I write this as a concerned pastor. My role is prophetic (truth-telling) regarding biblical concerns for human life as well as pastoral, for how we treat one another when we disagree is a spiritual matter.

I’m not a legal policy expert nor am I a politician, so I am intentionally staying away from offering solutions to such a complicated matter, though solutions are out there. You may disagree with me or others on the issue.

As I heard recently, we don’t have to see eye to eye to walk in hand in hand.

Stop judging by extremes

Can we stop characterizing people who may be on the other side of the issue by their most extreme members?

In some ways, I think the gun control debate arises out of two different cultures in our society that have a hard time understanding and appreciating one another and then characterize each other based on the most extreme example of their opponent.

First, concerning the gun control side: yes, there are people who literally want to take away every gun in America though it’s not pragmatic, prudent or constitutional. Truth is, that’s only a handful of people.

Most people on the gun control side don’t literally want to pick up every gun in America. They simply want more sensible gun laws that would attempt to seriously reduce and hopefully prevent killing people — especially horrific mass shootings.

From the gun rights side, I’m sure there are a few who want to very literally militarize themselves with automatic guns and other military-grade weapons. This isn’t most people on the gun rights side.

Most on the gun rights side aren’t government haters. They are people who want to use their guns to hunt and/or to protect their families. Many of these people, too, are concerned with the mass shootings in America and want to see them ended.

So, for starters, let’s quit characterizing people in the worst possible extreme.

Most everyone wants to live in safety and see their families thrive. We may disagree strongly about how to achieve that goal, but, deep down, I believe many of us want similar outcomes for our country.

Stop simplified explanations

Can we stop the fallacious, over-simplified explanations?

The truth is, this is a complex conversation that gets down deeper to issues of parenting, mental health and the moral conscience of our society (among many other issues). Oversimplifying this issue doesn’t help from either side.

On the one hand, you’re not going to be able to regulate every mass killing device. Someone will find a way to cause harm if that is their intention. On the other hand, saying, “Guns don’t kill people. People kill people,” is missing the point.

Yes, this is true, but what is also true is that guns make killing people easier, especially with semi-automatic weapons and bump stocks. Those devices make killing a lot of people in a short amount of time achievable. Is the answer banning all weapons? No (in my opinion).

Likewise, let’s be honest that some of these devices in the wrong hands are incredibly dangerous, more so than the rock Cain threw at Abel (I often hear the phrase based on the biblical story that Cain killed Abel with a rock. Are we now going to ban all rocks?)

Gun control isn’t the only answer — nor is gun ownership.

Stop fearing

Let’s also get to the spiritual issue I think everyone is facing.

Again, I’m not a constitutional law expert or policymaker, but I have spent a lot of time with people and a lot of time studying Scripture.

I know that, as a people, we are fearful, and today’s world does nothing to lessen those fears. Whichever side of the debate you are on, Jesus invites us to a life beyond fear and to freedom, plenty and wholeness. He never said there wasn’t anything to be afraid of. He simply told us not to be afraid.

He has the ultimate power and authority, and, one day, God’s word promises he will turn the weapons of warfare into plowshares (Isaiah 2:4). God has a vision that what once was used for death will be used to sustain life.

The conversations we should be having

So, what can we all do?

Love enough to speak up when something is wrong.

Care for someone who is hurting.

Advocate for mental health care access and affordability (without ostracizing our brothers and sisters who are suffering).

Provide better resources and assistance to our local schools.

And, I believe, consider reasonable approaches to gun safety measures that ensure the most dangerous weapons do not end up in the most dangerous hands.

John Whitten is lead pastor for the gathering at Pioneer Drive Baptist Church in Abilene.

Nothing shows your true heart like parenting.

With adults at work, at church, even around the family table, we can all put on a show and look more holy than we truly are, but, in our interactions with our kids, there is no hiding.

I used to believe I was a patient man. Then, we had children.

We have a four-year-old and a newborn. It is embarrassing to think about how impatient I can be with my children. My tongue is quick with a sharp word and an angry tone. My selfishness is always on the front burner prepared to bubble over.

Every interruption, and there are many, seems to me to be an offensive encroachment on my precious time and therefore requires a strong rebuke. I hate this selfishness.

Needless to say, I spend a ton of time repenting and asking for forgiveness.

We are not alone in parenting

I write this in order to let some of you know you are not alone.

Parenting is hard. I am not as experienced as most of you are in raising children. I am not an expert, and I would never claim to be good at this parenting thing, but it helps to know we are all in the same boat. It helps to know we are not alone in our struggle to be patient and show the love of God to our children.

We know they are a blessing. We know they are a gift of God’s grace. And we find out pretty quickly they are instruments God uses to sanctify us.

You don’t have to beat yourself up over all of your perceived failures. God loves you. God loves your children. God has given them to you for a purpose.

He chose you to be the ones to raise them up in the Lord, to show them his love and grace and to impress his commands on their hearts (Deuteronomy 6:6–7).

You will mess up. You will not always be patient or kind. You will have to ask forgiveness from God, from your spouse and from your kids. It is OK.

Let the struggle of parenting lead you back to Jesus over and over again.

In his unending patience, we find forgiveness. In his steadfast love, we find refuge. We are meant to reflect this glory and grace to our kids. We are the first glimpse they will have of Jesus and the truth of the gospel.

We won’t be perfect, but we can be faithful to our calling as parents to love our kids as our heavenly Father loves us.

God’s grace in parenting

Amazingly, even in my failures, God continues to show his grace. I am amazed over and over again at what my small children reveal to me about God.

Through trying to be faithful as a parent, I have found God’s grace.

From the quickness with which my four-year-old forgives me, I have been reminded that, at the cross, my sin was forgiven forever.

In the simple faith of my four-year-old, I have been taught what it means to live with childlike faith.

In the prayers of my four-year-old, I have been taught what it means to trust God with all of my life and to pour out the desires of my heart to him.

In trying to explain to my four-year-old where her grandmother (my mother) is and why she isn’t here, I have been reminded of the hope we have in the resurrection life to come.

In the way my newborn depends on us for everything and in how he trusts us to provide, I have seen my own need and the provision and faithfulness of God in every area of my life.

In the love I feel for my four-year-old and newborn, I am reminded of the patient love of my heavenly Father for me. It is never-ending. It is steadfast. It seeks my good, even when I turn away and disobey.

A reminder of God’s love and grace

I write all of this as a reminder for myself. God is working in me and through me. God loves me, and God has given me these children as a gift of his grace.

I mess up. I am impatient. I am selfish. God is gracious and kind.

Maybe you need this reminder too.

You will never be a perfect parent, but you can be faithful.

Love your children. Show them God’s grace and forgiveness. Trust them to him.

Rest in his love for you, and parent out of this enduring, patient love.

Zac Harrel is pastor of First Baptist Church in Gustine, Texas.

It all began with a poem.

Lynda Frederick, who lives in New York, wrote it and posted it on her old high school’s Facebook page. The poem spoke of Lynda’s sad and tormented experiences being bullied by her classmates.

She also wanted everyone to know that life had gotten a whole lot better for her over the intervening 25 years.

Lynda wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

Her Facebook post was flooded with heartfelt apologies from her onetime bullies. They begged her for the chance to make the past right. And they did more than that. They raised $800 in order to bring her to California for a class reunion.

Moved by the reach for reconciliation, Lynda was reflective. “We can’t fix yesterday,” she observed, “but we can try to fix today.”

While the past cannot be undone, it can be redressed.

The power of forgiveness

Reconciliation begins with forgiveness — that sweetest and most profound of virtues.

In his model prayer, Jesus urges us to seek God’s forgiveness for our offenses and, in the same manner, to extend forgiveness to those who have offended us. Jesus goes so far as to assert that God will not forgive us if we refuse to forgive others (Matthew 6:15).

Neither Jacob nor his brother Esau could “fix” the many years of deceit, treachery and rivalry that had marred their relationship. What was done was done. But when they finally met again, “Esau ran to meet [Jacob], threw his arms around his neck, and kissed him. And they both wept.” (Genesis 33:4).

The tears of forgiveness melted away the bitterness of wounded pride and lost opportunities.

His brothers feared his power to retaliate, but Joseph was overcome by a deep and compassionate forgiveness for them, by a love that never died despite the long separation caused by their betrayal. Nothing in his fascinating and eventful life tells us more about Joseph’s abiding character than his willingness to forgive his brothers for what they did to him.

Forgiveness is the sincerest form of love. It is also the costliest and often most difficult.

The cost of forgiveness

An unforgiving spirit has no place in the believer’s life. It is flagrantly unhealthy. Holding a grudge is not only a sub-Christian attitude; it’s also an emotional grind. Over time, such poison in your system will weaken your spiritual constitution and make you vulnerable to other diseases of the soul such as vengeance, gossip and envy.

An unforgiving spirit is a moral and spiritual cancer.

It may begin small and undetected, but it grows inexorably and spreads until it has consumed the heart with cynicism and bitterness. Only when unforgiveness is cut away by the scalpel of God’s grace and transplanted with genuine, Christ-centered forgiveness can new life breathe into the soul.

Only then can love be rekindled, hope renewed and joy restored.

This is why Jesus ties forgiveness to the very heart of worship.

The command to forgive

“So if you are presenting a sacrifice at the altar in the Temple,” Jesus says, “and you suddenly remember that someone has something against you, leave your sacrifice there at the altar. Go and be reconciled to that person. Then come and offer your sacrifice to God” (Mathew 5: 23–24).

We must put first things first. Jesus tells us that the first order of spiritual business for each of us is forgiveness and reconciliation. Even if we are already sitting in the church pew and about to drop our offering in the plate, if we recall the slight that hurt, we must stop, go and seek forgiveness.

Reconciliation precedes worship and authentic worship is conditioned upon forgiveness — and virtually impossible without it.

Paul tells the Ephesians to flush the bad attitudes and rotten behavior out of their lives. “Instead, be kind to each other, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you” (Ephesians 4:32).

For Lynda Frederick, it was a poem that led to forgiveness, reconciliation and a new lease on life she hadn’t expected.

Perhaps the past was gone and forever shrouded in regrets. But Lynda’s old classmates proved that seeking, offering and finding forgiveness can turn a class reunion into something far grander and more lasting than the petty cruelties of a high school hallway.

Forgiveness. What a beautiful thing.

Jack Wyman, a former preacher, pastor, community leader and politician, is the Director of Advancement & Donor Relations for Haggai International.

Billy Graham passed away in his North Carolina home last week after nearly a century of life and 50 years of public ministry. Health problems kept him from being particularly active in public for the last decade of his life, so news of his death may have been the first time many have thought about Graham for a while.

Despite his relatively quiet last years of life, his impact on Christianity has been tremendous. The sheer number of people reached is almost unbelievable; by one estimate, Graham’s preaching reached more than two billion people and led to professions of faith from over three million hearers.

Even beyond the sheer number of people who heard the gospel in the 20^th century because of Graham’s work, Billy Graham was one of the finest examples of a faithful disciple to Christ the church has had in recent times.

Graham was (and remains) a personal hero of mine. Here’s what I’ve learned from his life and ministry.

A passion for the gospel

“The greatest form of praise is the sound of consecrated feet seeking out the lost and helpless,” wrote Graham.

“Sin is the second most powerful force in the universe, for it sent Jesus to the cross. Only one force is greater—the love of God.”

Graham devoted his life to showing the love of God to as many people as possible, in as many places and life circumstances as possible.

Graham preached to presidents.

He preached to mob bosses.

He preached in 185 different countries.

He turned down a five-million-dollar contract offered to him by NBC because it would have conflicted with his revival preaching (for which he received, at the time, a yearly salary of $15,000).

Graham would let nothing — distance, language, race, money — keep him from sharing the gospel with as many people as possible.

So what did “the gospel” mean to Billy Graham?

A holistic faith

Protestantism in the 21st century suffers from a sharp juxtaposition between the doctrinal and ethical dimensions of the gospel. Conservative-leaning churches tend to focus on evangelism and faith confessions while progressive-leaning churches tend to think of the Christian mission in terms of social justice and advocacy.

This is a real problem. The earliest Christians didn’t think in this “either/or” method, and implying that we can have one without the other — right doctrine without right social practice, or right social practice without right doctrine — ignores the message of the New Testament.

Graham’s ultimate goal was to see people confess faith in Christ. But Graham also knew that societal injustices were an obstacle to this goal and were contradictory to the freedom the gospel proclaimed. Because of this, Graham didn’t see sharing the gospel and advocating for social justice as completely separate activities.

Segregation was the major gospel-inhibiting issue in Graham’s day. Graham refused to preach to segregated audiences, going so far as to physically remove a rope separating black and white audience members at a 1953 rally.

Graham knew, as the covenant of the Lausanne Committee for World Evangelism he helped found stated, that “evangelism and socio-political involvement are both part of our Christian duty.”

A willingness to confess

Billy Graham was far from a perfect man. By all accounts, he would be the first to tell you that.

One of Graham’s biggest regrets was his intense, early involvement with politics, both in endorsing candidates for office and giving advice to political figures. His close relationship to Richard Nixon led to public embarrassment and regret following the Watergate scandal. Graham would reflect later:

“I came close to identifying the American way of life with the kingdom of God …. Then I realized that God had called me to a higher kingdom than America. I have tried to be faithful to my calling as a minister of the gospel.”

Graham was already having second thoughts about his close association with political powers during the Nixon years, and the shock and embarrassment of Watergate convinced Graham that he had a “higher calling” than political maneuvering. He promised to focus on preaching the gospel instead of the “American Way,” and he kept that promise for the rest of his life, avoiding working on behalf of any political party ever again.

Graham made mistakes, but he did everything he could to make things right after. Billy Graham displayed a remarkable ability to confess his mistakes and learn from them.

A prophet with honor

William Martin named his massive biography of Billy Graham A Prophet with Honor. It’s hard to think of a more appropriate summary of Graham’s life.

Graham hasn’t been publically active for nearly 20 years and has now gone on to his reward. His ministry has been and will be sorely missed.

Graham was a uniting figure for Christians. His singular focus on a holistic, life-encompassing gospel and willingness to engage in public confession brought Christians of different backgrounds and viewpoints together in a way that seems unimaginable in our current climate.

We need Billy Graham’s witness today as much as we did when he began his ministry. Will God raise up another such “prophet with honor”?

We can only hope and pray so.

Jake Raabe is a student at Baylor University’s George W. Truett Theological Seminary in Waco, Texas. He is also a co-founder of Patristica Press, a Waco-based publishing house.

Having been the pastor of small churches all over Texas and the Midwest, I can attest to the limitations that come with small church ministries. Typically, when I hear people talking about small churches, particularly leadership within small churches, the tone and language of whatever is being said is negative. Many leaders are even apologetic for shepherding small congregations, but almost all feel frustrated by one element or another.

The greatest sources of frustration for most small churches can be summed up in the word lack. Small churches often lack the finances needed to cover their basic needs for operation. They lack the volunteers to start new ministries. They lack the musical talent to play the new worship songs note for note, and they lack the pulpit talent to match up against the TV and radio preachers.

The value of a small church

The question we must ask ourselves is if small churches were merely unable to be useful to God’s kingdom, why is it that more than 85 percent of churches in America have 250 people or fewer? Are these churches wasting everyone’s time? Hardly. They may, however, not understand the tremendous value they bring to God’s kingdom.

If we are working under the assumption that God has preserved our small churches for a reason, then it might be to our benefit to know what those benefits are. In my experience as a small church pastor for over a decade, I see at least three advantages that small churches bring to the kingdom of God.

1. Speed

The first benefit that small churches bring to God’s work in the world is how quickly they can move. The phrase “small is fast” applies here.

When it comes to physical labor and ministry to our communities, small churches will never be able to compete with churches that have budgets in the millions and volunteers in the thousands. With that amount of size, though, comes bureaucracy and planning. Money has to be approved, volunteers have to be coordinated and all of those things just take a while. In contrast, where smaller churches are deficient in size, they make up for with speed.

A few months ago, one of my deacons told me about a man in our community who was about to come home from the hospital after leg surgery. This man would be stuck in a wheelchair for months, if not the rest of his life, and needed a ramp installed at his house. After a three-minute conversation, I was able to approve a budget and my deacon and another volunteer purchased the materials and built the ramp. From start to finish, a need was discovered and met within a 12-hour period. Small is fast.

Perhaps one wheelchair ramp isn’t going to make the front page of any newspapers, but, for one man, God’s people were able to be there for him in his time of need. If we can’t do more, then let’s do what we do with speed and efficiency.

2. Community

Pastors, in particular, are notorious for focusing on the number of people, or lack thereof, that attend their churches. Obsessing over church size is unneeded and unhealthy, but we must also understand that with large congregations comes the inherent challenge of getting people to connect with one another. As Ulysses Burley III said it, “It’s just virtually impossible to be in [a] relationship with 1000 different people.”

While larger churches are trying to crack the code of getting their people to connect, small churches have community in spades. It’s possible to know every single person in these churches. When people know us, it’s much more difficult to fall through the cracks.

When we get sick, people know. If we are struggling with something in our family life, people know. When we are struggling with anything, our whole church doesn’t just know, but they care. An entire church of people will pray for us, bring us casseroles, babysit our kids and probably mow our lawn.

3. Focus

The blessing of the large church is their global influence. They have the numbers to push a cause forward. With all of that influence comes difficulty in staying focused on where to fit within God’s kingdom. Do we just reach this city, or do we focus on missions, too? Should we have campuses, and, if so, where?

Do we focus on being a church that has dynamic worship or a great theater troupe? Maybe we’re the trendy church that’s taking liberal views on traditional church viewpoints, or perhaps we’re the church that needs to toe the line and keep the conservative values that have allowed Christianity to flourish? Who are we supposed to be?

Questioning the places to focus is not a challenge for most small churches. The limitation in options keeps the mission of the small church crystal clear. My church, for instance, strives to be a spiritual home for every man, woman, teenager and child in our town and surrounding area. We know we are called to our town because our size forces us to be. As such, everything that we do in some way contributes to the spiritual development of our people. Our laser focus allows us to worry about what we’re doing, not why we’re doing it.

The small church matters

As a parting encouragement to small church leaders, what you’re doing matters. It matters for today, and it matters in the eternal sense. When we compare ourselves to larger churches, we’re always going to focus on what they can do and what we can’t. President Theodore Roosevelt once famously said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.”

God has brought your small church into existence and has preserved it for a reason. Embrace the value that you bring to God’s kingdom. When it comes to the many local churches within the universal church of Jesus, there are none better or worse than any others. You are valuable to God’s plan in the world.

Be fast, embrace your community and stay focused.

Don McCaig is pastor of First Baptist Church Lipan in Lipan, Texas. Connect with him on Twitter @DonMcCaig.

This week, my three-year-old had strep, which quarantined him in his room, tracing letters, playing cars, watching some Netflix. It was an unexpected blip in the week, a day at home when I’d normally be in the office. As he gets older, I enjoy these times when he’ll sit still long enough for this. And while my son sat in my lap, watching the trials and travails of Lightning McQueen, 17 children were murdered in South Florida, in their school.

In a very short time, my kids will be starting school, entrusted to the hands of others for full days. They will be beyond my sight for these hours, in the presence of teachers who will instruct, but who should never be asked to do what has been done over and over again: protect with their lives.

In 2018, there have been eight school shootings in the first eight weeks. And so, on Ash Wednesday, as the events unfolded, the liturgy of horror unfolded, in ways which have been numbingly familiar: shock, terror, remorse, denials, blame, explanation.

‘All the arguments have been made’

The structural causes for this in the American situation are legion, a combination of the second amendment, American libertarianism and deep-seated cultural theodicies that we cannot live without. Stuck between the right to bear arms and the natural desire to protect our children, we propose more guns rather than fewer, turning educational settings into preemptive conflict zones.

America has similar rates of mental illness and depression to other industrialized countries, and so, attributing these killings at the feet of mental illness is both erroneous and derogatory of the mentally ill. Theologically, mass shootings have more roots than weapons, but materially, in America the issue is one of the sheer volume of guns, and it is far beyond time to say so.

According to the most recent estimates, there are currently 300 million firearms in America. This is nearly enough to arm every living person, or to give every adult two weapons each. Let this number sink in: if averaged out, every adult American could be armed twice over, and there would still be nearly 50 million guns to spare. But by now, all the arguments have been made.

We’ve had this conversation, as Christians and as a broader culture, way too many times. And, at this juncture, I am losing confidence that making any appeals rooted in conscience or goodwill have any traction, for this reason: when the open murder of children in schools fails to move a society to some kind of collective action, we have reopened the pits of Moloch and are now simply debating how many of our children to sacrifice.

‘Remove the idols’

Now is the time for Christians to remember that rights and freedom are those things exercised for others, not in protection from others. For a Christian, freedom is the ability to be exceedingly in service to one’s neighbor, to give oneself without restraint in service to the good of God in the world. Calling ownership of an AR-15 a freedom is beyond parody; it is idolatry. Brothers and sisters, it is time to name this for what it is. Call it idolatry. Call it pagan worship. Remove the idols from your house and houses of worship, lest they consume the foundations.

When we as Christians cannot think of giving up something, it is a sign that it has occupied its seat in the house too long, a houseguest long overstayed. If this happens, it signals that we have lost the ability to function as a church, for we have traded rights for the true freedom of the gospel, and the peace of God for the hunger of the pagan gods, who constantly offers us stability at the expense of human lives.

And so: a modest proposal.

‘Give up your guns’

We can — and will — have this conversation again. The children of Florida are demanding it now, and God help us if we do not listen to them. And so, we could begin this conversation, as we have always done, with nuance, by delineating between hunting rifles and other arms, debating age limits, forms of licensing, rights and duties and so forth. There will be time for that.

But before that, but I want to invite us — as Christians — in this season of Lent, to something more basic and austere: for Lent, Christians, in the name of Jesus Christ, give up your guns.

In the name of Jesus Christ, lay down your arms and walk away from them. Put them away, beat them into plowshares if you can, sell them for scrap metal if you must. If you are led, melt them into crosses to be placed in public spaces as a testimony to the life of the world to come.

But before we can talk, we must be set free, stepping away from the thing which possesses our collective imagination with such force, for it is only then that we can speak truthfully.

Let us begin by renouncing our idolatry, our fear and our right, that we might reclaim freedom.

Let this Lent be the season when we submit ourselves to the Spirit of God and see where the Spirit will lead us, and may it be to that world that we cannot yet imagine.

Myles Werntz is assistant professor of Christian ethics and practical theology and the T.B. Maston Chair of Christian Ethics at Hardin-Simmons University’s Logsdon Seminary in Abilene. Email him at Myles.Werntz@hsutx.edu.

If the apostle Paul were to take a stroll through our public square today on Facebook, he would be struck by our idolatry just as much as he was by the idolatry in Athens in Acts 17. He would be provoked in his spirit once again. The idol he would see is not an altar filled with bronze or wooden objects, but the way we have made politics the center of everything we are and do.

Politics has become our idol. Our culture at large has replaced religious faith with political faith.

Over and over again, we bemoan the division within our country. We see how our country seems to be so tense, so angry and so fearful, and we look for others to blame. It is true our politicians and political parties stoke our fear and cable news and talk radio have to keep the tension high for their own bottom line, but one of the main reasons we are in this zero-sum political standoff is because we have made politics an idol. We have made politics our god.

The loyalty so many show to a particular party or politician reveal to us deeper truths about ourselves, just as the inscription to the unknown god revealed the desire for the Athenians.

The need for belonging

We yearn for somewhere to belong, for a community where we are all seeking the same thing, a place where we are welcome. We are meant to find this community in the body of Christ. The differences politics seeks to exploit are meant to find unity in the church. Instead, for many, community is found more in whom you vote for or the position you hold on certain key issues. It is about keeping out those who may disagree.

We see this need for community, for belonging, in the rallies held by politicians all over the country. These worship experiences show the desire we all have to belong to something bigger than ourselves. In the decline of mediating institutions, including the church, we have seen a rise in political division. The body of Christ finds unity in our diversity; political parties find unity in squashing diversity. Our need for community is meant to find its fulfillment in the church.

The need for truth

Another truth the idol of politics shows us is we all desire to build our lives on a foundation of something solid, something absolute. Our culture has rushed to remove absolute truth and transcendent claims from the public square. The problem is we are wired innately to cling to certain truths as absolute, to try to find something solid to build our lives on.

We will fulfill this desire in some way, and the current way many of us have tried to fill this need is with politics. We have moved absolute truth from the religious realm to the political realm. Our political identity has become our foundation, and the ideology of our preferred party has become our absolute truth that cannot be compromised in any way. The need for transcendence has moved from worship of God to worship of politicians. We rapturously repeat phrases like “Yes, we can” or “Make America great again” as our liturgy.

The wise man builds his house upon the rock of Christ and his word. The promises of God are what we cling to. Politicians come and go. Ideology changes over time. Political opinion waxes and wanes. God’s Word is eternal. We are meant to build our lives on the foundation of his love, his character and his promises.

The church must be political in the right way

I am not calling for a retreat from politics. As Christians tasked with loving God and neighbor and seeking the good of the community in which we live, we cannot abandon politics.

Public policy is a way for us to effectively seek the common good, to fight for justice and to take care of the vulnerable. We will disagree on how to do this most effectively, but we must do these things.

We, as the church, must seek to put our faith into practice in the public square, but we must do so as citizens of God’s kingdom first and foremost. As Russell Moore says, “We can be Americans best if we are not Americans first.”

The church is diverse. We come from different backgrounds, we see the way to live out our faith differently and, yes, we even vote differently. The church must find unity in our diversity. Politics as an idol unnecessarily divides us. It is time for our spirits to be provoked. It is time for us to seek first the kingdom of God. It is time for us to quit ascribing evil to those who vote differently than we do.

It is time for us to tear down the idol of politics in our hearts and in our churches.

Zac Harrel is pastor of First Baptist Church in Gustine, Texas.

There’s a deadly intersection in town. You may live close to it. Time and time again, two cars collide, and someone is seriously injured. All too often, someone dies.

We know about this intersection, and we keep asking, “Can’t something be done?”

Of course, we know something can be done, and we know what that something is, but we don’t seem to have the power to make it happen.

We keep crying out for a traffic light, and we’re told a traffic study has to be conducted to determine the need for a light at that intersection. We’re told a certain number of fatalities are required before a light will be installed at that intersection.

In the meantime, we have to wait, watch, and tally the dead.

‘Can’t something be done?’

There’s another deadly intersection in town. You may live very close to it, or you may watch it from afar via the news. Time and time again, projectiles and bodies collide. People are seriously injured, and all too often, people die.

We know about this intersection, and we keep asking, “Can’t something be done?”

Of course, something can be done, but we have to conduct studies. We have to weigh the cost. We have to consider how much restriction is too much because we don’t want to impede the flow of our Second Amendment rights.

In the meantime, we wait, debate, and tally the dead.

The facts behind the problems

In reality, traffic lights don’t stop people from dying at dangerous intersections. That deadly intersection near my house is still very deadly.

In reality, gun control won’t stop people from dying of gun violence. Gun control may slow the count, but gun control won’t stop the killing.

Traffic lights don’t solve the auto fatality problem because traffic lights address only one part of the total problem. The larger problem includes two facts: vehicles are deadly machines if not handled properly, and people don’t always pay attention.

The larger problem includes two more facts: we don’t intend to give up our vehicles, and we don’t appreciate being blamed for endangering lives with them.

Likewise, gun control won’t solve the gun violence problem because gun control addresses only one part of the total problem. The larger problem includes two facts: guns are deadly weapons by design, and people aren’t always responsible with them.

The larger problem includes two more facts: we don’t intend to give up our guns, and we don’t appreciate the insinuation we could be to blame for gun deaths.

Fair enough, I suppose.

Searching for a solution

In reality, if we are going to deal with that dangerous intersection, we will need more than limits. We will need more than assault rifle bans, background checks, gun registration, licenses to carry, gun safes and trigger locks. We will need more than these topical ointments because the problem is more than skin deep.

We will need to deal with our own violent culture fueled by violent video games, violent music, violent movies, violent television, violent cartoons and comics and violent sports. We will need to face up to our love of violence and own up to the fact we don’t really want to give it up.

We will need to deal with mental health. Much has been said about mental health already. The fact is, we don’t know what to do with mental health or those who struggle with depression, anxiety, schizophrenia, trauma, PTSD and a host of other unimagined challenges.

We will need to deal with broken homes and bullying and child abuse and neglect and all the things that lead people toward hurting others. We will need to do a better job of caring for the people around us.

We will need to deal with our own distrust and anger and desire for revenge and all the things that grow like weeds in our hearts, all the things that shape our minds, all the things that guide our thoughts, all the things that break out of ourselves and hurt other people. We will need to deal with ourselves.

In short, we must do the latter without neglecting the former, to paraphrase Jesus’ response to the Pharisees.

Becoming the solution

As Baptists, as Christians, surely we have more to offer than Second Amendment debates. Surely we have more to offer than calls for gun control, CHL classes and security teams in our churches and schools. Surely we have more to offer than cries for more mental health services.

As Baptists, as Christians, surely we remember we are what we are because we first recognized the larger problem was not out there but was in here, in our hearts. Surely we remember our cry wasn’t for moral policing but was for mercy, forgiveness and purification from all unrighteousness.

As Baptists, as Christians, we are what we are because we hope for more than simply the removal of sin. We hope for the replacement of sin with the presence of Christ.

Surely, as Baptists, as Christians, we can do more than merely wait, watch and tally the dead.

Eric Black is pastor of First Baptist Church in Covington, Texas, and a member of the Baptist Standard Publishing board of directors.

In 2005, Deirdre Sullivan wrote an essay for NPR’s This I Believe series titled “Always Go To The Funeral.” Her short piece was inspired by the words her dad instructed her when she was 16 and reluctantly preparing to attend the visitation hours for her fifth-grade teacher, who had unexpectedly passed away.

The essay was about the ways we should always do the “little things” that may not feel good in the moment but make a world of difference to someone else. She writes, “In going to funerals, I’ve come to believe that while I wait to make a grand heroic gesture, I should just stick to the small inconveniences that let me share in life’s inevitable, occasional calamity.”

For those Christians who observe Lent (as well as for those whose pastors have tricked them into it by instituting some form of “Six Weeks of ______ leading up to Easter”), we make a conscious choice to always, every year around this time, go to the funeral.

Ash Wednesday is, in fact, a sort of reminder-in-advance of our own funerals.

Dark days

Yet, unlike Sullivan’s vision of sharing in “life’s inevitable, occasional calamity,” Lent is a choice to share in the inevitable, constant calamity of the human condition of having come from dust, and our eventual return to dust. This may be why so many Protestants have shunned Lent in the past.

We want the hope of resurrection without the toil of the wilderness and the pain of the cross.

Can I be so bold as to suggest that our knowledge of what happens on Easter morning can sometimes serve to handicap our ability to fully experience what God wants us to experience in the dark days leading up to that glorious Sunday morning?

A long Friday

I attended more than the average amount of funerals as a child. Then, between 2005 and 2011, I buried three close friends, a mentor and my dad. I am entering the stage of life where there are far more funerals to attend than weddings, graduations and baptisms combined.

It seems a little macabre to rate funerals, but I’m going to do it anyway. The best funerals are the ones where the attendees don’t try to pretend that a death has not occurred. The worst ones are those in which people try REAL hard not to be sad.

Lent is a time for us to be sad. It is the time for us to recognize that death has occurred, is occurring and will keep happening until the end. And it invites us to figure out how to live in this reality.

When a close friend died, someone told me these dark words: “The really bad thing about this is that it is just going to keep on happening. We are going to keep on burying each other until there’s no one left.” But they were also hopeful words because they were spoken by a pastor, a messenger of the good news, that death isn’t all there is. He knew I believed the good part of the gospel but wanted to give me permission to embrace the bad news that came before the good news.

“It’s Friday, but Sunday is coming!” you have likely heard. Which is true. Equally true is the declaration, “Sunday’s coming, but right now it’s Friday.”

May we enter this long Friday going to the funeral, tending to broken and dying pieces within ourselves and our communities, naming the darkness and walking through the wilderness with Jesus.

Craig Nash grew up in Chandler, Texas, and is a graduate of East Texas Baptist University and Baylor’s George W. Truett Theological Seminary. He has lived in Waco since 2000, where he works for Baylor and attends University Baptist Church. If he were any more Baptist, he would need a committee on committees to help him decide who will help him make major life decisions.

Weariness brought them together.

The searing noontime heat made the dry and dusty road a walk of endurance.

The man stopped at the well and sat down. He was alone. His companions had gone ahead to the local market to buy food. He was tired and thirsty. It was good to rest.

Soon, a woman came along carrying a water bucket. She could have come earlier in the day, when it was cooler, but the women of Sychar knew her and she’d rather face the heat of the day than the glances and snickers of their scorn.

They detested her. She knew it. She knew why and she didn’t entirely blame them. It came with the territory of being who — and what — she was. To deny that would be to wallow in self-pity and that’s something she would not do. She would cling at least to that shred of dignity.

The man looked up at her, lifting his hand to his eyes for shade.

They were both thirsty, but she had the bucket. He smiled. Then he asked her for a drink.

The simple request triggered a profound awareness.

And some surprise.

“How is it,” the woman marveled, “that you, being a Jew, ask a drink from me, a Samaritan woman?” (John 4:9, emphasis added).

Somehow—we know not how—she knew he was a Jew. Jews didn’t have anything to do with “half-breed” Samaritans. And men didn’t have much regard for women.

A different kind of man

When was the last time a man treated her with kindness—or respect? Not that morning when she got out of bed. And Jews regarded Samaritans with nothing but contempt. No wonder this woman was surprised that Jesus would speak to her—and with such goodness in his voice.

Yes, he was different—very different.

And so began the dialogue most believers are familiar with.

The woman at the well understood the water literally. Jesus spoke of living springs gushing within the soul and leading to eternal life. Then the conversation got personal.

When the woman asked Jesus for “this water, that I thirst not,” he told her to go get her husband. She told him she had no husband. Perhaps she felt a painful sadness mixed with bitter remorse.

Jesus was getting close. Too close, she thought.

You’re right about that, Jesus replied. “The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband” (John 4:18 NIV).

Jesus knew her. Soon she would know him.

Before this conversation was over, Jesus revealed his identity as the Messiah. And this woman—tattered and torn by life and her own miserable choices — believed.

It says she left her water bucket.

A miracle of love

Suddenly the well and the water didn’t matter anymore. What mattered is that this man knew all about her and still spoke words of kindness.

For her it was a miracle.

That’s what she told the villagers when she went running back to town. “Come see a man, which told me all things that ever I did: is this not the Christ?” (John 4:29 KJV).

The woman had nurtured her guilty despair for years, hidden in the deep recesses of her broken heart. Jesus saw her—not only as she was but for what she would become. His love healed her heart, set her free and saved her soul.

Her joyful testimony transformed her community—many believed.

But before she could love the Savior, this woman discovered how much he loved her. She had to know that first.

Jesus tells us loving God is the greatest commandment. The people of Israel were told to love the Lord their God with all their heart and with all their soul and with all their might (Deuteronomy 6:5). Jesus included our minds—and our neighbors.

We cannot love God like that—we cannot obey this greatest commandment—until first we are changed by God’s love for us. God is the Initiator of love and we are its receivers. Only after you and I have experienced God’s love for us—full, glorious and unconditional—can we begin to truly love God. Only then can we begin to keep the greatest commandment.

Only when Peter realized how much Jesus loved him—even after that horrible night of denials—did Peter love Christ enough to follow him to the cross.

David knew this experience too and wrote beautiful songs about it. His own love was enriched by the love and forgiveness of God.

The hardened heart that has not yet known God’s love cannot love. The heart touched by the love of God knows the joy of true love and it shows.

It is the love of God that makes it possible for us to accept and love ourselves, rightly and as we are, and then to love others as we ought.

“We love him because he first loved us” (I John 4:19).

An empty water bucket by a well reminds us.

Jack Wyman, a former preacher, pastor, community leader and politician, is the Director of Advancement & Donor Relations for Haggai International.

Rumor has it that Al Pacino turned down the role of Han Solo in “Star Wars.” Pacino is a great actor but casting him in “Star Wars” would have changed the entire tenor of the movie. Seems like the right person picked up the right script at just the right time. Pacino declined the role and Harrison Ford made Han Solo legendary.

The wrong person in the wrong role ruins a project. The right person in the right role at the right time is transformative.

For too long now, pastors and politicians have been picking up the wrong scripts. One trend remains consistent over the past decade: pastors continue to sound more like politicians, while politicians begin to sound more and more like pastors. As they meet in the middle, we miss the best of what each has to offer.

Theologians and politicians

Politicians love to play the role of pastor. Pastors relish the spotlight of the politician. When they switch roles, they forsake the gifts each can bring to the public sphere. Pastors can offer guidance in ethical decision-making and morals while politicians negotiate the difficult terrain of legislative consensus and compromise. With the right people in the right roles, there’s a better opportunity for the flourishing of all.

In 1954, George MacLeod, founder of the Iona Community in Scotland, voiced a similar concern about theologians and politicians. “The theologian is so frightened of what his clear principles imply that he accepts the practice of the politicians. The politician is so frightened of where his practice has led that, secretly he is aghast that the church has no firm principle to offer, such as might begin to save.”

Pastors and theologians have become more concerned with baptizing their preferred politicians than upholding the values and virtues our faith demands.

Davids and Nathans

The Old Testament devotes many pages to the rule of King David over ancient Israel. David tends to overshadow everyone else in those stories. But, in the David stories, the prophet Nathan plays a key role. He is the one who stands up to David and calls him out for his affair with Bathsheba and for the death of Uriah the Hittite.

We pastors aspire to be the next David when we should be aspiring to be the Nathan we need now. The lure to power is captivating. Who wouldn’t want to be David? But, David couldn’t have been the king he was without the prophet Nathan.

Pastors have a distinct vocation. Pastors can bring healing to our political discourse by crafting cultures within churches where republicans, democrats and independents work together for the kingdom of God. Through our shared righteousness, and even our shared brokenness, we can offer renewed conviction for a more just and moral society.

The gospel has political implications. The justice the gospel demands must be sought after in organized ways. But, that effort requires Davids and Nathans.

The great risk

When pastors go on cable news as pundits pawning a political candidate, it’s obvious that they are not so much interested in a policy as they are in protecting a golfing partner. When leaders of Christian institutions create limits to the ethic of Jesus by implying that the ways of Jesus are no way to run a country, then that leader is creating cover for the immorality of politicians.

Seeing pastors and Christian leaders act this way is awkward and confusing—almost as awkward and confusing as picturing Pacino flying the Millennium Falcon.

Preachers sometimes hear they need to stay in their lane, which means, “Don’t preach politics unless they are my politics.” The greater risk is not staying in our lane; it is learning the wrong role.

Pastors are not docents of the status quo. We are midwives of God’s kingdom.

Garrett Vickrey is pastor of Woodland Baptist Church in San Antonio.

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things” (Philippians 4:8 ESV).

This is the final command Paul gives to the church at Philippi. He tells the church to focus their thoughts, their words and their hearts on the good around them. He tells them to remember and consider what is true and just. He calls them to reflect on what is lovely. Focus on the beautiful. Think about these things.

In a world of negativity and tension filled with fear, how do we think about these things? How do we center our lives on the good, the true and the beautiful?

Limit the outrage

One way we can begin to focus our hearts on the good and lovely is to tune out the outrage machine constantly blaring all around us. It is hard to think about what is true and honorable and lovely when we are discipled more by cable news and talk radio than by the word of God.

The truth is, talk radio and cable news need us angry so that we will tune in tomorrow. They stoke fear in us so we won’t tune in to the other side. When our hearts are filled with fear, tension and anger, it is hard to notice the beauty and goodness around us. We live in a world of noise. There are the hosts yelling on the radio, the pundits arguing on the television and the commenter typing in all caps on social media.

When we live in outrage every moment we are awake, it is impossible to think on the things of God. To focus our hearts on the good, we must limit the outrage we intake every day.

Seek stillness

When we limit the outrage, we should seek stillness so that our hearts may focus and think. In the stillness, we begin to notice the beauty around us and the goodness God has shown us. When we are still before God, our hearts can focus on what is pure and just. We begin to have eyes to see and ears to hear because they are not filled with the noise of the world.

Our smartphones have made it almost impossible for us to seek stillness. We are always connected, always a swipe away from the noise. These handheld computers have rewired our brains and our hearts to keep us from thinking about the things of God. The benefits of our phones are far outweighed by the damage they are doing to our contemplative lives.

We must seek stillness by putting our phones away and reforming our minds and hearts to be able to reflect and think about the things of God. When we see the world with our eyes, instead of through our phones, we begin to see the beauty and the lovely all around.

Relate face-to-face

Finally, we can focus on the true, the honorable, the lovely and the excellent when we focus on others. When we move out from behind our screens and into real, genuine community, we see beauty and goodness evident in the lives of others made in the image of God.

Following Paul’s command in verse 8, he tells the Philippians to practice what they have seen, heard and learned from him. In relationship, he has taught them how to focus their hearts on the beauty of God evident in the world everywhere they look. In relating to them face-to-face, Paul has shown them how to think about these things.

We are made for community, made to relate to one another in love. The place we see what is true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent and worthy of praise is in the lives of others, in community. We are meant to think on these things together and to practice seeing and proclaiming the good and beautiful in one another and to one another.

The church doesn’t need more outrage or more noise. You don’t need more outrage or more noise. Our spiritual health depends upon stepping away from the noise, from the fear and from the anger. Your heart needs stillness, it needs relationship and it needs to focus and think on what is good, beautiful and true, wherever these things are found.

Zac Harrel is pastor of First Baptist Church in Gustine, Texas.