can hope for a world in which abortion isn’t sought or contemplated. In fact, we do hope for such a world.

Since we’re not there yet, we need to live in the world we have in such a way as to make our hope a living reality. The church is called to such living. When Jesus sent out his disciples the first time, he told them to proclaim, “The kingdom of heaven has come near” (Matthew 10:7). They were to point to concrete evidence of that fact.

Jesus sent his disciples out to proclaim the arrival of good news—the gospel. The good news was and is the arrival of Jesus’ kingdom and reign leading to the restoration of all things.

Everything the church is about centers on the gospel—the good news of Jesus. If that news is good for anything, it must be good for everything, including all the choices before abortion and everything after abortion.

But what I hear proclaimed most loudly today is not good news for everything but condemnation of, well, just about everything.

The person who may be contemplating abortion today has loud in her ears the vociferousness of two warring sides. Where is she to hear, see or experience good news today?

If the best news we can give her is the decision of the Supreme Court, we have failed her completely. She needs better news than the court can deliver, and she needs it today. She very likely needed good news well before now, but those she turned to may have been preoccupied with an ideological battle.

Our obligation now and then

Whether the court overturns or upholds Roe v. Wade, there still exists a myriad of factors contributing to abortion. We may celebrate or grieve the outcome of the Dobbs case, but what then? What will we do about all the reasons people seek abortion in the first place?

Regardless why a person may seek abortion—fear, shame, coercion, medical necessity, plain callousness or otherwise—every person who seeks an abortion needs to know Christ’s compassion and grace.

Amy Coney Barrett may be obligated by her faith and her own stated positions to recuse herself from the Dobbs case. That’s for her to decide.

We also have obligations based on our faith and stated positions. But unlike Justice Barrett, we have no grounds for recusal. We only have to obey the commands to love God and love others—before and after the court’s decision.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP.

With Thanksgiving this week, here are three exercises for practicing gratitude before, during and after the big meal.

Clarify expectations and entitlements

I can tell you from experience, when we operate from expectation, gratitude is hard to come by. When we begin with what we expect, gratitude is like a fly ball lost in the sun. Expectations, focused on what we don’t have, all too easily can blind us to what we already do have.

Obviously, some expectations are reasonable. In fact, if we have no expectations, we also have no standards. The editor of the Baptist Standard can’t very well advocate against standards.

Yes, we have certain expectations, and we should. For example, we should expect Christians to act like Jesus. We should expect leaders to behave honorably and not to have their own interests at the forefront. These are reasonable expectations.

But expectations can morph into entitlements. We get a little running water in the house, and we expect it always to be there—every single time we turn on the tap. The same is true with electricity and internet service

In the 21st century, these are reasonable expectations, too, aren’t they? Sure, if so much of the world—without running water or reliable electricity or internet—doesn’t count.

Getting clear about the difference between reasonable expectations and entitlements seems a worthy exercise when we are focused on giving thanks.

Thanksgiving isn’t easy in a world that so often fails to meet our expectations. In a fallen world, where many of us expect more than we’re ever likely to get in this life, how can we know the difference between reasonable expectations and unreasonable entitlements?

Notice in the examples above: Reasonable expectations call us to our better selves, something available to all of us. Entitlements focus on inequities—what I get whether you get anything at all. The first is worth keeping; the second is worth losing.

If we can differentiate between expectations and entitlements, letting go of the latter, we can reduce our disappointments and give our best to more things that really matter. That alone can increase gratitude.

Agree with God

Thanksgiving is a mixed bag. Life rarely is as good as it could be, or as bad as it could be. Giving thanks isn’t easy, because we know how things could be. Yet, we give thanks, because we also know how things could be.

Our lives are filled with failed expectations, whether the failure is ours or someone else’s. We tend not to be disappointed when life isn’t as bad as we expected. We almost always are disappointed when life isn’t as good as we expect. How often do we give all our energy to disappointment over not getting as much good as desired, without being grateful we didn’t get as much bad as possible?

Health is just one example. We expect to be young and healthy forever, until we aren’t. We assume our health system will keep us young and healthy forever, until it can’t. Both are understandable and unrealistic. In this life, there is no “young and healthy forever,” but our desire for such points to something we know intuitively—God intended better than this.

What if we paid more attention to how our lives confirm God’s good intent for creation? How might we discover gratitude, and in what unexpected places might we find it? How many ways can you find this world’s fallenness and brokenness pointing to the good God desires for us?

Consider the alternative

Jane Kenyon’s poem “Otherwise” is a reminder and a caution about gratitude.

“I got out of bed / on two strong legs,” Kenyon recalls. “It might have been otherwise.”

She goes on to recollect mundane moments of her day, noting each routine but enjoyed moment could have been otherwise, mindful “one day … it will be otherwise.”

Approaching the second Thanksgiving of the COVID-19 pandemic, I am mindful so much could have been otherwise. Though I wish some things had been, I’m grateful other things weren’t.

The first things to come to my mind are anything but mundane.

I’m grateful those in my family infected with COVID-19 had mild symptoms. For millions, it was otherwise.

I’m grateful the chaos at the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6 did not spread beyond Washington, D.C. It could have been otherwise.

I’m grateful the physical injury I sustained this year was repairable. As Kenyon reminds us, “one day … it will be otherwise.”

I’m grateful my father-in-law’s cancer was discovered at stage 1. It usually is otherwise with that kind of cancer.

Many of us will eat a Thanksgiving meal with people we couldn’t be with last year. For all too many, even without COVID, it will be otherwise.

I’m grateful we have religious freedom, that the imposition of only one religion—and inevitably, only one expression of that one religion—is prohibited. In so many places, it is otherwise.

There’s a lot I haven’t mentioned in this editorial. It could have been otherwise. You might be thankful.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP.

Like most who attended the 2021 Baptist General Convention of Texas annual meeting in Galveston, I wondered what it would be like. How many people would show up? How many would wear masks? What would it be like at the booths in the exhibit hall?

It turns out, in-person attendance was good, exceedingly few wore masks, and the booths were a great experience. But the annual meeting was much more than that.

Here are some of the highlights of this year’s annual meeting.

Pulling together

The No. 1 highlight of the convention each year is reconnecting with friends. I started to mitigate that assertion by preceding it with “perhaps,” but there’s no “perhaps” about it. After at least a year away, being together in person this year wasn’t just anticipated, it was healing.

Many came by our booth to express their appreciation and thanks for what we do. I am certain other exhibitors had the same experience and thoroughly enjoyed time and conversation with supporters. We want to say, “Thank you,” in return. We are glad to serve the Lord with you.

I challenge us to do the same thing for the pastors and ministers of our churches. Let’s let them know we appreciate them and what they do as spiritual leaders. It’s OK for others to see us show gratitude for ministers; it helps to create a culture of appreciation within our churches.

Several efforts are underway to care for and strengthen struggling Texas Baptist ministers and churches. Having once been the pastor of a small and struggling Texas Baptist church, I celebrate these efforts. It will take all of us to make them successful. Let’s pull together.

Heavenly minded and earthly good

One of the highlights of each annual meeting is getting to see together in one place the good Texas Baptists are doing. And much good is happening among and through Texas Baptists.

Christian women across Texas empower other women through Christian Women’s Job Corps job skills training and Bible studies. The work isn’t exactly glamorous, but glamor is fleeting; life-change can last as long as eternity. Women’s lives are being changed through CWJC, as are men’s lives through CMJC, ministries of WMU of Texas.

Men and women working with Texas Baptist Men are representing Jesus Christ in the aftermath of natural disasters. This is hard and dirty work; long, tiring and risky work—so much like the life of Jesus. But it is fruitful work, also so much like Jesus’ life.

Baptist Student Ministries on more than 120 college and university campuses throughout Texas are as close to where the rubber meets the road as anyone. Students involved in BSMs are swimming upstream, advancing God’s kingdom in places many don’t want to or can’t go, and it’s making a difference.

Texas Baptists also carry the gospel—the good news of Jesus—to hospitals, child care, public policy, and public and private education all over Texas. There really is no place where Texas Baptists—individuals from Baptist churches big and small—won’t take the gospel.

I challenge us to be adventurous and to partner with at least one Texas Baptist ministry. Their success is our success, and vice versa. But more than that, God’s kingdom requires all the kingdom’s citizens to be involved somewhere, somehow.

That line “You’re so heavenly minded, you’re no earthly good” can’t be applied without exception to Texas Baptists. To make sure it doesn’t apply at all, let’s pull together.

A work in progress

That Texas Baptists do much good does not mean Texas Baptists are perfect. Texas Baptists are and always will be a work in progress. That has been true from the first Baptists in Texas—which Leon McBeth notes in his sesquicentennial history of Texas Baptists may have been as early as 1812—and it is true still today more than 200 years later. It will be true until Jesus returns.

The adoption of a motion and a resolution regarding the need to reach Millennial and Generation Z people points to one area Texas Baptists are a work in progress. Gratefully, Texas Baptists appear to want to make progress connecting with younger generations.

During the Intercultural Ministries banquet, Elijah Brown, general secretary of the Baptist World Alliance, shared some captivating statistics. While Baptists in Europe and North America are in single-digit declines, Baptists in the rest of the world are experiencing growth in the double-digits. The African continent is an exception. Baptists there are growing at a rate well over 100 percent.

I took in these numbers while looking around a room full of Baptists from all over the world. Among Texas Baptists are numerous nationalities and ethnicities who know what it means to be at a cultural, political and financial disadvantage, who know what persecution is. Despite those challenges, the Christian church in many of their countries of origin is growing like wildfire.

I challenge us to “sit at the feet” of—to learn from and be led by—brothers and sisters in Christ from around the world. Let us partner with them, but not as experts in missions, church growth, theology and the gospel. On that score, the emperor has no clothes. Let us partner with our brothers and sisters from around the world—quite a few of whom are right here in Texas—because it’s time we pull together.

A personal highlight

My father-in-law, Glenn Ward, started teaching me almost 25 years ago what it looks like when Texas Baptists pull together. I went with him to a BGCT annual meeting around the turn of the century. He knew just about everyone there.

We spent our time at booth after booth in the exhibit hall, talking with all the people he knew and had worked with over decades in the pastorate. Of course, we ate apples and cheese, and we did so at every annual meeting we attended together afterward. We stood in walkways and sat at dinner tables talking with his friends and ministry colleagues. It was a lot to take in, and it was fun.

Over the years, I have heard countless stories of mission work he has engaged in with Texas Baptists from Brazil to New Mexico, Mexico and Moldova. And I haven’t just heard stories; I’ve seen him at work. We even worked alongside each other during two construction trips in Juarez.

Glenn served on the Executive Board, and when the convention offices were housed at 333 N. Washington Ave. in Dallas, I was a guest of his during an Executive Board meeting. He also took my wife and me to the building to meet with Sam Pearis, Lindsay Cofield, Cecil Deadman and Bill Tinsley when she and I became Mission Service Corps missionaries in 2002.

Glenn has been pulling together with Texas Baptists since at least the 1960s when he attended Hardin-Simmons University. He pulls with Texas Baptists still as the director of missions for Paluxy Baptist Association.

The BGCT annual meeting is one of Glenn’s happy places, but he wasn’t able to attend this year since he is undergoing cancer treatment. He told me to tell everyone who knows him he said, “Hello.” But I don’t know everyone who knows him. So, I wrote, “Glenn says, ‘Hi!’” on both sides of my name badge. It generated a lot of conversation, and I got to see a different side of Texas Baptists pulling together.

As I checked out of the hotel Tuesday morning, I was wearing my name badge, and the two women working the front desk wanted to know, “Who’s Glenn?” I got to tell them. One thing about Glenn: He loves people. Another thing about Glenn: He loves Jesus.

I told them why Glenn wasn’t there. In response, they told me to tell him, “Hi!” So, I told him, “Peggy and Sparkle say, ‘Hi!’” He loved that.

When we pull together, we’re also pulling for each other.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP.

NOTE: This editorial was updated Nov. 10 to reflect a change in the original motion submitted by Chris McLain.

A new generation of leaders is on the scene. They’re not coming up. They’re here.

And they’re going to lead, either inside the Baptist General Convention of Texas or outside it. Take your pick. The BGCT would be smart to let them lead within.

They are fun, dynamic, smart, creative, inspiring, committed to Christ, and they want to bring all of that and more to the shared work of the BGCT.

Ah, but they’re young, and I bet you’re nervous about that. You see their potential—for good and otherwise—and you’re excited and worried at the same time.

I’ve heard the concern. They don’t have enough experience. They don’t know what we went through, why we do what we do, and why we don’t do what we don’t do. They’ve bought into Calvinism. They don’t appreciate our traditions. They’re irreverent.

That’s probably all true, which makes them just like us in so many ways. Or it’s not all true, in which case, they’re still just like us in so many ways. If we’re worried about them, we ought to be just as worried about ourselves.

Who are the new leaders?

Who are these new leaders I’m talking about? I’m talking about the 20- and 30-somethings known as Millennials and Generation Z.

A group of them—yes, I’m using “us/them” language, but only for dramatic effect—has submitted a motion and a group of resolutions for consideration during the 2021 BGCT annual meeting.

The motion submitted by Chris McLain, pastor of First Baptist Church in Bandera, seeks to increase over time the number of Millennials and Gen Z individuals serving on the Executive Board and employed full-time by the BGCT.

Will Texas Baptists agree to allow young adults to exercise that much leadership in the BGCT? I hope so, because if they don’t lead in the BGCT, they’ll lead outside of it.

This is not to say they are looking to leave the BGCT. It is to say that if they aren’t afforded the opportunity to give their best leadership to the BGCT, others alongside the BGCT will benefit from it. Because these young adults are going to lead, no matter what.

Calling us to our better selves

One way these young adults have been leading for a while is in their desire to focus on “unity in essentials.”

In their proposed resolution by that title, these young leaders express their desire to focus on “God’s Kingdom.” To do so, they call on Texas Baptists “to lay down our pride, prejudices, political posturing, and preferences to stand united in our shared mission to share Christ and show love.”

If we don’t appreciate their use of alliteration, let us at least cheer their commitment to the gospel. Maybe that will distract us from the sting of being called out by them.

To focus on the kingdom and the shared mission of the gospel, some young leaders have called Texas Baptists, and Christians in general, to give up the pride that led to denominational squabbles. Don’t misunderstand them. They aren’t calling us to lay down doctrinal distinctives; they’re calling us to quit fighting over them.

I came face-to-face with this position while I was a pastor. I had the opportunity to mentor a couple of youth pastors who each wanted us—by which they meant my generation and older—to get over whatever our problem is or was with other Baptists.

I had conflicting thoughts each time this came up. I thought: “Well, of course, you do. You weren’t there when the other side hurt us. You don’t know the political games they played. You don’t know why we are where we are.” I also thought, “Yeah, you’re right.”

I bet that second thought makes some readers nervous: “Did he really think those young people were right that we need to get over our differences? Is he suggesting we should kiss and make up with those other Baptists?”

“Unity in essentials” sounds good, but how far are we going to go with that? We ought to let the young adults seeking leadership in the BGCT show us what they mean.

Allowing the young to lead us

Do young leaders want us just to “kiss and make up” with those we’ve fought against? And yes, we fought.

I’m not going to answer for them. Instead, I advocate letting them answer for themselves. Let’s give them the microphone, and let’s listen. If we’re listening to them, we will hear them say they’re looking for mentors; let’s not disappoint them. Let’s give them leadership positions, and let’s follow, understanding they don’t expect us to follow blindly.

Most of us who no longer qualify as “young” adults are too close to past fights to see how to focus on “unity in essentials.” We’re too affected by the Baptist battles of the 1970s, ’80s and ’90s; the fight(s) over affirming women in ministry; Calvinism vs. everything else; the still-fresh divide over sexuality.

Our decades of experience fighting each other have trained us to fight, not to unite. We’ve just added a new fight over politics, masks and vaccines. We need leaders who aren’t trained to fight.

Our young adults have grown up in a world of difference. They have more experience holding on to what makes them distinct while living at peace with those unlike them than we have demonstrated in our lifetimes. They have much to teach us. This is why we need to allow young adults to lead us. Let’s let them.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP.

In uncertain times, leadership is spotlighted and scrutinized. We can be certain these are uncertain times. One clue is the intense scrutiny of leadership. We do well during such times to face the uncertainty and to ask: Who is leading us, and who should lead us?

These questions—which may seem to have uncertain answers themselves—are being asked everywhere, including in state and local elections. The question of leadership isn’t limited to secular politics, however. It is a question for the church, as well.

Many are concerned about the future of the American church. They mourn declines in attendance and giving. They worry about the weakened influence of churches and their pastors. Things look uncertain for the American church—locally and nationally—leading some to wonder if we need different leadership.

We can regain some certainty by asking: Who is leading us, and who should lead us?—worthy questions if we will accept honest answers.

The SBC as a leadership case study

Following departures of several high-profile Southern Baptist leaders, Bob Smietana, national reporter for Religion News Service, wondered if anyone can lead the SBC forward.

Matt Henslee—former pastor of a rural church in New Mexico, current president of the SBC Pastors’ Conference, and newly elected leader of the Collin Baptist Association in North Texas—quickly responded to Smietana, confidently asserting Southern Baptist messengers are leading the convention forward just fine.

Smietana’s article spotlighted another concern among religious leaders, Southern Baptist or otherwise. The concern is captured in his quote from James Merritt—lead pastor of a Georgia megachurch, former SBC president and SBC Executive Committee chair, and chair of the 2021 SBC Resolutions Committee.

“I do believe that SBC is at a crossroads in many ways,” Merritt said. “We are going to have to make some very strategic and difficult decisions … in a … postmodern age, where being a pastor of a church, or the leader of a denomination does not carry anywhere the cultural cache or influence that it once did.”

Insert sound of scratching record. The church and its leaders never were supposed to be concerned with “cultural cache or influence.” Haven’t they read—and preached—the temptations of Christ? As soon as we bow to the god of influence, we might as well fling ourselves off the roof of the temple.

In that same article, Smietana quoted Floyd suggesting his own “cache or influence”—or “what was desired to be leveraged,” in Floyd’s words—in some way eventuated in him becoming the CEO of the Executive Committee.

We’ve given influence—often measured by church size, position and celebrity—pride of place, but such concern for influence rightly needs to be shelved.

Merritt recognizes religious clout isn’t what it used to be. Religious groups would do well to pay close attention to this and, rather than mourn it as a loss, figure out how to “leverage” it as a gain.

Knowing who should lead us

The loss of clout may be a grace, a release from the bondage of seeking the world and its splendor. Even if it is judgment and not grace, it is a moment for us to return to singular devotion to Christ and to lead from there.

In Christ, the loss or absence of clout is a gain, even if such a position puts us among the last, the lowest, the servants. Even if it is to put on the towel of the foot washer more than the tailored suit of the court official.

To know who is leading us, we need to look at more than names and titles. We need to look at character and spiritual qualifications. The ability to influence isn’t a qualifier. Who have we promoted or elected to leadership based on influence? We may have done them, ourselves and the church a disservice.

To know who should lead us requires us to take seriously the life and teaching of Jesus and to rely on the leadership of the Holy Spirit. When we do both, we will find who should lead us is not answered by a person’s age, sex, position, charisma, leadership style, influence, accomplishments, celebrity or looks.

We will find who should lead us is a matter of calling—God’s, not ours. Has God called a particular person—or group of people—to lead us? Are we listening to God’s call, and will we obey God’s call—even if we end up with what, by all appearances, looks like a dud?

The biblical record indicates the answer to the first question almost always is yes; the answer to the second all too often is no. We are like Samuel assuming the prominence of Jesse’s eldest son assured his kingship, when in reality God intended the least likely to be king (1 Samuel 16:1-12).

Like Samuel looking for certainty during the uncertainty of Saul’s reign, we reach for the expected, the known, the comfortable, the influential to lead us. And sometimes, we get just as little as we ask for.

If only Samuel had known just what that young boy David was capable of. He didn’t, but God did. And so do we. May we trust God knows who should lead us and seek God’s direction.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP.