You probably aren’t surprised to learn we get a lot of mail here at the Baptist Standard. For generations, Baptists have interpreted their foundational doctrines—soul competency and the priesthood of all believers—to embrace a corollary: the right to write a letter to the editor. That’s good. Soul competency and individual priesthood affirm God’s grace in the life of each Christian. So, we expect to learn from each other as grace works in our lives. And even when we read letters with which we disagree, at least we learn about others’ perspectives. At the Standard, we also value letters to the editor because we value our fellowship with the believers who write them.

An occupational hazard of being a newspaper editor is receiving mail from people who think you’re (a) dumb, (b) mistaken, (c) doing a crummy job, (d) preparing to roast in hell or (e) all of the above. Readers never see the majority of those letters, because people who set out to prove points (a) through (e) usually blow past the Standard’s 250-word limit before they even get warmed up. Then, by the time I offer to publish a condensed letter, they’ve calmed down and don’t feel compelled to condemn me to a fate worse than death.

While I hate to admit it, I’m lousy at predicting what will set readers off. (One exception: Anything about worship music generates tons of mail.) When I fret, nothing happens. Then, when an “innocuous” edition comes out, the letters pour.

Those are the weeks when friends offer sympathy, but I tell them I’ve got it easy compared to pastors. Readers can take me to task, but they live elsewhere, and I worship in the company of my friends. But a pastor gets criticism and then has to stand in the pulpit on Sunday and see the faces of the folks who are after him. Now, that’s a challenge, and it’s a pity more people don’t appreciate how hard it is.

Lately, I’ve been increasingly bothered by a trend in letters to the editor, church relationships and public discussion in general. We can’t disagree agreeably.

Theoretically, people should be able to express different opinions and still get along. In practice, however, cordial disagreement is the exception rather than the rule. Confronted with a contrary opinion, people go from placid to mad faster than you can shout, “You’re an idiot!”

Denies our heritage

Across society, this reflects a dangerous breakdown of civility. In the church, it undermines unity. Among Baptists, it denies our heritage.

Civility glues democracies together. That’s why our haste to anger and inability to remain civil imperils the nation. For example, witness the rampant partisanship of Congress. Incivility impedes our lawmakers’ ability to find solutions to our worst problems.

The night before he was crucified, Jesus prayed that the church, his followers, might be unified. Jesus clearly saw Christian unity as the outward testimony of his mission to express God’s love to a hurting world. His logic is simple: How will the world know God loves them if Christians can’t love each other? Yet when Christians fight each other and congregations split apart, the world doesn’t see a symbol of God’s love, but just another group whose practices are like worldly organizations, only more vicious. Our incivility belies our witness.

Value disagreement

Baptists, of all Christians, ought to value disagreement. Remember soul competency and the priesthood of all believers? For 399 years, Baptists have been champions of religious dissent—not, as some may think, because we like to argue, but because we believe God entitles each person to an opinion. And when we’re at our Baptist-best, even when we disagree, we listen for the voice of God in the one who vocalizes another opinion.

May we be free to speak, quick to hear and slow to judge. If Baptists lead the way to civil disagreement, our nation will be stronger, our churches healthier and our witness more credible.

Ironically, Thomas Clifford McGowan Jr. became a free man the same day the U.S. Supreme Court freed states to resume executions.

McGowan’s case illustrates why Texas and other states should maintain a moratorium on capital punishment.

McGowan was a 26-year-old day laborer in 1985, when a 19-year-old rape victim picked his picture out of a police lineup. Tentative at first, when pressed for a decision by a police officer, the young woman said McGowan was the man who raped her.

So, McGowan went to prison for more than 22 years—almost half his life. This spring, DNA tests proved McGowan did not commit the crime. Judge Susan Hawk recommended McGowan go free, and he’s out of jail while the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals considers Hawk’s decision. He became the 16th Dallas County inmate to be exonorated by DNA tests during the past seven years.

The same day McGowan walked free, the Supreme Court ruled the three-step process Kentucky uses to administer capital punishment does not violate the Constitution’s ban on “cruel and unusual punishment.” The ruling virtually freed states to move forward with lethal injection as a method of execution.

Fortunately, McGowan’s wrongful conviction couldn’t earn him the death penalty. He might have died an innocent man.

Strong advocates of the death penalty might counter that McGowan was not sentenced to execution, so his case has no bearing on capital punishment. Of course, they would be wrong.

Our justice system is fallible

McGowan’s case illustrates the fallibility of the U.S. justice system, which is fallible simply because human beings are fallible. Problem is, a mistake that takes a person’s life is irreversible. And courtroom mistakes do happen.

Nationwide, 215 people convicted of crimes have been exonerated by DNA evidence, according to The Innocence Project, an organization dedicated to reversing wrongful convictions. Sixteen of the people who have been exonerated spent time on Death Row. Without intervention, they could have been executed for crimes they did not commit.

Thirty-two states have exonerated convicts. Texas leads the way, with 31 reversals. As science improves, the pace of exonerations increases. In the first 11 years DNA-based exonerations were possible, 63 people were set free. In the past eight years, 152 wrongful convictions were overturned.

The Innocence Project identifies at least seven causes of wrongful conviction. Those causes and the number of cases involving Texans are eyewitness identification, 24; unreliable/limited science, 9; false confessions, 3; forensic science misconduct, 4; government misconduct, 3; informants/snitches, 2; and bad lawyering, 0. (The number totals more than 31, because some cases involved multiple causes.)

While many Christians—for theological reasons—are among the strongest advocates of capital punishment, the McGowan case should prompt Christians and other citizens of goodwill to promote a moratorium on capital punishment. Several reasons stand out:

• We seek justice. Justice for murderers is one of the strongest arguments for capital punishment. But in light of so many wrongful convictions, justice should be an equally strong argument for refraining. Putting an innocent person to death is the ultimate act of injustice that can be imposed by the state.

• Life is precious. Set aside whatever you think about actual murderers and rapists, we cannot contend anything but that the lives of people who are wrongfully convicted are precious and should be protected, even if the guilty die in prison of old age instead of on a gurney by lethal injection.

• We say we love others and want them to go to heaven. Then how can we consider the possibility of wrongfully sending an innocent person to eternity in hell?