EDITOR’S NOTE: A contrasting viewpoint can be read here.

Many of my Baptist friends have asked me how it has developed that Catholics make up a strong majority on the U.S. Supreme Court.

My explanation: First, in recent decades, there was an individual who rose to the forefront of the religious legal battles with the objective of changing the composition of the U.S. Supreme Court. His name was Leonard Leo, a prominent Catholic lawyer and political activist.

Leo was a leader in groups named the Heritage Foundation and the Federalist Society. He campaigned to get several Catholics on the U.S. Supreme Court: Clarence Thomas, John Roberts, Samuel Alito, Neil Gorsuch, Brett Kavanaugh and Amy Coney Barrett.

Second, there was the role of Donald Trump. Leo and many social conservatives supported him for U.S. president. Leo was able to convince the president to turn to the Federalist Society for advice about judicial nominations.

Trump, a transactional decision-maker operated on the premise, “You help me do what I want, and I will help you do what you want.”

Many people agreed to support Trump, since he said he would oppose abortions and the so-called “homosexual agenda.”

Implications

There are many significant implications for a U.S. Supreme Court that favors Catholics.

First, there is the issue of the separation of church and state and private school funding. The U.S. Constitution states there shall be no establishment of religion, and there shall exist the free exercise of religion.

Under the Supreme Court of recent decades, there has been a breach of the wall of separation. The Supreme Court has upheld a variety of uses of public funds to support private schools, including private religious schools.

Second, there is the issue of presidential power. In the 2024 case Trump v. United States, the Supreme Court held a sitting president cannot be prosecuted for any action done as “official” presidential business.

Catholic vs. congregational

Numerous individuals have asked me how the composition of the Court, with a strong majority of Catholics, could have shifted so much power to the presidency and away from the other two branches of government. Following is my personal view.

The basic structure of many non-Catholic churches is what commonly is called “congregational,” where stress is placed upon the autonomy of each local congregation.

Each church uses some form of democratic voting in the selection of pastors. Each uses individuals who assist in the administration and practices of the congregation.

Most Southern Baptist churches maintain membership in a large association of churches known as the Southern Baptist Convention. The organization is the largest Protestant religious group in the United States.

The SBC helps the larger fellowship develop and use religious and educational materials based upon commonly held beliefs and practices. It also assists local churches in mission outreach and service.

The Catholic structure contrasts with the congregational structure. A priest for a local congregation is chosen primarily through the actions of a local or area bishop. The process is not diffused. It is hierarchical in structure. It is a pyramid of power. In the Catholic Church, there is the local priest, the area bishop, an archbishop, a cardinal and the pope in Vatican City.

The local pastor is not selected by popular vote of the congregation. The pastor usually is selected by a bishop and ultimately approved by the pope.

Church authority demands conformity. At all levels, the leaders are required to wear attire that symbolically represents certain religious elements. In any setting, enforced clothing conformity is an outward sign of institutionalized authoritarianism. That contrasts with many non-Catholic churches, which do not require specific clothing for worship leaders.

There also is a great deal of conformity in prayers led by religious leaders in the Catholic Church.

Shift in viewpoint

For most of American history, most members of the Supreme Court did not come from religious hierarchical structures of decision-making. Most did not view the U.S. president as possessing all power, and especially not the right to do anything and then justify it as “official business.”

They did not believe in a “unitary” theory of leadership based upon a pyramid of power. They believed in a system of checks and balances and a working relationship between three branches of government.

The majority of those who wrote the Trump v. United States decision grew up with a mindset that reflected a belief in hierarchical exercises of power. They leaned in the direction of authoritarianism in religion, which I believe flowed into their decision in the Trump case.

The Catholic justices belong to a very formal religious institution headquartered in a small religio-political state led by a single powerful leader—the pope. The pope exercises executive, legislative and judicial power. There is no separation of powers in the Catholic Church.

The current Court

The current majority of six Catholics on the U.S. Supreme Court admit they took an oath to defend the U.S. Constitution. They have decided some major cases that have shifted a great deal of power away from the U.S. Congress to the U.S. president and shifted some power from the judicial branch to the presidency.

They know their national loyalty is to the United States, not to the pope in Vatican City. However, their mindset is more accepting of extremely strong leadership in the American presidency than previous Supreme Courts.

We never should forget the mindset factor in the selection of judges, executives, legislators and even marriage partners. Catholic lobbying has given us a pro-authoritarian body.

Other religious groups also could have organized to shape the composition of the U.S. Supreme Court. It is called “politics” and “lobbying.” Leonard Leo, an ardent Catholic, is a master of the process.

The people of the United States have a future ahead of them that will be shaped by a man most Americans never heard of. As the English playwright William Shakespeare wrote in The Tempest, “What’s past is prologue.”

Leon Blevins is a retired professor of government and former Baptist pastor. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

We don’t really want a perfect Christmas. We think we do. We think we want everything just so—all the decorations, the music, the weather, the travel, the food, the presents, the time with family and friends. But we don’t. Not if we stop and think about it.

Decorating for Christmas this year made me stop and think about it.

Imperfect lighting

I thought we were doing good. I thought we were ahead of the game. We got all of our Christmas decorations out and up on Black Friday. All of it.

And then, half a string of lights is out in the front yard, which I only saw after dark. Then, a string of soft white lights on our pre-lit Christmas tree went brilliant white and then out.

These should be simple fixes, but I know it will become like giving a mouse a cookie, and I don’t have the time or energy for that. After all, I need the time it would take to remove the strings of lights and replace them with new ones to write this editorial about the problems I’m having with Christmas lights.

Do you see the problem? Of course, you do. We often see other people’s problems better than we see our own.

The problem isn’t the lights. I mean, they are a problem, but of such minor significance. Prioritization is the greater problem.

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I wrote the preceding paragraphs a couple of weeks ago, thinking I would get a head start on a Christmas editorial. Two weeks later, I can report: I tried fixing the outside lights … without success. I didn’t bother with the lights on the tree.

I thought the lights being out was a problem, though one from which I could make an editorial. Now, I see they’re not a problem at all. Not after they got me thinking more deeply about Christmas.

Imperfect Christmas

Allowing the lights in our front yard and on our Christmas tree to be less than perfect enabled me to consider the fact so little was perfect about Jesus’ birth. From our perspective, anyway.

I mean, Mary wasn’t married, but she was going to be. Yet, she was pregnant … with someone else’s baby. Joseph was going to do what only made sense to him—call off the wedding. But he was going to do it quietly. He wasn’t going to make a stink of it.

Late in pregnancy, Mary had to travel under less-than-ideal conditions—compulsion by a foreign power and days on a dusty road, all while ready to deliver at seemingly any moment.

Joseph and Mary got where they were going only to find no room available. Whatever the actual accommodations were, they weren’t what guests were supposed to be given.

Jesus was born there and put in a manger. Not exactly a Sealy, Beautyrest or Tempur-Pedic.

I could list the other less-than-perfect details of the story, but by now you probably get the point without me needing to. The first Christmas—Jesus’ birth and the circumstances surrounding it—was not perfect. And that’s part of Christmas’ significance.

The significance of Christmas is Jesus was born into a less-than-perfect world under less-than-perfect circumstances to save less-than-perfect people—including you and me. An airbrushed, Photoshopped Christmas won’t do for that. Why? Because a perfect world is make-believe. At least, for now.

We think we want a perfect Christmas, but we really don’t. The imperfect one we have is the one that connects with all the imperfect places in our lives, as is true of the rest of Jesus’ life.

Perfect Savior

Jesus’ birth wasn’t the only less-than-perfect part of his life. Herod tried to kill him when he was a toddler. His family had to flee to Egypt to avoid that. When they moved back, they settled in Nazareth of all places. Nothing good came from Nazareth, so they said. Sometime later, Joseph disappeared.

As an adult, the devil harassed Jesus in the wilderness. His mom outed him to a wedding party. He didn’t have anywhere to call home. People seemed to want him only for his miracles. His closest friends didn’t understand him. The authorities stayed after him.

And the end? The end was a full-on dumpster fire. What part of being betrayed, arrested, beaten, mocked, “tried” by a kangaroo court, beaten and mocked some more, stripped and crucified in front of God and everybody amounts to our idea of a perfect day?

The only thing perfect about any of it is Jesus did all of it perfectly—from beginning to end.

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I’d like all the lights to be shining in my front yard and on our Christmas tree. But these literally and figuratively are tiny problems.

Much more, I’d like all that is wrong in this world—and there are monstrous wrongs in this world—to be made right already. No amount of airbrushing and Photoshopping will make that happen, though. The sooner we let go of that lie, the better.

What will make that happen is the Savior born to us who will return to us to make all things perfect.

Let us not ignore or pretend away the imperfections. Instead, let us allow them to point our attention to Jesus. That is the Christmas we want. That is the Christmas we need.

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.

The word “trek” means a long, arduous journey. Our lives are a journey. Mine is. Yours is.

At Christmas, we ought to focus a little on the journey. There should be a time of thanksgiving for sure.

Memories likely flood our minds during this miraculous, sacred, holy season.

I have memories of a tin-foil Christmas tree beautifully decorated with a light wand changing its color from red to blue to green to yellow, easily seen through the picture window of a living room on a hilltop in Rainbow.

I also have memories of my little brother and me waking up in the early morning hours to see our presents strategically placed beneath said tree.

A parent’s trek

Our parents’ trek: We had no idea the sacrifices our parents made to buy those gifts, the sleep they lost placing them under the tree, the fretful days to keep a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food on our table, without ever whimpering a word of it to two little boys.

My trek now: This Christmas, me and Lori come before the Lord for another reason on top of the infinite reasons before. This Christmas, we became grandparents for the first time.

We even got to choose our grandparent names. She’s Grammy. I am Pop. Will the grandchild hold to our choices? Time will tell.

Today, he is wrapped beautifully in swaddling cloth and held in a baby bed bought for him months ago. What will he be when he grows up? What will life be like when he gets older? We trust in the Lord, who knows all things before they occur.

His mother’s trek: Kate spent nine months in the waiting stages to give birth. She had no idea what the little boy would look like—our grandson, her and Matt’s son. Would he have dark hair or blond? Would he have blue eyes or green? Would he be healthy or have some struggle?

She felt him move inside. At times, he was still. We wondered if he was OK.

Kate’s body changed over these months. Things were harder for her. Mobility was not easy. Her husband put her shoes and socks on for her. Her ankles swelled. She would get out of breath. Hormones went awry at times.

Then, the pain of childbirth. In the throes of all that, a woman might wonder if this is worth it? Some might promise never to do this again, never to take this arduous journey.

But then, a son is born, a child is given. There is peace. The pain ebbs. The first stage of the trek is over. A new one begins.

A personal trek

This year, as over the last many years in a row, I made the trek to Santa’s Wonderland near College Station. This was my first to make by myself.

At first, it was Lori, little Brittany, littler Kate and me. Then, the girls became adults, and it was Lori and me only. This year, I went by myself. Lori was at Kate’s bedside waiting for the baby to be born.

We don’t go for the Santa part. We go to see the lights. We go to eat the food. We make the trip and spend the money to step into the joy of the season.

But more, we go for the pinnacle of Santa’s Wonderland. At the end of the hayride through the lights, we come to the manger with Joseph, Mary, wise men, an angel and the baby boy.

This year, I walked to the manger positioned there with the life-like characters. I gazed upon the scene. Every character looked with wonder at the baby in the manger.

Mary looked amazed. She had a baby without ever knowing a man physically. Joseph looked in awe to be part of heaven’s intent to love, protect and raise the Father’s Son as his own. The wise men stared at the newborn King.

But the angel really caught my eye this year. The angel looked down into the manger at the baby. Only the angel had a clue of who the child really was. He was and is Jesus, the King of all heaven, who created that angel, who fellowshipped with that angel in glory along with the host of all the other angels.

His trek

I saw the marvel in the eyes of this angel. The angel alone knew the trek this baby took. Jesus—fully God’s Son, fully God and fully man—traveled through time, space and matter to take on flesh, to be an infant.

The angel had an idea but did not realize in full the arduous journey God’s Son would make through that flesh and bone to grow, touch, teach and to have his hands nailed to wood, back whipped by iron and leather, spear piercing the tiny side one day fully mature, thorns to pierce that sweet little head.

The end of the trek would be filled with pain unimaginable. The baby adored in the manger soon would be hated and scorned.

The angel may have wondered, “Is this pain worth it?”

Yet, here you and I are wrapped in the swaddling cloth of his love. His trek of poverty, isolation, adoration and hatred, joy and immense pain was worth it. Those who receive him are born again.

God looks at the children Jesus’ pain brought. I can imagine the Father saying, and Jesus agreeing: “The trek was worth it, indeed. It is good, very good.”

Would he do it again? In a heartbeat.

Johnny Teague is the senior pastor of Church at the Cross in West Houston and the author of several books, including his newest The Lost Diary of Mary Magdalene. His website is johnnyteague.com. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

The last element in Karen Bullock’s description of Baptist identity is one that might be a surprise to some.

It is not a theological conviction. Rather, it is a conviction about how the Christian life ought to be lived and about how the Christian witness ought to be presented to the world.

Defining the distinctive

It should not surprise us that Bullock presents evangelism as a core element of Baptist identity. After all, the conversion of the individual is a hallmark of Baptist soteriology and undergirds much of Baptist ecclesiology.

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soteriology: the what and how of salvation
ecclesiology: the what and how of the church

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From a Baptist point of view, God’s kingdom only grows when the gospel is preached and people repent of their sins, putting their faith in Jesus Christ.

But as Bullock points out, Baptist theology—when properly practiced—is not radically individualistic. Rather, it draws individuals into a family of believers, one for whom and to whom the new convert is now responsible.

Moreover, conversion lays upon the new believer the joy and the burden of caring for her or his neighbors.

Hence, the GC2 initiative among Texas Baptists is not a catchy marketing campaign created by a highly paid advertising agency. It is an expression of our identity as members of the Baptist family. It is the way we cultivate faithfulness, not only to Jesus our Lord, but also to our Baptist forebears and our Baptist brothers and sisters around the world.

Building trans-denominational consensus

Of course, Baptists are not the only ones who have noticed the importance of the Great Commission (Matthew 28:16-20) and the greatest commandments (Matthew 22:37-40 and parallels; Romans 13:8-10; Galatians 5:13-15).

That is a good thing. For it provides Baptists with the common mission and value structure necessary for interdenominational dialogue and cooperation.

Those familiar with conversations about evangelical identity may notice the coherence of concerns between historic Baptist belief and the ways in which evangelicals have sought to distinguish themselves from both liberals and fundamentalists.

We are an activist people, engaged in the issues of our day, so as to bring the love of God and the light of the gospel into the public square. We also are convinced of the need for individual conversion and of the reliability of the church’s historic teachings about God, Christ, atonement, the Scriptures and the like.

Moreover, we do not shrink back from biblical concepts like justice. We use our words and our deeds to embody such concepts in both private and public life. We do so because justice, compassion, holiness and the like are indispensable aspects of our own life of discipleship.

We also pursue these biblical virtues, because they bear witness to the kind of God we serve and to his vision for the world he created.

Expanding our vision

There is one aspect of the traditional Baptist emphasis on evangelism, missions and public ethics I would like us to reimagine.

Evangelism—presenting the gospel clearly to others and inviting them to faith in Christ—is a biblical concept and is one of the first activities Jesus’ disciples did after his ascension (Acts 2:14-41; 3:11-26). But our mission, as given to the church by its Lord, is not to “make converts.” It is to “make disciples.”

The distinction is subtle but important. Yes, we want people to put their faith in Jesus, but we do not want that faith to be superficial. We want it to be robust enough to sustain them through the long journey that is the Christian life.

We want that faith to be curious and hungry, always straining for more insight and for more ways to obey Christ. And we want that faith to be genuine. We want people to trust Jesus enough to die for him, not demand eternal life on their own terms.

That is why our efforts at evangelism always must stand in the shadow of, and be a piece with, our loving and rugged care for our neighbor. Indeed, even our love for our enemies is vital to our efforts to proclaim the gospel faithfully and invite others to saving faith.

We are not simply inviting people to remain the same old sinners they currently are. We are inviting them to undergo the same transformation of their priorities, values, desires and goals we have.

We are claiming Jesus wasn’t crazy when he told people they have to lose their very self in order to find it or that love is the proper response to life’s many provocations. We are telling them Jesus was right. And they won’t believe it unless they see it lived out in our individual lives, in the budgets of our churches and in the priorities of our institutions.

Closing thoughts

As I close this series, I am reminded how difficult it is to create organizations and traditions. It is certainly true Baptists have made mistakes along the way, and there is much of which we can and should repent. But our forebears sought to create a way of doing church that was more biblical and more faithful, and they sought to do so in the midst of troubled times.

For my part, I am grateful for their efforts, and I would encourage us to consider what we will lose if we throw away the heritage we have been given.

There is much talk today, both on the far left and the far right, about the failings of the “free church in a free state” experiment, but I think its triumphs far outweigh the troubles it has brought.

We don’t have to choose between appreciation for our tradition and awareness of the need for reform. We can do both. Indeed, it would be irresponsible not to do both.

Baptists still have so much to give to the global church, and we have much to learn from it, too. I pray we will pursue both of these noble ends with a heart of generosity and enthusiasm.

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.

The news of recent days gives yet more evidence that too many in our world have given up the low bar of common decency in favor of sheer disregard for one another.

The irony is the horrible events of the last few days occurred during a season we associate with … increased acts of common decency.

These horrific acts began long before they happened. They each began as a thought, with disregard for the life of another. They serve as evidence of a world in need of the redemption to which Christmas points.

As we become further inured to indecency through regular violent actions—often spurred on or followed by violent rhetoric—we become less able to reach the higher bar signaled by Christmas.

Amid the indecency of our day, Christmas points us beyond acts of kindness to laying down the whole of our lives as Jesus did for us. May we be so bold.

Horrific news

The following events depict what can happen when we do not lay down our lives for others but, contrary to Christ, assert our superiority over others. The result is horrific.

The killing of two students and injuring of nine in a Brown University classroom Dec. 13 shows the depth of disregard for life. Despite Rhode Island Gov. Dan McKee’s asserting “the unthinkable has happened,” such occurrences are all too thinkable, even in a place called Providence.

The slaughter of 15 people celebrating Hanukkah, Dec. 14, at Bondi Beach, Sydney, Australia, shows the persistent disregard for particular lives—Jewish lives. Fifteen lights were extinguished during this Festival of Lights.

That same day, Dec. 14, we received news Rob and Michele Singer Reiner were found dead in their home. Rob and his father Carl being giants of American entertainment, this news hit many particularly hard. Harder still is that the Reiners’ son Nick has been charged with their murder.

As we were coming to grips with these three horrific events occurring in short order, a further indecency was launched into the news: Donald Trump’s Truth Social post blaming Rob Reiner for his own death. I won’t link to the despicable post or Trump’s shrugging it off the next day.

Decency—common or otherwise—seems in short supply these days. If we could reach even that bar, we would do well. Yet, Christmas points us further. Christmas points us to laying down the whole of our lives for those with whom we differ, disagree or worse.

As much as I’d prefer to write a warm, fuzzy Christmas editorial, I cannot turn away so easily from our troubled times and what Christmas points to amid them.

Where Christmas points

Christmas is our celebration of God the Son being born as a human baby in fulfilment of centuries of prophecy and longing. Jesus didn’t have to go through with it. Jesus didn’t have to be born into this world, much less at the time of his birth. Neither Rome nor Herod were known for their decency, and the Jewish people had their own challenges.

And yet.

Jesus looked at this world and may have said: “Those are some messed up people. I’m going to go live with them.”

Jesus didn’t just live with us; he committed to the bit. He started as an embryo, then grew inside his mother, was born, went through childhood and puberty, became an adult, and experienced ridicule, misunderstanding, brutality and death—not vicariously, but firsthand. He took our indecency. All of it.

While he was facing ridicule and misunderstanding, he told us to love those who revile us, to bless those who persecute us, to lay down our lives even for those who hate us. Jesus commanded us not to meet indecency with indecency, but to lay down our lives in the face of it.

Anyone who says we should do any different is a false witness.

Jesus’ choice to live among us, despite knowing how messed up we are—because he knows how messed up we are—is our call to surpass the low bar of common decency associated with Christmas, a bar too many of us find too hard to meet, and to lay down our lives even for those who disregard us to the point of brutalizing us, who just as soon would see us dead.

A bracing truth

How’s that for a “Merry Christmas?” But isn’t that the truth within the warm fuzzies of the season?

I’d rather write a feel-good editorial, but I can’t make us feel good about the times we’re in. So, instead, I’m calling us to protest the way of this world by following how Jesus lived and told us to live in it. And that is to lay down the whole of our lives like Jesus did so others may be redeemed.

We live in a troubled world during troubled times. If I was old enough, I might say it feels like 2,000 years ago. In a general sense. The details are different.

If I was old enough, I definitely would look like I carried the immense weight of two millennia of disappointment and disillusionment about the state of the world. Trouble, terror and turmoil are a recurring theme in our history books.

If I was a Christian all that time, I probably would be overcome by our collective and consistent inability as Christians to live up to what Jesus called us to do.

But one thing I could not and cannot deny: Jesus knew all about the state of this troubled world and chose to live in it with us anyway.

Think about that as you read the news today—the heart-breaking, stomach-churning news of today so often devoid of even common decency.

While you mull that over, keep in mind it gets better than Jesus choosing to live with us. Christmas is part and parcel of Good Friday, which is part and parcel of Easter, which is part and parcel of where all of this is going—the redemption and restoration of all things.

Christmas is just the beginning, pointing us far beyond. May we be so bold.

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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.

Every morning in Brazil, before the first light breaks, millions of phones buzz across time zones and cities. People roll out of bed, open YouTube, and join a single rhythm—the rosary at 4 a.m.

Led by Frei Gilson, a Carmelite friar whose voice has become familiar in countless homes, this livestreamed prayer has become a phenomenon.

In a nation once defined by Catholic ritual and later transformed by evangelical zeal, something new is stirring—a quiet awakening at the crossroads of faith, technology and culture.

Evangelicals among Catholics

I have watched this story unfold with both curiosity and hope. Brazil always has been a testing ground for missionary imagination—a laboratory of faith. In many ways, I am a by-product of that story.

My own faith and the origins of my family was shaped by the American Southern Baptist missionary movement that took root in Brazil more than a century ago. For many Baptists, Brazil was the first great foreign mission field—a land to be “reached” for Christ.

I grew up surrounded by the hymns, mission fairs and youth camps planted by Southern Baptist missionaries who traded the suburbs of Dallas and Atlanta for the tropical humidity of Recife and the colorful coral reefs of João Pessoa. Their influence was immense.

Yet beneath the mission statistics and baptism counts, there always was tension. For centuries, Catholicism enjoyed a near monopoly on Brazilian spirituality. To be Brazilian was to be Catholic by default.

When evangelical churches began multiplying in the 20th century, the word crente—“believer”—became a slur. Catholics used it to mock the noisy newcomers who sang with guitars and preached with passion.

As a young boy, I remember the sting of that word. It carried both disdain and fear, as if faith outside the old institution were a contagion. That divide—Catholic versus evangelical, traditional versus modern—shaped Brazil’s religious identity for generations.

A change happening

And yet something unexpected is happening now. The same Catholic Church that once viewed evangelical fervor with suspicion is rediscovering its own.

Frei Gilson’s 4 a.m. rosary is only one sign. His livestreams draw millions—including evangelicals who tune in quietly, searching for peace. It’s a kind of digital pilgrimage: part prayer meeting, part revival, part collective exhale in a nation weary from polarization.

In recent decades, Catholicism in Brazil has faced steep decline. Census data show Catholics have dropped from more than 90 percent of the population in 1980 to just over half today. Evangelical churches—especially Pentecostal and neo-Pentecostal movements—have surged, filling gaps left by institutional fatigue and economic despair.

Yet even evangelical growth is slowing. The irony is just as both traditions feel their limits, they are learning from one another. Catholics are embracing small-group community and emotional worship. Evangelicals are rediscovering liturgy, contemplation and social teaching.

In many ways, the pandemic accelerated this convergence. With sanctuaries closed, both Catholics and evangelicals went online. Prayer chains, Bible studies and worship nights migrated to YouTube and WhatsApp.

Out of the isolation emerged something organic and deeply human: people longing to belong, to pray, to find God together.

Frei Gilson’s dawn prayers captured that hunger. He is not a celebrity pastor with a production team. He’s a friar in a simple brown habit, praying ancient words in real time. Yet through the digital commons, he has reached more hearts than any cathedral could hold.

Shift in influence

As someone who grew up watching American missionaries teach Brazilians how to “do church,” I find this reversal fascinating. The flow of influence is shifting.

The global south no longer is merely the mission field. It’s becoming the mission force.

Brazilian Christians now are among the most active missionaries in the world, from the favelas of Rio to refugee camps in the Middle East. They carry a passionate, improvisational and communal spirituality.

Where Western churches often analyze strategy, Brazilians embody surrender. The 4 a.m. prayer movement may seem strange to Western observers, but it reveals a deeper truth: Renewal may not come from conferences or budgets, but from tired people praying in the dark before they go to work.

Of course, renewal in Brazil comes with complexity. Religion and politics never are far apart. The rise of the MAGA movement in the United States found echoes in Brazil’s own populist wave under Jair Bolsonaro, who drew strong support from evangelicals.

The fusion of nationalism and Christianity—what many call “Christian nationalism”—has scarred both nations. It tempts believers to confuse cultural dominance with divine mission. I have seen how this fusion divides families and congregations, turning faith into ideology.

Some of Frei Gilson’s critics fear his movement could be co-opted by similar forces. Perhaps that fear is justified. But beneath the noise of culture wars, ordinary Brazilians are rediscovering prayer. That may prove more transformative than politics ever could.

Post-Western, Revelation Christianity

The more I observe, the more convinced I am Brazil is showing the world what post-Western Christianity might look like. It is less tidy, less institutional and far more embodied. It is a church without monopoly—both wounded and vibrant, ancient and experimental.

It is Catholic women livestreaming the rosary from their kitchens, Pentecostal teenagers preaching on TikTok, Baptist pastors partnering with Catholic charities to feed the hungry. It is not the death of denominational identity, but its transformation into a wider imagination of the kingdom.

This is what gives me hope. The global church is becoming more like the one Jesus promised—polyphonic, multiethnic, global in accent and local in compassion. The old Western monopoly on theology and mission is breaking down, and that is good news.

When I see Catholics and evangelicals kneeling together in prayer—even through a screen—I glimpse a small reflection of Revelation 7: “a great multitude … from every nation, tribe, people and language.”

I think back to my grandparents’ generation—humble Brazilian believers who embraced the gospel through the witness of American missionaries. They never could have imagined their grandchildren watching a friar on YouTube pray the rosary at dawn, or evangelical pastors quoting Pope Francis in their sermons, or the world looking to Brazil for spiritual innovation. But God’s story always bends toward surprise.

Perhaps that is the quiet miracle of the 4 a.m. prayer. In a nation once divided by faith and class and creed, there now is a chorus rising before dawn—a sound of people seeking God together. It may not fit anyone’s missionary playbook, but it feels like the kingdom breaking in—slow, ordinary, luminous.

Diego Silva is the director of economic strengthening at Buckner International. A native of Brazil, he lives in Georgetown with his wife and two boys. He writes about faith, community development and global mission. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

The fifth “wall” in the Baptist “house” Karen Bullock describes in her Pinson Lecture is local church autonomy, paired as it is with congregational governance.

These are not difficult doctrines to describe. Baptists believe each local church is an autonomous entity, free from the control of governments or ecclesiastical hierarchies. Each congregation is governed by the will of its members, in whom the Holy Spirit is active to reveal the will of Christ and empower the local church to carry out that will.

It also is relatively easy to explain the benefits of this way of understanding the church. Each church member is granted the responsibility of participating in the governance of the local church, and healthy engagement in that governance demonstrates he or she is maturing as a disciple of Jesus.

Likewise, local congregations are free to shape their ministry in response to the needs and opportunities presented to them by their context.

Nevertheless, the problems created by these corresponding convictions are so myriad and so consequential they cannot be described fully here. All we can do is make a couple of preliminary observations and then touch briefly on the challenges presented by Baptist polity.

Preliminary observations

So, what does the Bible have to say about church polity? Unfortunately, the answer to this question is not as clear as we might like.

The New Testament assumes churches are independent of governmental control, but that is not surprising given the first Christians did not have the option of living in a “Christian” country.

As to the issue of how churches were run, it rightly has been observed that you can find evidence in the New Testament for any of the three broad streams of polity that have dominated church history—episcopal, presbyterian and congregational.

For example, 1 Corinthians presents the church in Corinth as a unified, decision-making body, one Paul had to persuade. In Acts 14, however, we see Paul and Barnabas relying upon their apostolic authority to appoint “elders” in each of the congregations they founded.

So, does one polity seem to work better than the others? That is a matter of opinion, but I would argue every polity has its weaknesses.

We have seen many of those weaknesses played out in the various sexual abuse scandals that have rocked the Roman Catholic Church, the Southern Baptist Convention, and many other denominations and parachurch organizations.

In episcopal systems, wrongdoing can be covered up by bishops, and elders or board members can do the same thing in presbyterian or semi-presbyterian contexts. In congregational denominations, the decentralized nature of authority can blunt attempts at accountability and change even when wrongdoing is brought to light.

Autonomy and cooperation

With these preliminary observations in mind, let us turn our attention to the challenges associated with local church autonomy and congregational governance.

The first challenge has to do with how autonomous entities can cooperate with one another for the sake of a shared mission.

Southern Baptists long have cooperated with one another to fund various entities that serve the church—such as educational institutions and mission boards. For several decades, they did so recognizing different churches had different theological orientations and different value structures.

In recent decades, however, there has been less tolerance for this kind of diversity of thought.

Whatever one thinks of the various conflicts that afflicted Southern Baptists over the past 50 years, it cannot be questioned, these conflicts are about the extent to which any given Southern Baptist church has the right to have its particular values reflected in the denomination’s institutions.

At the risk of stirring up a hornet’s nest, let me put the problem in practical terms, using an issue that has been in the news over the last year or more.

On the one hand, it can be argued the North American Mission Board has every right to direct its money into church plants that reflect the dominant doctrinal convictions of the Southern Baptist Convention, since doing so reflects the will of the vast majority of messengers expressed during a number of annual meetings.

On the other hand, it can be argued doing so restricts the freedom of Baptist churches who do not agree with that consensus to see their own values and convictions reflected in the kinds of churches Southern Baptists plant.

Similar arguments could be marshaled concerning the beliefs of seminary professors, the commitments of candidates for missionary appointments, and especially for those allowed access to state convention resources for helping prospective pastors find a church.

My point in raising these issues is not to say who is right and who is wrong, and it certainly is not to hurt anyone’s feelings. Rather, my point is to ensure we understand issues like these are not a bug in the Baptist system. They are a feature of that system, one that must be acknowledged and addressed honestly whenever conflicts arise.

When something goes wrong

The second challenge related to Baptist polity already has been mentioned. When something goes wrong, as in the case of the reckoning that took place after the Houston Chronicle and other news outlets reported on the prevalence of sexual abuse in Southern Baptist churches, there is no easy way to bring about reforms.

At first glance, it would seem such should not be the case. If the SBC can discipline churches for having a female pastor, then they ought to be able to discipline churches for other transgressions of denominational doctrine or best practices.

But the truth is most problems in ecclesiastical spaces are not as easy to identify as simply looking for job titles on a church’s website.

Without an authoritative hierarchy of church officials that have been entrusted with the task of investigating problems and developing solutions, it is up to individual believers, congregations and smaller denominational units to bear the burden of bringing about reform.

And make no mistake about it. Reform is needed, and it will be needed again in the future.

Baptists will not be able to hide behind their polity when they stand before Christ. So, we had better figure out how we can preserve our commitment to what we really think is a biblical understanding of the church’s governance, while also creating mechanisms to bring about change.

New ways forward?

Perhaps this is one aspect of Baptist identity where we might do some experimenting.

The Evangelical Baptist Church of Georgia—the country, not the American state—describes itself as an “episcopal Baptist church.” As of 2013, it was led by an archbishop and three bishops, one of whom was a woman.

More recently, and closer to home, some Baptist churches have traded their business meetings and committees for boards of elders.

Only time will tell whether experiments like these produce better results than the polity that characterizes most Baptist churches and denominations today. Either way, Baptists have a lot to think about. I can only hope they will do so with a sobriety and generosity of spirit not common in our polarized, overly politicized and toxic world.

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.

When the subject of apologetics comes up, many people start to quote 1 Peter 3:15: “Always be ready to give an answer to anyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.”

The word Peter uses there is apologia, which is where we get our modern term “apologetics.”

I love that passage. But I think sometimes we forget the context.

Peter isn’t writing from an ivory tower, debating abstract ideas about God. He’s writing to believers suffering—men and women under real persecution, possibly under Nero’s rule, maybe even during the time of the Great Fire of Rome. People were losing their livelihoods, their families, even their lives.

So, when Peter says, “Be ready to give an answer … for the hope that you have,” he’s not calling for an intellectual defense in a lecture hall. He’s talking about something much deeper—standing firm when it might cost you everything. He’s saying: “Know what you believe, know who you trust, and know why your hope in Christ is worth dying for.”

But somewhere along the way, I think we’ve lost sight of that.

We’ve turned apologetics into a kind of sport—a competition to see who can dismantle the most arguments or win the most debates. In doing so, we’ve missed the heart of Peter’s words. The call was to give an answer for our hope, not merely our logic.

When apologetics becomes about winning

Don’t get me wrong, I love theology. I went to school and got my graduate degree in biblical and theological studies. So, I’m firmly of the belief it’s not only healthy but necessary to understand what we believe and why we believe it.

But what troubles me is how often our approach to apologetics has communicated a subtle yet dangerous message that unanswered questions are dangerous.

When someone raises a doubt, our instinct is immediately to “answer” it—to shut it down, to defend God as if he needs us to. We treat questions like viruses that need to be neutralized before they spread. But the Bible doesn’t treat questions that way.

In fact, the Bible leaves many questions unanswered. It’s not a book that exists to explain every mystery of God or every nuance of theology. It’s not a user manual for every moral dilemma or an encyclopedia for every philosophical puzzle.

The Bible’s purpose isn’t to tell us everything. It’s to tell us who God is, what he’s done and what he’s promised to do. As Deuteronomy 29:29 would put it, “The secret things belong to the LORD our God.”

When we approach apologetics as if it’s our job to have all the answers, we rob people of the very space that faith requires—trust. Because faith isn’t the absence of questions. It’s trust in the midst of them.

The real crisis: Is God good?

When I was in seminary, Mikel Del Rosario, now a professor at Moody Bible Institute, was speaking to a group of us and said something profound I remember clearly to this day: “The main issue I see in most of my conversations isn’t that people don’t believe God is real. It’s that they don’t believe he’s good.”

That struck me deeply. He’s right.

We spend enormous energy proving God’s existence—arguing cosmological, moral and historical evidence. Those have value. But even if someone accepts God is real, it doesn’t mean they’ll follow him. As James wrote, “Even the demons believe—and shudder” (James 2:19).

Believing that God exists isn’t saving faith. Trusting who God is—that he’s good, loving and worthy of our trust—changes everything.

Too often, apologetics defends the reality of God but fails to demonstrate the character of God. We argue for his power but forget to display his love. We show he’s true but not that he’s beautiful.

This is one reason I’ve grown weary of formal debates. Don’t misunderstand me, debates can have their value. At their best, they were meant to bring ideas together, to help both sides understand the issues more clearly. But somewhere along the way, debate became about domination.

Domination, debate or discussion?

You can see it even in the titles of videos: “Christian DESTROYS atheist.” “Apologist CRUSHES Muslim scholar.” That kind of language doesn’t reflect Christ. It reflects pride.

When we go into conversations determined to win, we’ve already lost the heart of the gospel. Because love “does not boast, it is not proud, it is not self-seeking” (1 Corinthians 13:4–5).

The purpose of apologetics isn’t to crush an opponent. It’s to invite a person into a journey to true life.

That’s why I prefer the word “discussion” over “debate.” Discussion assumes we both have something to learn. It leaves room for humility. It gives me the freedom to say: “That’s a good point. I need to think about that.”

It’s not about keeping score but about pursuing truth together, even if the correct answer ultimately doesn’t come from you.

And honestly, that posture itself is one of the most powerful apologetics we have—a willingness to listen, to learn and to love.

What if we led with love?

Author Madeleine L’Engle once said: “We do not draw people to Christ by loudly discrediting what they believe, by telling them how wrong they are and how right we are, but by showing them a light so lovely that they want with all their hearts to know the source of it.”

That quote wrecks me every time I read it. Because it’s true. People aren’t drawn to Christ because we out-argue them. They’re drawn because they saw something beautiful—a hope, a peace, a love they couldn’t explain.

When apologetics becomes about love rather than leverage, something changes. We start seeing the person, not just the problem. We begin to realize, behind every question is a story—sometimes a story of pain, disappointment or fear.

If someone asks, “Why does God allow suffering?” they really may be asking, “Why did God allow my suffering?”

In that moment, a textbook answer won’t heal, but empathy might. Listening, weeping and sharing our own wrestling—that’s apologetics in its truest form.

Peter’s call never was to “win arguments.” It was to share the “reason for your hope.” Hope is not abstract; it’s embodied. It’s the conviction that no matter what happens—persecution, loss, doubt, pain—Christ still is worth it.

And when people witness that kind of hope lived out, it’s contagious. Not because our reasoning is airtight, but because our trust is unshakable.

The hope that speaks

Maybe it’s time to recover what Peter meant all along. Apologetics isn’t about having perfect answers. It’s about having a faithful presence. It’s not about being right. It’s about being kind. The most persuasive apologetic isn’t a rebuttal. It’s a relationship.

The gospel doesn’t need defenders so much as it needs witnesses—people who have tasted and seen that the Lord is good, and who invite others to do the same. People who love deeply, listen patiently and live authentically. People who can say, not just with their words but with their lives, “This is why I still have hope.”

Because in the end, apologetics isn’t about winning arguments. It’s about revealing hope. And that hope has a name: Jesus.

Taylor Standridge is a Christian podcaster and producer who loves to help people understand who God is and how to live faithfully according to his goodness, grace and generosity. His writing has been featured in Peer Magazine, Christ and Pop Culture, RELEVANT Magazine and NextStep Disciple. He holds a Master of Biblical and Theological Studies from Dallas Theological Seminary. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

I realize Advent has moved on to peace, but I’m stuck at hope. It won’t sound like that at first, but keep reading.

I’m a bit of a Grinch about the holidays—any holiday. I humor the holidays, but I don’t really get into Christmas until a couple of days before Dec. 25.

Part of humoring the holidays is understanding we will start singing Christmas hymns the first Sunday after Thanksgiving and will sing them through the first Sunday after Christmas. The same songs. Every year.

And those same songs will play. Everywhere. Sometimes as early as October.

Maybe this Grinchiness started when I worked retail in college and had to listen to canned pop Christmas tunes nonstop for hours on end for days on end. Some things are hard to get over.

Or maybe it happened while I was a pastor. Most people don’t realize how much work Christmas is for a church staff and volunteers. The staff would love to celebrate with you, but they’re likely busy and exhausted from all the extra events and all that goes with them. So, even their celebration can be … sleepy.

Anyway. Some people love this time of year. I humor it. Grinchy, I tell you.

So, I wasn’t prepared to be moved by “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” while we sang it during the modern worship service at our church this last Sunday morning.

I had a similar experience last year when our choir sang a particular arrangement of “O Holy Night.”

I really don’t expect this to become a holiday habit.

A holy hope

Last year, I wrote that “O Holy Night” has “long been one of my favorite Christmas hymns.” That’s true. Once Dec. 22 rolls around, I really like it. But I may have given the impression I appreciate the song at any time. So, I will clarify: “Let’s not get carried away. The song should inhabit it’s proper setting—Dec. 22 through 24.”

Or maybe just Dec. 24.

“Boy, he is Grinchy, isn’t he?”

“O Holy Night” seized my attention last year because of the arrangement, which I’d heard before but really heard that particular moment in that service.

The same happened this last Sunday morning with “O Come, O Come Emmanuel,” this ubiquitous song of longing for the Messiah.

Sunday morning, we sang a modern arrangement of this old Latin hymn, translated bit by bit into English centuries later.

Words of woe: “O come, o come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here.”

Met with the hopeful chorus: “Rejoice! Rejoice! E-ma-nu-el shall come to thee, O Israel!”

To this, the modern arrangers added: “Rejoice, again I say rejoice, For unto us is born, The savior of the world; Take heart, O weary soul take heart, For Heaven’s on its way, And holy is His name.”

And we sing it loud.

Sunday, I saw the words on the screen, and I sang them as I saw them, but the lingering echo wasn’t, “Take heart, O weary soul take heart,” but “Take heart, O weary world take heart.”

Why should it? Why should this weary world take heart?

Because Emmanuel is on his way. Better still, because Emmanuel is here.

A hollow hope

My jaw tightens at so much of the news. It’s hard to rejoice amid the news of this world. It’s wearying and disheartening. It’s hard to hold out hope, or at least to believe there’s much substance to hope. Hope really can ring hollow here.

It’s also disappointing to see so many people—especially Christians—putting their hope in worldly solutions. Even Christians place undue hope in policies, money, power and material things.

There is no policy that will make everything all right, no political party, no amount of money, no accumulation. We know this intuitively. Yet, we maintain hope in the world, or we give in to hopelessness, hiding it in hedonism or despair.

“Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!”

This is the substance of a world and a people who don’t know, don’t see or who refuse to believe: “Heaven’s on its way, and holy is His name.”

A ‘foolish’ hope

What we hope for is foolishness to this world. What we hope for actually is an inversion of this world. What Emmanuel taught, what he came to do was to turn this world inside out, and nothing will be all right until it is turned inside out.

We can cease firing and sign the treaties, we can cross the aisle and make deals, we can sell all we have and give it to the poor, but until our hearts are inverted—read: converted—by the One whose name is holy, all that activity won’t satisfy the true substance of our hope. Until Jesus is Lord and we quit being pretenders, our hope will be hollow.

We can do all the worldly things right, but doing them won’t mean everything will be all right. Because the problem isn’t in our politics, policies, social positions or pockets. The problem is in us. To fix the problem, we must be turned inside out.

The substance of our hope is beyond the power and money and stuff of this world. The substance of our hope is not dependent on who wins the war. Yes, it would be easier—so we think—if our side wins—whatever side that may be. And we do hope our side wins, thus the fight.

To this world, saying Jesus guarantees what we hope for is abdicating the fight. Or it’s militarizing Jesus. Talk about polarization.

But what we really long for, what we really need, is not guaranteed by our side winning. It is guaranteed by Jesus and is kept in his kingdom. To this world, that’s hopeless, irresponsible, stupid, weak, naïve, foolish.

A hope fulfilled

Back to peace: Scripture warns against proclaiming peace when there is no peace. This world warns against proclaiming hope when this world thinks there is no hope.

But Jesus really was born. Jesus really did live and teach and heal. Jesus really did die. Jesus really did rise again to live and reign over all things for all eternity. And Jesus said he will come back and restore all things.

No, there may not be peace on Earth right now, but there always is hope—a hallowed hope.

And that will make any Grinch’s heart grow.

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.

Sitting in church, noticing the lights and holiday decorations in the worship center, I remembered this week was approximately the anniversary of my bout with clinical depression 35 years ago.

I recalled not everyone is joyously anticipating Dec. 25. Not everyone wants Christmas lights shining in their eyes.

Loneliness and fear in the midst of a celebrating crowd is very real. Depression can gain a foothold like at no other time of the year, perhaps partially because of holiday expectations and loss of loved ones.

While some folks are celebrating the happiest time of their lives at Christmas, others are hiding under the covers and praying for spring.

People have trouble understanding depression. No wonder. It has taken me 30 years to be able to describe and write about the illness I experienced.

The illness I experienced

Overcast skies with cold weather bring back that feeling of desolation that nearly put me in the hospital. I was in my 30s and had a young child, and my husband served on the staff of a large church.

Emotional illness carried a huge stigma back then, and for that reason, my doctor decided to treat me for depression at home and not in the hospital.

Unknown to us then, I was without estrogen and had a nonworking thyroid. I was exhausted by motherhood and church work, with a body not operating at full speed.

We knew for months something was wrong, that my energy was very low, but thought I could cope with it. How often hardworking, determined people try to throw off illness and cure themselves.

One day, I lost color in my vision. The world was gray, and visual space perception or perspective changed. Rooms in our house looked huge and dark, and objects seemed far away. Kind of a scary tunnel vision.

Inside my entire body, I felt a vibrating, extremely anxious sensation. Terrifying, but I was able to sit quietly with the shaking. When I no longer could sit, I would pace back and forth across the room, praying for God’s help.

I remember being so sad I was ill and could not help my family. I was a burden, that fate worse than death to depressed people.

Facing a perplexing condition

My doctor met us at church that Wednesday night where we customarily had dinner and a leadership meeting on Wednesday evenings. I could barely get in the car, but my husband helped me to our appointment.

We three went into a Sunday school classroom, and the doctor determined he would prescribe a general antidepressant. I followed up with him in his office and then with a psychiatrist, who added an antianxiety medicine and a beta blocker for my racing heart.

Immediately, my vision returned to normal, and about six weeks later, my symptoms were mild. Apparently, I needed the brain chemical serotonin. Fortunately, medication with counseling were successful and helped me return to daily activities.

Whatever it takes to get well, however many times you must see the doctor, do it!

If God allows life, live fully

Some people, including myself, fear leaving home with the illness. At home, we have strategies to manage depression or distract ourselves from symptoms, and we can hide our condition from other people. So, for a while, I saw the logic in staying home and protecting myself from the stressful surprises of real life.

We depressed people try to manage our anxiety, stoically and with phenomenal effort, until two things happen: (1) we collapse, and/or (2) we realize we no longer are “living” life, not a healthy, abundant life. Of course, by then, we are in serious need of help.

So again, accepting medical and counseling help is the way through the maze. Severe illness is a trauma, and we need strong support from family and work, as well as doctors.

God heals in Jesus

I wonder if people in Jesus’s day experienced depression. Certainly, they did.

I know Jesus came to heal and save those who lived in pain—physically and emotionally.  Remember, he asked the invalid at the Pool of Bethesda, “Do you want to get well?” (John 5:6). When Jesus heals, he seeks our willingness.

Our physical, mental and spiritual dimensions get sick together and get well together.

With depression, problems tend to layer atop one another until the exhausted body and brain are affected. Some say a chemical imbalance comes first, but even if that is so, what does it matter? Our darkness still needs light.

Scripture speaks of “eyes seeing God’s salvation” (Luke 2:25-35). Luke relates a precious story of the prophet Simeon holding baby Jesus in his arms at the temple when Jesus was 40 days old.

Simeon knew his prophetic work was fulfilled when Jesus, light to the Gentiles and glory of Israel, was revealed. Simeon then could go to heaven holding on to God’s personal promise to him that he would see Jesus, after which he prophesied of Jesus’s impact on humanity.

Jesus was a light to my eyes even when the physical “real world” looked gray. He was the one spiritual light that never went out. Darkness cannot extinguish Christ. He is beyond physical light, dwelling in the impenetrable light of God.

The light of Christmas

God has boundaries, and he is bound by his radiance, but when we seek him above all else, we can enter his presence through Christ to pray and to praise him.

God is healing light. One might think of laser, radiation or ultraviolet light used in medicine. Light carries power that breaks down cells and kills germs, cuts and cauterizes, reveals disease and health. Light meets the present need.

Depression did not befall me because I lacked Jesus. Jesus, the light of the world, carried me through the illness. He was my safe place, my sanctuary, as foretold by the prophet Isaiah (Isaiah 8:14).

Whatever you are going through, there always is more of Jesus than any of us can comprehend and more to the life he can give than you can fathom. He has put the potential for healing within you and comes to you personally with healing in his wings. Yield yourself to him and your personal physicians, and find sanctuary.

You can feel once again the joy of salvation, and the lightness—not weariness—of Christmas.

Ruth Cook is a longtime Texas Baptist. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

Tradicionalmente, cuando nos encontramos con un artículo titulado «¿Dónde están ahora?», nos informan sobre dónde se encuentran en este momento personas con las que crecimos o que alguna vez fueron famosas.

Hoy, sin embargo, quiero compartir no solo dónde se encuentran ahora muchos graduados hispanos de escuelas afiliadas a los bautistas de Texas, sino también dónde podrían estar en el futuro.

Educación continua e impacto institucional

En primer lugar, nuestros graduados bautistas hispanos continúan su educación de grado y posgrado.

Un número cada vez mayor de estudiantes de nuestras instituciones reconoce el valor de obtener títulos avanzados para alcanzar el potencial para el cual Dios les creó y aumentar su impacto en el Reino. A menudo trabajan o sirven a tiempo completo para proveer para sus familias o pagar sus estudios, haciendo todo lo posible por evitar obtener préstamos educativos.

A medida que obtienen estos títulos, los graduados hispanos de las instituciones bautistas de Texas se están convirtiendo en profesores a tiempo completo o parcial.

Muchos también están asumiendo funciones de liderazgo en los lugares donde enseñan. Al hacerlo, aportan una perspectiva cultural muy necesaria, ya que nuestras instituciones buscan reclutar, retener y graduar a estudiantes de la población hispana en rápido crecimiento de nuestro estado, que ahora supera los 12 millones de personas.

Liderando la Iglesia

A medida que crece la población hispana, más iglesias de habla inglés reconocen la necesidad de ampliar estratégicamente sus esfuerzos para alcanzar a la comunidad circundante. Por lo tanto, están incorporando a graduados hispanos bilingües de nuestras instituciones para dirigir los ministerios «en español».

Estos ministerios «en español» no están aislados, sino que están plenamente integrados en la vida de toda la iglesia. El miembro hispano del personal suele ser reconocido como uno de los pastores de toda la iglesia y desempeña un papel clave en el presente y el futuro de la congregación.

Muchos consideran que este modelo de ministerio es una de las mejores formas de alcanzar a la población hispana actual. Algunas congregaciones están adoptando un enfoque aún más audaz al nombrar a un líder hispano bilingüe y bicultural como su pastor principal, un paso elogiable en la dirección correcta.

Los graduados hispanos de nuestras instituciones también están pastoreando iglesias bautistas hispanas en todo el estado. Más de 1,000 iglesias bautistas de Texas se identifican como hispanas, y me atrevería a decir que la mayoría están dirigidas por uno de nuestros graduados o han sido influenciadas de alguna manera por uno de ellos.

La gran mayoría de estos pastores son bivocacionales, balanceando el trabajo con el ministerio, para proveer mejor para sus familias, o sirven a tiempo completo en sus iglesias, confiando en que el Señor proveerá para sus necesidades básicas. Aun así, dirigen con todo su corazón las congregaciones a las que Dios les ha llamado, maximizando sus recursos limitados. Nuestros pastores son mis héroes.

Superando las expectativas

Si desea saber dónde sirven muchos otros graduados hispanos de nuestras escuelas, mire al personal de Texas Baptists.

Somos muy bendecidos con muchos hispanos en el personal y líderes ministeriales hispanos en todos los niveles, incluyendo a nuestro director ejecutivo, el Dr. Julio Guarneri.

Esta diversidad también se está haciendo una realidad en nuestras instituciones y otros ministerios con quienes colaboramos. La Baptist General Convention of Texas se parece cada vez más a la gente de nuestro estado, lo cual es clave en nuestro esfuerzo por ganar a los perdidos para Cristo.

Recientemente formamos un equipo para desarrollar un programa que apoye a estudiantes hispanos que cursan un doctorado en nuestras instituciones bautistas de Texas. El primer paso fue una encuesta para recopilar datos de bautistas hispanos actuales con doctorados sobre su jornada doctoral.

El objetivo es desarrollar un programa que proporcione ánimo, apoyo y entrenamiento a estudiantes doctorales hispanos que complemente su aprendizaje formal.

En total, 28 de los 32 doctores completaron la encuesta. Estas cifras tal vez no parecen mucho para algunos, pero cuando llegué a Texas hace casi 30 años, prácticamente se podían contar con los dedos de una mano los doctores bautistas hispanos. El hecho de que ahora haya más de 30 es absolutamente digno de celebración, aunque sin duda necesitamos más.

En todas partes

Si pensamos en todos los programas que ofrecen nuestras instituciones de educación superior, probablemente podemos decir que hay un graduado hispano en casi todas las carreras.

Los graduados hispanos de las universidades y seminarios bautistas de Texas desempeñan muchas otras funciones en las congregaciones; y también son plantadores de iglesias, misioneros, educadores, consejeros profesionales, líderes empresariales, emprendedores, músicos, médicos, ingenieros, trabajadores sociales y mucho más.

Están marcando una gran diferencia en su mundo y son un ejemplo extraordinario para quienes les siguen.

Así que, si me pregunta: «¿Dónde están ahora?», le respondería: «¡En todas partes!»

Gabriel Cortés es el director de educación hispana de Texas Baptists.