In After You Believe, N.T. Wright shares a story that may seem quite familiar to some of us. Note that I have embellished bits of Wright’s story for the context of this article.

The story involves Jenny and Philip, leaders and active members of a Baptist church in Texas. Their church had been without a pastor for some time, but the pastor-search committee called the church to a special town hall meeting. The committee would share a report about bringing a candidate in view of a call. A problem, however, soon developed at the meeting. The congregation learned that night this pastor candidate had been divorced. Jenny and Philip’s church never had worked through such a complex issue in a theologically reflective way, and a heated discussion ensued in the church meeting.

Jenny and Philip came at this issue from vastly different perspectives.

For instance, Jenny adamantly quoted Scripture and interpreted Jesus’ teachings on divorce quite literally. She made a rational, biblically based argument for her viewpoint.

Yet Philip challenged Jenny because it seemed to him she was forgetting about grace. He talked about forgiveness and Jesus’ famous parable of the Prodigal Son. Philip also presented a timely and biblically convicting argument.

Conversation degraded

However, the conversation soon degraded. Jenny called Philip a “dangerous liberal relativist who doesn’t agree with the Bible,” and Philip called Jenny a “fundamentalist Pharisee.” Soon, the congregation found themselves in a tremendous uproar.

Philip, Jenny and their church seem to have lost their focus on relationally responsible character formation that must occur in a maturing Christian’s congregational life. When we neglect our Christian growth, we often find ourselves devolving either into Jenny’s cold legalism or Philip’s ungracious defense of grace.

Could it be that people like Jenny and Philip could disagree amicably while being focused both on biblical reflection and graceful living? Could their disagreement possibly serve as a catalyst to growth in their church and to improvement in their leadership ability?

Perhaps we can avoid the unnecessarily bitter conflict Jenny and Philip’s church experience by recognizing three ways in which congregational disagreements may become unamicable.

First, disagreements become enflamed when church members talk “past one another.” Talking past one another means disagreeable parties engage one another in a passive-aggressive way.

For example, notice the hot disagreement in our country regarding health care coverage. Former President Obama and President Trump have made recent speeches on the issue in which they never call each other by name but seem to have implied the other has major character flaws. (See CBS This Morning “Report on Health Care” by Major Garrett, May 8.)

Notice also that talking past one another usually includes a method of communicating to a wide audience. Whether through a church town hall or social media, unskilled partisans have a penchant for building fierce collations against the other rather than speaking directly and personally.

Second, unamicable disagreements often include labeling. Jesus, for instance, was labeled as a “drunkard and glutton” because he ministered to the undesirables of his day. T.B. Maston, a formative Christian ethicist for Baptists, would warn us to be careful of committing “libel by label.”

Once we attach names to a certain brood of people, we consequently set up an “us versus them” mentality that severely hampers communication. Tensions rise greatly once labeling is brought into the picture. We may do well at this point to examine the labels we use for those people with whom we disagree.

Third, reactions to misinformation can escalate tensions in an unamicable disagreement.

Jenny and Philip may have done well to listen completely to the other before their heated exchange in front of the church. Perhaps they could have examined the entire body of facts from the pastor-search committee together before launching into tirades. Also, how informative would it have been for Jenny and Philip to meet in person with the pastoral candidate, reserving any judgment on the candidate or the other until such a time as accurate and healthy theological reflection could take place?

Let us therefore further our witness in these times of unamicable disagreements among us. Our churches will grow when the world sees maturing Christians disagreeing but remaining fast and loving friends.

James Hassell is senior pastor of First Baptist Church in San Angelo, Texas.

Here I’m providing my second of three columns reflecting the findings of my doctoral dissertation research on revitalization in seven previously declining Baptist General Convention of Texas-related churches.

Ross Shelton

In my first piece, I described the most dominant and prevalent finding in churches that have revitalized—the way people felt about their church during decline (negative, depressing) versus how they felt about their church during revitalization (excited). Their feeling about church came from watching the church either decline or grow and the relationship they had with their pastor/how the pastor led.

In this second column, I will combine the second and third findings of my research. The reason I’m combining both findings is both relate to church facilities.

Most surprising

The second finding in my research was the most surprising to me. All seven churches that met my criteria for revitalization either had relocated to or were already located in growing, suburban areas. None of the revitalized churches in my research was located in urban or rural areas that were economically depressed and/or were in population decline.

Even more surprising was the fact out of the seven churches, four underwent complete relocations from their previous areas that were hard to locate and/or in declining population areas. Each of the four churches that relocated experienced growth connected to their relocation. In fact, one church literally doubled in one week—one Sunday at the old location and the next Sunday at the new location—in 2007 and has maintained the growth since the relocation.

The reason this is important is that it speaks to a relationship between external factors—factors outside the church—and revitalization. Part of the reason this was surprising was that in my previous research on church revitalization, I found the causes focused exclusively on internal factors—factors within a church, such as leadership, culture, etc.

Internal & external

My research, though, revealed a contrary finding: External factors are important in revitalization. That is, external factors such as being located in a growing, suburban area may have important impact on revitalization.

The third finding also addressed the church’s facilities but shifted the focus from the external factor of location to the internal factor of the actual facilities and how they looked, were maintained, were renovated and used. That is, it wasn’t just where the facilities were located—an external factor; it was the actual facilities themselves—an internal factor.

Facilities matter!

To summarize, here is what I discovered in my second and third findings:

1. External factors probably are more important in church revitalization than originally thought.

If a church is not located in a growing, suburban area, it does not mean revitalization cannot happen. It does mean there may not be “the lift” that happens when hundreds of new people move to homes near a church’s facilities.

Hopefully, this will be encouraging to the many pastors and churches that struggle to see revitalization in churches that are located in more challenging—less growing, etc.—areas. If it feels like it is more challenging to lead and experience revitalization when a church’s facilities are located in areas less favorable to growth, it’s because it is more challenging!

2. Facilities play an important role in the life of a church.

As much as we may want to wish facilities don’t matter, they do. Where they are located, how they look and how many people they can accommodate are going to be a constant challenge/opportunity in growing, revitalized churches.

Ross Shelton is pastor of First Baptist Church in Brenham, Texas. To see his previous “Texas Baptist Voices” column, “Keys to church revitalization, Part I,” click here.

James 1:27 is a favorite verse of ours to point us to what a true “religious” life looks like—what a life that pleases God looks like. “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction.”

Zac Harrel

This verse rightly has been used to spur the church on to care for the least of these around us. This call from James sums up nicely many of the commands and much of the ministry of Jesus. True religion, a life that pleases God, cares for those in great need.

We rightly have made this a litmus test for our own spiritual lives. Are we caring for the poor, for the widow, for the orphan? But that is not all James has to say about pure religion. He has two other requirements for a faith that is undefiled before God the Father that we conveniently ignore much of the time in talking about this passage.

Bridled tongue

The first is found in verse 26. James tells us “if anyone thinks he is religious and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart, this person’s religion is worthless.” A heart pure before God is a heart that bridles their tongue. Jesus tells us our words show our hearts (Luke 6:45) and, therefore, a tongue without self-control shows a heart in need of transformation.

James commands us in verse 19 of chapter 1 to be slow to speak and quick to listen. The overflow of a heart changed by Jesus is a humility marked by judicious words. We don’t have to say everything we think or feel.

Social media has lied to us. The world doesn’t have to know what we are thinking every single moment of every single day. We don’t have to comment on everything going on around the world. We don’t have to be outraged at everything we are told to be outraged about.

We can be—we must be—slow to speak. We must bridle our tongues and try to speak the truth in love. We should speak words that build up the body of Christ, encourage, challenge and point others to the glory and grace of God. Our words matter, and being able to not have to say something about everything matters.

When we are slow to speak, we show a trust in God. We trust his righteousness and his redemption. All things will be redeemed and restored. This means we don’t have to fight every fight. This, of course, calls for discernment; sometimes we can and should keep quiet.

Holy heart

The second requirement James gives at the end of verse 27 is “to keep oneself unstained from the world.” A love for widows and orphans goes hand-in-hand with holiness. James doesn’t separate the two, and we shouldn’t either.

Pure religion—religion that pleases God—is marked not only by care for the least of these, but also by a heart pursuing holiness in all things. Pure religion obeys the commands of God, lives by the design of God and seeks the will of God.

Are we calling others to live of holiness alongside calling for caring for the widows and orphans? Depending on the tradition we grew up in or the personality and gifts we have been given, we tend to emphasize one or the other. Healthy religion finds a balance between these two and emphasizes both in our own lives and in the life of the church.

Spiritual danger

There is spiritual danger in emphasizing care for the poor without holiness or holiness without care for the poor. A heart pursuing holiness, trying to keep oneself unstained from the world, will pursue justice and care for the widow and orphan. Keeping oneself unstained from the world means seeking to avoid the greed and vainglory of the world, seeking justice over our own power and seeking the good of others while pointing them to Jesus.

We can’t have the pure religion of James 1:27 without the bridled tongue of James 1:26 and without the second part of verse 27 calling us to keep ourselves unstained from the world.

True holiness is marked by humility with our words, care for the widow and orphan, and purity in seeking the glory of God and not the glory of the world.

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

Two hundred seventeen Republican representatives from every corner of our nation recently voted for the House version of the American Health Care Act, also known as Trumpcare or by its initials, AHCA. The bill attempts to deal with the high premiums that recently have been the norm for insurance plans purchased under the Affordable Care Act, or Obamacare, or ACA.

Jeremiah BaileyAll insurance essentially functions the same way, and ACA policies are no exception. Policy holders pool their money, buying into the program with their premiums, and that pool of money provides the funds to pay for those large medical expenses we all fear.

In other words, the healthy always pay for the sick. That is simply how insurance works. When the circle of policy holders is expanded to include a great number of sick people, additional money must come into the pool one way or another.

Initially, the federal government kept premiums low by essentially writing a check to the insurance companies for their losses. When those checks stopped, the pool of money had to be expanded by charging policy holders more in premiums. The architects of the ACA hoped by the time the government checks ended, the individual penalties for failing to buy insurance would have driven enough healthy people into the circle of policy holders to prevent large premium increases. Without an effective “individual mandate” pushing healthy people to join the rolls, there is no feasible way to keep premiums down and still keep insurance affordable for those who desperately need care.

Political expediency

In response to this stark reality, our elected representatives decided the most politically expedient thing they can do is kick the feet out from under these sick people. The new AHCA still provides “insurance” to the desperately ill, but it allows insurance companies to discriminately raise the premiums of our sickest citizens. Having insurance policy premiums priced far beyond their ability to pay does not in any meaningful way deal with the problem.

Leaving aside the many other ways this bill breaks the promises made by Donald Trump and the Republican party to the American people, the AHCA fundamentally betrays the sickest among us by embracing the notion that poverty induced by medical debt is a morally acceptable outcome.

It is somewhat astonishing, then, to see that virtually all of the bill’s joyous supporters are Catholic and Evangelical Christians. These are, by their own claims, my brothers and sisters in the family of God. They presumably go to church and worship the same Christ whose messianic mantle was confirmed in the greatest part by his treatment of those on the margins of society. In fact, when the disciples of John the Baptist enquired about the identity of Jesus, he replied, “Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them.”

What are we to make of those who claim Jesus but whose deeds leave the blind, the lame, the sick, the deaf and the poor all worse off than they were before?

Complicated situation

The easy answer is to suppose that these men, and a smattering of women, are simply unrepentant hypocrites who clothe their selfishness in Christian wrappings. I have no doubt at least some of our representatives in Congress, regardless of party, could be described that way. Nevertheless, I expect the situation is more complicated for most.

Thinking back to my own opposition to Obamacare, I know it was not an absence of compassion that motivated me. Instead, it was a general belief that anything the government tries to run is destined to become mired in bureaucracy and expensive bloat. It was the idea we can afford only so many programs and we have to make hard choices about what those programs will be. In short, I believed my opposition was pragmatic. It was unfortunate that people would suffer, but practical decisions were necessary.

Something changed

Then, something changed in me.

Two shifts in my thinking led me to reevaluate my opposition to Obamacare.

First, my conversations with black and Latino/a theologians over the years slowly led me to interrogate the purposes of any idea that tries to reinforce the status quo. I began to notice pragmatism as a justification for action or inaction always seemed to come up just when the interests of the wealthy and upper middle class were threatened. I began to see framing decisions that negatively impact the poor as “practical” attempts to claim the high-ground of “objectivity” as a cover for a lack compassion.

Second, I heard, contrary to my expectations of healthcare shortages, the cries of relief from the desperately ill. People whose lives were upended by illness suddenly had hope. I heard their stories and did not try to shield myself from their humanity. I saw that the sick came away healthy, and this was very good news to the poor. I simply stopped trying to put barriers between the genuine empathy I had always felt for those struggling with illness and my politics.

Humble appeal

To my brothers and sisters holding onto their pragmatism and “objectivity” in the face of human suffering, I appeal once again to our Lord.

Luke 7:11-17 describes how Jesus and his disciples arrived at the village of Nain only to be met by a funeral procession. The deceased was the only son of a widow, a fact apparently known to Jesus by supernatural means. The significance of this explanatory comment often is lost on modern audiences, but in the social structures of first century Palestine, it was devastating for a woman to be childless and husbandless.

When Jesus saw the procession, he locked in on the widow and paid no mind to the people. Luke tells us that upon seeing her, he was filled with compassion, and he placed his hand on the bier, calling the son back to life. There is no hint of faith on the part of any of those present. There is no indication this was meant as a sign. He simply wanted to give the woman her son back.

Bringing the dead back to life is the greatest miracle Jesus performed in his earthly ministry, and here, remarkably, Jesus did it for no other reason than he felt sorry for someone. It was not for faith, or as a sign, or even as a show of might or power, but for a broken heart he raised the dead.

Brothers and sisters, let us too lend all our power to compassion. Let us be impractical.

Jeremiah Bailey is a doctoral student at Baylor University specializing in the study of the New Testament and early Christianity. He attends Lake Shore Baptist Church in Waco and is writing a dissertation on First Clement.

“Do not turn yourself in!” Pastor Lorenzo Ortiz told a crowd of Cubans in a town square in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico. He continued: “You will be arrested, detained and put on a plane back to Cuba. Do not believe everything you hear.”

Garrett Vickrey

Until January, Cuban refugees would be accepted into the United States if they could step onto United States land from land. The policy shift, which went into effect in the final few days of the Obama administration, was part of the process of normalizing relations with Cuba.

However, a sudden policy change in January left between 800 and 1,200 Cuban refugees stranded in Nuevo Laredo after making harrowing journeys across land and sea to wind up with the door to the freedom they dreamed of slammed in their faces.

Some braved the waters of the Atlantic Ocean on small rafts to Cancun. Many more traveled by plane to South America and crossed nine or 10 countries to make it to Nuevo Laredo. This journey can take nine months.

With Pastor Ortiz

Recently, I followed Pastor Ortiz as he made the rounds to five churches in Nuevo Laredo that house Cuban refugees.

A woman spread word to the Cubans about a story on Facebook of a plane with food and supplies coming to Laredo for the Cubans. This was a lie. The woman later recanted and admitted it was not true. But it was too late.

The story around Nuevo Laredo is that 300 Cubans, desperate to act on this good news, turned themselves in to U.S. border agents that weekend. They were put on a plane and deported to Cuba.

How did these refugees respond to this woman who fed them false information? They shrugged. This is nothing new. They are used to lies.

They come from a country where the government cannot be trusted. Neighbors cannot be trusted. Even family is questionable.

Society of mistrust

Not very many of the Cubans in these churches are married. Many couples live together and function as spouses, but they do not see much of a point in the commitment intrinsic to marriage. Why? They are used to lies. They are used to a society built on mistrust.

Authoritarian dictatorships, like Communist Cuba, thrive on a lack of trust. In a society where your neighbor can turn you in because he thinks you make too much money or your coworker can get you thrown in jail for making remarks against the government, you are trained to distrust.

This lack of trust creates weak social connections. Weak social connections lead to underdeveloped social institutions. Underdeveloped social institutions create great instability. Instability leads to suspicion and fear. Philosopher James K.A. Smith says, “When suspicion is the water in which we swim, then power, might and tyranny start to look like lifeboats.”

But what is the appropriate Christian response to such a reality? How can the faithful of the 21st century breed trust? The faithful can be just that—faithful.

How does Pastor Ortiz build trust with his Cuban friends? He visits them regularly—sometimes daily. He brings rice, potatoes and 50-pound bags of sugar. Also, he tells them the truth. Sometimes in our desperation, we hear only what we want to hear. And in our yearning for acceptance, we speak only that which will be well received. This is dangerous.

As John Donne wrote, “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent.” We need each other; we are social creatures. Social creatures thrive on the currency of trust. After God created the first human, God said, “It is not good for the human to be alone.” But we need faith in each other to survive together. We must risk faith in each other so that we do not perish alone.

Network of trust

I rarely take time to consider the network of trust in which I live daily. I trust my community school to take care of my oldest daughter all day and my office assistant to answer the phone. I trust other drivers will stop at the red light. I have faith in the security of my online banking. I trust the water coming out of the kitchen sink is safe to drink.

Erosion of trust puts all of this at risk.

Rebuilding this fragile network of trust will be difficult. The decline of faithfulness puts us all at risk.

Faithful Christians are meeting this challenge of living out the sobering hope of Jesus Christ in the midst of the worst realities. Refugees raised in an environment of distrust are learning to trust a bivocational pastor from on the border. Churches are opening doors to these refugees and receiving great vitality from this hospitality.

There always will be liars. But the truth is that in the beginning, God said this world is “very good.” So underneath all that is wrong lies something to be uncovered. There is something very good deep within the heart of the world—and deep within each of us.

But it takes great trust to hope this goodness can emerge. Our faith in Jesus is trust that goodness, in the end, will overcome the darkness. That is the trust we build our lives upon as we wait for that goodness to emerge in us and in our neighbors.

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

Recently, I attended the Waco Regional Baptist Association’s monthly Ministers’ Roundtable titled “Understanding our Hispanic Neighbors.” Pastor Jesse Rincones, executive director of the Hispanic Baptist Convention of Texas, gave a tremendously educational lecture.

Jack Bodenhamer

I was blessed to be at a table of experts—Pastor Mario Sandoval and his wife, Miriam, of Maranatha Church and Pastor Tom Gutierrez of Viento Fuerte Church. Our table was rounded out by our associational director of missions, Tim Randolph, who has an extensive history planting churches in South America and who routinely preaches in Spanish-speaking and bi-lingual churches.

Needless to say, I was treated to quite a learning experience.

The roundtable format allows for a seven-minute jam-packed presentation, followed by 15 to 20 minutes of discussion around the table, usually centered on questions offered by the presenter. After the presentation, I sat in earnest silence, soaking up the words of my tablemates as we continued the conversation about ministry to our Latino neighbors. Tom, Mario and Miriam shared their wisdom, successes and struggles within their congregations.

When time came to answer the assigned questions, we addressed only one. Tom looked to me and asked, “What don’t you understand about your Latino neighbors?”

Understanding

It was a question I initially had a hard time answering. I grew up in an agricultural area where around 50 percent of my school was Hispanic. Spanish was the only foreign language offered and continues to be an invaluable part of a Texas education. Quinceañeras and cumbia dances were a part of life. Some of the best breakfasts of my life occurred on team buses when Hispanic teammates’ moms sent enough breakfast burritos for all of us. In fact, we did every part of life together except for church. Our table had quite a laugh as I told them I had performed my first Baptist quinceañera for a church member this past summer with a couple more planned in the years to come.

What don’t I understand? It was a question I couldn’t rightly answer in the moment, but it is one I have wrestled with the last few weeks. And now, finally, I think I have an answer.

I don’t understand

• I don’t understand fear.

I’ve never had to wonder in fear if the person knocking on my door is going to take me away, or take away my parents, or my siblings, or my children. I’ve spoken to teacher friends, and I have seen their social media posts from places like Austin, San Antonio and Waco, and I know the fear their students feel is real. It is a fear I have never known, nor ever will know.

• I don’t understand having to hide.

Pastor Mario shared with me the story of a few folks he knows who minimize their time in the public eye to avoid unwanted attention. They do not spend much time doing even the simplest of things, such as running errands, because they do not want to run the risk of being noticed. Their lives are affected by the tumultuous times in which we live in ways I could not even begin to appreciate.

• I don’t understand discrimination.

There was a time when I had long hair, pierced ears and hung out with guys with a lot of tattoos. Occasionally, looking like we did made uncomfortable workers follow us around a convenience store. But I never have had someone judge me lesser because of my skin color or nationality. It burdens my heart that Pastor Tom might be discriminated against, despite being a third-generation Texan, just because he rolls his R’s when he introduces himself. Sadly, while I do not understand discrimination, I have certainly been witness to it.

These are just a fraction of the things I don’t understand in my Hispanic brothers’ and sisters’ experiences.

But I want to try.

Trying

I suppose if there is another thing I do not understand, in all honesty, it is immigration.

I am not naive, foolish or bullish enough to pretend there is a silver-bullet answer out there for such a complex issue. But what I do know are the commands of my Lord. Yes, the commands and not mere suggestions: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these” (Mark 12:30-31).

If I could use a little pastoral license, I might even say, “Love your Latino neighbor as yourself.”

Almost without fail when Pastor Tom sees me, he says, “When I grow up, I want to be just like you” despite being three decades my senior. And my general reply is always, “Someday I want to have hair just like yours” because, despite being three decades my senior, his full head of hair makes my receding hairline envious.

Tom is my friend; he and his wife, Elizabeth, minister to my soul, and they help me in my understanding. My Hispanic church members who have invested in our little church have helped create a place that looks a little more heavenly. They are patient with me as I learn about a different culture, and they even get to laugh at me when I tell the congregation, “We are having pozole alongside our biscuits and gravy for Easter breakfast,” because I say it “like such a white boy.”

They help me in my understanding, and perhaps the first step to loving my neighbor better is understanding them.

Jack Bodenhamer is pastor of First Baptist Church in Elm Mott, Texas.

The Baptist Standard recently covered a story about a LifeWay Research survey of Americans’ views on the Bible. (You can read the full survey results here). Among the questions asked was: “Which of the following describe the Bible?” Possible answers ranged from “historical account” and “good source of morals” to “outdated” and “bigoted.” The survey asked respondents to select all characteristics that applied.

Jake Raabe

The most commonly selected answer—and the only answer more than half of respondents indicated—was “good source of morals.” Fifty-two percent of respondents selected this answer, including 75 percent of Evangelicals surveyed. The second-most common answer was “historical account,” with 38 percent of respondents selecting this option, including 55 percent of Evangelicals.

Unfortunately, the survey did not indicate what percentage of people who chose one of these categories also chose the other, but we can speculate based on what we have. The percentage of people who felt the Bible was a “good source of morals” was 18 points higher than those who believe the Bible to be a “historical account.” Among Evangelicals, the disparity is actually slightly greater, with 20 percent more Evangelicals comfortable calling the Bible “a good source of morals” than “a historical account.”

Biblical presupposition

So, what is the Bible? It seems even Evangelicals aren’t entirely sure.

The great 20th century theologian Karl Barth wrote: “The question, ‘What is in the Bible?’ has a mortifying way of turning into the opposing question: ‘Well, what do you want?’” He’s right. We tend to find in Scripture what we want to find in it. If we’re hoping for a rulebook, we can find it. If we believe it’s a nasty, bigoted book, we will find plenty to back that up, as well.

What we presuppose about the Bible is what we find in it. What we find in it is what we read in it. What we read in it, we believe about it.

So why is the idea of the Bible as a “good source of morals” more comfortable than a “historical account” to so many? First, there’s the immediate problem of defining what “historical account” means. For a book replete with history, poetry, parables, short stories and so on, this phrase is not particularly clear. Some of those who chose not to call the Bible a “historical account” may have done so because of the baggage associated with the “Battles for the Bible” of the last 30 years.

I’d like to propose an alternative reason why more people would call the Bible a “good source of morals” than a “historical account”: Morals are easy.

Disconcerting trend

There’s nothing especially Christian about not committing murder or adultery. As Jesus said: Do not even the Gentiles do the same? Both the “conservative” and “progressive” branches of contemporary Christianity fall into this trap constantly.

Conservative-leaning churches often slip into a legalistic moralism—the point of Christianity is to keep people from drinking, smoking, watching R-rated movies and so on. Progressive-leaning churches frequently do the same thing, but with social justice and the inclusion of marginalized groups as the underlying principle Scripture is interpreted through. Again, personal morality and social justice are wonderful things, but not specifically “Christian” virtues in and of themselves.

I’m glad Christians are deriving their morals from Scripture. I believe we should.

But I am concerned the trend appears to be to divorce of the ethics of Scripture from the historical reality of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

The love of enemies, as well as concern for the poor and needy, only works because of the work of Christ. Living a good and just life is an easy-enough concept to sell to people, but this isn’t what Christians are first called to proclaim or what our Scripture primarily testifies to. We as followers of Christ are given the difficult responsibility of proclaiming to the world that God took on human flesh, lived among us, was crucified and raised from the dead. Only because of this can we then proclaim the need for personal holiness and the freedom of captives.

The importance of Scripture to American churches seems to be declining. According to the Lifeway survey, only 61 percent of American Christians believe that the Bible is “helpful today.”

We shouldn’t jump to blame this on “the liberals” or “the fundamentalists.” Blame is seldom a helpful thing, anyway. Rather, it seems the American church needs to reconsider the meaning and function of Scripture now that we know that the “moral guidebook” approach isn’t working on its own.

Texas Baptists, you have your charge.

Jake Raabe is a student at Baylor University’s George W. Truett Theological Seminary in Waco, Texas.

What is the role of Christians in the public square? For years, we have believed we possessed cultural power. But we no longer command privilege in society. Our calling is not to win a culture war, but to be faithful witnesses and to seek the common good.

Zac Harrel

We don’t seek to “take our country back,” because that is not our mission. We are not called to take back Washington, D.C. We are not called to take our country back to some golden age where, we think, everyone was a great Christian and everything was perfect. No such golden age existed. There is no perfect past.

The gospel does not call us to establish a kingdom for God; it calls us to live out the kingdom of God that already exists.

On the other hand, our calling does not mean we neglect the political dimensions of society. We don’t withdraw from politics and the public square, because we cannot. We are commissioned and commanded to take the gospel to the world, to love God with all of our being and to love our neighbor as ourselves. One way we do this is by being present in culture and by seeking the common good.

Disobedient to God’s command

Abandoning culture would be disobedient to the command of God and the mission of the church.

We are not called to take over, and we are not called to withdraw, so how do we live as faithful witnesses in the culture?

To answer this question, we must recognize our place as the church in American culture. America is not the New Israel. We are not warriors following Joshua on a conquest. The church in America today is much more like Israel in the days of Jeremiah or Daniel. We are in exile. Fortunately, exile always has been our reality. We don’t need to imagine a new way of existing; we just need to recover who we have been.

We belong to the kingdom of God, and this culture “east of Eden” is not the kingdom of God. One day, the New Heavens and the New Earth will descend to redeem and renew this world. But until then, we must live amidst brokenness, realizing we cannot make this place perfect, no matter the legislation we pass or the person we put in office. Laws cannot change hearts. Only the gospel can bring new life.

We must acknowledge many ways to be faithful, and we must seek God and follow our conscience. We cannot bring down the New Heavens and the New Earth by ballot or legislation. Christians engage with our hope placed in a future kingdom and not in our power to transform culture.

Great Commandment

As exiles, we seek the common good as faithful witnesses. How?

The Great Commandment is the key. We are faithful in any culture when we love God and love neighbor. So, we must define how to love God and love neighbor as a public witness.

To love God as exiles, to be faithful witnesses, we must know and obey God. Jesus said our love for him will lead us to obey his commands. As faithful witnesses, we will be obedient disciples. We will defend the truth of God’s word as our authority.

So, being faithful sometimes means opposing culture and its ideology. Given a choice between faithfulness and accommodation, we must choose faithfulness. We will be different because we have a different allegiance to a different kingdom.

This is the faithful part of loving God, but we also love God by being a witness. As Christians, our commission is to be witnesses for the good of the place we live and the glory of God. Because we love God, we seek love, justice, grace and righteousness.

Love for neighbor—not a desire to be right or to bring our country back to a nostalgic golden age—must motivate and guide our public witness. Loving neighbor means pointing them to God’s design for their lives, but pointing with respect, gentleness and kindness.

When love directs …

When love directs our witness, we care more about God’s glory than our own. We stand for biblical truth and morality, not because we want to be right, but because we love our neighbor and seek the common good. God gives us commands to live by our joy. His design for our lives is our greatest good. So, we stand for marriage, for life, for racial reconciliation, for the poor and oppressed because we love our neighbor and because living by God’s design serves the common good.

We must stand for God’s design positively, not out of a defensive or reactionary stance. If we lose our respect, kindness and love, we are nothing more than a “clanging cymbal.”

Christians must be involved in politics and the public square because we love our neighbor and seek their good in God’s design for their lives.

Hope is not found in taking our country back. It is found in Jesus. Faithfulness to Jesus is our first priority. I am not saying we shouldn’t have convictions about candidates or which party we feel lines up with our convictions. We should follow these convictions as citizens of God’s city, of his eternal kingdom, and we should hold these alliances loosely. Our political alliances should not overshadow our fellowship with brothers and sisters in Christ.

Our motivation

Is our motivation in the public square to be right, to regain power, to fight for something we think we have lost? Or is our motivation love for neighbor and a desire to live according to the purpose of God and to see our society do the same?

The first is motivated by nostalgia, not concern for others. Our love for our neighbor leads us not to see others as the enemy, but as men and women created in God’s image. Christians must engage others in a way that honors them, even when we disagree with them.

Humility guides us and compassion compels us into the public square. The motivation for being faithfully engaged in politics is neither power nor nostalgia; it is love, compassion, and concern for the common good and the glory of God.

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

“For he himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility.” (Ephesians 2:14)

Steve Bezner

I’ll never forget the moment I realized my pastoral duties had changed. It was the night George Zimmermann was acquitted in the shooting of Trayvon Martin.

That evening, I scrolled through the social media posts of countless church members, and I recognized the variety of opinions, the varying degrees of hurt and confusion and the deep differences of convictions—all within my church.

I had a revolutionary thought that evening: “I don’t pastor a white church.”

Perhaps I hadn’t in some time. But now, for the first time, it became clear to me: I pastored people from all sorts of ethnic backgrounds, and in short time, I would be climbing into the pulpit to speak the word of the Lord. I needed to preach the gospel of peace and grace to people who were—at that time—interpreting current events with very different cultural lenses.

That change did not happen overnight. We now are almost four years into our slow, but steady, pursuit of becoming more ethnically diverse as a church. To be clear: We have some advantages in that pursuit. For example, our church happens to be in Houston, the most ethnically diverse city in the United States (sorry, New York). But most of what we have done as a church has been something any church can do. Along the way, the Lord has seen fit to bring us fruit.

Here are some of the simple steps we have taken:

We publicly and repeatedly declare our church welcomes all races.

It may seem simple, but we regularly say from the pulpit our church welcomes all races. It happens in the course of sermons or announcements. But when we say it, people believe it. They invite their friends who are different ethnicities. Guests who are different ethnicities hear it, believe it and decide to stay.

Publicly declaring your intentions regarding becoming multi-ethnic eliminates confusion.

We preach on the issue of racial division and reconciliation.

When racial issues are prevalent in current events, we do not ignore them. We do not always approach them with the narrative frames provided by cable news, but we do address them from a gospel-centered, Scripture-focused perspective.

When you acknowledge the issues, the ethnic minorities in your church appreciate being in a church that chooses not to ignore those issues.

We seek friendships with pastors and churches of different primary ethnicities.

I have been blessed to become friends with pastors in my community who are not white. We cooperate and collaborate on ministry together. We serve together. We pray together. We ask awkward questions regarding race. We are real with one another. We hold events together.

We did not do this so that we could minister together. We did this so that we could be friends with brother pastors in the area. As we prayed and conversed, ministry was birthed.

I cannot recommend this enough: Call up a pastor who is a different race from you and take that minister to lunch. Build a friendship.

We preach the gospel.

I will never forget the first time I had a one-on-one lunch with Pastor Blake Wilson, pastor of a growing African-American church in our neighborhood. “How can we minister to the black community?” I asked. His answer was quick, “Preach the gospel.” He explained: When you preach the gospel and teach Scripture, you never go out of style. Teach the word, he exhorted, and it will apply to all ethnicities.

His advice rings true. The more we speak of the shocking grace of God, the more he surprises us by bringing more and more people of color into our church body.

Until the day every nation, tribe and tongue confesses Jesus as Lord, we hope to strive to become more intentional in our pursuits of a multi-ethnic church. I hope you will join us.

Steve Bezner is senior pastor of Houston Northwest Church.

This year, my wife and I gave up meat for Lent, a practice we borrowed from the earliest Christians. (For those concerned, this practice predates the Roman Catholic Church.)

Jake Raabe

In the era of online recipes and near-identical meat substitutes, it wasn’t as difficult as we thought it would be. Maintaining a healthy and filling meat-free diet was mostly a matter of setting aside personal preferences. Sure, a burger may sound good, but learning to accept something other than your first choice should be lesson No. 1 for people who follow a Master who commands them to take up a cross daily.

We did have another reason for choosing to fast as we did. We’ve lately become aware that animal abuse is unbelievably rampant in the U.S. meat industry.

Chickens are kept in cages with less floor space than a sheet of paper and are kept from sleeping with harsh artificial lights so as to encourage them to eat more. Animals of all kinds are shoved into over-crowded spaces and injected with hormones that encourage growth while making the animal sick, in pain and immobile. Beyond these concerns of animal abuse, beef production is one of the largest contributors to climate change on the planet.

Seeking the “Christian response”

Learning about rampant mistreatment of the animals God made and entrusted to our care and the damage it was causing the Earth God called us to protect, my wife and I decided it would be beneficial to make some temporary dietary changes while we considered what the Christian response should be.

As I’ve already said, I was surprised to find the shift was significantly less difficult than I expected, especially given my steak-and-potatoes upbringing. More surprising, though, were the reactions we got from people when they enquired about our reasons for leaving meat behind during Lent. “I couldn’t do that. I love bacon too much” and “Suit yourself; I’m having steak for dinner” were archetypal responses.

This was distressing to me. When we told fellow believers our biblical convictions regarding the sanctity of animal life and human responsibility to be good stewards of the Earth were leading us to make this decision, they replied in such a way that assumed their preference—a tasty bacon cheeseburger—was more important than following Scripture.

Thoughts captive to Christ

I wouldn’t have been bothered by someone questioning our evidence that animals were being abused or challenging our interpretation of Scripture’s command “to work and keep (the Hebrew is literally “serve”) the Earth.” No, I was bothered by people’s insinuation that, since they liked something, they didn’t have to consider its relationship to their Christian convictions.

Is Christ not Lord over our diet as well? Does taking every thought captive to Christ not include our decisions about the food we eat? This isn’t a call to vegetarianism and a condemnation to those who eat meat. My wife and I have resumed eating meat, but in lesser quantities and only what we buy from local farmers.

No, my call here is to recognize liking something doesn’t mean it is necessarily good. Far too many people who asked about our Lenten plans seemed to imply the fact an action brings them pleasure means it is exempt from Christian examination.

Room for idolatry

Any area of our life that we aren’t willing to ask, “Does Christ approve of this?” is an area where we are guilty of idolatry. Taking every thought captive for Christ means taking every thought captive, no exceptions.

The things we eat, the way we spend our money and other such “personal matters” are subject to Christ’s lordship as well.

This Lent taught me no area of our life is exempt Christ’s lordship. When we become his followers, we agree we will submit to his will as revealed in Scripture in all things. Jesus ate fish, but would he have eaten a chicken that was raised in a cage too small for it to move and that never was allowed to see sunlight?

If we aren’t willing to at least genuinely consider this question, we won’t be able to “take up our cross and follow” him.

Jake Raabe is a student at Baylor University’s George W. Truett Theological Seminary in Waco, Texas.

“When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’” (John 20:19)

Trevor BrownThe day must’ve blown by like a whirlwind. Somewhere between Mary’s discovery, the disciples own experience and the appearance of angels, you might’ve thought a new hope would be breaking in already. You might think the alarming news of an empty tomb would’ve caused more of a stir in the disciples than this. But apparently, by day’s end, fear still was prevailing. So, they locked the doors.

Some might have been afraid of Jesus himself. After all, if he were alive, he probably would have a thing or two to say about those who abandoned him. Guilt and shame at their own failure might have given some of the disciples a reason to fear rebuke from the Teacher. Some of them probably were relieved to lock the doors, embarrassed by their own disloyalty. It’s also likely their fear of how others would perceive them made it all the more convenient to make sure the deadbolt was set. They were more than content to seek protection, confinement, insulation in these moments.

Focusing inward

Fear and terror have a way of doing that. They send us spiraling into sometimes-unmanageable self-preservation in search of security. For any organization, fear has a way of turning the focus inward. Between the fear and uncertainty of how the outside world might react and the unsettling idea of who might be interested in coming in, the disciples sat huddled behind locked doors.

But all their fearful whispers stopped when a familiar voice came from the center of the room.

“Peace be with you,” Jesus told them twice.

Jesus knew the chaos of these events and the struggles and stresses of life are real. But from the beginning, God’s voice has been one that brings peace in the midst of chaos, hope in the midst of uncertainty. As we peer into the confused and lifeless huddle in this room, we see what we are prone to be. Like the disciples, we are prone to succumb to fear, and when we are driven by self-preservation, we rarely are beacons of hope or makers of peace.

Jesus comes in

Jesus has a way of appearing in the moments I’d prefer isolation, appearing in the places where I’d rather him stay out, breaking through the doors for which we’ve given fear the keys. The problem is this new resurrection reality, the one we—like the disciples—were joyously astonished by on Easter morning, calls us to more. It calls us to better. So quickly after Easter, too many followers of Jesus will return to locked gatherings where there is a growing fear of what’s outside and an absence of energy toward bringing outsiders in.

Fortunately, locked doors or not, Jesus comes in.

He comes in to the place where we’re most comfortable and sends us out the doors we considered bolting shut.

He enters, by his power, into our fear and hiding and beckons us to see that sin and death will not, in fact, have the last word.

He breaks through our locked doors of isolation and binds together the community we let fall apart.

He offers purpose to a people who became purposeless.

He brings peace into the room that reveals our own strife.

He calls us to open our eyes when we’ve shut them to the chaos outside.

He appears amidst our doubt and empowers us with faith.

Unlock the doors

It will not be sufficient to sit idly. It will not be adequate to prevent others from venturing in. Locked doors, as tempting as they may be, serve only our kingdom, not the kingdom of the risen Lord.

The disciples did not have to duplicate Jesus’s achievements, but they were called to implement them. This is why they needed this new breath of God, this new wind of the Spirit that came from the mouth of Jesus himself. To a confused and rebellious world, they would be the heralds a new reality.

God is, again, breathing new life into all the world, healing once and for all the brokenness and rebellion of those who would believe.

Our reasons for locking the doors are many, so the calling that forces them open must be heard again and again: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

Trevor Brown is minister to students at First Baptist Church of Round Rock.

It all seemed to start when the battery to my cell phone went on the fritz last year for no apparent reason. Then I made a trip to Dallas and lost cell coverage. Then I came home, and the phone started mysteriously dropping calls. Then my tablet, a gift from a gracious church member, began to balk at Wi-Fi connections, and the screen changed colors after I accidentally dropped it.

James Hassell

Then it dawned on me: I’ve had these so-called smart devices nearly four years. With the Lord, a day is as a thousand years. With a digital device, a day is as a million. In fact, I even drew a laugh from a salesperson at the phone store who looked at me with wonder and proclaimed, “Your phone is ancient!”

Thus began a struggle with Neo-Luddism.

“Technophobic leanings”

Neo-Luddism is a term used for people who are becoming increasingly skeptical of technological progress. The omniscient Wikipedia declares Neo-Luddism is a derogatory term “used for people showing technophobic leanings.”

I have never thought of myself as technophobic, but perhaps I am beginning to lean that direction. Granted, some of the leaning is purely defensive. I have been the victim of some inglorious and immensely irritating rants on Facebook and Twitter in past years. One person even tried to steal my identity on social media. I also desire to protect my children from some of the abusive behavior we find even in the comment sections of news stories.

Let’s remember Jesus said, “Out of the heart the mouth speaks.” Sometimes, I wish he would have said, “From the thumbs the heart tweets.”

Yet some of the Neo-Luddism also is an attempt to become more purposefully disciplined. Some of us can become seriously and negatively addicted to our smart devices, which may lead to dumbed-down living.

For instance, I have just about decided against using PowerPoint during preaching anymore, attempting now to paint more word pictures through narratives and metaphors. It turns out the Bible is full of pictures and good stories if we have eyes to see them.

I also have tried to become more intentional about speaking to someone via phone or in person instead of emails. Communication is difficult enough without any mechanism to translate word inflections or emojis. I also have started to turn off my phone most weekends. Email is only read during office hours. And I deleted all personal social media accounts.

Simplicity & sanity

You would not believe how these simple actions have helped me retain a modicum of sanity. I even toyed with the idea of getting one of those old-fashioned flip phones, which would be a great conversation piece with young people in my congregation.

Our church recently got in on the act, too. We committed the majority of a week last fall to a plan called “Simplify For Him.” The idea was for the church to enjoy the spiritual discipline of simplicity for a period of time during one of the busiest eras of the year in West Texas—football season. We committed to pray and worship together nightly from Sunday through Wednesday. We figured if the church in Acts could gather together for worship daily, then we could sacrifice a week.

All of this to say Neo-Luddism may not be all that bad after all. A bit of tamed skepticism applied to technological progress can save the church from divisive pitfalls. So, before we send the next text message, jump on social networking during a long line at the grocery store, and certainly before we think about tweeting during our commute, let’s consider what it means to be content in all circumstances (Philippians 4:11-13).

James Hassell is senior pastor of First Baptist Church in San Angelo.