Welcome to the Park Road blog - where we share thoughts and commentary on topics ranging from faith, to current events, to life at Park Road. We invite you to be part of the conversation.
PRBC is blessed with many new members who do not know the rich history of our Cuban partnership with Resurrection Baptist Church in Carlos Rojas, and our many members who have traveled there over the course of our seventeen-year partnership are most likely unaware of the many challenges our partner congregation is facing in these difficult times.
Here’s a little experiment. Turn on your favorite news network and turn down the volume. If the facial expressions of the talking heads who are scowling at you just make you want to punch someone, you need to do what we’ve done, and turn it off. In the place of all that division and derision, we’re watching a lot of “Friends” reruns, and we’ve probably seen every episode of “The Andy Griffith Show.” Maybe twice.
By now you have all heard the report from our PRBC COVID-19 Task Force. We have pressed “pause” on any activities that would allow us to be together until February 14 at the earliest. It was not a hard decision, really. Everyone on the Task Force knew it was the right thing to do. Following the recent call of state and local officials for everyone to do everything we can to bring about a healthy and safe community during this time of record high cases, we understood that we had to do our part.
The truth is even though we had eased some of those early restrictions, we still remained mostly apart. We had returned to the office but with lots of precautions and very little in person contact; youth met outside, distanced and masked; very few people attended worship; and most organizations that use our campus are still not gathering. Therefore, going back to a closed campus for a month honestly doesn’t change that much in the day to day and week to week happenings of our church and campus.
I’ve worried about the people who don’t have internet or technology to keep them connected. Generous folks have tried to help us problem-solve to keep those folks in the loop. What we’ve heard is – it’s not the content they are missing, it’s the community. Technology doesn’t always solve that problem.
I’ve worried about the people who are dependent on technology for their own jobs and their kids’ school that they are “computered out” by the time it’s time to log on to church. Those folks have tried, but it’s just not the same. They would rather just wait to reconnect in person when everyone is vaccinated.
I’ve worried about our children and our young people – what it means for them to not be together to learn and grow. I’ve worried about people falling out of habits and not picking them back up. I’ve worried about the effect of trickling back together. I think we all like to imagine a grand day when we can be in the same space, but that day will not happen on one day. Instead we will come back together in small, incremental ways instead of that big, grand reunion we are all wanting. I’ve worried about 2 years from now, and the impact of going more than one year without being in person. How will that affect growth – not just numerical growth - but in deepening of relationships?
I’ve worried about the over-importance of content of sermon becoming too much of a focus in this one-way street of church where we preach and you tune in and then go about your week with little-to-no other interaction. We didn’t go into this work to be televangelists yet that is kind of what it has become.
I’ve worried about the impact of not being able to show up for each other – to hold babies and usher people through the waters of baptism and share a communion table and gather for funerals and weddings and celebrations of our senior adults and our seniors in high school. I’ve worried that now that it is so convenient to tune in whenever and wherever that some folks have already decided this will be their main mode of connection because it’s just easier in an already hectic world. I’ve worried that everyone so desires to go back to “normal” that we may miss an opportunity to let go of some things that needed to go and fail to embrace what we have learned that can open us up to creativity and vitality in new and transformative ways.
It’s an irony, then, that the very first sermon I ever preached was on Matthew 6: So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today. It’s difficult to practice what one preaches!
It is a part of the human condition to be worried or concerned about things as worrisome as global pandemics. If it were not so, it wouldn’t have been featured so prominently in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. It’s when our worry turns to fear that worries me the most. I am not afraid of any of the things I have listed. I trust that we are in this together and God is with us. I believe that we will emerge stronger, even if we are different. I believe we will thrive in ways that we cannot know yet. I have faith that we not only CAN do hard things, but that we WILL do hard things – and that will not happen if we stick our heads in the sand and just hope that everything will turn out okay.
When we name our worries and are honest about our concerns, we find creative solutions. I hope you are thinking about all the “what’s nexts” of your lives both personally and as a congregation. I hope you are using this time of “pause” in our collective lives to ponder how we can be more fully alive to God’s calling in our lives. I hope we can begin to imagine together what new thing might be happening among us that we help us to live out our calling in this place.
How are you using the “pause” of your life right now? May it be to seek peace and work for justice. May it be to tend to your own spirit that you might in turn be able to tend to others more fully. May it be to be more fully alive to who God is and how God is at work in you and in the world. May your “pause” help you to listen for the still, small voice of God calling you Beloved. - Amy
Last Sunday I preached from the first chapter of the Gospel of John. The first 18 verses of John 1 is John’s theological rendering of the birth of Jesus. No angels, no shepherds, no Magi. John presents a layered telling of the birth of Jesus the Christ. One verse caught my attention: From his fullness, we have all received, grace upon grace. (verse 16) I began to ponder – what does that even mean? It is such a lovely abstract thought, but I needed something concrete to hold on to in this new year.
Someone asked me to share what I had said, and I thought others might appreciate having it in writing. The hope is that by reading these graces upon graces, grace might be sparked in you – that you might be able to see it and hear it and recognize it when it comes your way and name it for what it is: Grace upon Grace and Gift upon Gift.
Some of these are my own – others sent to me by friends helping a friend write a sermon – which is itself Grace upon Grace. I give you this gift today – real life, lived examples of what it means to receive Grace upon Grace:
It’s you laughing *at* me with such kindness that I can begin to laugh at myself too.
It’s the patience in your eyes that says, “Tell me all about it. I have all the time in the world.”
It’s friendships that pick right up after a long absence, and you don’t miss a beat – as if you’ve never been apart.
It’s a wedding vow of a second marriage that begins something like “You don’t often get second chances – especially with the big things in life – but you have offered me a second chance at love and a commitment to love.”
It’s listening to a story you’ve heard before — maybe more than once — because the teller needs to tell it again – without reminding them that they’ve told you before.
It’s the joy in the faces of your children when they are mesmerized by fireworks or lights on the tree or when they hit that home run or get that first college acceptance or when they are licked in the face by their dog or when they jump in a puddle of mud and see their delight reflected in your own face or when they stand before God and everybody and commit their life to another and then cry through their own vows. All of those joys are contagious gifts of grace upon grace.
It’s letting someone with less skill and experience than you perform a task because that person needs to learn it whether that be to bake a cake, preach a sermon, or drive the car.
It’s taking enough deep breaths to get to the creativity deep within that helps you find a compromise position (instead of just giving in because it’s easier.)
It looks like friends showing up for your father’s and granddaughter’s funeral - holding you up when you can’t do it yourself.
It’s having a partner who thinks of your comfort/pleasure/fulfillment/enjoyment before their own so that *you* can learn to put theirs first without depleting or losing yourself.
It’s card after card, meal after meal, text after text, prayer after prayer, meme after meme. Grace upon Grace upon Grace.
It’s one person sending a funny meme every single day for more than two months when all you ask for is funny memes. Grace upon Grace. Gift upon Gift.
It’s people who really get you. Understand you. And trust you enough to let you really be yourself even when yourself is not all shiny and new, but sometimes yourself is tattered and broken and sad and scared.
It’s breathtaking moments alone when you’re in a shower or watching falling autumn leaves, or watching a family of foxes playing in a drainpipe, or watching the sun rise over the ocean or set behind a mountain peak, or experiencing the soft and profound silence as snow falls on evergreens.
It’s not keeping tabs on who called whom last – you just call even if it’s not your turn.
It’s a stole made out of the prayers of your people.
It’s an angel made out of a cardboard shirt box that sits atop your Christmas tree because it was the best you could do 34 years ago when you didn’t have much money, and though you could replace it with an expensive one now, you wouldn’t dare do it because that cardboard shirt box angel means everything.
It’s opportunities for quality education and recognizing that it is a privilege that should be used for you to do your small part to make the world a better place.
It’s your now-grown children listening to you sob when you receive a positive COVID test. And I mean sob, and they respond with “Mom, I’m so sorry.” And they receive your tears just as you received theirs for all those years.
It’s when a child returns the favor of being Raised Right by being the caregiver for the aging parent.
It’s when your sorrow is my sorrow and your joy is my joy.
Then, in the beauty of technology, in real-time, many of you helped to continue to write the sermon as you posted your own Grace upon Grace experiences in the comments of our Facebook Live broadcast. Thank you for making the sermon better by adding your voice to mine. Here’s some of what you all said:
It’s family worshipping together from afar.
It’s Jaime’s prayers.
It’s having a serving, loving, giving forgiving church family.
It’s receiving a prayer shawl after my mother’s death.
It’s zooming with my Connection Group – sharing and smiling and loving.
It’s always feeling welcome in this community, receiving its most fruitful benefits of love and friendship, even while not full members.
It’s technology in the time of a pandemic that keeps us connected to family and friends and church.
It’s being seen and loved just as you are by your faith community.
It’s lifelong friendships that are humbling examples of grace upon grace.
It’s having a church family.
It’s real friendship with your adult children.
It’s seeing your kid grow up to be a better musician than you are, but being willing to humor the old guy and still play with him.
It’s being accepted by Park Road despite - and perhaps even because of - your endless questions and persistent doubts.
Dear Friends, let’s keep writing this sermon. Look for and name Grace upon Grace. We are going to need it in 2021. Grace and Peace,
Amy
Social Media may be the worst thing that has ever happened to the nation. (How can something with such incredible potential be so badly used?) At first there was a sense of euphoria. I heard nothing-but-praise: social media will level the playing field. Whether you’re from Calcutta or Charlotte, you’ll have access to a world wide web of wisdom… social media will end racism because you’ll be able to talk to anyone and never have the chance to judge them by their skin… social media will improve business because free communication will provide instant customer feedback… yada, yada, yada…
National Latinx Heritage Month (originally known as Hispanic Heritage Month) is not about immigration; although, the way Latinx people have been belittled recently, almost universally stereotyped, often assailed as “illegals” (or called much worse), the words are almost synonymous. In an effort to celebrate Latinx people who live and work in the United States, people who have hopes and dreams, like all human beings, let me remind you of a few common myths about immigration.
Amy and I want to say to all parents out there… God bless you! Of course, when we have children we know what we’re getting into: i.e. we are actually responsible for them, all the time. The pandemic, however, has exacerbated all the time to be - All. The. Time. Thank you for your efforts. Thank you for being there all the time and then some more! Thank you for your compassion and nurturing and patience and flexibility. Thank you for loving your children. You are making a difference in this world!
About a year ago, I changed one word in my vocabulary. I have tried to stop using the connector word “but” and replaced it with “and.” It has made all the difference. Try it. You will see. This one simple three letter change has impacted my thinking. Oh, sometimes I revert to “but,” but then I catch myself. I mean “and” I catch myself!
When one begins a sentence stating some truth or opinion or experience and moves along in the sentence with that conjunction “but,” whatever comes next has a way of negating the original thought. It’s subtle so you have to really pay attention. For example, “I agree with what you said, but I think x,y,z.” Or, “This weather is beautiful, but we sure need the rain.” With a simple change of one tiny word, the concept is transformed. Try it. You will see. “I agree with what you said, AND I think x,y,z.” “This weather is beautiful, AND we sure need the rain.”
“And” helps me remember that two things can be true at the same time. “And” helps me remember that I can even have two juxtaposed thoughts at the very same time. “And” helps me remember to listen to all sides and try to find the value in all opinions. “And” helps me to claim the goodness that can be found in all things if I look hard enough. Try it. You will see.
Here’s another example: “I want to follow the guidelines of our health experts and government officials, but I’m ready to be back together to worship in person.” How about a simple change: “I’m ready to be back together to worship in person, AND I want to follow the guidelines of our health experts and government officials.”
I am capable of following guidelines while desiring something else. One does not preclude the other, and the “and” helps me to acknowledge that fact. Our emotions are complex. Have you ever laughed until you cried? Or, have you ever had a moment of emotional distress turn into a fit of laughter?
During this global pandemic, I have been trying to remember “and” a lot. I am so ready for normal, AND I want to honor the health, safety, and well-being of all of God’s children – especially the most vulnerable. If the Way of Jesus teaches us anything, it is the call to take care of the most vulnerable - the homeless and the hungry, those in ICU and the imprisoned, the seniors and the sick, the lonely and the least.
Change is difficult, AND how we regather will look and feel different at least for the short term. The unknown is difficult, AND we can do hard things. Being apart is difficult, AND finding new and creative ways to connect is life-giving. And, and, and – it’s the word that will help us survive this trying time in our collective lives.
I talked to a father of two teens last week. He thanked us for keeping our church connected. He affirmed that the spiritual life of his family had been nurtured . . . they gather their immediate family on Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings and light a candle and join us on Facebook Live, AND their family’s zoom sessions with extended family members in other states on Sunday evening include conversations about the sermon and the music.
Yes, our congregation is growing through social media. This family, along with many others, is being intentional in this crisis to keep faith and spirituality alive and well with the routine and regularity of worship and study and fellowship. If you have not been intentional about your faith development during this time of disconnect it is NOT too late.
Join us on a regular basis. Set aside time to worship, to pray, to sing, to confess, to keep silent. Interact through the comments. Even if it feels weird and foolish, say the Lord’s Prayer with us, speak out loud the congregation’s reply during the responsive reading, and sing along with the hymn. Invest yourself in our church even while we are not together.
We miss you, AND we feel connected to you. We yearn to come together again, AND we are enjoying some creative ways to be church. We long be together, AND we are still the Church even while we are apart.
We hold you close in our hearts and in our prayers, AND we are thankful that we are in this together.
Grace and Peace,
Amy
When my family and I found Park Road Church, six or seven years ago, we were looking for a place to worship, but also a place to serve. And one of the first jobs we found here was helping with Room In The Inn.
Twice a month, during the winter, Park Road opens it’s doors to twelve of our neighbors who are experiencing homelessness; Sometimes men, sometimes women, and too often small children in diapers. They arrive carrying everything they own. We can offer a warm meal, a clean bed, and a chance to take a shower. They can also do some laundry or charge a phone. We too easily take these things for granted but for our neighbors these are things they can't always count. Volunteers from our community set up the youth building, transport our guests from the Urban Ministry Center, prepare and serve dinner, as well as breakfasts and bagged lunches for the next day.
Many of our guests know the routine well and we have had a number of familiar faces pass through our doors. Most nights pass without mention, but one night stands out for me, for a number of reasons.
Around 2a, a lady named Mary, probably in her early 60s, came into the living room, where I was sleeping on the couch. I'm used to pointing out where the bathrooms are or where the water glasses are, but Mary had something else in mind. She asked if we had any pie leftover from dinner. So I started the pot of coffee a few hours early, and cut two pieces of pie for us.
We sat around a round table, and she talked about how she ended up in this spot, about the series of misfortunes that led her to living on the streets, about the everyday challenges for a woman her age in this situation. As we talked, with mostly her doing the talking, it became obvious that what she wanted more than anything was someone to listen to her. I did ask her at one point what she needed, if there were particular items or services that might be useful to help her through.
She looked back at me and said: "What we need is affordable housing." Feeling a little embarrassed for not being able to provide that at this hour of night, or any time really, I let her talk about how hard it was to break out of the cycle she had found herself in, in this city of such great prosperity. And then things got quiet for a second, and she looked at me and said "This is good pie, thank you," and she got up and headed back to bed.
For all the churches I've ever been in, and all the sacraments I've ever participated in, that may have been the first time I think I ever understood what communion really meant.
We can't fix this city's housing crisis. We can't fix the problems that led these neighbors here. But we can offer them the hospitality we've been asked to share, in remembrance of him.
— Darin Gantt
I wasn’t going to write anything about THIS.
Even though I’m a woman in ministry and a pastor who finds herself in a pulpit on a regular basis, the truth is the weekend’s social media explosion didn’t really affect me. For 19 years, it’s just not been an issue. Actually even for the 10 years before Park Road, I had found myself in places of inclusion and acceptance. Oh sure, there are the occasional comment and infrequent attitude that stirs me up. In those moments, I can quickly be transported to moments in seminary and in various ministry positions during the early years when I was lectured and man-splained about how God did not call women into ministry. Once I was even called an abomination — to my face! I guess the truth is one never truly gets over being called an abomination.
On Sunday afternoon, I got the following text from a church member: “Did you hear the John MacArthur’s audio of his talk about Beth Moore and women in ministry? It’ll get you fired up, so don’t do it today.” I guess she thought it best not to ruin a perfectly good Sunday. I had just climbed down out of the pulpit where I had preached the Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I had preached about Jesus’ love of the little children and his call that in our lives we are to take care of ALL the children; not just our own but also the poor ones and the at-risk ones and the hungry ones and the homeless ones and the ones living in cages on our border.
So I determined to follow my friend’s advice and just not listen. I was in the mood for a nap, not for getting fired up. But my Facebook and Twitter feed wouldn’t let me miss THIS.
People were posting and blogging about it. People started sharing pictures of women in the pulpit. People started testifying to the power of women in the Gospel story reminding everyone that the very first preachers were women who told their experience of that first brush with Resurrection. I broke down and listened to the audio.
John MacArthur is a pastor and author, and he has an internationally syndicated radio program. He was speaking at a celebration of his fifty years of pulpit ministry when he weighed in on the ongoing debate in the Southern Baptist Convention over women preachers. (We are obviously not THAT kind of Baptist!) He claimed the SBC had taken a “headlong plunge” toward allowing women preachers at its annual meeting this past summer. That, he said, was a sign the denomination no longer believed in biblical authority.
Then he was asked for his gut reaction to a few words or phrases. The name Beth Moore, was thrown out. (She is a well known, conservative, evangelical Southern Baptist teacher/writer/ speaker.) When John heard the name Beth Moore, his quick response was “Go home.” The audience erupted in laughter and applause and cheers.
I can honestly say it did not get me fired up.
I was not surprised. This reaction is exactly what I have come to expect from that particular crowd. I was too profoundly sad to be fired up. All I could picture were the daughters of all those men laughing and making fun of women preachers. All I could picture were all the young girls sitting in those congregations listening to only men preach the Good News. All I could picture were all the women kept silent with shame and guilt, many of whom have a fire for the Gospel story in their bones and no place to share it and proclaim it and preach it.
Beth Moore and I really don’t have a ton in common, theologically speaking, but we share a home in the pulpit. John MacArthur told her (and me and countless other women preachers) to “Go home.”
Will do, sir, will do. See you in church — I’ll be the one in the robe, standing in the pulpit – right at home at Park Road Baptist Church, preaching the Good News.
May it be so … and it is.
“It’s difficult for me to imagine the Left and the Right of American Christianity ever meaningfully reconciling.”
It’s been a gripe of mine for some years now that our kind of Baptists have to explain and defend and qualify who we are to nearly everyone else: “Well, we’re not that kind of Baptist!”
This in a day when many of those churches who have given the name “Baptist” a black eye have decided to remove the B word from their name and church sign – leaving us who remain to suffer the indignities of being narrow-minded and judgmental, anti-gay, anti-women, anti-immigrant, pro-torture, self-righteous Bible thumpers – since that’s pretty uniformly what the word means to people on the street.
Every year or so, one of my church’s leaders, as a response to the most recent well-publicized “Baptist” soundbite and the latest embarrassment to real Baptists everywhere, says, “We should really talk about this ‘Baptist’ name. It’s doing us a lot of harm.”
Yes, but the issue is bigger than denominational identity.
More than 20 years ago a friend of mine, who had spent most of his career serving in “foreign missions” (as they called it those days) for the Southern Baptist Convention, said to me that he rarely called himself a Christian anymore; he preferred the term “Christ-follower.” Through his many relationships with Christians and leaders from the other major world religions, literally around the world, he had learned that “the word ‘Christian’ has become a political word.”
So, what does the word “Christian” even mean, if a Southern Baptist missionary can no longer use it?
The more time I spend as a Baptist Christian pastor in a world divided by angry religious differences, the more I wonder if “we” and “they” are actually part of the same religion.
The words and pronouncements I hear from many Christians in no way represent my theology (nor mine theirs). We clearly have different beliefs about our shared Book. Our approach to science-and-religion is incompatible. We have contradictory views of humanity and sexuality.
Regarding the role of the Church, we want to talk about what “evangelism” means and should entail; on “social justice” they will never talk at all! Interfaith relations means to them an opportunity for conversion; to us, it means the beauty of diversity and growth through dialogue. Nearly all of our common words have different meanings: creation, sin, salvation, redemption, heaven, hell….
The historical Jesus and the Christ of faith often represent different, often opposing, theological convictions. Even our basic concepts of God are frequently irreconcilable.
I don’t think I am overstating the case. When I listen to many Christians speak, more and more I respond with the thought, “Is it honestly fair to call what they believe and what I believe the same religion?”
I believe in reconciliation. I believe Christ’s life was a testimony to “breaking down every dividing wall between us,” as our scripture says. I also know some sectarian divisions cannot be healed. Maybe they should not be. In my active relationships with Muslim and Jews, Unitarians and Baha’is, we are able to work together despite our differences (and without the animosity that exists between some Christian groups).
Maybe, because we don’t pretend to hold the same views, we can appreciate our differences more, and more easily agree to work for a common good.
In her groundbreaking 2008 book, The Great Emergence, Phyllis Tickle makes the case that every 500 years there is a major revolution in the Church. There was the Christian emergence from Judaism, the creation of orthodoxy, the great schism between Eastern Orthodoxy and Roman Catholicism, the Protestant Reformation. It’s been another 500 years, and we’re in the midst of a volatile “culture war.” The crosshairs are on the Christian Church. What will come of us?
Is it time?
“So broken is our fellowship, so divergent our views, perhaps the name ‘Christian’ has ceased to mean anything helpful to the cause of Christ.”
Would it be easier for “us” and “them” to get along if we officially named our differences and amicably parted ways? It’s difficult for me to imagine the Left and the Right of American Christianity ever meaningfully reconciling. Maybe, like Paul and Barnabas, there comes a time when we must face the reality that we can do more and better things if we are not fighting each other for control of the name “Christian.”
As to the process and procedure, I don’t know who would “leave” or what it would mean to “stay.” As to the name, I have no idea who would become what. But, within the Christian Church and (especially) outside the Church, so broken is our fellowship, so divergent our views, perhaps the name “Christian” has ceased to mean anything helpful to the cause of Christ.
For the sake of Christ, the harmony of his church and the peace of our world, even if it meant someone abandoning the name “Christian,” maybe it’s time we had the conversation.
Photo by Vladislav Babienko on Unsplash
For one whole hour today I forgot all about the political strife in our country. For one whole hour today I forgot about mass shootings. For one whole hour today I smiled and laughed and felt light and unencumbered. For one whole hour today I attended the CDC’s summer camp talent show and I’m so glad that I did!
-Leslie Gipple
I watched a diverse group of girls and boys sing and dance and rap and play the piano. Many days over the last few weeks I have seen them rehearsing in the gym, working diligently on their performances while being encouraged by teachers Teresa Gatewood and Kiera Gatewood. But today their performances seemed effortless; just kids being kids, enjoying themselves.
I am so thankful for the gift of that one whole hour that they gave me today.
It’s not that I want to stick my head in the sand and forget about mass shootings and the strife that permeates every stratum of our country. Rather, I don’t want there to be mass shootings and turmoil for us to have to contemplate every day! And today, for one whole hour, our children reminded me of what that FEELS like. That experience evoked in me, viscerally, a keen sense why each of us, using our own unique skills, must stay vigilant to stop gun violence, hate speech and continued social and economic stratification of our society.
Everyone deserves to live free of pervasive fear, sadness, and anxiety — and it shakes me to my core to consider what growing up in this kind of atmosphere does to our children. We must do the work of creating a more perfect union.
I sincerely thank the teachers and staff of our CDC for creating such a nurturing environment for our children and for reminding me today of the life-affirming, societal value of one whole hour, of unfettered peace and joy.
It happens more and more these days. I’m embarrassed by much of American Christianity.
I’ve spent a lifetime bring proud of the word, “Christian.” As a child, when other young boys were planning to grow up to be firemen, “army men” or professional football players, I was going to be a preacher “like my daddy.” But, too often these days, preachers make me cringe.
I hear anti-education views that are dishearteningly narrow. I hear views about women that are shockingly antiquated and reflect distorted interpretations of Scripture. I hear opinions about “homosexuals” that sound as if we’re still living in an Old Testament world (or that we ought to be). I hear evangelistic proclamations that exclude and divide, tone deaf exclusivism in a pluralistic world. I hear support for torture and detention and deportation and preemptive war, and I wonder where the heart of Jesus is in all of that aggression. I hear celebration for The Wall without the slightest irony that the whole movement of God is to unite us, that Jesus showed us that Way “by breaking down the wall of hatred that separated us” (Ephesians 2.14).
I was raised by Southern Baptists, proud to be a Southern Baptist and planned a career of service among Southern Baptists. I was educated in church-sponsored institutions (Furman University, Southern Baptist Theological Seminary and Beeson Divinity School). I was proud of their histories and their commitments to provide a “Christian education”; and I was excited to share those legacies.
But, as a Baptist educated by Baptists, I hear anger toward immigrants (as if the land under our feet could actually be called “our land”), and my heart aches for the lack of compassion and sympathy. I hear angry religiosity that is difficult to separate from self-righteousness. I hear “convictions of faith” that are deeply mired in blind and bitter partisanship – with no awareness of the dangers (if not the embarrassment) of needing the State to do the bidding of the Church. I hear hatred of difference, not hope in diversity. I hear fear of change rather than faith in the future.
I stand in the pulpit of a Baptist church every Sunday. I cannot imagine a better vocation, a more fulfilling calling. I get to bring the Gospel to bear on the important issues of the day, engage with people in life’s most joyous and sorrowful moments, welcome newborns, bury the dead. I am that preacher I longed to be, like my daddy.
“I just think the word from the Church should always sound different than the word from any White House.”
But I hear Christian people celebrating “a roaring economy” with no apparent awareness or concern for the larger, more important issue – that despite any economic success our civility is crumbling. Where is our shared sense of decency, our morality? The nation may be enjoying a moment of financial prosperity, but at what cost? Truth and integrity, and maybe democracy itself, are at stake. And yet some Christians want to cheer that their portfolio has grown a little?
I hear affirmations of our military strength, with no concern for Jesus’ warning that “the first will be last, the greatest will be the least.” I hear the arrogance of American “exceptionalism” instead of the biblical affirmation that all people are created in the image of God. I hear the praise of “God bless America” with no recognition that God blesses all, and that “pride goeth before the fall.”
I believe in the power of the Gospel. I believe Jesus changes hearts, and that his calling is a daring summons to a truly social justice – to a salvation that changes our minds as well as our souls, that dares us to put the good of all before the success of any individual. (How could any of us actually be “whole” otherwise?) I believe one sermon can change your life (because one sermon changed mine!). I believe the world still needs the Church. I just think the word from the Church should always sound different than the word from any White House.
But I hear preachers gloating over the meanness (they call it “toughness”) the current administration boasts, with no acknowledgement that Jesus’ calls to self-abasement and self-sacrifice invite us to a completely different approach to human relations – a “more excellent way.” I hear exhortations to domination and submission (in marriage and in foreign diplomacy), power and a “theology of victory,” with no evidence of humility or kindness.
I hear 30 years of preaching about the utter and complete abandonment of personal morality, while the same preachers bemoan that American culture is going to hell in a handbasket, turning its back on the Church and forsaking God for, you know, Sunday baseball, kids soccer matches and the like. (But shouldn’t even Sunday baseball be preferable to hypocrisy?)
More and more these days, I’m embarrassed by Christianity.
I’m just not ready to give up on Jesus.
