I’ll be glad when my grandson, Ezra, learns to speak English.

Actually, Ezra already speaks English—partway. He doesn’t have any trouble communicating some of his greatest desires. Like when he wants to go outside, or blow bubbles, or play with his trains, or race, or watch Thomas the Tank Engine and Mickey Mouse on my iPad, or find my dog.

Editor Marv KnoxBut more complex speech simply evades his 2?-year-old grasp. He hasn’t graduated to abstract thinking. And if I question, “Why?” I might as well be speaking Swahili.

So, understanding Ezra’s rationale sometimes is as complex as Winston Churchill found Russian thought, which he described as “a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.” I watch him closely, wondering exactly what’s going on inside that little head. And I’m befuddled.

This came to mind the other day, when his mama and my daughter, Lindsay, posted this note on Facebook: “I guess Ezra is afraid I may quit feeding him since he’s stashing breadcrumbs in his belly button and then pulling them out to eat them.”

I agreed with his grandmama and my wife, Joanna, who posted in reply, “That is quite funny and disgusting at the same time.” (My friend and colleague Ken Camp, the father of three sons, countered that if Joanna and I had raised boys instead of girls, we would be unfazed by bread in bellybuttons.)

We could be edified

If Ezra could articulate his thoughts, we could be edified. We could understand why he decided to start sticking breadcrumbs in his belly button and—even more fascinating-yet-loathsome—why he would eat them.

As it is, we’re left to speculate on the possibilities:

• His mama is right. He fears each meal may be his last, so he’s storing up.

• He’s a curious little boy. While eating a peanut butter sandwich, he mused: “Hey, my belly button is like a little sack. How many breadcrumbs will it hold? How long will it hold them? What will they taste like after they’ve been in my belly button for a while? Will my mom notice I stored breadcrumbs in my belly button and ate them for a snack?”

• He’s a budding comedian. At the tender age of 2?, he already knows two principles of slapstick: Although sight gags are the lowest form of humor, they always get a laugh. And you can bet the farm that gross jokes get an even-bigger laugh.

• He’s a magical prodigy. Someday, Ezra will pull rabbits out of hats, silver dollars out of children’s ears and bouquets of flowers out of thin air. But for starters, he’s perfecting the ol’ breadcrumbs-out-of-the-belly-button routine.

Unfortunately, we’ll never know exactly why Ezra decided to stuff breadcrumbs in his belly button and eat them later. By the time he’s old enough to explain himself, he will have progressed to more frantic antics. Breadcrumbs will be long forgotten.

Other strange, inexplicable stunts

Even more unfortunately, Ezra is not unique. And I’m not talking about the global population of 2?-year-olds. Our planet is full of people who pull strange, inexplicable stunts. You see this every morning when you look at the newspaper, every coffee break when you glance at the Internet, every evening when you turn on the news. Somebody, somewhere has done something totally bizarre but is at a loss to explain why.

We’ve seen so many politicians and prominent business people who think with regions of their bodies far removed from their brains, they could populate a European country. They governed states and ran Fortune 500 countries and then threw away their families, careers and reputations for a frisky fling or a fast buck. Then, given the opportunity to explain, they turned tongue-tied and told the world they’re sorry if we’re offended.

But those illustrations are too easy. And too distant.

Time and time again, our churches have lost precious influence, not to mention disgraced the name of Jesus, because they acted in decidedly un-Christlike ways. Fact is, the misbehavior within the church pretty much mirrors the misbehavior outside. And the squabbles and fights and mistreatment and pain we inflict on each other leave unbelievers wondering why they’d ever want anything we’ve got to offer.

Left to explain ourselves, we point fingers and cast blame and can’t begin to articulate what happened, much less why.

Closer to home

But, again, those illustrations are too easy. And too distant.

In my own life, I trip over the rug of sin and shame again and again. The same lack of discipline and selfishness and apathy and feeble faith for which I’ve tearfully repented countless times steals my joy and zaps my spiritual strength. And I can’t explain why, but only quote the Apostle Paul: “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do” (Romans 7:15).

Years ago, my friend and colleague Lynn Clayton passed along a funny quote. The first time I heard it, I thought it was a joke. But it’s a deep truth. When I remember it—and I’m embarrassed to admit that, too often, I forget—my life is more grace-full, empathetic and understanding.

Editor Marv KnoxLynn and I worked together in the mid-1980s. He was editor of the Louisiana Baptist Message, and I was his associate. Those were tense days in Baptist life, and it seems our newspaper made readers angry enough to write vitriolic letters every week.

As editor, one of Lynn’s jobs was to answer all that mail. I could tell it sometimes weighed him down. He and I both are PKs—“preachers’ kids”—and our default perspective is to please people and make them happy. So, dealing with unhappy, ticked-off people was a burden. I didn’t envy him one bit.

One day, Lynn received a particularly nasty letter. He told me he’d heard how a Methodist bishop somewhere answers mail, and he was thinking about copying the approach.

“So, what does he do?” I asked.

“He answers all negative mail the same way,” Lynn responded. “Each letter is only two sentences long: ‘Thank you for your letter. There’s an excellent chance you might be right.’”

Lynn’s hot letter cooked him into a funk. He seemed serious about following our Methodist brother’s two-line approach to cranky correspondence. Despite his forlorn appearance, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Nothing to punch

“That’s brilliant,” I insisted. “Think how much time a letter like that will save. On the front end, you don’t even have to think up an answer to all your negative mail. And second, it will end every argument. How do they fight back if you don’t give them anything to punch?”

Of course, I also thought the fine bishop’s letter was totally disingenuous. Who really would write a letter like that and mean it? I knew I couldn’t.

And then I got a little older. Life experiences taught me lessons. The most important lessons—and the hardest to learn—schooled me when I made mistakes, when I thought I was absolutely right, only to discover I was irrevocably wrong.

One word describes situations like that: “Humbling.”

Well, another word also comes to mind: “Invaluable.”

Some of the greatest episodes of growth happen when I have to admit I made a mistake. When I acknowledge someone else is right and I am (golly, it’s hard to say) wrong.

Good results

When you admit you are wrong—or someone else is right—several good things happen.

First, you feel liberated. Always being right is a heavy, onerous job. When you’re set free from perfection, weight falls off your shoulders.

Second, you can be more flexible. Even when you think you’re right, you can appreciate the fact you might be wrong. That provides permission to think more broadly, to explore other options, to be creative.

Third, the future is more exciting. If you realize you don’t know everything, then you can’t wait to see what you’ll learn. (Even if you could know everything, then you might as well die. Because what fun would life be if new lessons weren’t out there to be learned?)

Of course, as I noted, admitting you’re wrong—or even acknowledging you might be wrong—is a humbling experience. Most of the time, we act like that’s a bad thing. “Humbling” and “humiliating” are sibling experiences. And in our proud culture, nothing is worse.

We need more humility

But that’s not true, is it? The more I see of this world—in international relations, in our churches, in communities, in businesses, and in families and marriages—the more I’m certain the one thing we need more of is humility. Humility is not earned. It’s bequeathed through mistakes, errors, blunders, gaffes and miscalculations.

When we embrace the capacity to say, “There’s an excellent chance you may be right” and/or “You know, I might be wrong,” we open up new worlds of growth and relationships. If more of us could admit mistakes and agree we might be wrong, the world would experience fewer wars, divorces, business failures, estrangement, loneliness, heartache and split churches.

“Do you think Baptists ever will get back together again?” a young friend asked over lunch the other day.

His question arose naturally, because this is convention season for Baptists. The Southern Baptist Convention conducts its annual meeting in Houston this week. The Cooperative Baptist Fellowship convenes in Greensboro, N.C., the end of the month. And the Baptist General Convention of Texas, which normally meets in the fall, holds its “Family Gathering” in San Antonio the middle of July.

Editor Marv KnoxThe main reason these Baptists hold two national meetings every June is because the Southern Baptist Convention split a couple of decades ago. The division resolved a theological-political “holy war.” The more conservative group called the other side liberals and said they didn’t believe the Bible. The more progressive group called the others fundamentalists and said they desecrated Baptist polity and heritage. The right wing won the battle and gained control of the SBC, while the vanquished left and formed the Fellowship. Then the rancor spread to many state conventions, such as Texas, where the more conservative group left the BGCT and formed the Southern Baptists of Texas Convention in 1998.

My friend wondered if all those Baptists would reunite someday.

Already settled

His question startled me. Not because it’s unreasonable. Not because Baptists shouldn’t hope for unity. Not even because God’s grace isn’t broad enough to embrace all kinds of Baptists. But because the issue was settled long ago.

So, I gave him the most direct answer: “No.”

He looked quizzical.

“It’s like this: After a divorce, friends and family of the couple sometimes hope they’ll get back together, right?” I asked.

He nodded.

“But when they marry other people, the odds of remarrying are long. And then, when they have kids with their new spouses, nobody dreams of getting back together. Well, the old conventions still maintain their institutions and send missionaries, while the new conventions support their own missionaries and institutions. They’ve got ‘families’ and ‘kids’ to support, and they’re never, ever getting back together.”

He nodded again but didn’t say anything.

Filling the silence and feeling less-than-holy for making such a dire prediction, I explained I believe in miracles, but I also know human nature and Baptists. “I don’t think they’ll get back together—at least in my lifetime,” I finished, tossing a caveat of hope there at the end.

The ‘future’ has arrived

That conversation occurred a few days ago, but Baptist conventions have remained on my mind.

The future for which Baptists battled has arrived. And it hasn’t turned out like either side planned. At the state and national levels, both groups are grayer, smaller and poorer than they were before the splits. We could analyze and document each of those points—and myriad other issues besides—for both the national and state conventions. For the sake of time, we won’t. The operative truth is the same: Both groups are grayer, smaller and poorer than they were before the splits.

They probably couldn’t afford to get back together, even if they wanted.

Antagonism abatement

But here’s a positive observation: The antagonism among all the folks who currently are or used to be Southern Baptists seems to have abated in the last few years. That’s probably due to three reasons.

First, time heals wounds. It’s just hard to stay hurt and angry for 30-something years. People have to get on with their lives. And so the penchant for punishment and vindication erodes. Christians see how God worked with them and through them, even out of the worst of times. And, despite it all, we feel blessed.

Second, new leaders have emerged. Both “sides” now look to torchbearers who weren’t even out of high school with the big battles raged. Others are rising who weren’t even born when the SBC split and the CBF formed. They may have the same theological and political convictions of their elders, but they don’t remember the conflict. It feels foreign to them. And so their forebears’ enemies aren’t their own; they’re just their distant Christian cousins.

Third, for the most part—a few exceptions aside—Baptists are humbler now. The realities of tight budgets, decreased baptisms, plateaued churches and cultural power erosion have softened most Baptists. We’re less inclined to look down on other Baptists because we know, from our own experience, how hard it is to keep the faith—whatever faith you keep.

The next step …

With that in mind, it’s time for all these Baptists to take the next step on the spiritual pilgrimage we all—ironically—share.

Why don’t we start praying for each other?

What if the Southern Baptist Convention set aside time in its meeting to pray for the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship? And what if the CBF stopped to pray for the SBC? What if the Baptist General Convention of Texas prayed for the Southern Baptists of Texas Convention and vice-versa?

We’re not inclined to “get back together,” and it probably wouldn’t be wise.

But, Lord knows, we all could use some prayer.

The crackling sound you heard a few days ago was hell freezing over.

The Boy Scouts of America’s National Council voted  “to remove the restriction denying membership to youth on the basis of sexual orientation alone.” Beginning in January, the Scouts will allow gay members.

Editor Marv KnoxFor 103 years, the Boy Scouts have represented one of the most conservative organizations in America. Congregations sponsor the vast majority of the organization’s 116,000 troops. The BSA describes itself as “one of the nation’s largest and most prominent values-based youth development organizations (that) provides a program for young people that builds character, trains them in the responsibilities of participating citizenship and develops personal fitness.”

Small wonder, then, the whole nation took notice when the Scouts accepted gay members. This decision says a great deal about our society.

The culture war is over.

Now that Scouting is open to gay youth, how can anyone think conservative Christians are going to control our cultural conversation?

(We should take a moment to note the operative phrase in that sentence is “conservative Christians.” All Christians do not agree about homosexuality. Indeed, it’s a pivotal issue in several Christian denominations, with serious people of faith taking opposing sides.)

2013 will go down as a pivotal year in the relationship between Americans and sexuality. More than votes on gay marriage, which are taken state by state, and Supreme Court cases, which are decided on narrow legal terms, the Boy Scouts reflect cultural change. Scouts are nationwide and grassroots. Their policy shift represents revised thinking at the local, even individual, level.

What’s next?

The Boy Scouts’ announcement left millions of Americans—conservative Christians among them—wondering about the future. To be certain, hundreds and perhaps thousands of churches will disband their Scout troops or disassociate from the national organization. Southern Baptist leaders see the Scouts’ gay vote as a golden opportunity to revamp its Royal Ambassadors missions program, which many Baptists thought died out long ago. Churches in other denominations will follow suit.

But honestly, that’s only a secondary issue. Here’s a bigger and more important question: How are Christians who believe homosexual practice is sinful going to behave in a society where they are a shrinking minority?

Such a question particularly is challenging for conservative Christians in Texas and across the South, where they enjoyed cultural hegemony for generations. That hegemony played out 25 or more years ago, but it’s become harder to ignore only in the last few years. Now, it should be obvious.

(Before we go further, an aside: Might doesn’t ensure right. Never has. Conservative Christians held the worst record on race relations. The “Bible Belt” states still routinely lead the way in teen pregnancy, child poverty and illiteracy. For all their biblicism, conservative Christians own a sorry record for creating communities and providing state leadership that reflect Jesus’ concern for the poor and disenfranchised. Oh, and they also tend to be dogmatic deniers of human responsibility for the environment.)

An effective minority

Conservative Christians tend to despair when they lose another battle in the culture war. It’s time to get over it and start behaving as an effective minority.

Christians comprise minorities in many parts of the world where the church is growing most rapidly. Faith is multiplying because the Holy Spirit is working. And the Spirit is working through people who are untroubled by the fact they do not get to call the shots in their culture. In fact, harsh circumstances directly correlate to expansive growth.

Christians in developing nations and other locations where they are minorities are multiplying because they faithfully, radically and sacrificially demonstrate Jesus’ love—especially for people who disagree with them and at times treat them harshly. Rather than attempt to dictate the norms of society and complain when they don’t get their way, they act out the Good Samaritan’s loving concern for their neighbor.

They risk their own comfort, their security and, in many cases, their own lives to demonstrate loving care for others. They don’t depend upon voting their will upon others. They don’t exert political or commercial power to get their way. In fact, they don’t even try to get their way. They incarnate the gospel, enabling others to experience Jesus’ love through their own sacrificial good deeds.

Transforming initiatives—stark acts of love and selfless service—proclaim the gospel so redemptively it cannot be ignored. If more Americans expressed their faith through love instead of dogma and judgment, the culture just might take notice.

See reader responses to this editorial in our Letters section here and here.

Every so often, I play the “If We Knew Then …” Game.

Without fail, the other player is a fellow Baby Boomer. We’re middle-aged. Too far along to make monumental career changes. Still years from retirement.

“If we knew then what we know now, what would you become?” one of us asks. Then we re-live our lives as if we had made one huge, different choice.

Editor Marv KnoxIt’s not quite the George Bailey/It’s a Wonderful Life option—what life would be like for our families and friends if we’d never lived. It’s less radical but more personal—what our own lives would be like if we had chosen different careers.

Most times, I say I would have become a pediatrician. In my day (re)dream, my life is idyllic. That’s because I, in fact, did not become a pediatrician. Panicky new parents never have called in the middle of the night. And I’m not trying to figure out how to manage a medical practice in the midst of healthcare reform.

Blessings

So, I settle back into my own real life. God blessed me with a splendid family, terrific friends, vibrant health and an interesting career. Every day, I give thanks.

But practically every life is shaped by at least one random element. It’s the event or development that knocks plans off course. It’s unpredictable, perhaps unavoidable. It may not change everything, but it re-forms and re-shapes huge swaths of that life.

My random element is my career. And I’m good with that. If I had to choose radical alteration of my family, friends, health or career, I’d pick career. Every time.

Maybe your career is your random element. Or maybe not. But chances are, you’ve experienced a random element, too. And if you ponder it, you can correlate your random element to mine or to my life. We’re probably not that different.

My ‘random element’

Ironically, my random element didn’t surface at the obvious time. Early in my career, I covered the Southern Baptist Holy War. A friend predicted I would be “damaged goods,” because most Baptists didn’t want to know the truth about the conflict rocking their convention.

Instead, I eventually landed my dream job: Back in my home state, Texas, editing the newspaper I’d read since I was a boy, the Baptist Standard.

Be careful what you pray for.

Fourteen-plus years ago, when I sat down at my predecessors’ desk, few observers envisioned the near-death of the newspaper industry. Fewer still predicted the escalating pace of post-denominationalism, the malaise of the Baptist movement and large-scale congregational apathy toward conventions. Even visionaries didn’t have a clue about the amazing-yet-bewildering advances in computers, communication, the Internet and social networking.

Shortly after I became editor here, the Baptist General Convention of Texas split, victimized by the Holy War. The Standard’s circulation—a victim of a perfect storm of the Holy War, broader declines in the newspaper industry, and cyclical economic downturns—continued a slide that began in 1980.

Many days, I cried out to God as I drove to work. I pleaded with God to reverse our circulation trends and restore advertising. Acknowledging my limitations as a leader perhaps had exacerbated our challenges, I told God I’d happily change jobs if that would mean restoration for the Standard. God never seemed to resolve those prayers.

Opportunities

Instead, God strengthened love for the Standard within a core of Texas Baptists. God fortified the faith and courage of Baptist Standard Publishing’s board of directors. God propelled the passion and commitment of our staff. God directed vision, technology and opportunity our way.

So, this year, we converted the Baptist Standard to digital delivery exclusively; updated our website, baptiststandard.com; launched CommonCall, a magazine of inspiration and ideas; and completed construction of FaithVillage.com, a resources website and social network for young church leaders, adults and teenagers.

All these changes don’t guarantee success, of course. But the digital Standard and CommonCall provide us with our best opportunities in 30 years to extend our reach. And FaithVillage.com presents the possibility of helping hundreds of thousands of church leaders, young adults and teenagers deepen their relationship with Jesus, expand their faith friendships, and strengthen their ministry skills for the cause of Christ.

I hope and pray those developments come about. More imminently, I hope my experience with life’s random element resonates with yours and brings you hope.

Do I wish my life and career had tracked the way 19-year-old Marv planned it? You bet. But I’ve been blessed by my own random element and, more particularly, the lessons it has taught. Here are five things I’ve learned through struggle with my random element:

• Life is hard. As Christian singing artist Ginny Owens proclaims, God never said life would be easy; he only said we’d never go through it alone.

• Change is constant. That’s the obvious truth of our era.

• Desperation is liberating. You can try as hard as you are able, over and over, and your labor doesn’t produce results. Then you give yourself permission to try something new.

• You can’t control much of anything, which also is liberating.

• God is reliable. “Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good” (Romans 8:26-28, The Message).

Are you cool enough for Abercrombie & Fitch? 

Chances are, the answer is “No.” If you’re a woman who’s not skinny or if you’re anywhere near my age (56), the answer is “Definitely no.”

Editor Marv KnoxAbercrombie has been in the news lately because of reaction to old comments by the company’s CEO, Mike Jeffries. In 2006, he told Salon.com he only wants “good-looking people” in his stores. “Good-looking people attract other good-looking people, and we want to market to cool, good-looking people,” he said. “We don’t market to anyone other than that.”

Abercrombie reinforces its marketing strategy by refusing to make women’s clothing larger than size 10. That policy provoked the ire of actress Kirstie Alley, known in recent years for her ongoing struggle with weight.

Attire for the homeless?

The brand also has been targeted by filmmaker Greg Karber. One of Abercrombie’s district managers reportedly said the company’s clothing collections aren’t intended for “poor people,” so it burns faulty clothing rather than donating it to charity. Karber has launched a campaign to re-brand Abercrombie by giving its flagrantly branded “A&F” clothes to homeless people. He’s vowed to make Abercrombie & Fitch “the world’s No. 1 brand of homeless apparel.”

(That strategy prompted a thoughtful discussion  at the Red Letter Christians website about the ethics of using vulnerable homeless people as virtual billboards in an economic/political campaign.)

On one level, the Abercrombie & Fitch fracas is just another cultural sideshow. But it provides a metaphor with deeper implications for Christians.

‘Our kind’ of people

Do we market our churches as clubs for “our kind” of people? No doubt, few congregations intentionally take that approach. But when we fail to make sure all people feel welcome, we’re promoting an exclusive “brand.” When we send out verbal and nonverbal cues that only people who dress, speak, think, act and look a certain way really belong, we tell everybody else they don’t.

I’ve talked to plenty of people who tried church but felt they just didn’t belong. Sometimes, they simply felt “other” than the church members. Far too often, they felt judged and condemned.

You’ve heard the old saying, “The church is a hospital for sinners, not a country club for saints.” But we always must resist the impulse toward clubbiness. We fail in our mission every time someone drives past a church building and feels the way all of us uncool people feel when we walk past an Abercrombie & Fitch store in the local mall.

Kountze’s Scripture-quoting cheerleaders won the latest round in their battle to paint Bible verses on run-through signs at football games.

But this game might not be over until nine black-robed referees in Washington, D.C., proclaim, “Thus saith the court.”

Editor Marv KnoxHere’s the latest: Judge Steve Thomas of the 356th District Court in Hardin County ruled in favor of cheerleaders’ right to hold up run-through banners emblazoned with Scripture verses at the start of football games.

The banners—which typically cite verses such as “I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me” and “If God is for us, who can be against us?”—have been contested since the 2012 football season.

The Freedom From Religion Foundation received a complaint and contacted the Kountze Independent School District. The district banned the banners. Then the cheerleaders sued the district. Thomas issued a temporary injunction, which allowed the cheerleaders to make and display the banners through the football season. Eventually, the school district changed its policy to support the cheerleaders. And Thomas issued his ruling May 8, negating a trial scheduled for summer.

Thomas’ summary judgment states: “The evidence in this case confirms that religious messages expressed on run-through banners have not created, and will not create, an establishment of religion in the Kountze community.”

“Neither the Establishment Clause (of the First Amendment) nor any other law prohibits the cheerleaders from using religious-themed banners at school sporting events,” the Beaumont Enterprise reported Thomas as ruling. “Neither the Establishment Clause nor any other law requires Kountze I.S.D. to prohibit the inclusion of religious-theme banners at school sporting events.”

Up the legal ladder

The Los Angeles Times reported Dallas attorney Thomas Brandt indicated school district officials would study the ruling and ask the judge for further clarification before deciding whether to appeal. District officials wanted to allow the banners because of strong community support, but the district should not be required to allow them, he said.

So, the contest may not be over. The school district could appeal. And even if the district defers, others may press the issue in federal court.

“We did not expect justice in a Texas state court,” Annie Laurie Gaylor, the Freedom From Religion Foundation’s co-president, told the Times. “It’s impossible to imagine a judge approving cheerleader messages saying, ‘Atheists rule—God is dead’ or ‘Allah is supreme—pray to him for victory.’”

The foundation hopes students, teachers and parents who oppose the banners will keep up the legal challenge.

Constitutional questions

Ultimately, the issue could be decided based upon whether Scripture-citing banners violate the Establishment Clause, which maintains government cannot “establish” religion.

Students enjoy free-speech rights to pray and quote Scripture and share their faith on campus and at school events. But if the school—as an agency of the government—sponsors or supports that activity, a higher court may rule it unconstitutional.

So, questions will arise: Do the school or the students themselves purchase supplies used to make the banners? Do the students create the banners on their own time or during school? Are sponsors who are school employees involved in constructing the banners? Those are simple questions with straightforward answers.

Harder questions would dig deeper: Is the act of holding up and running through the banners intrinsically part of a school-sponsored event, such as an athletic contest? Do banners held by cheerleaders wearing school uniforms and crashed by athletes wearing school uniforms imply the sanction and endorsement of the school? And if Christian cheerleaders can hold banners with Bible verses, can students of other faiths paint huge signs quoting the Quran or a Wiccan text?

If the question of prayer before ballgames could climb much higher up the judicial ladder—which it did—then this case could, too.

Higher issues

Meanwhile, grownups who provide guidance to these girls and other students ought to ask an important question. “Is this really what’s best for God’s kingdom?”

It’s hard to imagine any Christian who would dispute “I can do all things through Christ … .” But here are a couple of non-legal issues to consider:

• Signs that imply divine endorsement of one high school football team over another promote bad theology. God doesn’t care who wins a football game.

In Texas, for example, practically every public school team will include some faithful Christians, some hypocritical Christians, some out-and-out scoundrels, some pagans and, most likely these days, folks of other faiths.

Don’t expect God to choose one over the other.

While we want our students to believe the truth of the Scriptures on those banners, raising them up as talismans for their teams imparts an air of superiority and divine entitlement. Spiritual triumphalism is not becoming.

And that leads to the other point …

• Scripture run-through signs aren’t very evangelistic.

They imply God loves one team more than the other. Not true.

They exclude and unnecessarily taunt people who do not share the faith.

They’re far from personal and relational.

They’re unloving.

So, while their advocates claim the Kountze cheerleaders’ legal victories are wins for freedom of speech and religion, it’s much harder to maintain they advance the cause of Christ. 

Fear—or high anxiety, at the least—wafted through the large auditorium on a windy spring evening. Hundreds of parents assembled to listen to speakers talk to them about raising their children.

Sitting among them, I couldn’t tell if most of the parents carried their tiny torches of fear with them or if a couple of speakers struck sparks of fear and then fanned the flames for all they were worth.

Editor Marv KnoxIn the moment, I felt flames of anger rising in my own spirit. That’s because I felt those speakers preyed on the parents’ fears to sell the products they promoted. Later, away from the venue, I questioned my assessment because it questioned their motives. Perhaps they really fear the same things the parents fear and they altruistically created their resources to help. Either way—and it’s not my place to judge—the fear felt palpable.

They fear culture. The parents are scared about raising their children, to say nothing of turning them loose, in “the world.”

And those two speakers gave them plenty of fuel for their flaming fear: Supreme Court cases that could legalize gay marriage. Sections of the Affordable Care Act (aka Obamacare) that regulate contraception. Atheist university professors. Social relativism. Ambiguous gender roles.

While some aspects of culture certainly contradict traditional Christian beliefs and practices (and we must admit in humility that Christians don’t agree on many issues or interpretations of issues), and some members of society aggressively confront people of faith, fear is not a valid Christian reaction to culture.

Three responses come to mind:

• Fear contradicts our testimony and undermines faith.

In the first century, John the Evangelist told  the early church: “… the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world” (1 John 4:4). The first recipients of his encouragement suffered political and religious persecution. John bolstered their faith by reminding them the Spirit of Christ is stronger than any force they encounter or challenge they endure.

Today, many U.S. Christians claim to be persecuted because others disagree with them or—gasp!—mock them. Such a claim insults Christians elsewhere who endure actual physical and political persecution and, of course, martyrs who actually die for their faith.

Besides, what does Christian fear of the world say about Jesus? Christians shouldn’t expect unbelievers or people of other faiths to accept their truth claims if, at the same time, they live in fear of culture. What kind of a wimpy God can’t hold his own with an agnostic or atheist?

• Christian duty demands we rise above fear.

One of the great books of faith is Christ and Culture, written in the middle of the last century by the theologian/ethicist H. Richard Niebuhr, but still relevant and enormously helpful. Neibuhr describes five ways Christians relate to culture—“against,” or rejecting culture; “of culture,” or accommodating faith to the dominant culture; “above,” or synthesizing faith to culture; in paradox with culture; and transforming culture.

Ironically, many American evangelical Christians embrace two contradictory approaches. Those people who expressed so much fear of culture place themselves against or in conflict with culture. But many also accommodate large elements of culture, or at least the parts that support their lifestyle. So, they simultaneously loathe such aspects of culture as public education and entertainment, while they embrace materialism and conservative politics, much of which is shaped far more by economics than faith.

A more compelling vision urges Christians to follow the Christ who transformed culture. That’s certainly not accepting culture at face value, but it definitely involves living in the culture and engaging it for a greater good. Scared Christians fail at this. Courageous Christians who also are grounded in Jesus excel at it and make a positive difference in the world.

• If we love God’s world, we will not fear it.

After John reminded the early Christians the One who is in them is greater than the one who dominates the world, he reminded them of the power of love: “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.” If we love God and also love the world God made, we need not fear it.

This is a wonderfully evangelistic thought. If we love God’s creation—even the people who challenge and contradict and hate us—we can be instruments that drive out fear. Love powers us to transcend fear. Our love can overcome their fear, too.

“Perfect love drives out fear.”

Bombs bursting at America’s most venerated footrace, ripping runners and spectators limb from limb. An industrial explosion just blocks from some of Texas’ most beloved bakeries, shaking an iconic small town to its core. Poison-laced letters in Washington, reminding politicians, pundits and the populace maniacal lunacy may be as near as your mailbox.

Editor Marv KnoxPardon us if we’ve had the jitters the last couple of weeks.

Sadly, Americans have grown accustomed to random violence. We’re resilient, and we shake it off. We get on with our lives.

But calamity piled upon calamity in the middle of April. We couldn’t turn away. We couldn’t divert our attention. Because wherever we looked, we looked upon pain and suffering—or their first cousin, fear.

The Boston Marathon bombing, the West fertilizer-plant explosion and the Washington ricin letters riveted our attention on death and destruction. Preachers rightfully turned to Psalm 46:

God is our refuge and strength,

    an ever-present help in trouble.

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way

    and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,

though its waters roar and foam

    and the mountains quake with their surging.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,

    the holy place where the Most High dwells.

God is within her, she will not fall;

    God will help her at break of day.

Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;

    he lifts his voice, the earth melts.

The Lord Almighty is with us;

    the God of Jacob is our fortress.

Come and see what the Lord has done,

    the desolations he has brought on the earth.

He makes wars cease

    to the ends of the earth.

He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;

    he burns the shields with fire.

He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;

    I will be exalted among the nations,

    I will be exalted in the earth.”

The Lord Almighty is with us;

    the God of Jacob is our fortress.

Most days, Americans don’t realize we need the truth—not to mention the God—of Psalm 46. We usually feel self-sufficient. Oh, in our Sunday hearts, we know we need God. But in our Monday-through-Saturday lives, we act as if we can take care of ourselves, thank you.

Then, when we see wounded people lying in the street, we remember our utter vulnerability. When we watch a cell-phone video of a humongous blast in the middle of a little town where we stop to eat fresh kolaches, we realize bad things can happen anywhere. When we acknowledge an office worker could die because she opened the wrong envelope, we recognize our own lives balance on the razor-thin edge of calamity and, well, banal ordinariness.

The events in Boston, West (we’re still trying to get our minds around how anything bad other than a logjam on Interstate 35 could happen in bucolic West) and Washington remind us we live in a dangerous world. Evil exposes itself as quickly as a pressure-cooker blast. Chaos descends quick as a spark. Death appears as insidiously as white powder.

And so we cry. For the victims, of course. And maybe—most likely—for ourselves, too. We pray for survivors whose lives changed in an instant.

God groans and suffers alongside us. God also works to deliver good from even the worst circumstances.

We also cheer for heroes: Runners and cops and ordinary folks who sprinted toward bomb blasts to see how they could help. First responders who gave their lives protecting others. Volunteers who lined up to donate blood, clean up carnage, bind up wounds, sift through wreckage, contribute cash, hug the grieving and pray.

Maybe like you, I’ve been wondering what good can come out of such horror. I believe, maybe like you, what the Apostle Paul promised in Romans 8: God groans and suffers alongside us. God also works to deliver good from even the worst circumstances.

If I believe anything, I believe that promise. Even when I lack the creativity to imagine what that good might be, I still believe.

It’s too early to begin to consider what good may come to family and friends who lost loved ones in West and in Boston. Or what good will greet people who lost limbs on Boylston Street and others who lost health and/or homes in Central Texas.

Without a doubt, most of us would choose life prior to the Boston bombs and the West explosions. We want “before” rather than whatever God provides “after.” We’d prefer victims go on living, mangled bodies remain whole, demolished houses remain intact.

But our experience of time is linear. We can’t go back. And so we lean on—and trust—the God of redemption. Dark as the present days may be, God will mine good from pain, suffering, doubt and fear.

At the least, we’ve been reminded: We remember life on Earth is short and fragile. We realize we cannot take family and friends and homes and health for granted. We acknowledge moments spent with people we love are more valuable and precious than possessions. We are not self-sufficient. God who grants free will remains closer than our next breath, even when breathing is agony.

–Marv Knox is editor of the Baptist Standard and CommonCall and publisher of FaithVillage.com.

Pope Francis keeps making 2013 an ever-more-significant date in church history.

And although we’re theologically and structurally different, Baptists can learn at least one lesson from how Francis is rocking the Roman Catholic Church.

Editor Marv KnoxThis year vaulted to the upper level of church history dates in late February, when Pope Benedict XVI announced he would become the first pontiff to step down from the papacy in 600 years. The College of Cardinals ratcheted 2013 a bit higher when they elected Jorge Maria Bergoglio, the archbishop of Buenos Aires, as Benedict’s successor. The longshot Argentinian became Pope Francis, the first Jesuit pope and the first bishop of Rome from Latin America.

From his earliest appearances—no red slippers, no ermine vestments, a bus instead of the Popemobile, his sweet blessing of a paraplegic and washing those Muslim girls’ feet—Francis signaled sustained significance, not to mention major change.

Learning from Pope Francis

While Baptists may find Francis’ humility refreshing and his imminent reforms fascinating, we would do well to learn from his exhortation. The National Catholic Register (http://www.ncregister.com/) recently reported  on Cardinal Bergoglio’s “conclave-changing” address to the College of Cardinals four days before his election to the papacy.

The church’s fundamental illness is “ecclesiastical narcissism,” the future pope declared. At a glance, you may be thinking what I surmised when a friend quoted that phrase: He was condemning the arrogance of the priests and bishops that led to the sex-abuse scandals. But Francis meant more, much more.

“When the church does not come out of itself to evangelize, it becomes self-referential and gets sick,” he preached. Except for “self-referential,” that sounds like an old-school Baptist preacher scolding the flock for failing to share their faith and to lead unbelievers to repentance.

Ecclesiastical narcissism

In Francis’ view, ecclesiastical narcissism afflicts laity and clergy alike. When Christians, whether they’re pastors or pew-sitters, become more concerned with operating their churches than demonstrating the love of Jesus, they’re ecclesiastically narcissistic.

The church must “get out of herself and go to those on the outskirts of existence,” he warned the cardinals. “It’s key that we …, both clergy and laity, go out to meet the people,” he told an interviewer. “A church that limits herself to administering parish work, that lives enclosed within a community, experiences what someone in prison does—physical and mental atrophy.”

And a church that focuses on its own members rather than the needs of its community and world is “a church that is sick,” he said.

Far too often, priests “clericalize the laity,” he said. That means guiding and encouraging laypeople to focus on the function of the local congregation and its worship. And so they wind up serving the institutional church, not the world the church exists to serve.

Be leaven of God’s love

Each layperson ought “to be a leaven of the love of God in society itself, to create and sow hope, to proclaim the faith, not from a pulpit, but from his everyday life,” Francis said.

Christians should be “missionary disciples in communion,” he noted. That means they follow Jesus, serve and worship in community and share Jesus’ love in word and deed to people who have not experienced that love.

By now, you may be thinking: “That’s great for Pope Francis and his church. But what does it have to do with us?”

Well, I don’t know if the pope ever has set foot in a Baptist church, but he described plenty. Ecclesiastical narcissism is a pan-denominational disease.

We evangelize a bit and conduct nice ministries. But for the most part, we love the church too much and the world not enough.

This problem manifests itself variously:

• Many churches—maybe even the majority—can’t adequately staff and support ministries beyond their walls because they keep their members so busy and their pocketbooks so invested in programs and ministries that only serve themselves.

• A church in a transitional neighborhood decided to use its aging gym as an outreach tool. That is, until the neighborhood children—most of them with darker faces than the church members—started scuffing up the hallways and making noise in the building. Then the church discovered many of its members loved their building more than their neighbors.

• How often have you seen churches dissipate their energy on an internal disagreement—worship music, Sunday evening programming or which classrooms can be used for what purposes, to name just a few examples?

• Baptists are tempted to mimic the farmer in Jesus’ parable who tore down his barns so he could build bigger ones. We want bigger, fancier, shinier buildings, when we would reach more people with the gospel by starting new churches or strengthening weaker ones in key neighborhoods.

By now, you probably can think of your own examples of ecclesiastical narcissism. You don’t have to bow to a pope to acknowledge his wisdom and pray for forgiveness.

The most important notation on my driver’s license covers the bottom-right corner. It’s located just beside entries that say my eyes are blue and I’ll always be required to wear corrective lenses to drive in Texas. The most important notation is a little red heart with “donor” written in the middle.

The little red heart tells medical personnel a message vital to my heart: If I die, they should give my organs and tissues to people who need them.

Editor Marv KnoxApril is Organ Donation Month. Would you join me by registering to donate your organs? It’s one of the best things either of us can do.

A vital need

The need is vital—127,966 of our fellow Americans are on waiting lists to receive organ transplants, according to the Health & Human Services’ Organ Procurement and Transplantation Network. Those lists grow by one person every 11 minutes, or 130 people every day, the National Network of Organ Donors reports. Seventy-five people receive transplants each day, but 19 others die because organs are not available.

The need for organ transplants transcends the spectrum of our population. Transplant candidates include people of all ages, races and ethnicities, incomes, educational levels and faiths. No matter how different they may be, at one crucial level, they’re all the same: If they don’t receive a transplant, they will die.

A personal issue

If you’ve been a Baptist Standard reader very long, you probably know this is a personal issue. My sister, Martha, died four years ago this month. At birth, she suffered from a couple of severe physical challenges, including kidney/bladder problems. Our father donated a kidney to Martha when she was a relatively young woman, and that loving act extended her life more than 15 years.

At the time of her death, Martha and I were signed up for a shared-donor program. Although I wasn’t her match, I could donate a kidney to someone else, and another donor would donate a kidney to her. We both looked ahead with hope. Complications took her life before the transplant-swap occurred, and she went to heaven. Her health is perfect now, but I still miss her enormously.

Of course, every organ-transplant need is a personal story. The commodities are hearts, kidneys, lungs, intestines and other organs. But the realities are human beings. Each prospective recipient is someone’s sibling, child, parent, friend.

It makes a difference

Organ donation makes a life-over-death difference with staying power. Here are the percentages of transplant recipients who still are alive five years after receiving an organ—kidney, 69.3 percent; heart, 74.9 percent; liver, 73.8 percent; lung, 54.4 percent.

Please take two simple steps to declare your willingness to donate your organs:

• The next time you renew your driver’s license, indicate you agree to be an organ donor. The State of Texas will print a little red “donor” heart on your license, too.

• Register as a donor at the Donate Life Texas website. A national donor-registration program does not exist. If you live outside Texas, search for your state’s registration program on the Internet.

Organ donation is the ultimate fulfillment of Jesus’ mandate to care for “the least of these” expressed in Matthew 25. The registration process takes less than a minute; the results last multiple lifetimes.

The other day, I listened to a podcast that focused on the intelligence of ants. I think it was the famous “Emergence” episode of RadioLab. 

A scientist pointed out that, individually, ants aren’t so smart. Think about it: They don’t possess a central nervous system. You practically need a microscope to see, much less study, their brains. They don’t even know the difference between their home and a hole in the ground. (Oh, wait. Their home is a hole in the ground.)

Editor Marv KnoxBut collectively, ants possess enormous intelligence. Their intricate and extensive nests can teach engineers a thing or two. Their battle tactics reflect not only brutal will but also elegant strategy. And when they procure food, their concerted purpose, communication skills, organizational structure and logistical protocols comprise a wonder to behold.

So, all this thinking about ants caused me to contemplate Texas Baptists.

Hold on. Count to 10 before you scroll down and click the link to shoot me a fiery email.

Individually, we’re not as dumb as ants.

Collective intelligence

But as a group, we mirror their collective intelligence. This has been a Baptist principle for about 400 years. In the 1600s, British Baptists organized an association to support each other in an era of persecution. In the early 1800s, Baptists in America rallied to support missions ventures across the continent and around the world.

In the late 1800s, Texas Baptists created a convention to conduct missions, support education and strengthen churches. In the 20th century, Baptists formed the Cooperative Program unified budget to fund a host of ministries. Every year, Baptists join the Baptist World Alliance to further the Baptist movement, even in the hardest, harshest cultures on earth.

We can do more together than alone

All through the years, Baptists have believed we can do more together than we could dream of doing alone—just like those brilliant, persistent ants.

I’m reminding you of this so you don’t feel overwhelmed by the latest news: Texas Baptists plan to raise $1 million in one day—Mother’s Day, May 12—to combat world hunger. The one-day, $1 million anti-hunger campaign is the brainchild of Texas Baptist Executive Director David Hardage. It’s a good one.

You know millions of people across Texas and around the world suffer from the ravages of hunger. Normally, churches collect the Texas Baptist Hunger Offering—which supports more than 100 ministries—every time a month has five Sundays. It’s vital for countless people, and you can read what I recently wrote about it here. We need to keep on collecting the offering every fifth Sunday.

Mother’s Day offering goal

But we can do more on behalf of mothers who cannot feed their families. The idea is simple: Think about how much you would spend if you could take your mom to lunch on Mother’s Day, and give that amount to the Texas Baptist Hunger Offering.

Say your mother is a light eater and you both like cheap food. You’d still spend at least $10. If every one of the 2,169,966 Texas Baptists gave that amount, we would raise $21,699,660 for world hunger on Mother’s Day. Or imagine only half of us participated, and we give all the mothers (let’s say 25 percent of the remainder) a pass. We still could reach the $1 million goal if everyone contributed only $1.23. Or break it down according to the 5,434 Texas Baptist congregations. A $184.03 contribution from each of them would hit the goal, too.

For more information on the Mother’s Day hunger effort, visit this website. 

Bottom line: We can do this. Just practice the intelligence and willpower of ants.