Baptists need to face two factors affecting our future. I hear some asking, “Only two?” No, but we have to start somewhere.

When thinking about our future, Baptists need to face the Southern Baptist Convention sexual abuse crisis and the decline of interest in denominations. These are interrelated, and facing one will include the other.

Both factors are significant, but neither is a death knell for Baptists if taken seriously and faced with the hope of the gospel.

Sexual abuse crisis

Baptists—Southern and otherwise—must come to grips with the consequences of the SBC sexual abuse crisis. Among a host of consequences, they must take seriously how many in the younger generations perceive the crisis and are responding to it. That statement has two parts.

Younger generations

By “younger generations,” I’m not referring to teenagers and 20-somethings. I’m referring to people in their 30s, 40s and 50s. For churchgoing Christians, those three decades are the “younger generations.” To use generational labels, these are the Gen Xers and Millennials.

A large portion—but not all—of Gen Xers and Millennials have given up on the church. Many have left the church—whether leaving organized religion or Christian faith altogether—and become part of the nones.

Many among the younger generations are responding to the crisis with anger—and rightfully so. They don’t expect the church and its leaders to be perfect, but they do expect the church and its leaders to respond to evil with less hypocrisy and duplicity.

The hypocrisy and duplicity are bad enough. That they became a pattern is, for many younger adults, unforgiveable. The pessimist in me doubts the church ever will win all of these younger adults back. The optimist in me knows there always is hope. For one, not all younger adults have given up on the church.

Perception management

As for how younger generations perceive the sexual abuse crisis, they see it for what it is—a horrific evil leaders addressed with perception management.

Baptists—Southern and otherwise—need to stop perception management. Beyond the evil of the sexual abuse itself, Baptist leaders’ default to perception management for so many things has poisoned the denominations’ future. More importantly, perception isn’t what needs to be managed anyway.

Instead, Baptists and their leaders must earn trust again. And it won’t be easy, won’t feel good and likely won’t happen quickly. We need to stop making excuses, stop putting the blame on the abused or other Baptists, and suck it up and do the hard work of righting the wrongs—even if we don’t think we are responsible for those wrongs.

Notice my use of “we.” We need to accept this is our problem, not their problem—even if we don’t think we are responsible for the problem.

Denominational disinterest

Baptists—Southern and otherwise—also must come to grips with the fact people are less and less interested in denominations of any kind. It doesn’t mean they’re not interested in Christianity, but rather that they may not care what form it takes, despite how much is invested in the name “Baptist.”

Disinterest in denominations has been building for decades for a host of reasons. The sexual abuse crisis aggravated the decline but did not initiate it. Recurrent infighting is another significant contributor to denominational decline.

Infighting

I have heard older generations bemoan the demise of Training Union. Many older Baptists credit Training Union with the SBC’s explosive growth during the late 1950s through the 1980s, when the Convention Press curriculum was nearly ubiquitous in Southern Baptist churches. When churches stopped doing Training Union, churches stopped growing, so they say.

But the truth is more complicated than that. Even if Training Union was started again, simply teaching people how Baptists do church isn’t going to make people interested in the denomination again. For one reason, denominational infighting has turned off a lot of people since Training Union was a thing—and Training Union didn’t prevent that infighting.

When the SBC infighting became too big to contain within annual meetings, younger generations didn’t only lose interest in the Southern Baptist denominational label, many found it distasteful. Some joined other denominations, plenty opted for nondenominational churches, and others simply left.

Baptists—Southern and otherwise, but especially Southern—need to accept this and accept what it will take to repair the damage done inside and outside the SBC—if repair is possible.

Why people don’t care

Why people are disinterested in denominations should be taken seriously. Churches and religious leaders should ask people why they don’t care and should listen without trying to convince of the rightness of one’s denominational allegiance. It’s likely the reasons will involve more than how much one does or doesn’t know about Baptist distinctives.

When the time is appropriate to extol the virtues of Baptist ecclesiology, it might be more productive to explain how Baptist distinctives enable a person to follow Christ more closely than to argue Baptist is the best way to do church. I think most people interested in Christianity are more interested in following Christ than in denominational principles, anyway.

Interrelated factors

Going back to the SBC sexual abuse crisis: If Baptists want “Baptist” to be relevant in a positive way, they will have to convince the disaffected and disinterested that “Baptist” is not an accomplice to evil. Baptist polity—specifically local autonomy—was Baptist leaders’ main defense throughout the sexual abuse crisis.

Many have been hurt in various ways by Baptist churches. That’s another thing we need to come to grips with. Those hurt by sexual abuse and how Baptists handled it know about local autonomy all too well. Local autonomy was raised as the reason Baptist leaders just couldn’t do anything about sexual abuse.

However cherished the principle of local autonomy may be or should be, Baptists must face the fact many people see it—and likely other Baptist distinctives—as a means to ungodly or evil ends.

Baptists also will need to convince the disaffected and disinterested that Baptists aren’t full of themselves. As much as I believe in Baptist distinctives, Baptist is not the pinnacle—the perfect expression—of Christianity. Nor is any other denomination.

Accepting these things does not diminish what it means to be Baptist. I believe it goes the other direction. Accepting these things and facing them squarely can enlarge what it means to be Baptist.

Accepting entails acknowledging. It’s not easy to accept or to acknowledge what we don’t like, but if our gospel proclamations are to be believed, we must take that first step of admitting where we have fallen short. And we mustn’t stop there.

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

There’s only so much we can care about, but that’s not a reason not to care.

It sounds coldhearted at a time when we need warm hearts. The simple fact is, however, we don’t have the capacity to care about everything. Our bodies, minds and emotions don’t have the ability. And this causes so much friction between and within us.

As strange as it may sound, I came to this realization while driving this morning.

A driving lesson

A white Tesla raced up behind me, zipped into the next lane with what felt like inches to spare, sped past me, zipped back over, then—in the middle of the intersection and with even less room to spare—zipped back over in front of another car, accelerated past the vehicle in front of me, veered back over into our lane and sped up again.

My initial thought was not friendly, though still within the bounds of Christianity. My next thought was: “Maybe they’re late. Or maybe there’s an emergency.” The second thought led to a third.

I remembered when my wife was in labor with our daughter, and the hospital was almost too far away. I tested the speed and handling of our car that night, leaving others to wonder what was wrong with that idiot driver. There was no time for me to slow down to explain.

None of us around that white Tesla this morning knew why the person drove so recklessly. And because we didn’t know, maybe we didn’t care and felt justified in our judgments.

Had we known the reason, would we have cared? Probably not as much as the person driving that Tesla.

All the world’s cares

For those of us who follow the news, these days can feel like a freeway full of reckless drivers during rush hour.

The war between Russia and Ukraine, the war between Israel and Hamas, the global immigration and refugee crisis, genocide in Myanmar, religious violence in India and Nigeria, sexual abuse cases in the Southern Baptist Convention, this election year, the ongoing aftermath of the COVID pandemic and effects of high inflation, plus our own daily concerns—the news makes sure we know about all of it.

But we don’t have the capacity to care about all of that, much less to care in equal measure about it all. By this point, it’s Friday after a long week at work, and we just want to get home.

After a long day at work—with all the stress and worry a full workday can load on a person—we don’t have the capacity to care as much about the other drivers getting home as we care about getting home ourselves.

And yet, the law and insurance and what happens when two cars collide at speed provides at least some incentive to care at least a little bit more about other drivers—if only because they affect what matters most to us.

That last part: Often, our concern for those we don’t know is proportionate to how much their actions might affect our own lives. That’s what economists call “self-interest.”

Caring like Jesus

We never can get completely away from self-interest, but we who follow Jesus must grow beyond it. We must—in Paul’s words—“have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who … made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant [and] humbled himself” (Philippians 2:5-8).

As we develop the same mindset as Jesus, we also must remember Jesus did not give himself equally to everyone. There were people he didn’t heal or teach. At least once, he sent his disciples to do his work.

I don’t know how Jesus decided who and what to give himself to. I assume he relied on God the Father’s direction, not self-interest, since Jesus said he came to do his Father’s will and not his own (John 6:38). Even so, Jesus often seemed to give himself to those who brought themselves to his attention—the woman who bled, the Syro-Phoenician woman, the centurion at Capernaum, Jairus and others.

Being fully God, surely Jesus cared deeply for all people. Being fully human, it didn’t look like he did. He grew tired, was irritated and even angry with some people, and couldn’t be in more than one place at a time. Living on Earth for such a short time, he physically could do only so much. Jesus had to make choices. Lazarus did die, after all, and not just once.

Our human limitations prevent us from caring about everything, but that’s not a reason not to care about some things. So, what things should we care about? That’s the struggle, isn’t it?

Caring for fellow Christians

Let’s consider Ukraine, which featured prominently in the Baptist Standard this week. Managing Editor Ken Camp and I attended the Plano event in which a delegation from Ukraine made requests for religious, financial and political assistance.

Ken and I demonstrated our concern for our Ukrainian brothers and sisters by attending the event, covering it, and publishing a news story about it and an op-ed by Igor Bandura. We care about what is happening in Ukraine because it involves people—our brothers and sisters in Christ—and a cherished principle—religious freedom.

Ukraine isn’t the only place we care about, but we can only be in one place at a time. And it’s not every day a delegation from Ukraine comes here to visit us.

Life is busy and full, and for those of us not living in the war zone, Ukraine is not front of mind all day, every day. And so, we commit our time, energy and resources—our caring—to things that are in front of us all day, every day. Unfortunately, some of what gets our best doesn’t matter as much.

Caring for what matters

We might have more capacity to care about things that matter if we didn’t give so much of our capacity to caring about things that don’t. Does it really matter who wins the Super Bowl or that the Dallas Cowboys aren’t in it … again?

That question isn’t about football. It’s about scale. Just how much of our time, energy and resources do we need to give to what entertains and comforts us? Enough that it diminishes our ability to pray for and support, in tangible ways, our brothers and sisters around the world?

For all I know, the driver of that white Tesla needed more compassion than judgment from me this morning. It took me a while to find the capacity to care about that.

There’s only so much we can care about. So, let’s make sure we care about what matters.

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

The pastor’s world is filled with transformations, trials and triumphs. For the last 20 years, I have been a part of this blessed burden of pastoring.

It is indeed the toughest assignment I ever had, while also being the most rewarding work I ever have done. Like the old U.S. Army commercial, I do more before 9 a.m. than most people do all day. That’s generally because I haven’t gone to bed until around 3 a.m.

The everyday

There are the pedestrian activities that border on tedium. Most of the time it’s just hard work that largely goes unnoticed.

There are the garden-variety, run-of-the-mill counseling sessions, meetings, community partner development possibilities and similar things that can become much like watching paint dry after you have done it for a while.

Thank God for those times, because the height of the highs and the depth of the lows would strain the will past the breaking point if they were the daily experience of the pastor. We survive in the pedestrian and mundane life experiences of people.

Trying times

Pastors who desire to be faithful to the Bible and the teachings of Christ find ourselves battling the ever-increasing encroachment of secularism in the church in the name of being culturally relevant to a younger generation.

One image of the pastor must be the watchman on the wall as we fight against the proliferation of false teachings that threatens to mislead unsuspecting followers.

We are tasked with untangling the syncretism that twists the truth of the gospel as culture encourages emerging Christians to incorporate diverse belief systems into their faith, making them no different than those early believers who hedged their bets against Jesus with their practice of the cult worship of the day.

It is a frustrating, never-ending battle to break the downward pull of culture on the faith practice of the saints.

Joyful times

Then there are joyful times. As pastor, I have a front row seat to the work of the Lord.

There is nothing equal to the joy felt when an entire family devotes their lives to Christ or the warm familial feeling of parents, grandparents and friends who come to witness the dedication of a little one back to the Lord. They are so precious in the Lord’s sight.

This is only paralleled by the spray of splashing water when parents are coming out of the baptism waters. There is no greater sense of belonging than this.

I have pastored long enough to begin baptizing the children of those parents I had the privilege to baptize a decade or more ago. I must admit, these are supercharged moments when there is no place I’d rather be.

Sorrowing times

And there’s the opposite side of the life cycle, when it befalls you to stand over the remains of someone you have grown to love, and they have grown to love you enough to entrust you with the title “pastor,” it wrenches all the energy from you.

It is then you know “pastor” has become more than just a title to them. It is a term of endearment, a love call or something even deeper, because you have taken on a new relationship with them.

You stood there and listened as they shared the most earth-shattering news of their lives. You prayed for them when they couldn’t pray for themselves. You stood with family and friends and encouraged them during the difficult times of uncertainty, and you wept with them during the painful times of the inevitable.

It is by your words that the lifeless body of that dear member is committed back to the earth. There is a silence so loud it blares in the eardrums of the soul. You stand before the family completely vulnerable and empty, grappling to find words of solace, but you know words are inadequate in those somber moments.

As I mature as pastor, I know practicing the ministry of silence is an art worth mastering. It isn’t our words that matter so much. They will be forgotten soon enough. It is our presence that makes the difference. People will remember we stood with them while their hearts broke.

A full life

Somewhere between these extremities, I have become a better pastor. “Pastor” no longer is merely a title. It is a signal of the representation of grace dispatched by a loving God who cares for us during both the bright and the bleak moments in life.

Being God’s servant means I get to remind people of the love of God by loving them in the leanest of times. It means being the human expression of the love of God that has been poured out during times of celebration.

I never am without my ambassadorship. I never represent myself. It is always about the Lord. I am required always to point to him in the good and the not-so-great times.

Holding the hand of a senior member contoured by the annals of time, losing your voice cheering for a member of the student ministry as they perform on the field of play, walking with parents as they try to make sense of the wonder years of teenage life, sharing a word of hope to a couple contemplating calling it quits—the pastorate includes them all.

It is sometimes a thankless undertaking, but it always is the most significant work I do. This is the assignment I have been entrusted with, and it has done more to change my life than I ever could imagine. I am so grateful I get to do life with this group of people every day. I’m not just a preacher; I am a pastor.

Dr. Ron Session is the senior pastor of Shiloh Church in Garland. The views expressed are those of the author.

Southern Baptist news has not been heartening this week. While particularly true for Southern Baptists, it is disheartening for all followers of Christ. Lament is a proper response.

Public comments about Paul Pressler by an attorney representing the Southern Baptist Convention accentuate the injustice of sexual abuse. The attorney’s descriptions of Pressler bring to light what SBC leaders knew about Pressler and how long they knew it.

Evidence and witnesses gathered against Pressler by the Baker Botts legal team was enough to cause at least one SBC leader to say: “We can’t deny the reality of the accusations. You’ve got too many people stacked up that were ready to testify.”

Following hard on the heels of this news, the SBC Executive Committee announced the withdrawal of its latest finalist for the CEO position vacated more than two years ago. This makes the fourth consecutive failed attempt to fill that position.

No matter how you slice it, it is lamentable when key leaders are so difficult to find and place, whatever the reasons are for the failed attempts. It does not bode well for anyone.

Mixed feelings about the SBC lead to mixed responses to the recent news. Some believe the SBC is getting what it deserves. Some want to focus on the positive things Southern Baptists are doing. Others blame attacks by the devil. Others blame the media for shining a light on the negative. Still others couldn’t care less.

Whatever your response may be, lament is a proper response to recent news involving the SBC.

What is lament?

Lament is a natural response to suffering, but it’s not an American or Baptist response to anything, because it wreaks of failure. It involves tears—literal or figurative—and, we believe, focuses too much on the negative. We’re afraid we’ll get infected by it, stuck in it, drown in it.

We don’t want to lament. We want to ignore the bad or brush it off and get on with life. If we understood lament better, we might not avoid it or rush past it.

One way to define lament is agreement with God about the world’s brokenness. It is to cry out to God over injustice, pain, evil, sin. It is to long for what could be, should be, what might have been.

We can lament consciously or unconsciously.

Unconscious lament can be expressed as satire—the sharp humor somehow absorbing part of the sting—or anger—the lashing out giving a sense, however false, of regained power. Unconscious lament also can be suppressed, left to simmer and eventually expressed as bitterness, resentment, or physical or psychological maladies.

Unconscious lament inevitably leads to more hurt.

Conscious lament is on the path toward restoration.

Conscious lament is intentional. It inhabits the time and space needed to acknowledge suffering. It is an open, honest, vulnerable expression of pain looking for healing, not harm. It names the hurt, the wrong, the injustice, and it asks for the right.

For followers of Christ, conscious lament is directed to God. It looks to God for hope, salvation and restoration. It sees lament modeled in Jesus and in Scripture and seeks to pattern itself accordingly.

Why lament?

Southern Baptists lament the continuing decline in membership and baptisms. Many shake their heads at the inability to secure a CEO for the convention. But these are symptoms of things more lamentable—things Southern Baptists need to give the time and space needed for acknowledgement and lamentation.

Whatever the reason(s) may be for what’s happening in and around the SBC—whether the SBC is getting what it deserves, is being attacked by the devil or some other reason—people of God—and not just Southern Baptists—need to name the wrong and cry out to God for the right. We need to lament.

We need to agree with God about sin and injustice, including and especially that committed by Christians. We need to name the wrong to distinguish it clearly from what is right. And then we need to do what is right.

Our lament needs to be individual and corporate. Each of us needs to cry out to God within our hearts. We also need to cry out to God as a Christian community. Southern Baptists’ woes may be their own doing, but their consequences reach the whole kingdom of God. That, too, is part of the lament.

Yes, lament is grief and grieving, and when wrong is done, lament is the right and proper response. We must not avoid it or rush past it.

A lamentation

People were sexually abused by Southern Baptist leaders. Sexual abuse is a grievous wrong.

Southern Baptist leaders covered up their own abusive actions and the abusive actions of other Southern Baptist leaders. Seeking to avoid accountability for wrongdoing is itself a grievous wrong.

Lord, the wrong done by your people has opened a pit of many manifestations. There is wasting in the bones. Innocents suffer, the guilty hide, and the rest fight over correct interpretation. And the world is watching.

Lord, hear our cries. Please restore your people again for your name’s sake.

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

Religious liberty isn’t just enshrined in the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. It is a core and historic Baptist belief going back more than 400 years.

Differing views of religious liberty have been at issue in culture and politics over the last several years and are still in play. From whom business owners can and can’t deny service, to prayer at school, to school funding, to immigration, to state executions, to you name it, religious liberty is involved.

Considerable financial and political capital is being spent on religious liberty concerns here and around the world. Baptists are at the forefront of these efforts. Therefore, Baptists need to pay attention to a particular critique of religious liberty coming from some self-proclaimed Christian nationalists.

Some Christian nationalists argue there is a misunderstanding today about religious liberty. They see the modern “secular” conception of religious liberty as too inclusive and unjustifiable.

This raises a question: Is religious liberty for Christians only? For Baptists to answer this and related questions requires Baptists to know themselves and their history.

Centuries-old commitment

Baptists have championed religious liberty since at least 1609. That year, John Smyth and Thomas Helwys formed General Baptists from among English Separatists living in Amsterdam.

At the time, church and state essentially were one. General Baptists, however, believed in the separation of church and state and the freedom of religious conscience. Helwys died in an English prison for these views.

Fast forward to today. Religious liberty continues to be a core Baptist belief with strong advocates.

At least two Baptist organizations advocate for religious liberty on a national level. Though often espousing contrasting views of what ensures religious liberty, the Baptist Joint Committee for Religious Liberty and the Southern Baptist Convention’s Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission share the same history.

The Baptist Standard also advocates for religious liberty and reports on violations of the principle wherever they occur around the world.

A Baptist definition of religious liberty

Religious liberty is important enough to Baptists that it receives its own article in the Baptist Faith and Message. According to that article, Southern Baptists understand religious liberty to mean:

• “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.
• “Church and state should be separate.
• “The state owes to the church [or ‘every church’] protection and full freedom in the pursuit of its spiritual ends.
• “In providing for such freedom no ecclesiastical group or denomination should be favored by the state more than others.
• “Civil government being ordained of God, it is the duty of Christians to render loyal obedience thereto in all things not contrary to the revealed will of God.
• “The church should not resort to the civil power to carry on its work. The gospel of Christ contemplates spiritual means alone for the pursuit of its ends.
• “The state has no right to impose penalties for religious opinions of any kind.
• “The state has no right to impose taxes for the support of any form of religion.
• “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 men, and the right to form and propagate opinions in the sphere of religion without interference by the civil power.”

Religious liberty variously defined

Many, if not most, Baptists advocating for religious liberty today extend to all faiths, Christian or otherwise, the freedom referred to in the last clause above. People of all faiths have “the right to form and propagate opinions in the sphere of religion without interference by the civil power.”

The BJC, ERLC, Texas Baptists’ Christian Life Commission, Baptist Standard, Baptist World Alliance and others do not believe religious liberty is for Christians only.

But Christian nationalists like Stephen Wolfe believe, at least in the United States, “the political and social privileging or exclusivity of Christianity” is justified for the purpose of “ordering the people to true religion” and “the prevention of public harm” (The Case for Christian Nationalism, p. 34, 27).

One is right to question what “true religion” and “public harm” might be.

“Early America is a resource for an American return to Christian nationalism,” Wolfe wrote (p. 36). Wolfe, noting he is Presbyterian, contends “the majority view of religious liberty in the founding era shared the same principles as the 17th century New England Puritans” (p. 430).

New England Puritans “tolerated” other denominations, but they considered Baptists—among others—to be “dissenters” and disturbers of the peace. The Puritans “denied that they conducted persecution; rather they suppressed those who … disturbed the peace of the church and the state” (p. 402-403).

One is right to question what “suppressed” and “disturbed the peace” might mean.

Religious liberty a universal right

If religious liberty—or the fullness thereof—pertains only to Christians, the next move is to define who is and is not “Christian”—or what Wolfe considers adherents of “true religion.” Baptists have not always been considered adherents of “true religion.”

Baptists who know their history know their expression of Christianity was persecuted … excuse me, suppressed throughout early America, and not just in New England and not just by Puritans.

If New England Puritans are the measure of “Christian,” however, and if certain Christian nationalists who identify with that form of Christianity have their way, what’s to keep Baptists and many other Christians—to say nothing about non-Christians—from being “suppressed” once again?

Some Christian nationalists tend toward a narrower view of religious liberty, some going so far as to deny its protections to any faith other than their brand of “Christian.” One is right to pay close attention to their language and their aims.

As for me and a host of other Baptists, religious liberty must extend to all faiths. If it does not, then any faith may be ruled out—including yours and mine.

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

We don’t like to talk about funerals because, well, they involve death. And we like talking about death even less than we like talking about funerals.

But death is the natural result of living long enough. So, we need to talk about it and prepare for it.

In the church, that preparation needs to include provisions for pastors, since they are performing more funerals these days. We need to give more attention to what this means for them and not just for the church.

Funerals ‘these days’

By “these days,” I don’t mean during the holidays, though pastors long have known to expect more funerals at the end of the year and beginning of the next. Despite how cheery we try to make the holidays—Thanksgiving through New Year’s—they perennially see an uptick in deaths and subsequent funeral or memorial services.

An explainer on an Australian website for creating wills describes this annual occurrence in both frank and euphemistic terms:

“The Christmas Holiday Effect, the Holiday Death Spike—whatever you wanna call it, the spike in mortality rates during the festive period is a documented phenomenon first observed by sociologist David P. Phillips while analysing death certificates. Subsequent studies have corroborated this finding. This pattern is consistent across all age groups, except for children, and encompasses various conditions such as heart disease, respiratory issues, and cancer.”

No, I’m not referring to the “festive period,” though I may begin using that phrase in place of “holidays.” Please don’t send me letters about that.

By “these days,” I am referring to the latter years of the Silent Generation and older Baby Boomers. Until Millenials surpassed them, Boomers were the largest generation in history. With the sharp decline in church participation among younger generations, however, Boomers still are the largest generation in church by a wide margin, followed by members of the Silent Generation.

Congregations aren’t just aging; they are aged. This means not only are pastors doing more funerals these days, but that number will be high for a while. We need to pay attention to what this means for pastors, not just for the church.

More funerals

For many pastors, funerals have outpaced weddings and baby dedications—much happier occasions—for a long time. That was true of my pastorate from 2010 to 2018, and it was true in the church I served before that.

Two of my friends who are pastors told me, independently, they either are doing or feel like they are doing more funerals than before—including during the dark days of the COVID-19 pandemic. They sometimes officiate more than one funeral a day. Though anecdotal, I doubt these two pastors are an anomaly.

The weight of funerals

Pastoral ministry surrounding death seems to run in the opposite direction of “church growth.” By “church growth,” we tend to mean adding people to the church. Death and funerals tend not to do that. We also mean providing an attractive air of excitement and forward movement. Again, death and funerals rarely provide such an air.

By contrast, death and funerals are not attractive or exciting. They are things we want to avoid. They also send us backward in remembrance, forward only in the hope of resurrection.

When a death occurs, a pastor will spend time with family and loved ones to comfort them and to prepare for a funeral or memorial, will work with a funeral home, likely will attend the viewing or visitation preceding the service, will officiate one or more services, and will provide follow-up grief care. All of this will be in addition to weekly responsibilities.

Some days, pastors will go from a party to a funeral and then maybe to a committee meeting or another party. To do so, the pastor will need to flip the magic switch that turns happy to sad, sad to business, and business back to happy or sad—all without making it obvious. But it rarely will be obvious to most, because most will not be in all the places the pastor goes in a day.

The more funerals a pastor performs, the more times the pastor will need to run this course. The more times a pastor runs this course, the more fatigued the pastor can become—probably will become. Plenty of pastors who throttle between happy and sad ministry eventually experience compassion fatigue or even burnout.

Helping pastors minister

Sports is an apt metaphor here. Stressing the body and mind come with the territory in sports. We want our teams to win, and to win, players need to be at their best. To be at their best, players need proper rest, nutrition, physical therapy and health care—and they need it regularly.

Death and funerals come with the territory in ministry. Pastors want to be at their best when they provide that care to others. To be at their best, churches need to do for their pastors what team owners and management do for athletes—ensure their pastors get proper and regular holistic care.

As the number of funerals increases and/or remains high, churches need to build even more care for their pastors into their budgets and compensation packages. After all, that funeral will be ours someday, and I’m willing to bet we’re going to want a pastor to handle it. Let’s not assume a pastor will. Let’s ensure a pastor will by making the necessary investment now.

This sounds self-serving—investing in our pastors so they’ll take better care of us—until we remember when a pastor buries someone, that someone is often a person the pastor loved and cared for, too. The pastor has lost someone, too, and shouldn’t have to grieve alone any more than the rest of us.

Pastors are doing a lot of funerals these days, and they’re going to do a lot more in the days ahead. Funerals can wear a pastor out, but they don’t have to. If we really are concerned about “church growth,” then we need to pay attention to the weight of funerals on our pastors and help them bear up.

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

Spoiler alert: “Jesus is Lord” means the same thing in 2024 as it did in A.D. 33. In fact, the meaning has never changed. To say Jesus is Lord is to say nothing and no one else is.

But I’m not saying anything new. Rather, I’m reminding us of our core proclamation as Christians. The start of a new year is a good time for this reminder.

A little history

For the earliest Christians, proclaiming, “Jesus is Lord,” put them on a collision course with the political power of the day. When the earliest Christians proclaimed, “Jesus is Lord,” they did so consciously. They knew they were taking a provocative stand against Caesar’s proclaimed lordship.

They also knew the exclusiveness of Jesus’ lordship put them at odds with their communities religiously, socially and economically. Paul and his companions were seen as troublemakers and suffered beatings and imprisonment for proclaiming Jesus as the superior deity. Christians could be ostracized even by their own families for the same proclamation.

The situation changed for Christians in A.D. 313 when Emperor Constantine granted freedom of religion within the Roman Empire. In 380, Emperor Theodosius made Christianity the official religion of the empire. Whether these were acts of true devotion to Christ or political maneuvers is debated.

Christians now enjoyed new status. The trade-off, however, was Christianity’s domestication in service of the empire. Proclaiming, “Jesus is Lord,” no longer was in opposition to political and religious rulers. A Christian could conform to human law without needing to conform to Christ.

Such was the case in the Western world for the next 1,500 years wherever rulers and nations called themselves “Christian.” You could claim the name of Christ without the slightest bend in the knee. “Jesus is Lord” had lost its punch.

Today, despite new Constantines, Christianity largely has lost such cachet in the West. Once again, proclaiming, “Jesus is Lord,” is strange, even considered oppositional. But as always, Jesus’ lordship still supersedes the political, social, cultural and economic order of the day.

Jesus or the world

The order of the day holds considerable sway, however, so that we need to be conscious again of what we are saying when we say, “Jesus is Lord.” Are we using the empire’s coinage, or are we proclaiming our submission to Christ Jesus? What we mean will be tested and found out.

Our understanding of Jesus’ unique and exclusive lordship is tested in endless ways in this world. The world—including religion—expects us to bow to a million different people and things, so long as not a single one of them is Jesus.

We can wear all the crosses we want, display all the Christian art we want, listen to all the Christian music, read all the Christian books, attend all the church services we want and still be at ease in the world, because none of these things require us to bow in worship of Jesus.

We can do all of these things and the world still accomplish its ends with us. We can say the words, “Jesus is Lord,” without once bowing in submission to Christ with our body, mind or heart.

Just as we’ve always been, we will be tempted in obvious and subtle ways in the year ahead to make just this error.

Testing grounds

Politics will be an obvious testing ground. We will be tempted to define “what Jesus would do” more by politicians and political preferences than by Jesus himself.

Culture will continue to exert enormous pressure on our allegiance to Christ, seeking to perfect materialism in us and to shape our notions of what we can and can’t do, should and shouldn’t do with our and other bodies.

How we spend time and money, how we make money, how we make decisions, how much thought we give to Jesus and his teaching will be daily tests, just as they’ve always been.

A less obvious testing ground will be our estimation of ourselves. We will be tempted to think we are more important and more valuable than others, that we come first. We likely won’t notice the test because it will seem natural. It might even seem baptized. But in whose water, in whose blood?

“Jesus is Lord” means full submission to Jesus. It means we give ourselves over to his rule and reign in our desires, thoughts and actions. Jesus’ lordship is to shape us. We do not shape it.

Likewise, Jesus is Lord at all times and in all situations. Jesus’ lordship is not a situational thing for some times, some people and some places.

Jesus is and will be Lord

Big questions loom over the year ahead. Each is a question of Jesus’ lordship.

Many are wondering about the Southern Baptist Convention. Whatever happens with the SBC, Jesus is Lord. Should the SBC fully adopt the exclusion of all women pastors, disfellowship scores of churches or run out of money, it will not make Jesus any more or less Lord.

2024 is an election year, and a contentious one at that. Should 2024 be anything like 2020, Jesus’ lordship will not be affected. Should Donald Trump and Joe Biden be the respective Republican and Democrat nominees for president of the United States, Jesus still will be Lord. Whoever is elected, you guessed it, Jesus is and will be Lord.

This is also true closer to home. Jesus is Lord whatever our health diagnosis, whatever our financial situation is, whatever happens in our family or at work.

That Jesus is and will be Lord regardless is not a call to apathy or resignation. Rather, because Jesus is and will be Lord whatever happens, we who proclaim his lordship must be mindful of what we are saying such that our lives are clear testimony of our allegiance to Christ and not some lesser god.

But this isn’t saying anything new. Instead, it’s a reminder to all of us—myself above all—that our core proclamation as Christians is Jesus is Lord.

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

Johnny Cash sang, “Love is a burning thing.”

Love may be a fire, but that’s not the fullness of love.

While watching a Hallmark movie with my wife several days ago—an act that approaches the fullness of love—I learned there are several Norwegian words for love.

One of the Norwegian characters disparaged Americans’ loose use of the word “love” before explaining Norwegians’ different words signifying types of love. Those of you who’ve heard a preacher or Bible teacher talk about the different Greek words for love will be on your way to understanding these Norwegian terms I can’t recall now.

Whether we employ a single word or several, we’re pretty sure we know what we mean by “love.” Then, John comes along and qualifies the idea with “perfect.”

I know the difference between my love for my wife and children, my love of reading, my love of nature, my love of coffee and chocolate, and so on, but the only way I can begin to understand perfect love is by following Jesus’ example.

Perfect love

“Perfect love drives out fear,” John wrote (1 John 4:18).

Perfect love puts fear, terror, dread to flight.

Agape that has reached completion—reached its telos, its goal—forcefully throws out fear.

When love does its work, it grabs fear by the collar and belt loops and throws it out the door.

Fear is so much a part of us that we’re afraid of love doing this kind of work in us, that it will go too far. We’re afraid of a lot of things in this world, which tells me love hasn’t reached completion—not in us, it hasn’t.

What are we afraid of? More than anything, we’re afraid of loss. We’re afraid of losing someone we love. We’re afraid of losing our livelihood. We’re afraid of losing our health, our comfort, our home, our standing, our will, our way and so much more. We’re afraid of losing.

Does perfect love drive out all that fear? I’m not an expert, not on this, but I think it will. That’s the promise.

“Fear is associated with punishment. Whoever fears hasn’t been perfected, completed in love,” John continued (1 John 4:18).

What are we afraid of? That’s the place where love is not yet complete in us.

Sacrificial love

God loved the world to the point of sending his one and only Son, so whoever believes in that Son will not perish, but will have eternal life. And God didn’t send his Son to sit as judge—deciding between who will be punished and who won’t—but to save the world, because punishment, condemnation is the default position. But whoever believes in the Son is no longer marked for condemnation (John 3:16-17).

“There’s no greater love than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends,” Jesus told his closest friends (John 15:13). And then he did—laid down his life for his friends.

But fear swung the sword at the guard’s ear (John 18:10). Fear denied the friendship three times (John 18:15-18, 25-27).

Love sought to renew three times, yet fear still compared outcomes, fearing someone else would have it better (John 21:15-23).

Agape in all his fullness came into this world as a helpless baby dependent on his mother’s milk, his father’s provision, his community’s nurturing. The One complete in himself had to learn to walk and talk—all in obedience to his Father’s will, all as a sacrifice.

The perfect love who drives out fear is the Sacrificial Lamb.

This was the news the angels sang when they appeared to the shepherds. This was the good news John proclaimed in his three letters and his Gospel. This is the news we still need now, because love in this world is not perfect. If you doubt that, look at how fear abounds—finding expression in us even in the presence of perfect love.

Love’s light

Once again, December has not been a quiet month. Much has happened in politics, in religion, in war to prove fear’s grip on and pervasiveness in us. Love has yet to reach its goal in us and in this world.

Part of love’s perfection—its completeness, its wholeness—is it does not have to bracket out the turmoil, hatred, pain, suffering and, yes, the fear—all the darkness—of this world, but instead overcomes it. To overcome the darkness, love makes contact like candlelight touches and pushes back even the thickest night.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).

“The true light that gives light to everyone came into the world.” The incorruptible took on our corruptible flesh and lived among us (John 1:9, 14). And we saw the glory of his light.

This light is light for the world. This light is perfect love.

As imperfect, we mark our enemies. Perfect love does not rage against its enemies but shines its light.

As imperfect, we castigate impurity. Perfect love does not rail against the impure but shines its light.

As imperfect, we favor our own. Perfect love does not reject its rejection but shines its light.

To understand this love, we must walk in his footsteps. To know this love’s completion, we must go where this love goes.

But fear is a fire, too, a fiery ring.

When the dust of this Christmas settles, may it not be the fire of love we quench, but the fire of fear, so love may reach his goal with us.

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

Of hope, peace, joy and love, I think I have the hardest time with joy. That’s not an admission I like to make, especially given my belief in Jesus and his saving work. Nevertheless.

When it comes to joy, I may tend toward glass-half-empty. Not exactly a full-throated confession, but again, not an admission I’m cheerful about making.

Pairing Christmas and joy has a tinny ring to me. It sounds of a temporary feeling I can experience only in December. Joy is supposed to be more than that, and frankly, I want more than that.

Good news. Joy is more than Christmas.

Joy is not limited to a season. The joy we celebrate this time of year is just a hint, a taste of the fullness of joy we can know at any and all times.

Joy is not limited by circumstances. It doesn’t require a special season or the trappings of holly, tinsel, lights, ornaments, music and food, but bursts through even the toughest, most Spartan times.

Joy is not ignorant of or naïve about our troubles, but it takes all this world’s heartache into account and still shines through.

Joy is all of that because joy has seen some things, endured some things, and knows how the story ends. That’s the power of joy.

The joy of ballooning

Hot air ballooning is something I’m not Grinchy about. It’s a picture of joy for me, like the photo accompanying this editorial. I didn’t take the photo, and it’s not of any balloon I crewed or flew. It’s a picture taken looking through the throat of a balloon toward the top vent while the balloon is still lying on its side being inflated.

When I crewed and flew hot air balloons, I stood in that same spot to inspect the lines, the vent and the fabric to ensure a safe launch and flight. With the inflator fans roaring behind me and a smile on my face, I said to the Lord each time, “Thank you for letting me do this.”

People would ask what it costs to fly a hot air balloon. The joke was: “The first ride is free. The second will cost you $30,000”—the cost of a new balloon in those days. Adjust for inflation. No pun intended.

Hot air balloon pilots invest a lot of time, energy and money into their sport. Since it involves an FAA-regulated aircraft, they also carry a great deal of responsibility. Every pilot knows the risks of ballooning, and they’ve experienced some of them. The joy of flight makes it all worth it.

This joy is contagious. It pours out in balloonists’ exuberance to introduce people to the wonder of flight, to teach others about the sport of hot air ballooning and to celebrate each and every good landing.

Even though I’m not able to fly hot air balloons anymore, my joy in crewing and flying them hasn’t diminished. That’s the power of joy.

The joy beyond

As much joy as I experienced ballooning, it would be a tinny sounding thing if that’s all I could know of joy.

The good news is—and this is where I’m at least glass-half-full—the joy the angels proclaimed to the shepherds (Luke 2:10-12), the joy Jesus wants us to have the full measure of (John 17:13) is unbounded and unfettered by the constraints of this world.

This joy is powerful.

It’s in the forgiveness freely given the sinner who confesses.
It’s in the grace lavished on those with nothing to offer.
It stands in the bliss of eternity and reaches back to draw us forward through the difficulties of this world.

It does all of this, not in and of itself, but because this joy resides in Jesus, who came to us in the way all humans arrive—by being born. Its power is secured in this same Jesus dying an innocent death and then rising to live, never to die again. This joy is the fullness of what we only glimpse in this life.

This is why—though we struggle mightily to understand or appreciate it—James could write, “Consider it pure joy when you face trials of many kinds” (James: 1:2).

This is why Søren Kierkegaard, through the entirety of “Part Two” of his Christian Discourses, adamantly could proclaim the joy of hardship and suffering, not because there is joy inherent in them, but because joy exceeds them.

The power of joy

The power of joy is that it resides in eternity in Jesus, who promises to wipe away every tear and nullify mourning and pain (Isaiah 25:8; Revelation 21:4).

I wonder if the angels knew this already when they appeared to the shepherds. Whatever the extent of their knowledge about what Jesus would do, they brought tidings of great joy—suddenly, praising God and shining with God’s glory.

This joy is fully aware of this life’s sorrows and stepped right into the middle of them, not as a superhero, but as a helpless baby.

This joy has seen all things, endured all things, and wrote the story’s end.

This joy is in the One who gave up eternal joy to take our suffering on himself (Isaiah 53:3; Philippians 2:6-8), who endured that suffering up to and into death, and who triumphed over it all and entered eternity again.

This joy has been through woe and reaches for us in our own, stands with us in our own, and draws us forward to him. That’s a powerful joy, indeed.

This is the joy I’m looking for, and I bet I’m not alone.

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

Profound: “difficult to fathom or understand;” “extending far below the surface;” “coming from, reaching to, or situated at a depth” (Merriam-Webster.com).

“The peace that passes all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:7).

“That passes all understanding.” In a word, profound.

This is the peace we want now, because the peace this world offers doesn’t reach very far. This world’s peace isn’t deeply rooted and is easily uprooted. It’s as fickle as our pride, bitterness, malice and greed that expects peace on our shifting terms.

We need, we long for peace more profound than that.

*******

Profound peace isn’t free-floating. It’s not a sentiment available to those who can find their way to it. It emanates from God, who secures it and gives it to us in and through Jesus.

Profound peace isn’t unrelated. It’s not detached from the circumstances of our lives, but meets the circumstances of our prayer, petition and thanksgiving presented to God.

Profound peace isn’t soft. It guards our hearts and minds within a ferocious and fearsome world. It is as formidable as Jesus, who bled and died and rose again.

We need, we long for that peace.

*******

We need this profound peace that doesn’t make sense, that is foolishness to this world, that seems aloof, naïve.

We need this profound peace, so when the wind blasts the leaves off the trees, we take a deep breath and bud out again in the spring.

We need this profound peace amid cancer diagnoses and treatment. We need this peace amid denominational disputes. We need this peace through vicious political seasons. We need this peace amid family conflict. We need this peace amid war.

*******

We cannot manufacture this peace. Our consumerism will never lead us to it, but only away from it with seductive and empty promises.

We cannot bring it about by force. No military has that much power.

We cannot legislate it. No politics is up to the task.

Even our own religious striving won’t reach far enough, because religion is too shallow.

The profound peace we need originates in the One who is whole in himself, and all our longing for that peace is the call to return to him.

This profound peace is wholeness. Not our wholeness alone, but the wholeness of all God’s creation. Which means our peace is wrapped up in all the rest of God’s creation—each other and the seventh-day rest, God’s Sabbath made for us, not us for it.

This profound peace—God’s peace—holds us together when all else takes and breaks and pulls us apart.

*******

Profound peace is more than the absence of war and disease. It goes beyond political and economic stability. It is more than the end of religious disputes and family turmoil.

But these are the things occupying so much of our attention here and now. These are the things so many of us give the most time and our best efforts. And while each holds its own importance, not one of them can produce the peace we need and long for.

Yet, in the midst of all such unrest, we can be and are sustained by God’s peace. Likewise, the gospel flows from the wellspring of God’s peace unabated in and through this world’s unrest. This is the profundity of the peace we seek, that the good news of redemption and reconciliation cannot be thwarted by the unrest of this world.

*******

In your holiday rushing and spending,
in your anxiety about family,
in your aggravation about the news,
in your loneliness,
in your busyness,
in your disappointment,
in your search for peace—calm assurance, rootedness, rest—
in and with all of it, come to God.
Dig deep into the profound mystery who passes all understanding.

Dig by seeking God, by asking God, by thanking God. Dig, trusting God to provide, trusting God with the results—all while it seems every last leaf will be stripped from the trees and that there’s no chance of next spring’s green again.

God’s profound peace is deep enough for that, because it’s not dependent on us or the condition of our world. That fact alone is enough to begin to know the wholeness as profound as peace.

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

Hope is a recurring theme in our news this week.

The Southern Baptist Convention’s Executive Committee hopes to present a CEO candidate in February. A Malawian oncologist charged students at Houston Christian University’s Missions Convocation to be hopeful.

Disaster relief ministries aim to bring hope to Israel and Georgia. Pastors from Bethlehem seeking an audience with President Biden in Washington, D.C., hope for an end to the Israel-Hamas war.

Lesslie Newbigin wrote in The Gospel in a Pluralist Society, “In most ordinary speech ‘hope’ means little more than desire for a better future” (p. 101).

We throw the word “hope” around as casually as we do “love.” I hope you had a happy Thanksgiving. I hope you feel better soon. I hope I pass the test. I hope the meeting doesn’t run long. This hope is grounded in temporal things.

I wonder if we would still throw the word around if we understood what a messy, involved and powerful thing hope is. As many churches light a hope candle in observance of Advent—either last Sunday or next—are we mindful of hope’s depth?

Beyond the strangeness of lighting a light purple candle during a season of red and green, do we dare allow our minds to dive into the depth of hope?

Hope is more than sentiment

Newbigin was a missionary to India. During his language study, he discovered Tamil—one of the languages of southeastern India—has no word for “hope.” He asked his native language instructor about this.

“He asked me in turn what I meant by hope. … Things will be what they will be. I may wish that they turn out better than likely, but why should I wish to be deceived by my desires?” Newbigin recounted (p. 101).

Newbigin realized “in English also the word ‘hope’ often stands for nothing more than a desire for what may or may not be.” He diagnosed our culture with “the absence of any sense of a worthwhile future”—a sort of “qué será, será.”

Ironically, Doris Day’s singing of the fatalist song by that name sent a coded message to her kidnapped son, who whistled along while his father followed the sound and eventually rescued him from death.

A hopeless lyric serving as a beacon of hope, giving a young boy enough confidence in his rescue that he whistled along. Thank you, Alfred Hitchcock, for The Man Who Knew Too Much.

But hope isn’t a fatalist wish, Newbigin contended.

Hope, far more than mere desire and sentiment, is “the distinguishing mark” of the Christian community, he asserted, contrasting the Christian community with much of the world.

A Christian view of hope

Eastern cultures often view history as circular and devoid of ultimate meaning. Western culture thought history was progressing—until the world wars that demonstrated the imperfectability of human reason. Much of the world these days has little or no hope in any kind of ultimate direction or meaning to life.

For the Christian community, hope is conjoined with faith, as the writer of Hebrews asserted: “Now faith is the assurance [the confidence] of things hoped for, the certainty [the conviction] of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1).

This certainty is based on the narrative of history’s beginning and end revealed by God in Scripture, and in Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. Newbigin contended Christian hope is built on the forward movement of history toward its culmination in God’s promised future.

Moreover, Christian hope’s certainty is rooted in Jesus’ life, death and resurrection, all of which made good on centuries of God’s promises, reaffirm the culmination of history, and demonstrate the way in which Christians can and should live toward that ultimate fulfillment.

That ultimate fulfillment is the return of Jesus, who already came to us just as promised.

From this position of confidence, Christians can act hopefully in the world, so that “whatever we do—whether it is our most private prayers or our most public political action—is simply offered to [Jesus] for whatever place it may have in his blessed kingdom,” Newbigin wrote (p. 101).

Hopeful living

Living this way means we are completely aware of the brokenness of this present world; it is not lost on us. But instead of becoming overwhelmed by and lost in the improbability of better days, the Christian community knows no amount of brokenness is unredeemable in and by Jesus. In fact, Jesus not only can redeem any and all brokenness, he can use it for redemption.

This week, many hope the truce between Israel and Hamas will extend indefinitely. Many are hopeful political solutions will bring peace. Their hope is weighed down, however, by the past. So, they hedge their bets that war will continue—or at least violence will.

Christian hope, on the other hand, isn’t a bet and needs no hedges. It is fully confident in the promised future realized in Jesus. In this confidence, Christian hope can engage—without fear or despair—this broken world in this tenuous present. Christian hope doesn’t have to avert its eyes, shrink back or pretend things aren’t what they are.

Purple like hope

“It’s been said that a person can live forty days without food, four days without water, four minutes without air, but only four seconds without hope,” Mark Cole wrote for leadership guru John Maxwell’s website.

I’ve heard it said, too, though I don’t remember when, where or by who. Cole likely didn’t know who said it either and hoped “it’s been said” protected him from copyright infringement or accusations of false claims.

As for making false claims, from the time I first heard a person can live only four seconds without hope I’ve wondered if it’s true. It’s easy—and unethical—to test how long a person can live without food, water and air. But hope? How do you test that? I know plenty of people who have felt hopeless far longer than four seconds.

Purple is a fitting color to meet hopelessness. As purple is a mixture of red and blue, hope is a mixture of the vitality and brokenness of life. The light purple of the Advent candle adds the white of the Christ candle, making yet another new color.

Our hope is not merely a desire for a better future. Our hope is colored by Jesus entering our broken present, living it with us and dying from it, living again beyond it, and promising to return to bring us into the perfection of his promised future.

May we let that light shine through how we live in a world desperate for hope deep enough to match the mess we’re in.

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

I joined Church Under the Bridge in Waco for worship Sunday morning, Nov. 19. Everyone needs to worship with Church Under the Bridge at least once in their life.

For those who don’t know, Church Under the Bridge has met under the bridge between 4th and 5th Streets at I-35 in Waco for decades—except for the 44 months they met at The Silos at the invitation of Chip and Joanna Gaines while the bridge was under construction.

Many of Church Under the Bridge’s people are unhoused, low income, addicted or recovering addicts, formerly incarcerated, or otherwise “down and out.” At Church Under the Bridge, they and anyone else are welcome, accepted, loved and discipled.

The morning I was there, the worship service ended with the Lord’s Supper. It was one of the most meaningful Lord’s Suppers I’ve ever taken. And I’m profoundly grateful.

Lord’s Supper at CUB

We were instructed to go to the center aisle and walk to the back of the seating area, around the outside of the chairs to the front, and up to the table front and center where we would be given bread and a cup of grape juice.

If you’ve ever taken the Lord’s Supper this way in a church, more than likely the atmosphere was quiet, calm, contemplative, orderly and solemn. Not at Church Under the Bridge. It was joyful. Not raucous or disorderly; joyful. There’s a difference, and it makes all the difference.

The recorded music playing over the speakers was joyful. The people lined up were joyful—rejoining their conversations, smiling, laughing, hugging. They were so glad to see each other and to be together. It made me glad to be included.

There were only two loaves of bread and a couple of small Styrofoam coolers with juice. I’ve taken the Lord’s Supper many times and, considering the normal portion sizes of a pill-sized wafer and thimble-sized cup, I figured those supplies were ample.

When I approached the person distributing the bread, she tore off a hunk and handed it to me, just as was done for every person there. And there were a lot of people there. The cup wasn’t your standard Baptist shot glass. It was one of those plastic sauce containers with a to-go lid, and it was half full.

The Lord’s Supper I was given wasn’t stingy. It was abundant. The hunk of bread required two large bites to consume. The juice was enough to wash down a handful of morning meds.

The most important thanksgiving meal

You may have noticed “thanksgiving” isn’t capitalized in the title. That’s because “the most important thanksgiving meal” doesn’t refer to what we eat on the holiday by that name. It refers to the bread and the cup for which we should give our greatest thanks.

The Lord’s Supper remembers Jesus giving himself for us—his body broken and his blood spilled—and not just a little, but the whole.

When Jesus instituted this remembrance, he took the bread and blessed it—or gave thanks, as Paul puts it (Matthew 26:26-29; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26). Stop for a moment and consider what it means that Jesus blessed the breaking of his body.

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Did you stop to consider? Here’s another chance.

*******

Paul warned against taking the Lord’s Supper in an unworthy manner, and we’ve been scared of blood guilt ever since (1 Corinthians 11:27-34).

Could it be that a stingy and joyless taking of the Lord’s Supper is one way of taking the bread and cup in an unworthy manner?

The times Jesus blessed and broke bread, there was more than enough—way more. Nov. 19, there was plenty of bread and juice left over after everyone had some. And remember, we started with only two loaves and each were given two-bite hunks.

Church Under the Bridge’s joyful and abundant Lord’s Supper elicited in me a thankfulness for who Jesus is and what he did for me and for you I never had experienced before. So much so I needed a long time afterward to process it and let it all soak in.

This week, we will give thanks for many things. We probably will do that just before tucking into the largest meal we eat all year. But it’s not the most important thanksgiving meal.

The most important thanksgiving meal is when we remember who Jesus is and what he did for us. He gave nothing less than himself for us—his body broken and his blood spilled—and not just a little, but the whole.

DISCLOSURE: Church Under the Bridge supports the Baptist Standard financially and has challenged other churches to do the same. I attended their worship service to express my thanks to them, only for them to give another financial gift to the Standard and a profound spiritual gift to me.

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