About two years ago, I found myself facing an important choice: I was leaving my denomination and needed to decide where to settle. The decision was hard, but ultimately, I became a Baptist.

Jake RaabeThis was the result of much questioning and discussion with many people from different churches, and by no means do I believe I made the “best” choice. Rather, looking at what various expressions of Christianity valued and emphasized, I found the Baptist denomination to be the best fit for me and my ministry.

I want to share the biggest factors in my decision for several reasons. First, more often than not, people remain in the denomination where they grew up. As someone who consciously weighed options and made a decision, I want to share my perspective on what makes Baptist life special. These are parts of our unique identity that, if I am any indication, make a positive witness to the church and world and should be upheld and proclaimed.

I’m a Baptist, and here’s why:

Soul competency is both inspiring and challenging.

The idea that all individuals are equally capable of knowing and following God was deeply appealing to me, as it seemed to represent one of the core truths of the New Testament.

The respect Baptists have for individual believers as made in the image of God and indwelled by the Holy Spirit creates a uniquely level environment in Baptist churches. No person has final authority over me because of education, title, status, experience, class or any other reason. At the same time, I cannot place myself over anyone for any of these reasons. I found the idea of soul competency to be a source of both encouragement and humility when I joined a Baptist church.

Free-church order preserves individual voices.

This one gave me trepidation during my denominational search. How can any organization function with no hierarchy or leadership? With a deep respect for the competency of every individual to read Scripture and to listen to the Holy Spirit.

As a prospective minister, I found the idea that I wouldn’t be subjugated to any order higher than my congregation very attractive. No boards designating what doctrine is taught, no overseers telling ministers where to serve; simply individual voices in individual churches seeking after God’s leading. What I at first thought to be an inefficient system of church polity turned out to be a system that encourages free thought and dialogue between all believers.

The Baptist commitment to education provides opportunities for many.

From children’s programs to universities and colleges, few groups parallel Baptists in terms of commitment and achievement. Baptist contributions to both public and religious education are among their greatest gifts to the world.

My final decision to become a Baptist was largely a result of desiring access to the multiple great Baptist seminaries and financial assistance programs in Texas. From Baylor to Brown, Baptists support education better than any—even if, as one of my professors once joked, we mostly establish schools so we can be suspicious of them.

The Baptist commitment to religious liberty is a contribution to global human rights.

If there’s one thing that makes me proud to call myself a Baptist, it’s the contribution made to the world by the historic Baptist commitment to religious liberty. The idea that a nation can function without a state religion was possibly the most remarkable aspect of the founding of America and was a massive positive influence on the modern world, much of which has adopted the same model. For that, you can thank the Baptists, largely.

The world today would be a very different place without the brave witness of early Baptists and the hard work they’ve put into preserving it since then.Becoming a Baptist meant for me becoming a part of this proud and continuing tradition of championing religious freedom for all.

I share what brought me into the denomination to encourage my fellow Baptists. In a time where demographic changes have many worried, we don’t need sweeping changes in our theology or practice. What we need, rather, is reaffirm and hold fast to our distinctives.

Baptists have much to offer both the church as a whole and the world. If we remember where we came from, we will continue to reach a world in desperate need of what we have to offer.

In my short time in the denomination, I’ve seen all of these distinctives challenged from within. Baptists don’t need to change what they’re doing to accommodate to a changing world; rather, what Baptists need is a renewed interest in their foundational identity.

After all, it worked on me.

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

One of the phrases you often hear in conversation with people who do not attend church is, “I like Jesus but not the church.”

Zac HarrelI understand the sentiment. There is no arguing the fact many feel hurt, alienated and abandoned by the church. This should come as no surprise. Our churches are filled with imperfect, messed-up sinners.

When people complain to me about the church being a bunch of hypocrites, my reply is always, “You’re right; we are.” No church is perfect, and no church ever will be. There is no need to search for the perfect church. It doesn’t exist.

This does not mean we should leave the church. In fact, this means the exact opposite.

The church is not perfect, and neither are we. The body of Christ is for those who are hurt, those who are struggling and those who are broken.

You need the church, brothers and sisters in Christ, to come alongside you and to help you find healing in the grace of God. The church needs you, too. The church needs those who have walked through “the valley of the shadow of death” to walk hand-in-hand with others experiencing suffering and pain. You need the church, and the church needs you.

Don’t abandon

It is understandable to be frustrated with the church as you have experienced her, but we must not abandon the local church. We need the tangible, local body of Christ in our lives to help us be who God has called us to be. The church needs men and women committed to the life of the church, even through the mess of our common life together.

There has been real damage done by many churches. You may have experienced that damage. There is no excuse for the misdeeds of the church, but the misdeed of one church do not mean there is no church for you. Find a church where you can be open and honest about your pain. Find a church where you can experience the peace of the gospel. Above all, find a church.

There is power in the church gathered together for worship. Joy and restoration come through the corporate disciplines of singing, praying, hearing the word of God proclaimed and through the ordinances of baptism and the Lord’s Supper. Our faith family mourns when we mourn and rejoices when we rejoice. We need the fellowship of the body of Christ, and we need the habits and practices of the church.

Plant your life

No church is perfect, and no church will meet all our requirements or preferences. The church we see on television or the sermon we listen to on podcast seems appealing because we have some kind of fantasy of this church out there just for us and for our situation. There is a church out there for you, for your family, for your situation. Most likely, it is not on television, but just down the block.

Plant your life in a local church. Join a local church and be a part of the life of that church, even if the music is not your style, even if they don’t have every program you wish they had, even if there are not as many young adults or too many young adults. Preferences cannot be our ultimate guide to the church we should join.

What gifts do you have? What needs does the church have? Where do you live? These are questions we should be thinking about when it comes to local churches.

God has placed you in the community where you live for a purpose, and he has given you a local church in that community for a purpose. Commit your life to your local church, because you need the church.

Being a part of a church is not easy, but it is essential. We cannot love Jesus and not love his church.

Find a church where you can plant your life and be faithful.

Find a church where you can be you.

Find a church because she needs you.

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

We have become a society of “us vs. them.”

Meredith StoneEvery day, lines are drawn to separate us from them. Sometimes, others draw these lines. And sometimes, we take out the pens and do the drawing ourselves. These lines of separation are based on race, gender, socio-economic status, politics, views on social rights, the ways we live and love, and the things we believe.

When we watch video of yet another shooting of a black person, and when people struggling for their lives are compared to a brand of candy—a society of “us vs. them” is difficult to deny.

On the “us” side of things, we often talk about loving whoever our “them” is. After all, Jesus did say we should love our enemies. White people may say they love black people. Middle-class Americans whose way of life is not threatened may say they love Syrian refugees.

We love “them.”

But when we refer to people who look, think, act or believe differently than us as “them,” are we really showing love? Is not the act of drawing a line between groups of people opposite to love?

Erasing lines

How can we become a society that erases the lines between “us” and “them” and consequently sees our commonality as divine image-bearers while also respecting the distinctions that form our identities?

In Luke 7:1-10, a Roman centurion sends two groups of friends to Jesus so Jesus might heal the centurion’s “highly valued” servant. The first group of friends, Jewish elders, declare the centurion is worthy of this miracle. The second group of friends tells Jesus the centurion considers himself unworthy. Without ever meeting the centurion, Jesus commends his faith, and the servant is healed.

If first century Rome was a society of “us vs. them,” then Jesus and the centurion would have been the epitome of what an “us vs. them” dichotomy looks like. The wealthy, elite Roman centurion represented the political empire that had conquered Jesus’ land and continued to oppress Jesus’ people—Jews. And Jesus was a conquered, homeless Jewish itinerant prophet.

In the story, Jesus certainly demonstrates how to shatter the lines between “us” and “them.” Jesus declares the faith of this centurion—his religious, socio-economic and political opposite—is greater than Jesus has found among his own people (verse 9).

But, frankly, Jesus is divine. Jesus is supposed to be awesome.

More like us

The human Roman centurion, on the other hand, is a lot more like us. If you’re a white person, or you live in the United States, or you do not suffer from food insecurity, or you exist in a position of power or privilege in any way, then you—and I—are much more like the centurion, and we can learn from his example.

In describing the centurion’s worthiness of Jesus healing his servant, the Jewish elders tell Jesus the centurion “loves our nation and has built our synagogue” (verse 5). They tell Jesus the centurion loves Jews, one of Rome’s conquered enemies. But more than simply loving “them,” the centurion also helped build the Jewish synagogue.

The centurion had put down his sword and picked up a hammer and nails to build a place where “their” God could be worshipped, even though “their” God was different from his god, the emperor. He respected Jewish identity and worked for their welfare.

But the centurion’s second group of friends tells Jesus the centurion does not consider himself worthy for Jesus to come under his roof (verse 6). For a centurion—a person of great social status and wealth—to say he was unworthy for a homeless, conquered, itinerant Jewish prophet to enter his home was utterly revolutionary.

The centurion went beyond loving “them.” He respected and worked for the wholeness of a people who were in a position of less power and privilege. He even relinquished his own power to someone who his society would have deemed unworthy.

The centurion demonstrated how the lines between “us” and “them” can begin to be broken down.

WWCD

So, to co-opt and adjust a common maxim, what would the centurion do (WWCD) if he were living in the United States today?

• He wouldn’t wield the sword—justifying killing—but instead would pick up constructive tools to work for the wholeness of black communities.

• He wouldn’t compare people to candy, but instead would join in efforts to find homes, health and security for Syrian refugees.

• He wouldn’t only love “them,” but also would work to deconstruct the lines our society builds between groups of people created in the image of God.

May we all have the courage to do the same.

Meredith Stone is director of ministry guidance and instructor of Christian ministry and Scripture at Hardin-Simmons University’s Logsdon School of Theology. She is a member of the Baptist Standard board of directors.

When no good option is available, what should a Christian do? When the choice is between “the lesser of two evils,” what is the alternative for a person who doesn’t want to choose evil? Trying to answer such questions makes for stimulating discussion in a college ethics course.

Eric BlackHowever, we are not in a college ethics course. We are marching ever closer to Election Day. Lord, help us.

As we make our voting decision this year, no doubt we will consider parties, personalities and policies. Yet in this election year, none of the standard categories prove helpful. How, then, can we make a good choice for the next president of the United States?

Christians do have help beyond the standard categories. Christians have a higher standard for making decisions large and small, a framework described by Larry Ashlock, professor of pastoral leadership and ethics and director of the doctor of ministry program at the B.H. Carroll Theological Institute and executive director of the Baptist Center for Global Concerns.

An ethical framework

Asked to describe an ethical framework for selecting a political candidate, Ashlock clarified: “There is no one ethical system in the Scriptures, the sourcebook for our faith and practice. In fact, even though Christ greatly emphasized ethics, he did not teach an ethical method to his disciples. There have been many through the years that have tried, and failed, to produce a one-size-fits-all scheme for making moral decisions. The difficulty rests in the fact systems break down, and, before one realizes it, there is the subtle pressure to make the situation fit the system.”

Broadly speaking, Ashlock reminds us of Jesus’ principal mandate recorded in Matthew 22:37-40—we are to love God with all of our being and our neighbors as we love ourselves. To love our neighbor means Christians will refuse to vilify a particular political candidate.

Christ’s love mandate also was expressed perfectly in his cross and provides an example of how we may approach moral decision-making with any issue (see John 3:16-17; 15:9-14).

Ashlock credits Richard Hays, author of The Moral Vision of the New Testament, with pointing out the Apostle Paul applies this singular gospel message to all the particular communities and moral problems he addresses in his letters. Hays offers three “interlocking” theological motifs that stem from Christ’s loving sacrifice and give rise to Paul’s ethical teaching. They are eschatology (Ashlock uses “hope”), cross and new community. These three themes provide support for Christ’s love command, much like ribs support an umbrella’s panels, Ashlock says. They also offer, in this political season, a lens through which a Christian may examine candidates and policies and make moral choices.

Hope

“We love well when we provide the broken with hope,” Ashlock said. “There are many broken Americans right now that are living pressed down by social injustice—such as economic hardship, racial bigotry and health challenges. We offer the hope of Christ when we live our lives within the ‘cosmic drama’ that God is at work in Christ reconciling the world to himself (2 Corinthians 5:14-18). …

“Which candidate offers the best promise of being used of the Father to bring hope and to allay injustice for all citizens?”

Cross

“Jesus’ death on the cross was an act of loving, self-sacrificial obedience that becomes a model for the obedience of all who are in Christ,” Ashlock added. “His was a freely-made sacrifice that brought reconciliation to God for humanity. We have been called to this same ministry of the cross (2 Corinthians 5:19b; follow Christ’s example, Galatians 6:2).

“Which candidate … as best as one can tell, embodies … the moral imperative to serve others in Christ’s love?”

Community

Finally, “which of the candidates is best suited to build new community? The fruit of God’s love is the formation of communities that ‘confess, worship and pray together in a way that glorifies God’ (Romans 15:7-13). … Since government and those that govern are held ultimately accountable to God (1 Peter 2), then our next president should, at least, sense a moral responsibility to enhance human flourishing and build ‘community’ across our nation.”

If we are to hold candidates to the latter standard, then we as Christians—whether or not we vote—must do a better job of building community ourselves, perhaps beginning with our posts, shares and comments on social media, where many Christians have been every bit as divisive and unloving as at least one of the two top candidates.

No easy answers

The filters of hope, cross and new community, while not as effective as casting lots for making a definitive choice, are helpful for putting us in the right frame of mind when thinking about who should or should not hold any political office.

On second thought, the filters of hope, cross and community might be better than casting lots. They might help us become the sort of people we wish our politicians were—our politicians who rise from our own ranks, after all.

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

The truth is life is hard.

Zac HarrelWe will suffer. We will get sick. Our families will be filled more with chaos than with stability. We will lose loved ones and be paralyzed by grief. Life stinks. Our world is broken and our lives are broken.

The sad truth is most of us live with this brokenness, thinking we are alone. We buy into the lie that everyone around us has it all together. We see their perfect pictures on social media. When we see them in public, they assure us everything is great—couldn’t be better. And at church, they are all smiles and hugs. Our brokenness when compared to their seeming happiness makes us feel like something is wrong with us.

Actually, we all are struggling. The pictures we post on social media may have our children smiling and hugging, but what we don’t see is the screaming fit that ensues as soon as we have snapped our beautiful photo. What we don’t see in the smiles and hugs on Sunday morning is the huge fight they just got in with their spouse while trying to get their kids to eat breakfast and get dressed. What we don’t hear when we exchange pleasantries on the street is how much hurt and grief they are carrying around with them.

You are not alone.

We all are in the same boat. All of our lives are broken. Suffering and loss touch all of us. At some point or another, we are all selfish, our spouses are all difficult to live with and our children frustrate us to no end.

The church is the place for broken people, for angry people, for frustrated people, for grieving people, for at-the-end-of-their-rope people.

Our churches should be the place where we can wipe off the fake smile and open up about our hurts. It should be the place where we can take off our religious masks and open up about our doubts and fears. We have to quit trying to be “good Christians” and start being real about what God is doing in our lives. None of us has it all together, not even the one who preaches from the pulpit week-in and week-out. True community can only happen when we realize we are all struggling and hurting.

We have to let go of our idea that the mature in Christ are the ones who don’t doubt or struggle with their faith. The exact opposite almost always is true. Those who have a deep faith in Christ suffer, struggle and doubt. They are honest about their pain. Their deep faith doesn’t make them immune from suffering. It reminds them in the midst of their suffering God is faithful, loving and present.

One of the most encouraging verses in the Bible is found in Isaiah 42:3: “A bruised reed he will not break, and a faintly burning wick he will not quench.”

God knows

God knows our struggles. God knows we are bruised, but he will not break us. God knows our faith is a faintly burning wick, but he will not quench it. We bring all we can in this moment, and God will do the rest. It is OK to be bruised; nothing is wrong with you. It is OK to have a faintly burning faith; God will sustain you.

Our churches must be places where we can be honest with one another, where we can say we are bruised and our faith is faintly burning. In those moments, we cannot hide behind a façade of having it all together. When our bruises and our faintly burning faith are hidden, we miss the healing power of the Holy Spirit through the ministry of the body of Christ. Find someone to talk to, to pray with. We all need the healing power of honest community.

Church, are you a place where people can open up about their bruises and faintly burning faith?

Jesus calls all of the broken to come to him. Are our churches doing the same? It is time we let go of trying to have it all together. We all are bruised reeds. We all, at some point or another, have a faintly burning wick of faith.

We all are in this together.

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

A couple of weeks ago, the Houston Chronicle published a story about the aspirations of this year’s Miss America contestants. These ambitious young women are training for all kinds of careers, but one hopeful’s description stood out. She wants to anchor “Good Morning, America,” become a world famous cake decorator and win “American Ninja Warrior.” Pick a lane, Miss Ohio!

Ellen Di GiosiaI know that sounds harsh, but I recently had a birthday that places me firmly in the mid-40s, and there’s no cure for it. I no longer can deny I have entered middle age. It’s time to accept that I probably am not going to be president of the United States. If I did somehow manage to win a federal election, I probably would not also perform life-saving surgery on puppies and win a Tony Award.

In the glow of youth, becoming a Broadway star and serving as leader of the free world might seem like compatible goals. But at midlife, choosing a path seems a wiser decision.

The “midlife transition”

So, a midlife crisis would be right on schedule. (I don’t think I’m having one, but, unlike me, the year is still young.) Counselors and therapists prefer to call it the “midlife transition” these days, in order to distance a normal developmental task from the stereotype of a man getting hair plugs and buying a Corvette.

The word “crisis” is apt, however. As with many English words, its etymology takes a winding path through Greek and Latin. Look back far enough, and you find a Latin root that means “to sieve.” In any crisis, all the information and all the emotions get dumped into one bowl. The task of the crisis-haver is to sort through all of this to decide what matters and what doesn’t.

On the aforementioned birthday, I received what may be the best card of all time. The front of the card says, “Once upon a time, a very special person was born who was destined to change the world.” (Aww.) Inside: “Calm down. It’s not you. It’s Jesus. I think he’d want you to have a happy birthday, though.” (Oof.)

So then I’m not headed for global greatness?

Time for jostling

While the young Midwestern beauty queen dreams of a trifecta of fame, I’m pouring half a lifetime of hopes, plans and just plain whims into the pot. It’s time to jostle the whole thing—gently, so very gently—in the hopes that the things that are not important will shake out. What’s leftover will determine where I put my energy. It’s time to admit I can’t do everything. I’m not Jesus, after all.

Of course, Jesus didn’t do everything, either. I don’t want to be branded a heretic, so I won’t suggest Jesus had a midlife crisis. It does seem, though, there was a moment of sifting—a point at which he had to step into a new way of living. After he was baptized by John, Jesus followed the Spirit’s leading into the desert to sort through the motives and means that could define his ministry. The tempter presented lovely choices, food for a starving soul.

Satisfy the people’s hunger alone? (Sift, sift, sift until this idea falls away.) Become a wonder worker? (Shake the pot until that one drains out.) Pledge your allegiance to worldly power? (Turn the crank and watch it disappear through the screen.)

After the temptation …

Each temptation fell through the cracks of Jesus’ fingers like sand, until the only things left were Jesus himself and the kingdom he preached. Having stared down the adversary and sorted through the options, he walked back into civilization and got to work.

How do we approach a time of sifting? When we’re thrown into the pot with all our desires, our challenges, our hard choices, the shaking feels as if it could be measured on the Richter scale. We are tempted to grab everything within reach, only to find it all slips through our grasp, leaving us with nothing that really matters.

Perhaps we start by going willingly into the desert with Jesus, letting the Spirit sweep us into reflection and surrendering to the passing of time. Bracing ourselves against the tremors might help us to survive, but we will miss the opportunity and excitement of finding what God has prepared for us.

It isn’t the easy choice, but even Jesus had to choose the better way.

Ellen Di Giosia is associate pastor of faith formation at Woodland Baptist Church in San Antonio.

I left town this morning for a meeting in Dallas. My young children, especially my youngest, didn’t want me to leave. She wanted to know what I was doing and why I had to go out of town.

Eric BlackI said, “I’m going to a board meeting, honey. B-O-A-R-D.”

My son laughed, because he’s old enough to get the joke.

My daughter asked, “Why do you have to go to a board meeting?” To which I said: “Well, honey, I was asked to serve on the board and agreed to do it because I believe in what they are doing and want to be part of it. When you agree to serve on a board, you make a commitment to go to meetings.”

Then she wanted to know how many of these meetings there are and other things about which a young mind is curious.

The most important thing she asked in all her questions—although she couldn’t put it into these words—was, “Daddy, what’s so important about that board that you have to leave us for it?”

Indeed, what’s so important? Why do we do things like sit on boards—B-O-A-R-Ds?

We sit on some boards for prestige. We sit on other boards for perks. We serve on the best boards for purpose.

The verb matters

Notice the change in verb—sit, sit, serve. The verb makes all the difference.

When my kids ask, “Daddy, why do you have to go out of town?” I want to be able to tell them I’m doing something worth leaving them for a night. I want to be able to tell them I’m doing something with purpose, something that makes a difference. To be able to tell them this with a straight face and a clear conscience, I can’t merely sit. I must serve.

Many years ago while I was working with college students and thought I was very mature and wise, I asked, “How do you reach self-absorbed people without feeding into their self-absorption?” I thought the young adults around me were very self-absorbed and I was not. Chuckle, chuckle.

Now that I am mature and wise—don’t roll your eyes—I am still asking the same question. I am asking the question as I work with my fellow board members to figure out how to engage a wider audience with our mission. Though I don’t say it out loud as much as I used to, I still wonder to myself, “How do we reach self-absorbed people without feeding into their self-absorption?” And as that perennial question resurfaced in my mind this afternoon, I thought of my children.

Seeing what’s important

All my children want to know is if they matter more to me than a board meeting. At this point in their lives, they can’t see the results of my service on the board beyond what it means for them. They can’t see what is so important about serving on any board if it takes me out of town. And this stops me, because those self-absorbed people aren’t in the abstract anymore. They are my own children. How can I reach them?

How can my time away from my children serve a greater purpose in their lives?

For several minutes, I couldn’t get past this question. Then I thought about what serving on the board does for me and the possibility it can do the same thing for them.

Serving on the board gets me outside of myself and my immediate surroundings. Serving on the board broadens my thinking as I am stretched to make decisions with outcomes that will influence people far from me in space and time. I hope what I learn while serving helps me be a better dad by helping me encourage my children to grow outside of themselves and their immediate surroundings, making good decisions that will affect people far from them in space and time.

Is it worth it?

You may not serve on a board, but you probably give time and energy to something else that stretches you beyond yourself. Sometimes, maybe many times, that something means you must spend time away from those who very much want your attention right here, right now. You may be like me and feel torn between two very important things—those who want your attention and that something. And when you feel torn between the two, you want to know the tear is worth it.

I serve on the board because when I go home, I can tell my wife and children how we are working to poke a hole in the noise of this world in order to reach as many as we can with the good news of Jesus Christ. I can tell my family how the boring stuff—our financial decisions, and marketing, and development efforts—is helping to get our message about Jesus out to more and more people and how that message is making a real and positive and lasting difference in people’s lives.

My kids will be B-O-R-E-D with this, but the seed will be planted. And I will water that seed. And one day, with patience, trust, perseverance and hope, a self-absorbed person—and his kids—will grow beyond himself.

And that’s exciting!

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

At the risk of stating the obvious, there are many strong feelings about immigration this election cycle, bringing with it fear, anger and resentment.

Myles WerntzBut long before this year, our country learned to fear immigration. In 2002, immigration services were rehoused under the newly created Department of Homeland Security. Immigrants, legal or otherwise, were now overseen by the same department tasked with defending the country from terrorists. And understandably, our vision about immigrants became colored by those suspicions.

But even this was not when we as a country learned to fear immigrants. Before immigrants were categorically a security threat, we saw them as an economic threat. Through many celebrated legal channels and programs, such as the longstanding bracero program of the 20th century, tens of thousands of Latino workers came into American industries. In the 19th and early 20th century, European immigrants filled the mines and slaughterhouses, angering American nationals.

And before immigrants were named an economic threat, they were seen as a threat to American culture, bringing in new languages and ideas. Between 1882 and 1965, Asians largely were barred from immigrating to America, only able to immigrate sporadically in-between. Between 1925 and 1965, immigration numbers were crafted carefully to maintain a certain vision of American culture that would not have to consider other visions seriously.

Immigrants, in other words, always have been suspected for one reason or another.

But for Christians, this should not be, if for no other reason than immigration is intertwined with the story of Scripture. From Adam and Eve’s exile from the garden to Abraham’s journey out of Ur, to the Children of Israel’s wandering in the wilderness after Egypt, the Old Testament speaks of a people on journey and without a home. Through exile and return, Israel continues its pilgrimage, never receiving a home to call its own for more than a few generations.

In the New Testament, we find ourselves following Jesus, cast down into Egypt as a child and cast out of his hometown as an adult. We watch as Paul and the other apostles migrate from region to region as missionaries. We stand in awe as the Holy Spirit uses travelers in Jerusalem to spread the gospel back out across the Mediterranean world. Over and over, the New Testament letters address those “scattered across the world,” those who have no lasting city (Hebrews 13:4) and those who look forward to rest from their travels.

In other words, in Scripture, immigration is part of God’s good dealings with the world.

But yet, in looking at America’s history of immigration, it is alternately one of welcome and suspicion, of opportunity and rejection. What is needed is not, I think, another reminder that “we’re all immigrants” or “everyone is from somewhere else,” but a closer and clearer look at the ways in which God remains close to those whose lives are bound up in the search for home. This is the story Scripture tells of the people of God, and a story the people of God must remember as their own.

It is in wandering that the people of God became the people of God, and it is all those seeking a new home whom the people of God must reach out to today.

Myles Werntz is the T.B. Maston chair of Christian ethics at Hardin-Simmons University’s Logsdon Seminary.

In 2005, I was moving a mattress up three flights of narrow stairs to an international student’s apartment. “Helping” me was one of our American students. I put “helping” in quotes, because he held his end of the mattress with one hand and his phone with the other hand, texting the entire time.

Eric BlackI couldn’t understand texting and was pretty annoyed by his divided attention, especially given the precariousness of our situation. Exasperated, I asked, “How much do you text in a day?” He replied coolly: “I don’t know. I probably send several hundred a day.”

What? And one-handed at that!

Less than 10 years later, I joined the smart-phone revolution, which sounds funny in 2016. Revolution? What rock had I been living under? I broke down and plugged in because more and more of our church members were texting me. I also wanted a more streamlined way to keep track of expenses, sermon research and other work-related things, and a smart phone made that possible.

What I didn’t know when I was on the outside looking in was what effect plugging in would have on me. Over the last couple of years, I have watched as the promise of connection to others became connection to “it.”

What “it” does

“It”—my phone and all the things my phone can do—captured my eyes first, my mind second and then my soul.

And not only my eyes, mind and soul. “It” is taking my children, too.

I recently listened to a parent describe the wonderful spirit of her son, his care for others and his natural ability to be a friend. I listened as she described the complete shift in his personality once he plugged in to a couple of popular games he plays on a phone or tablet. Most disturbing for her is how he responds when she must pull him away. He resists and wails and curls up until he begins thinking of how to get more screen time.

Like an addict looking for another hit.

Our children are not the only ones jonesing for another hit of pure backlit bliss. We are, too. We’re in this shape because our biochemical selves are being rewired to need more mobile stimulation.

Mobile devices and game systems “affect the brain’s frontal cortex—which controls … impulse control—in exactly the same way that cocaine does,” psychiatrist Nicholas Kardaras said in the New York Post. Chemically, such stimulation raises dopamine in the nervous system to an addictive level. Other researchers report the same findings, which a simple online search demonstrates.

So, what to do?

None of us wants our children to grow up addicted. At the same time, none of us wants our children to fall behind their peers or society. Staying current on technology seems like a necessary evil. Yet how do we stay current while protecting our children?

During an interview aired on PBS, filmmaker/researcher Delaney Ruston asks the question: “What should the rules be? Because we don’t have any right now.”

As a person of faith, I think we do have a rule. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.” (My quote squeezes the original Deuteronomic source with Jesus’ quote in Matthew.) This rule applies to all of us, regardless of age.

If we are to love the Lord our God with our physical being—which is not the literal meaning of “heart” or “strength” but is supported by the Apostle Paul in his teaching that our bodies are the temple of the Holy Spirit—then we must take notice of the current biochemical research on screen time.

Take time to unplug

If screens are negatively affecting our God-given ability and call to connect with other human beings in a God-honoring way, then we need to unplug. Technology is not worth abdicating our stewardship of what God has given us in our bodies and the relation of our bodies with other bodies.

If we are to love the Lord our God with our mind and soul, which is the spiritual part of who we are, then we must recognize the co-opting of our souls by the things of this world. We must acknowledge how they diminish our God-given abilities, replacing them with temporary stimulation. We must take back our time, our minds and our souls, giving them to God for God’s purposes.

I have deleted all game apps from my phone. I am limiting my Facebook, Instagram and Twitter activity to a block of time between 8 a.m. and noon with the intent of limiting it further in the near future. I am also re-engaging a weekly Internet fast during which I do not interact online for an entire day.

I am taking these steps for myself and also to lead the way for my children into a future free of dependence on the stuff of earth and filled instead with hunger for the things of God.

If you unplug, why and how?

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

I grew up in a good and loving Baptist church out in West Texas. Both of my parents were Sunday school teachers, and my father was a deacon. I grew up hearing the gospel—God loves me, and in Jesus Christ, I’m forgiven and saved.

Kyle ChildressI believed that then and still believe it. But how I believe it has grown and changed from my West Texas childhood.

That change began while preparing to preach as a student pastor in a Central Texas Baptist church, studying that great story from Mark 2 of the paralyzed man being carried to Jesus by his four friends who lower him through a hole they’ve dug through the roof so he can be at Jesus’ feet. Verse 5 hit me with force: “When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven.’” Jesus forgives the man on the mat because of the faith of his four friends.

What was going on here? I thought we were forgiven and saved through our own personal and individual faith. Jesus is saying our faith, and our forgiveness of sin, and therefore our salvation might be connected to others.

No Lone Ranger Christians

That Bible verse started opening my eyes to seeing the New Testament and the Way of Jesus are personal but also communal. There are no Lone Ranger Christians. When Jesus calls us to drop our nets and follow him, it is always to follow him with other disciples.

It is no small thing that the Apostle Paul uses the analogy of the body to describe the church. We each are members of a single body, connected to others in ways we’ve never dreamed before.

All week long, by hurt, frantic busy-ness, fear, illness, and on and on, the world does its best to dis-member us from the body of Christ. We often find ourselves exhausted and isolated, worn-out, worn-down and alone. But on Sunday morning, we gather together in God’s presence, and by singing hymns, reading and hearing the word, praying and often sharing together the Lord’s Supper, we are re-membered into the body of Christ. We are one, once again.

Worship is not discrete individuals getting together for mutual inspiration as much as it is becoming one body again and having our lives and eyes reopened to how, through Christ, we see our connections to others and to the wider world. Through Christ, we discover our commonality with all of God’s creation and creatures.

Salvation: Not just about ‘me’

Kentucky farmer and writer (and Baptist) Wendell Berry says, “I believe that community—in the fullest sense: a place and all its creatures—is the smallest unit of health and that to speak of health of an isolated individual is a contradiction in terms.” What if we substituted “salvation” for “health” in Berry’s statement? What if my salvation is not just about me? What if God’s plan all along has been through Christ to restore and heal and make whole our oneness with God, with each other and with all of creation?

I believe part of our salvation is participating in God’s great healing of the world.

Learning to think and live into God’s healing connections changes the way we think about our neighbors and our earth. My care for the fellow across the street or across town or across the tracks or around the world is connected to me and me to them, whether they recognize it or not; my care for God’s earth is about participating in God’s healing wholeness and salvation, too.

Salvation tied to 2, 3 or 4 …

Cyprian was a great African pastoral theologian in the third century. One of his most famous statements was “Outside the church, there is no salvation.” When I was a boy, I remember hearing evangelists fume against such a notion. But as I grew in my faith, I began to think like Baptists and realize that church might be “where two or three are gathered in my name,” as Jesus said (Matthew 18:20) and not so much some gigantic abstract institution.

Whatever Cyprian intended, his statement helps me get at this notion of salvation being tied to two or three or four others who pray for me as I pray for them, and who take the responsibility to carry me to Jesus.

I remember my Sunday School teachers like Mr. Riddle and Mr. Jones, my pastor Bro. Southerland, and the people of First Baptist Church in Stamford, who carried me to Jesus. Thanks be to God.

Kyle Childress is the pastor of Austin Heights Baptist Church in Nacogdoches and is the co-author with Rodney Wallace Kennedy of Will Campbell, Preacher Man: Essays in the Spirit of a Divine Provocateur (Cascade Books, 2016).