“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves. … Speak up and judge fairly” (Proverbs 31:8-9).

What does it take to speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, to be a voice for the voiceless? What is required?

For Christians to be a voice for the voiceless requires knowing our God, our God’s character, and our God’s commands, and then embodying through faithful obedience what we know about God and God’s commands.

To be a voice for the voiceless requires knowing who doesn’t have a voice. To know that, we must have ears to hear who among us isn’t being heard.

To be a voice for the voiceless requires remembering when we didn’t have a voice ourselves and longed to be heard.

To be a voice for the voiceless requires those with a voice recognizing and appreciating the privilege they have to be heard and to affect the world around them through their voice.

To be a voice for the voiceless requires enough courage to speak on behalf of those whose voices have been suppressed, quieted, discounted, or ignored.

What God requires

For Christians to be a voice for the voiceless requires knowing our God, our God’s character, and our God’s commands, and then embodying through faithful obedience what we know about God and God’s commands.

I could spend the rest of this editorial quoting Bible verses telling us what God requires of us in relation to the poor, needy, powerless, vulnerable, and foreigner. But I won’t do that.

Instead, I will point out that we tend to respond to those verses in the same way the expert in the law questioned the command to “love your neighbor as yourself.”

“Who’s my neighbor?” he asked.

“Lord,” we respond, “we want to obey your word. So we can, please tell us, who are the poor, needy, powerless, vulnerable, and foreigner?”

I picture Jesus, with a look on his face that says, “Seriously?” asking, “Are you kidding me?”

Our problem isn’t we don’t know what the Bible says. We know God defends the vulnerable—the fatherless, the widow, the poor and needy, the oppressed, the foreigner. And we know God’s law commands us, again and again, to do the same.

Our problem isn’t knowledge. Our problem is we want to qualify what we know or what it means to “defend.” Our problem is obedience. Most of us don’t want to be a voice for the voiceless, even if we do want to obey God.

Obedience is worked out in the other requirements I listed above.

Listening for the voiceless

To be a voice for the voiceless requires knowing who doesn’t have a voice. To know that, we must have ears to hear who among us isn’t being heard. The prevailing winds of our culture may deafen us to the voiceless.

In a country like the United States, we may assume everyone has a voice, that everyone has the opportunity to make themselves known. Those who believe that have never been in rooms where decisions are made. I’ve been in some of those rooms, and I’ve seen people who, even though they’re in the room, never get a chance to speak.

I’ve been in neighborhoods so purposely cut off and hidden by city planners as to make them invisible. Most of the residents in many of them don’t have enough money or influence to make city, county, or state governments maintain their communities as well as those same governments secure the value of affluent business and residential districts.

Given our penchant for distraction, we’re just as likely to be ignorant about the voiceless as we are to be willfully deaf toward them.

As with our knowing versus doing of Scripture, our problem is less likely one of knowledge than it is one of will. We probably have a good idea who the voiceless are. We just don’t want to hear them.

“What you did for the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me,” Jesus said (Matthew 25:31-46).

Remembering our own voice

To be a voice for the voiceless requires remembering what it was like for us to be voiceless and longing to be heard. It may have been our childhood, but there was a time.

If we have a voice, we must understand its effect and make responsible use of it.

Jesus was born to a poor family among a poor people oppressed by the Roman Empire. Even so, as a man with religious understanding, he understood the authority of his voice, and he used it.

He corrected those who thought he couldn’t be bothered with children. He spoke with and spoke up for women. He healed, forgave, and redeemed—regardless of ethnicity and nationality.

Can the same be said about our voice? Do we use our voice in service of others or in service of ourselves?

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others,” Paul wrote, under the Spirit’s inspiration (Philippians 2:3-4).

‘Be strong and courageous’

To be a voice for the voiceless requires enough courage to speak on behalf of those whose voices have been suppressed, quieted, discounted, or ignored.

Fear is a significant obstacle. None of us want to suffer for speaking up or speaking out. And suffering can take many forms.

Perhaps the greatest part of that obstacle is our fear of losing the upper hand if we speak up for the voiceless or if the voiceless are heard. Scripture speaks to this fear also. For example: “Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life on my account will find it,” Jesus said (Matthew 10:39).

Throughout history, the voiceless have been women, children, and the poor. In the United States, voicelessness has lived along racial, ethnic, and socioeconomic lines, as well as the line between the abled and disabled. Speaking up for these voiceless ones has always carried a cost, even if only ridicule and loss of respect.

Might we who have a voice have the courage to follow our Lord’s lead, who even though he was equal with God, emptied himself, became a servant, and humbled himself, being obedient to the point of death?

Might we have the courage to speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, just as Jesus spoke up for us to the Father?

Will we do so now? Or will we be as though we are voiceless ourselves?

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If you are ready and willing to be a voice for the voiceless but are unsure what to do or where to start, the following organizations are just a few that can help.

• Local ministries: food bank, clothing closet, pregnancy center, women’s shelter, or homeless shelter.
• Christian Life Commission
• WMU of Texas
• 21Wilberforce
• Evangelical Immigration Table

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 in this opinion article are those of the author.

Oh sing to the Lord a new song,
for he has done marvelous things!
(Psalm 98:1)

Baptists are known as singing people.

I am a product of the Black Baptist church tradition. My parents often said I began vocalizing melodies after church services even as a toddler. Church music is a major component of my DNA. It has always been my passion, aspiration, and applied formal training.

I began formal piano training at age 12. Musicians were expected to be able to play and lead hymns. Therefore, in my ambition, I set out to play every song in the 1940 Broadman Hymnal used by my church at that time.

I knew little or nothing of composition and poetic metrical forms, origins, narratives, and composers of the hymns. In the early years, it was simply a love for the melodic tones, harmonies, rhythms, and select lyrics of the hymns. As musical training advanced, so also did my understanding of church music, particularly the hymns of the church.

Hymn singing is biblical

Speak to one another with psalms, hymns, and songs.
(Ephesians 5:19; Colossians 3:16 NKJV)

Hymn singing is biblical. The Book of Psalms is the hymn book of the Bible. Psalms were used for worship in the Old Testament. They were also sung in the New Testament. Jesus sang psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs. The early church sang hymns.

Paul and Silas sang hymns at midnight in a prison dungeon. While we do not know exactly what psalms were used, the Bible notes, “The prisoners were listening” (Acts 16).

The singing of hymns is not only biblical. It is also doctrinal.

Our emotions are expressed in the hymn texts and tunes.

Surely, we are privileged to lift our voices in praise to our great and awesome God, our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer.

Rich faith heritage of hymns

Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise—the fruit of lips that openly profess his name.
(Hebrews 13:15 NKJV).

There are more than half a million hymns, according to knowledgeable estimates. What a rich faith heritage has been handed down to the 21st-century body of Christ.

Most of us received our initial theological lessons from the texts of hymns. This is particularly true for African Americans. Our generations of worship were expressed through the oral folklore, messages of hymns, and the spirituals.

Although the earlier Baptist hymnals did not include many of our African American faith traditional music, except for several spirituals and hymns, our biblical and doctrinal heritage were built on this genre.

Black hymns, spirituals, anthems and gospels were important to worship, community, civic, and social gatherings of African American communities in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s.

Rev. Charles A. Tindley

The 1940 Broadman Hymnal and 1956 and 1975 Baptist Hymnal included several hymns of the late Rev. Charles Albert Tindley (1851-1933), the father of Black church hymnody.

While he was a prolific hymnist, only some of his songs were included: “Nothing Between,” “Stand By Me,” and “When the Morning Comes (By and By).”

During the 1950s and 60s, Tindley’s hymn composition “I’ll Overcome Some Day” was adopted by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. The song’s title was changed to “We Shall Overcome” and became known as the clarion call of the Civil Rights Movement.

Tindley’s “Leave It There” (1916) continues in popularity in Black churches for devotional music.

Thomas A. Dorsey

Tindley and his songs greatly inspired and influenced the late Thomas A. Dorsey (1899-1993), the father of Gospel music, who revolutionized sacred music.

Dorsey’s most popular compositions were “Precious Lord Take My Hand,” “Peace in the Valley,” “When the Gates Swing Open,” “It’s the Highway to Heaven,” and many more.

His compositions and performances expanded the musical genre for countless African American artists, including Sam Cooke, James Cleveland, Mahalia Jackson, Lucie E. Campbell, Doris Akers, Rev. Clay Evans, Billy Preston, Rev. C.L. Franklin, Aretha Franklin, Shirley Ceasar, Dorothy Norwood, and thousands more.

Black national anthem

Modern hymnals such as 1991 and 2008 Baptist Hymnal included the Black national anthem “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” This song is rich in heritage.

The poem was written by James Weldon Johnson and set to music by his brother John Rosamond Johnson. A school performance celebrating President Abraham Lincoln’s birthday debuted the song on Feb. 12, 1900.

“Lift Every Voice and Sing” was sung for the inaugural founding of the NAACP in New York City on Feb. 12, 1909.

This is only the tip of the iceberg of Black hymnody and hymnists. There is much more depth found in the study and performing of the great hymns of African American composers.

Hymns as devotionals

I will sing praise with my spirit, but I will sing with my mind also.
(1 Corinthians 14:15b ESV)

I highly recommend the inclusion of the songs of the church as a part of daily Bible reading and personal devotionals.

Several songs by African American composers and included in the 1975, 1991, and 2008 Baptist Hymnal are a part of my personal, devotional, and testimonial experiences and musical repertoire.

The late Andrae Crouch (1942-2015) and several of his many compositions are found in modern hymnals. “Bless the Lord, O My Soul,” “The Blood Will Never Lose Its Power,” “My Tribute,” “Soon and Very Soon,” “I Don’t Know Why Jesus Loved Me,” and “Let the Church Say ‘Amen’” are church favorites internationally and globally.

Doris Akers’ (1923-1995) “There’s A Sweet, Sweet Spirit” is perhaps her most popular of the 500 compositions she published. The song was born out of a spontaneous prayer revival that originated during a regular choir rehearsal in Los Angeles in 1962.

That night, Doris was consumed by the thought of the Lord’s sweet, sweet Spirit. She got out of bed, picked up a pen and composition book, and began writing to completion the words and music, all in one sitting. The verses and chorus follow.

‘There’s a Sweet, Sweet Spirit’

There’s a Sweet, Sweet Spirit in this place;
And I know that it’s the Spirit of the Lord.
There are sweet expressions on each face,
And I know that it’s the presence of the Lord.

There are blessings you cannot receive
Till you know Him in His fullness, and believe.
You’re the one to profit when you say,
“I am going to walk with Jesus all the way.”

Sweet Holy Spirit, Sweet Heavenly Dove,
You’re right here with us, Filling us with Your love.
And for these blessings, We lift our hearts in praise.
Without a doubt we’ll know that we have been revived
When we shall leave this place.

(Manna Music, Inc., copyright renewed, 1990)

*******

Dr. Roy Cotton Sr. is director of Texas Baptists’ Ambassador Program and has more than 60 years of church music experience. During college, he was the music chairman of the Baptist Student Union at the University of Texas. He is a graduate of Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, served 10 years on the faculty of the Lucie E. Campbell Church Music Workshop of the National Baptist Convention USA, and was an adjunct professor of musicology and hymnology at the Baptist Theological Seminary in Richmond, Va.

This year, political xenophobic attacks have focused once again on Muslim Americans—specifically, Sharia law.

In Texas, multiple candidates for U.S. Senate, governor, attorney general, and U.S. Representative have accused Muslim Americans of secretly attempting to enact an Islamic state, promote local control of cities, or seek to undermine Texas law.

Ultimately, these scare tactics, grounded in political expedient assumptions and prejudice, are false and harmful.

Meaning of ‘Sharia’

For a Muslim in America, “Sharia law” is not unlike what some might describe as religious orthodoxy for Christians, Jews, or any other faith.

“Sharia literally means ‘the way or path that leads to the source of water,’” Salih Sayilgan wrote in Exploring Islam: Theology and Spiritual Practice in America. For most Muslims, water is symbolic of spiritual peace or life.

Sharia, then, provides religious guidelines for how Muslims should live their lives ethically and through observance of their faith. Sharia is a spiritual practice, not a system of government for all to follow.

American Muslims oppose religious extremism at the same rate as Americans overall. Additionally, Muslims are quite clear in their teachings that they are to obey the law of the land. In the United States, that law is the U.S. Constitution. However, politicians have sought to exploit fears of this minority faith to procure votes.

Distorting Sharia for political gain would be akin to someone accusing a Christian candidate who claims to live biblically as having plans to stone children, ban certain foods, gouge out sinful eyes, or eat human flesh. These would be ridiculous claims and accusations that stem from proof-texting and misinterpreting Scripture.

The same thing is being done against our Muslim neighbors today.

We can disagree theologically, but we must always speak truthfully.

Political use of misrepresenting Islam

Politicians can afford to misrepresent Islamic teachings since Muslims account for only 2 percent of the population. It is political expediency to make this 2 percent into something sinister and scary in order to influence a majority of the other 98 percent. However, it is wrong to do so and bears false witness against our neighbors.

We must never let political power take advantage of the vulnerable, the oppressed, the minority, or the immigrant. As Christians, we should be on the forefront of the pushback against such untruths, standing in the gap for our Muslim neighbors. We must not reward this type of political malpractice by ignoring or dismissing the accusations as “just politics as usual.”

Unfortunately, when we look back through our history, these types of sordid attacks on minorities usually are politically effective. Whether the most recent xenophobic claim will succeed or not at the ballot box, the accusations against Muslim Americans run counter to truth, religious liberty, and acknowledging the Imago Dei in every human being.

False allegations threaten religious liberty

Baptists would be wise to reflect on how false allegations have impacted fellow Baptists in the past.

In 1774, Baptist ministers were imprisoned in Virginia for failing to conform to the laws in place in relation to tax payments for ministers of the established religious group. Baptists were accused of being a sect, as outsiders who were not assimilating to the established norm of society—some of the same attacks made against Muslims today.

Thankfully, James Madison* witnessed this assault on religious liberty, which compelled his later work on the “Virginia Declaration of Rights” and “Memorial and Remonstrance.” He was committed to protecting conscience and religious liberty, desiring to check governmental coercion and misuse of power against minority religious groups.

Madison’s willingness to stand up for a minority faith helped protect the free exercise of all faiths, leading to an enduring American legacy.

Our failure today to hold those accountable who spread false testimony against our Muslim neighbors imperils the present and future of religious liberty for all faiths.

Love our neighbor

Rather than participate in the fear of others and the misuse of power, American Christians should stand with the religious minority, the immigrant, the oppressed, and the persecuted. Not just in our words, but in our deeds. If we are silent in the face of distorted attacks against our neighbor, we fail to live out the fullness of the gospel.

As Erika Lee writes in America for Americans: “In both the past and the present, xenophobes have argued that immigrants are threats. But it is xenophobia, not immigration, that is our gravest threat today. It is time to reset the terms of the debate.”

Let’s speak truth to power and remember Jesus’ commands: Love God and love our neighbor. These commandments are not just for Sunday mornings, but for our political lives as well, not just for Christians we theologically agree with, but for all human beings.

Jack Goodyear is a professor of political science and a member of a Texas Baptist church. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

You can read a different perspective on Sharia law here.

*******

* Joseph Loconte, “Faith and the Founding: The Influence of Religion on the Politics of James Madison,” Journal of Church and State, 2003.

The Ten Commandments are “ordered” by law to be posted in Texas public schools.

The intent? Because we supposedly “support Judeo-Christian values.”

Yet, the Ten Commandments are Mosaic, not Christian. Lawmakers intend Christian influence, which actually violates the intent of the Mosaic law that for 4,000 years was meant to be wholly followed—a whole package—not merely the Top 10.

While revered by all as God’s word and something most people cherish, ordering the posting of the Ten Commandments exposes adult hypocrisies in both lawmakers and schools who do not want to support the whole Mosaic law.

The intent of posting the Ten? To help elementary school kids know they are not to murder, steal, or commit adultery? Or to help high school students know the school demands they have only one God?

Even a casual reader of Deuteronomy cannot escape Moses’ pleading many times for Israel to keep the whole law. For example, Deuteronomy 4:1-2 begins: “Follow them. … Do not add to what I command you and do not subtract from it.” Moses repeats that in many ways for 34 chapters.

Moses meant the whole law, from which the Ten were carved and representative. The Ten were even placed in the ark, not posted, while the whole law was written and taught.

When you see the Ten Commandments posted anywhere, if you respect Moses’ words in Deuteronomy, then you see the Ten as inextricably, inseparably, intrinsically, indistinguishably, and indissolubly part of the whole Mosaic law—a whole package in which the Ten rest.

What the whole Mosaic law requires

Consider the following laws from Deuteronomy:

If a son will not obey his parents, then the elders of the city are to stone that son to death (21:18-21).

If there is no proof of a bride’s virginity, she is to be stoned to death—part of the “law” posted in our schools that no one followed then and will go to prison for today (22:20-21).

If a man rapes a virgin pledged to be married, he is to pay the father 50 shekels, about $15 today (22:23-24). Oh, yes, a lot of men in Texas prisons wish Dan Patrick and Ken Paxton were truly serious about that part of Moses’ law advocated in posting the Ten Commandment.

If two men are fighting and the wife grabs the assailant’s privates, we must cut of the wife’s hand and “show no pity” (25:11-12).

Moses repeats: “The Lord your God commands you this day to follow these decrees and laws; carefully observe them with all your heart and with all your soul” (26:16).

Posting the Ten advocates the whole, if one reads what Moses said. Moses closed with a chapter of curses upon those who fail to obey the whole. Did our Texas lawmakers forget Moses’ chapter full of curses for not following the whole?

Clearly, few of the laws were followed in Moses’ or in Jesus’ time, and no one today wants to follow all of the Mosaic law. No one. Several are even illegal today.

Hypocrisy of Ten Commandments law

Why not make it a law to “love God with all your heart and love your neighbor as yourself?” Order “love?” Ha!

The more practical words of Jesus’ summation of the law into two commands and his immensely useful Golden Rule—“Do unto others as you would have them do to you”—are so valued, they need no law. They are nearly universal to all religions and dearly loved.

Seriously, only the weird would try to encode “love.”

No one in their right moral mind would order “love.” Love can never be ordered. To order schools to post “Love Others Like Yourself” actually cheapens the very words and reveals a moral superiority alien to Jesus’ purest intent.

Worse than ordering “love,” posting the Ten Commandments with no intent to follow the whole demeans the Ten and makes the host schools hypocritical to Moses’ intent and, with respect to Moses’ meaning, obligates those schools to support the ugliest killings totally illegal today.

Worse, the posting law is hypocritical to old Texas laws—perhaps naïvely—making hypocrites of the “biblical” lawmakers.

Worst of all, the Texas law subverts Jesus’ summary and his codicil in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7) that clearly says, “Forgive,” and goes against the Mosaic law of “take a tooth for a tooth.”

There is no one in Texas who wants to follow the whole Mosaic law. Yet, the majority of Moses’ words were thrown out by the Texas legislature while they surgically clipped for special attention the Ten, with no intention of giving the whole credibility.

That encoding makes our schools a mockery if an intelligent student asked about why Texas wants to kill girls who are not virgins or stone to death young boys. Very serious affairs.

What our kids deserve

That is sad and ironic, given Texas Monthly’s most recent “Bum Steer Awards,” including a “Top Ken List” about our Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton and U.S. senator wannabe.

The list includes Texas State Senator Angela Paxton divorcing the attorney general on “biblical grounds” and a jab at Angela by Ken’s mistress. There is a stupendous irony in Paxton filing a state lawsuit to post the Ten while boldly violating one.

Our kids deserve more integrity than to be forced to participate in adult hypocrisies, or worse, to be a part of the school’s endorsing the Ten which are a curse-bound part of a whole with laws all find heinous.

Michael Maness retired after 20 years as a Texas prison chaplain and is the author of many articles and books. He holds a Master of Divinity from Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary and a Doctor of Ministry from New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author. A version of this article previously appeared in the Tyler County Booster.

The current geopolitical moment is fraught with risk. Might has once again gained the upper hand over right. The United Nations has been weakened. Many states, first and foremost the United States, have disengaged from multilateralism and humanitarian efforts, losing interest and credibility to act for peace.

Simultaneously, armed violence and conflict have engulfed numerous nations, including the Democratic Republic of Congo and Rwanda, Pakistan and India, Thailand and Cambodia, Azerbaijan and Armenia, Ethiopia, the Central African Republic, Sudan, and throughout the Middle East.

In this vacuum of moral leadership, the evangelical church is uniquely positioned to step forward. Today’s moment calls for a senior, strategic, and well-resourced evangelical response to the growing threat of violent conflict. We owe it to our brothers and sisters suffering from armed violence and sometimes fighting one another.

My proposal

I propose forming an Evangelical Board of Peace, not as a show of might, because we don’t have might as the world understands might, but as an embodiment of God’s righteousness and his power.

This body would be comprised of evangelical church and ministry leaders, committed evangelicals who previously served in politics and government, and representatives of global evangelical communions and associations such as the World Evangelical Alliance, the Baptist World Alliance, the Pentecostal World Fellowship, and Global Anglicans.

We live in a hyper-connected world where evangelicals have unique and organic access to conflict areas. Evangelical churches are deeply invested in missions, development projects, humanitarian aid, and persecution relief.

Churches in Texas alone have partnerships that reach remote villages in Africa and neighborhoods in megacities. The partnership between Texas Baptists and Ukrainian Baptists is both extensive and illustrative of how connected the global church family is to conflict zones.

Evangelicals possess something governments often lack—trusted relationships at the grassroots and access to leaders across divides.

Through missions, humanitarian partnerships, and church networks, we are present in refugee camps, rural villages, urban centers, and even near the corridors of political power. Our influence, generosity, solidarity, practical unity, and access are real. What is missing is the institutional structure to leverage them for peacemaking diplomacy.

What’s already happening

This is not theoretical. Across the world, local evangelical leaders are already engaged in courageous and fragile peacemaking efforts.

This month, armed violence has resurfaced between the Kukis and Nagas in Manipur, India, both majority Christian tribal groups. Christian leaders who have been mediating peace efforts for decades reached out to 21Wilberforce for support in strengthening domestic peacemaking efforts.

In South Sudan, violence between the government and opposition has reignited fears of another civil war. Bishop Arkangelo Lemi has been at the forefront of peacemaking for decades. When we spoke to him, he appealed for global support so local church leaders could weigh in more effectively on the warring parties to end their violence.

In a war-torn Middle Eastern nation, Christian converts have been rounded up and detained by an armed group. International prayer partners are seeking access to this group to mediate the release of the detained believers.

In 2021, a senior evangelical leader from Ethiopia, alongside Orthodox church leaders, attempted—and failed—to prevent conflict between the government and the Tigray groups.

In 2025, senior Congolese evangelicals, in collaboration with the Congolese Catholic Church, mediated between the Congolese president and the Rwandan president.

In each of these cases, courageous leaders stepped forward. What was missing was not faith. It was a global support structure.

What structure can accomplish

An Evangelical Board of Peace could engage when it is too dangerous for local churches to do so, or come alongside national evangelical peacemakers with strategic, diplomatic, and relational support.

It could manage the vast web of relationships and networks within the global church family, reaching stakeholders across divides and inviting them to the table of negotiation. It could create trusted spaces and forums where off-ramps from violence become possible.

Many government officials and even armed group leaders are, quietly and privately, waiting for such a phone call, for an impartial and credible moral authority to offer a path toward de-escalation. It would be yet another tragedy if that call never comes.

The evangelical church has the relationships, the reach, and the moral credibility. What we lack is the structure to act at scale.

It is time to build an Evangelical Board of Peace.

Wissam al-Saliby is president of 21Wilberforce, a Christian organization advocating for religious freedom and human rights.

Ash Wednesday has a word for us as we vote in the primary elections this year. It’s a word we’d rather ignore in favor of the partying and feasting of Fat Tuesday. We ignore Ash Wednesday’s word to our detriment. Instead, we should heed its message and put it into practice.

What is Ash Wednesday?

We may not know much more about Ash Wednesday than the black “smudge” we see on people’s foreheads one day in late winter. We may assume Ash Wednesday is “a Catholic thing,” and if we’re not Catholic, think it has nothing to do with us. But that would be a mistake.

It is true Ash Wednesday has its roots in the Roman Catholic Church, being instituted as the beginning of Lent by Pope Gregory in A.D. 601. It’s also true Ash Wednesday is a more common observance in liturgical churches. However, some nonliturgical churches have also taken up the practice because of what it signifies.

Ash Wednesday is a reminder of our humanity, our finitude, our creatureliness. On this day, ashes are applied to a person’s forehead in the sign of a cross. The ashes are made from what’s left after burning the palm branches waved in celebration of Jesus the year before.

The one applying the ashes traditionally says some variation of, “Remember, you are dust, and to dust you will return” (Genesis 3:19).

The applying of ashes on the forehead is not merely a religious ritual. It is based on the Old Testament practice of sitting or covering oneself in ashes as a sign or expression of contrition, repentance, or mourning. No wonder we prefer to ignore it.

But we shouldn’t ignore it. The purpose of the ashes and the accompanying prayer, fasting, and meditation is to be honest about ourselves. It is intended to focus our minds on who we are in relation to God. God is our Creator. We are God’s creation. God is holy. We are prone to sin and are dependent on God’s grace. Ash Wednesday reminds us to be humble.

Elections don’t run on humility

This isn’t the first year elections have taken place in the early days of Lent. But this year, the dissonance of their juxtaposition caught my attention.

If you’re like me, your mailbox, inbox, text messages, and voicemail have been overflowing with political ads. If you’re receiving what I’m receiving, you’re not seeing or hearing much, if any, Ash Wednesday-type humility in any of it.

What we’re seeing and hearing is carefully researched messaging and marketing. Political campaigns study what is most likely to get us to vote for their candidates, and they message toward that end. Notice, humility doesn’t factor into their message. No one is selling us a humble candidate. And they won’t until we vote for humble candidates.

Instead, we vote for the boastful. So, each candidate or their campaign is trying to out-Republican or out-Democrat their same-party opponents. They tout their credentials as truer to the cause than the rest. Plenty of them brag and mudsling. Some of them call themselves Christian. From among them, we will reward our chosen candidates with our vote.

When was the last time a candidate was advised to “go out there and be humble?” When was the last time a contrite candidate, a humble candidate won an election? I’m not saying it has never happened, but it’s certainly not common. It might be more so if we voted for it.

Ash Wednesday’s word for us

Our elections are an expression of our culture, and ours is not a humble culture, even among Christians. Ours is not an Ash Wednesday, a fasting-and-repentance culture. So, a candidate can trumpet how uber-Republican or uber-Democrat he or she is, call themselves a Christian, and no one notices the dissonance.

We can “amen” the preacher who proclaims, “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6), then turn around and throw our support behind the proudest candidate. Without noticing the dissonance … or by justifying it.

If we were to stop long enough to observe Ash Wednesday, to contemplate our human finitude and our dependence on God’s grace, we might come face to face with the dissonance between what we proclaim and how we vote. No wonder we want to skip it.

I want to skip it. I don’t want to face my creatureliness, and I don’t like fasting and repentance, either. I really don’t like fasting. I’ll do it for a medical procedure, but only because I have to. There’s some dissonance right there, my willingness to fast for a doctor and my reluctance to fast for God. I’d call that a digression, but it’s precisely the point.

It’s like I wrote last week and is apropos again this week: “I wish I was perfect so I could write this editorial without any hint of hypocrisy.” But I’m not perfect, and I don’t have a high horse to sit on and opine. I, too, need to hear Ash Wednesday’s word and put it into practice.

Practicing Ash Wednesday

I don’t know much or anything about the private religious practices of the candidates on the current ballot. I only know what I see and hear of them in public.

I don’t see or hear much in the flood of political ads in my mailbox, inbox, text messages, or voicemail to indicate the candidates are given to fasting and repentance. Including from some who identify themselves as Christian.

What I see and hear are people appealing to who you and I are privately and publicly. What these people see is we’ve been taught to sell ourselves by any means necessary and that humility is weakness, not strength. They see this even among Christians. Ash Wednesday has something to say about that.

Ash Wednesday opens the season of Lent—40 days of repentant preparation culminating in Holy Week: Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Even Better Sunday. How ironic it would be for us to give our minds to Christ and our votes to the world.

You and I may not have ashes applied to our foreheads today. Nevertheless, we can be people of prayer, fasting, repentance, and humility—people shaped by Jesus who reflect Jesus to the world.

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 in this opinion article are those of the author.

Our current cultural and political climate has raised a persistent question for me: Do I need to be an expert in immigration law?

I am the son of two immigrant parents who dreamed, risked, and fought for what they understood to be the “American dream.” Whatever one thinks of that phrase, it remains deeply compelling to people around the world who simply want a way out of poverty, persecution, or war.

I am also a pastor in downtown Fort Worth. The current climate—ICE raids, shifting immigration policies, the posture of our federal government, the pain I see on the news, and the relentless churn of social media—has forced me to ask, not only, “What do I say?” But also: “What am I responsible to know? Do I really need to become an expert in immigration law in order to speak faithfully?”

Alongside that question is a quieter but heavier rumbling: “How do I speak up? What if I don’t know enough? What if I get it wrong?”

Those questions weigh on me as a Latino, a husband, a father, and a pastor trying to shepherd people through a cultural moment marked by fear, anger, confusion, and—if we’re honest—apathy.

The church’s citizenship

My experience is hardly unique. Many of us are bombarded with sensationalist headlines, ill-informed hot takes, and a flood of emotions: outrage, exhaustion, and fear. And yet, we were never meant to be experts on every social issue of our day. God has not called his people to provide a comprehensive answer to every political debate.

Although the church has something to say about every cultural and political issue, the church serves a higher purpose than simply reacting to the culture around it.

Being a Christian means you belong to the church—the ekklēsia—a word that historically referred to a political gathering of citizens. Scripture describes believers as citizens of another kingdom, a people whose ultimate allegiance does not rest with any nation-state but with the kingdom of God.

This reality orders our lives and shapes the lens through which we see the world.

As a Christian, I may never become an expert in U.S. immigration law. I am, however, responsible for being formed by the politics, values, and ethics of the kingdom to which I claim allegiance. That means every issue—immigration included—must be viewed not primarily through a partisan lens but through a kingdom one.

What kingdom politics means

Kingdom politics has something to say about how we treat immigrants, sojourners, and the vulnerable. Scripture is unambiguous on this point. God consistently identifies himself as one who defends the outsider and calls his people to reflect that same posture. Our first concern must not be whether a policy benefits us, aligns with our political tribe, or preserves our comfort.

I’ve watched immigrant families flee violence, navigate a maze of paperwork, and wait in fear of the next policy change. Their stories remind us, debates about “immigration” are never abstract. They are about image-bearers with names, faces, and futures.

As citizens of the heavenly kingdom, we live as temporary residents—the Bible’s language is “sojourners and exiles”—in earthly kingdoms, and our values will at times feel out of step with the dominant culture.

Our identity should shape how we engage our neighbors, especially the marginalized.

Language that dehumanizes entire ethnic groups of people, fearmongering toward specific people groups, or an obsession with preserving “heritage” at the expense of human dignity makes little sense for people whose citizenship is grounded, not in bloodline or border, but in a heavenly kingdom.

Kingdom politics leads us to lean in rather than shrink back from public life. But our actions must not be driven by blind loyalty to a party or personality.

We are called to live out our faith with wisdom, winsomeness, and hope. So, yes, vote, protest, raise concerns, call out injustice, and pray for our nation and its leaders—all in light of an eternal kingdom that will outlast every administration.

What to be experts in

Instead of trying to master every legal detail or outsourcing our formation to social media algorithms, we can begin with proximity. Learn about immigration through relationships, not just headlines. Find an organization in your city serving refugees, asylum seekers, or undocumented families. Volunteer your time. Open your home. Share a meal. Listen before you argue.

Do these things because your allegiance to the kingdom of heaven demands it.

Is it necessary for Christians to become experts in immigration law before we can speak with confidence and clarity on these issues? No.

However, we must become experts in welcoming the outcast, confronting injustice, defending the vulnerable, and recognizing the image of God in every person.

The deeper question is not whether Christians can recite immigration policy, but whether our politics—our posture, our language, and our actions—reflect the kingdom to which we claim allegiance and the neighbors Christ calls us to love.

Joel Suárez is the engagement pastor at Paradox Church in Fort Worth. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

Nuestro clima cultural y político actual ha planteado una pregunta persistente para mí: ¿Necesito ser un experto en derecho migratorio?

Soy hijo de dos padres inmigrantes que soñaron, arriesgaron y lucharon por lo que entendían como el “sueño americano”. Sea lo que sea que uno piense, esa frase sigue siendo profundamente convincente para personas de todo el mundo que simplemente desean una salida a la pobreza, la persecución o la guerra.

También soy pastor en el centro de Fort Worth. El clima actual—redadas de ICE, políticas migratorias cambiantes, la postura de nuestro gobierno federal, el dolor que veo en las noticias y el incesante torbellino de las redes sociales—me ha obligado a preguntarme no solo: ¿Qué digo? sino también: ¿De qué soy responsable de saber? ¿Realmente necesito convertirme en un experto en derecho migratorio para hablar con fidelidad?

Junto a esa pregunta, hay un murmullo más silencioso, pero más pesado: ¿Cómo alzo la voz? ¿Y si no sé lo suficiente? ¿Y si me equivoco?

Esas preguntas pesan sobre mí como latino, esposo, padre y pastor que intenta pastorear a las personas en medio de un momento cultural marcado por el miedo, la ira, la confusión y—si somos honestos—la apatía.

La ciudadanía de la iglesia

Mi experiencia no es única. Muchos de nosotros estamos siendo bombardeados con titulares sensacionalistas, opiniones apresuradas y mal informadas y una avalancha de emociones: indignación, agotamiento y miedo. Y, sin embargo, nunca se supuso que fuéramos expertos en cada asunto social de nuestro tiempo. Dios no ha llamado a su pueblo a tener una respuesta integral a cada debate político o cultural.

Aunque la iglesia tiene algo que decir sobre cada cuestión cultural y política, la iglesia cumple un propósito más alto que simplemente reaccionar ante la cultura que la rodea.

Ser cristiano significa que perteneces a la iglesia—la ekklēsia—una palabra que históricamente se refería a una asamblea política de ciudadanos. La Escritura describe a los creyentes como ciudadanos de otro reino, un pueblo cuya lealtad última no descansa en ningún estado-nación, sino en el reino de Dios.

Esta realidad ordena nuestras vidas y da forma al lente a través del cual vemos el mundo.

Como cristiano, puede que nunca llegue a ser un experto en la ley migratoria de los Estados Unidos. Sin embargo, soy responsable de ser formado por la política, los valores y la ética del reino al que digo que pertenezco. Eso significa que cada tema—incluida la inmigración—debe verse no principalmente a través de un lente basado en nuestro partido político, sino a través de un lente del reino.

Qué significa la política del reino

La política del reino tiene algo que decir sobre cómo tratamos a los inmigrantes, a los forasteros y a los vulnerables. La Escritura es inequívoca en este punto. Dios se identifica constantemente como aquel que defiende al extranjero y llama a su pueblo a reflejar esa misma postura. Nuestra primera preocupación no debe ser si una política nos beneficia, se alinea con nuestra tribu política o preserva nuestra comodidad.

He visto a familias inmigrantes huir de la violencia, navegar por un laberinto de trámites y esperar con miedo el próximo cambio de política. Sus historias nos recuerdan que los debates sobre la “inmigración” nunca son abstractos. Se trata de portadores de la imagen de Dios, con nombres, rostros y futuros.

Como ciudadanos del reino de los cielos, vivimos como residentes temporales—el lenguaje bíblico es “extranjeros y peregrinos”—en reinos terrenales, y nuestros valores a veces se sentirán fuera de la cultura dominante.

Nuestra identidad debe moldear la manera en que nos relacionamos con nuestros vecinos, especialmente con los marginados.

El lenguaje que deshumaniza a grupos étnicos enteros, el sembrar miedo hacia grupos específicos de personas o una obsesión por preservar la “herencia” nacional a costa de la dignidad humana tienen poco sentido para un pueblo cuya ciudadanía está fundada, no en una línea de sangre ni en una frontera, sino en un reino celestial.

La política del reino nos lleva a involucrarnos, no a replegarnos, de la vida pública. Pero nuestras acciones no deben estar impulsadas por una lealtad ciega a un partido o a una personalidad.

Estamos llamados a vivir nuestra fe con sabiduría, gracia y esperanza. Así que sí: vota, protesta, denuncia la injusticia y ora por nuestra nación y sus líderes, todo a la luz de un reino eterno que existirá más allá de cualquier administración.

Cómo participar como ciudadanos del reino

En lugar de intentar dominar cada detalle legal u otorgar a los algoritmos de las redes sociales la responsabilidad de nuestra formación, podemos comenzar con la proximidad.

Aprende sobre la inmigración a través de relaciones, no solo de titulares. Busca una organización en tu ciudad que brinde asistencia a refugiados, solicitantes de asilo o familias indocumentadas. Ofrece tu tiempo como voluntario. Abre tu casa. Comparte una comida. Escucha antes de discutir.

Haz estas cosas porque tu lealtad al reino de los cielos así lo exige.

¿Es necesario que los cristianos se conviertan en expertos en derecho migratorio antes de que podamos hablar con confianza y claridad sobre estos temas? No.

Sin embargo, sí debemos convertirnos en expertos en acoger al excluido, confrontar la injusticia, defender al vulnerable y reconocer la imagen de Dios en cada persona.

La pregunta no es si los cristianos pueden recitar la política migratoria, sino si nuestra política—nuestra postura, nuestro lenguaje y nuestras acciones—refleja el reino al que decimos pertenecer y a los vecinos a quienes Cristo nos llama a amar.

Joel Suárez es el pastor de involucramiento de la Iglesia Paradox en Fort Worth. Las opiniones expresadas en este artículo de opinión son las del autor.

Lately, I’ve felt a quiet grief rising in me, not primarily over immigration policy itself, though I hate the pain and suffering and assault on God’s image I’ve seen, but over what it’s doing to the church.

I’m watching Christians choose sides and then choose suspicion. Choose caricature. Choose political teams over the Lord’s table.

The temptation is strong: You’re passionate about what you believe, and if you want to “win,” you pick a side with power. In our context, that essentially means Republican or Democrat.

And once you pick a team, the script writes itself. You inherit the talking points. You inherit the outrage. You inherit the algorithms. You inherit the enemies.

And you don’t love your enemies.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, you begin fighting the wars of the powers and principalities.

And immigrants continue to suffer, seen as issues of policy and not images of God. ICE agents get dehumanized and hated. Other innocent people get caught in the crossfire. And the church looks just like everyone else.

I’m realizing the real issue that concerns me is, not immigration policy, not ICE, not woke versus anti-woke. It’s ecclesial fracture under political pressure.

I’m not afraid of a beastly state as much as I’m afraid of a beastly church.

The greatest danger

I don’t think the greatest danger in this moment is that Christians will disagree about immigration enforcement. The greatest danger is we will lose the ability to love one another while we disagree. That’s a far deeper spiritual crisis.

The problem is, some who have already chosen a team will insist true Christians could never disagree with them and be faithful. But in many issues, faithful believers can land in different places on policy details, because issues are usually more nuanced than we let them be.

Even if they aren’t, you can be faithful and wrong, or right and unfaithful.

Faithfulness isn’t measured by accuracy but by love. Even for our enemies.

Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.

If you’re right and you’re not loving, you’re wrong.

Romans 13 and Revelation 13

In Romans 13, governing authorities are described as servants of God, restraining evil and maintaining order. Authority is real. The state has a limited but necessary role. It bears the sword. It keeps the peace.

But Revelation 13 shows us something else. There, political authority becomes beastly because it demands ultimate allegiance, mimics divine imagery, and persecutes faithful witness.

Government can function as servant or as beast. What makes the difference? Allegiance.

Romans 13 describes delegated authority—authority under God. Revelation 13 exposes idolatrous authority—authority that competes with God.

The beast is not simply powerful, it demands allegiance. It is worshiped. It receives devotion. It shapes identity. Here is where the church must be very careful.

When we begin to speak as if our political tribe is the guardian of righteousness; when we treat policy disagreement as spiritual betrayal; when our emotional energy, imagination, and hope are tethered as tightly to a party or a policy as to Christ, we are drifting from Romans 13 into Revelation 13 territory.

Not because we vote or protest or counter-protest, not because we care about law, but because our allegiance has shifted.

How political tribes train us

What troubles me most right now is not that Christians are thinking deeply about immigration. It’s that we are letting political tribes disciple us in how to think, feel, and treat others.

Political tribes train us to simplify complex realities. They teach us which stories to amplify and which to ignore. They teach us how to view the other side. They reward outrage and punish nuance. Once we absorb that formation, loving across disagreement becomes nearly impossible. Demonization follows quickly.

If you support stricter enforcement, you must hate immigrants. If you criticize enforcement methods, you must be anti-law and unconcerned about trafficking or drug trade.

Motives are assumed. Minds and hearts are judged. People’s relationship with Jesus is questioned. That is spiritual poison.

The church’s higher call

The church is called to something more demanding.

We are not called to abandon civic engagement. We do not withdraw from public life. But we must refuse to give our allegiance to nations and parties—things that were only ever meant to serve.

The state is a peacekeeper. It restrains harm through force and law. That role is limited and external. The church is called to be a peacemaker.

We embody cruciform love. We honor the image of God in every person—immigrant, citizen, officer, protester. We tell the truth. We refuse propaganda. We grieve suffering wherever it appears. We do not trade a person for a policy.

This does not mean we avoid hard conversations. It means we have them differently. It means we can hold strong convictions and still break bread. It means we can say, “Help me understand what you fear,” instead of, “You are the problem.” It means we refuse contempt, even when we are convinced the other person is wrong.

That kind of love is not sentimental. It is costly. It requires dying to the need to win. It requires humility—the recognition we, too, are vulnerable to the powers.

Our most radical witness

Perhaps the most radical witness the church can offer in this moment is not a unified immigration platform, but a unified love, a community where sharp disagreement does not fracture fellowship, where political loyalty never outruns loyalty to Christ, where Caesar may have his coin, but God always has our lives.

Immigration policy will continue to be debated. Elections will come and go. Nations will rise and fall. But the credibility of our witness depends on whether we love one another in the midst of it all.

We are to be known for our love for one another. Christians must lead the way of love in all things. Not because love wins arguments. But because love is how we follow Jesus and make him known to the world.

Nick Acker, a native Texan, is co-lead pastor of Grace Ventura Church in Ventura, Calif., adjunct faculty member at Stark College and Seminary, a resident fellow at East Texas Baptist University’s B.H. Carroll Theological Seminary, and author of Exegeting Orality: Interpreting the Inspired Words of Scripture in Light of Their Oral Traditional Origins. He finds his greatest joy in his wife and three children. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

“God said, ‘Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness …’ So, God created the human in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them” (Genesis 1:26-27).

In the beginning, God created humans—us—in God’s image.

We’ve been qualifying “human” ever since. As if God’s image is so small a thing it can’t be found in all of us.

To qualify who or what counts as “human” is to diminish God’s image, which ultimately is to dishonor God.

If we call ourselves “Christian,” we must strive to honor God. Part of honoring God is honoring God’s image. The greatest commandment and its close second tell us how to do that: Love God with our whole being, and love one another as we love ourselves.

As I explained in my previous editorial, this love is agape. It is sacrificial love. It is not easy love, which I would qualify with quotation marks as “love.” Easy “love” is usually not love at all.

Agape is how God loved and loves us before we love anything else. It is not a love that comes naturally to us. Qualifying, and thereby diminishing, God’s image is as natural to us as breathing.

How we diminish God’s image

We diminish God’s image when we assign worth based on wealth, place of birth, heritage, intelligence, race, nationality, religion, gender, education, attractiveness, health, athleticism, or any number of other qualifiers. God’s image in us precedes and supersedes any and all of them.

If a person looks like this, sounds like that, lives there, wears this, believes that, votes the other way, we have a propensity to deem that person less-than-human, or at least worth less than us.

We may not say it in those words. Instead, we may say it in code, with euphemisms. Or we may not speak it at all. Instead, we may display it with our facial expressions, our body language, our behaviors. Or we may encode it in policy.

Many of us do not intend to minimize God’s image in the people around us. We may be unaware of what we are communicating. Those who care about people and do not want to harm them want to know when they have done wrong so they can do and be better.

Others of us do intend to diminish other people. Those who care most about themselves knowingly dehumanize and hurt others as a means of feeling superior, gaining or retaining power, or out of sheer hatred or disgust. They know exactly what they are doing and have no intention of apologizing for it.

Any who call themselves “Christian” must not be among the latter group. Any who identify themselves with Christ must be among those who receive correction and seek to set right the wrong.

I wish I was perfect so I could write this editorial without any hint of hypocrisy. The truth is, I’ve been a Christian and have worked on this very issue in myself for decades, and I still have so far to go.

How not to diminish God’s image

Over many years and through many lessons—some hard and embarrassing, some gracious and joyful—I’ve come to see every person bears God’s image. I see God’s image in every shade of skin. I hear God’s image in the many languages spoken, written, sung, and signed.

When I pay attention to the person in front of me, when I really see the person, I often encounter God’s image in the histories, heritage, and culture of people from around the world.

I’ve learned to question and reject stereotypes and caricatures of people unlike me. And I’m still learning.

One thing I know for sure: There is more joy in finding, seeing, and celebrating God’s image in each other than in disparaging one another.

We honor God and God’s image when we value each person as God values them. Racist memes, caricatures, and so-called jokes don’t honor God or God’s image. Ethnic slurs and profiling don’t either. Christians are not above reproach here.

We can acknowledge none of us alone displays the whole of God’s image, and what portion of God’s image each of us conveys is marred by sin.

The color of our skin is not sin. The sound of our language is not sin. Our gender is not sin. Sin is when we violate God’s law. Sin is when we disobey what Scripture clearly commands.

We are constantly presented with the opportunity to see God’s image in the people around us. Too often, however, we allow God’s image to be obscured by our differences, disagreements, and disputes.

We’re not likely to be free of our differences, disagreements, or disputes any time soon. Even with them, we are free to set them aside to look for God’s image in each person and to honor it as the sacred thing it is.

Some suggestions

To honor God and God’s image in each other requires us to regard one another with agape, the love God demonstrates toward us.

To practice that love, to practice seeing and beholding God’s image in others, I’ve found the following helpful:

♦ Go to a restaurant featuring food from another culture or country and ask for a traditional dish made in the traditional way. And eat it. You can go a step further by asking about the significance of the dish. Often, it is a comfort food or a celebratory food. Comfort and celebration are gifts from God. What a gift to find new comfort and celebration.

♦  Attend worship at a church of another culture, language, ethnicity, or nationality. Don’t worry about understanding or liking everything. Watch and listen for how God is worshipped in that place.

♦ Read books and watch movies by people different from yourself. For this exercise, don’t be concerned with verifying the truth of every statement. Instead, look for what is important to those people and why. Jesus did this when he interacted with people.

♦  During Black History Month (February), determine to learn something new about the contributions of Black men and women. Focus on one person, one topic, or one period of history, and give your attention to it. You can do the same during Hispanic Heritage Month (Sept. 15 to Oct. 15) and Native American Heritage Month (November).

In the beginning, God created humans—us—in God’s image.

We’ve been qualifying “human” ever since, as if God’s image is so small a thing it can’t be found in all of us. God is not so small.

When we start to see God’s image carried in each person we meet, we won’t be able to diminish it. We will only be able to magnify the God whose image we see everywhere.

*******

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 in this opinion article are those of the author.

“All is fair in love, war, and politics.”

That seems to be the mantra guiding American political discourse these days. But when an election conspiracy video was posted to President Donald Trump’s Truth Social account that presented former President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama as nonhuman apes, that discourse sank to a new low.

The video was eventually taken down, and as so often happens when politicians mess up, the post was blamed on an unnamed staffer. But the damage was done. Millions of Americans saw their worst fears about President Trump confirmed, and they saw many of his allies running for cover or pretending this was no big deal.

Condemnation deserved

Let’s be very clear. This is a big deal, and it is deserving of every syllable of the condemnation it has received.

Put aside for a moment the respect President Obama and his family have rightly earned or the disagreements we may have with him. Set aside for a moment his own record of transgressing traditional norms for public discourse. Absolutely no one should ever be subjected to this kind of offensive, dehumanizing, and dishonest rhetoric.

“Wait a minute,” you might object. “Didn’t the prophets, John the Baptist, and especially Jesus use dehumanizing rhetoric? Did not Jesus call his opponents ‘snakes?’”

It is true both John the Baptist (Matthew 3:7-8) and Jesus (Matthew 23:33) condemned their opponents in the religious aristocracy as a “brood of vipers.” It is difficult to overstate how insulting these taunts were. That is why I am not always persuaded by condemnations of harsh political rhetoric. Sometimes, the unvarnished truth needs to be told.

But what President Trump did in posting such an obscene image is not at all the same as what Jesus and John did.

For one thing, President Trump speaks from a place of political power. Jesus and John did not.

For another, the rhetoric Jesus and John chose was intended to break through the resistance of their recalcitrant opponents, so they could see themselves for who they really were. The video posted on President Trump’s account, by contrast, was designed to inflame passions among those still aggrieved by President Obama’s rhetoric and policies.

More importantly, it was an expression of the current president’s own malice, a window into the soul of a man who has been upfront about his desire to exact vengeance against those who have opposed him.

In other words, the harsh rhetoric of Scripture is redemptive in its aims, whereas President Trump’s rhetoric is petulant and vengeful. Moreover, it was flagrantly and indefensibly racist. Rather than establishing grounds for a more empathetic dialogue on race, it made such dialogue all the more difficult.

And all of this is beside the fact both President Trump and President Obama claim to be Christians. It is offensive beyond words to see one believer treat another in such a manner. Such public conduct cries out for the church’s united rebuke.

Opportunity for positive public witness

As a person, my first concern is for how this event has brought emotional distress to the Obama family, and my second is for the millions of Black Americans for whom this kind of rhetoric is all too familiar. They deserve nothing less than our unequivocal support and unwavering love.

As a pastor, my heart and mind cannot help but turn to how this incident affects the church. It isn’t just or even primarily that white evangelicals voted for President Trump in overwhelming numbers. Sometimes, we have to vote for candidates we do not like.

It is that we, the white evangelical church, are now associated with this kind of racist, heartless, and cruel rhetoric. And it burdens my heart how this incident has the power to divide God’s family even further.

But I would like to propose a more hopeful outcome. What if the American church—which has been hopelessly divided on any number of issues over the last century—finally spoke with one voice?

What if Christianity Today and the Christian Century published a joint editorial condemning Trump’s video? What if the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission and the Baptist Joint Committee got together and published a joint statement condemning racist and destructive political rhetoric?

Look, I’m a political and ecclesiological realist. Some of my oldest friends would even describe me as a pessimist. I understand the divides in American Christianity are unlikely to ever be healed. We all carry around with us a long list of grievances against those we believe have corrupted our institutions and distorted our society.

But unity will certainly not come if we don’t take advantage of the opportunities we are given to speak with a single voice. Moreover, institutional integrity will not come if we do not police our own side in “the culture wars.” Doing so does not mean we have compromised with the Enemy. It means we have side-stepped his trap and have walked faithfully with our Lord.

Our choice

The question for all of us now is, “What will we do?”

As individuals, congregations, and larger institutions, will we look away one more time as norms of decency are flouted and intellectual hospitality—the practice of treating those who disagree with us fairly and engaging their disagreements honestly—is demeaned? Will we choose to forget, opting for the easier and less costly way of citizenship?

Alternatively, will we gird up our loins, speak up against the darkness, and affirm by our actions our true citizenship is in heaven?

Will we stand shoulder to shoulder with every brother and sister of color who has suffered under the lingering injustice of race-based hatred, thereby bearing witness to the radical, reconciling work of God in Christ (2 Corinthians 5:11-21; Galatians 3:26-4:7; Ephesians 2:11-18)?

The choice we make may not change the course of history. It will, however, say much about who we are, and it may impact our ability to bear a credible witness for Christ in the future.

Wade Berry is pastor of Second Baptist Church in Ranger and has been resident fellow in New Testament and Greek at B.H. Carroll Theological Seminary. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

In the middle of the Super Bowl, one of the most watched moments in American culture, Benito—Bad Bunny to most of the world—turned a football field into a love letter.

It might have been the most energetic, cinematic halftime show in history. Every shot felt intentional. Every transition felt orchestrated. It wasn’t just a performance. It felt like a story being told with light and movement and bodies and rhythm. It was spectacle, yes, but it was also testimony.

I celebrate Puerto Rico. Their culture is beautiful. I love the island, and at the same time, I’m ashamed of how little we understand its history. I’m grieved by the abuses of power, the neglect, the ways we have benefited from people while failing to fully honor them.

My brothers and sisters from that beautiful island play an important role in our story, whether we’ve taken the time to learn that story or not.

Some people said they felt left out because they couldn’t understand the words.

Let me promise you: even those of us with mediocre Spanish couldn’t understand most of the words unless we’ve been singing these songs for years.

But you didn’t have to understand the words to hear the story. In fact, he put the message on a billboard for us, loud and clear: Love is the only thing stronger than hate.

You don’t have to agree with everything Benito has ever said to agree on that.

Desiring diversity

What struck me most was how winsome the invitation felt. This wasn’t scolding. This wasn’t shaming. It was joy. It was beauty. It was a wide-open welcome to embrace people of all cultures and all nations.

That invitation stirred a memory in me I didn’t expect.

When I was growing up in the church, we weren’t very diverse. It was a Baptist church: good people, faithful people, sincere people. But the truth is, we were mostly white with a little Latino and African American culture sprinkled on top. Even as a kid, I think we knew something was missing. Not wrong in a hateful way. Just … incomplete.

We knew—instinctively, scripturally—the kingdom of God was bigger than our sanctuary. Bigger than our zip code. Bigger than our music styles and potlucks and fellowship halls.

So we sang:

“Jesus loves the little children,
all the little children of the world—
red and yellow, black and white,
they are precious in His sight.”

It may not be the most politically correct language now, but the longing underneath it was holy. We wanted the world God loved to look like the world God made. We just didn’t know how to get there.

So, we did what a lot of churches did back then. We flew flags.

Expressing diversity

We hung them in the sanctuary, the gathering place of God’s people. If someone in the church had roots in another country, we flew that flag. If we went on a mission trip, we flew that flag. If someone had a cousin who once visited from another country, sometimes we flew that flag. If the janitor had migrated from Vietnam, we flew the Vietnamese flag.

It was imperfect. It was symbolic. It didn’t actually create diversity. But it revealed our hunger for it.

We were trying to say in the only language we had at the time, “All of God’s children belong here.” Even when most of them weren’t actually in the room.

Watching Bad Bunny fill the Super Bowl halftime stage with language, culture, bodies, flags, and stories that have so often been marginalized or muted in America, it felt like those flags finally came down off the walls and walked onto the field, not as decoration, not as aspiration, but as presence.

Celebrating diversity

I’m a pastor in the most ethnically diverse city in the United States. That means we have more culture and better food than almost anywhere else. It means we’re a beautiful, complicated, vibrant place to live. Our diversity isn’t our weakness. It’s our strength.

Somehow, by the grace of God, I now get to pastor a church as diverse as the city we’re in and as diverse as the world we are called to love. It’s beautiful. It’s compelling. People want to be a part of it. Not because we’ve figured everything out, but because embodied diversity—real community across lines of difference—feels like good news in a fractured world.

Somewhere along the way, the conversation in our country got reframed as if diversity itself was a threat. As if the presence of different languages and cultures somehow diminished us instead of deepening us. My hope—and my prayer—is moments like this help the pendulum begin to swing back.

Even beyond the halftime show, it felt like the whole broadcast was quietly whispering the same longing. Despite a mediocre-to-boring game, every entertainer, every commercial break, even the national anthem—sung so beautifully by Charlie Puth—and artists like Brandi Carlile, carried echoes of something deeper.

Two of the commercials even featured songs by my hero, Fred Rogers. It was as if the culture itself was saying: “We’re tired. We want a better example. We’re hungry for an invitation to love and unity, not hatred, bigotry, and division.”

Thanksgiving

The church I grew up in didn’t have it figured out. But we knew the difference between right and wrong. We knew, deep down, love was better than fear. My hope is we don’t forget that now.

For those who tuned out and watched a different halftime show: You might have missed something beautiful, a reminder the world is longing for an invitation to love and unity, not division.

Bad Bunny seemed to know all of this, and he filled his brilliant show with small, holy Easter eggs for those willing to pay attention:

• An actual wedding, officiated by a Latino Christian pastor.
• The gift of his Grammy to a young Puerto Rican version of himself, a reminder any kid is capable of changing the world.
• Tiny, defiant signs of dignity placed inside one of the largest platforms in the world.

This was the halftime show our country needed. Well, I can’t speak for the country.

I can only say this: It’s the halftime show I needed.

Thank you, Benito.

Chris Seay is the lead pastor of Ecclesia Houston. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.