Deep Calls Out to Deep

by Bob Setzer, Jr
My mother sent me a news clipping containing yet another searing image of a raging petroleum fire. The bright yellow inferno at the burn site is belching an ugly, black plume of smoke into the sky.

Only this picture was not one of many shocking photos to come out of the Gulf oil disaster. This photo was taken at a petroleum tank farm in my hometown of Greensboro, North Carolina. It is an area I remember well because one of my dad’s jobs when I was a boy, was working at just such an gas and oil storage facility. When Phillips 66 decided to move dad to Texas, that proved the end of his “oil career.” A hometown boy, my dad soon found another job and we stayed put, but those massive, round petroleum tanks--each holding nearly 200,000 gallons of gasoline--left an indelible impression on my memory.

The recent near disaster at a tank farm facility in Greensboro started when a storage tank was struck by lightning.  While sophisticated lightning rods deflect most such threats, a stray bolt slipped by to ignite a five alarm fire. With 75 huge tanks of gasoline in the immediate vicinity, a deadly, out-of-control wildfire was imminent. Fortunately, a highly skilled fire department acted quickly and decisively to spare lives and property and prevent a costly environmental disaster. Having trained repeatedly for just such a scenario, the fire fighters had everything under control within a few short hours.

The parallels with the BP oil disaster in the Gulf are telling. From all reports, it appears BP was ill-prepared for the disaster their negligence largely created. Granted, putting out a petroleum fire above ground is not nearly as daunting as stopping an oil geyser 20,000 leagues under the sea. But any corporation daunting enough to drill such a well must have failsafe and oft practiced plans for addressing the inevitable accidents. Tragically, BP did not.

Of course, in addition to all the finger pointing and outrage rightly directly BP's way, I too played a bit part in the largest environmental disaster in U.S. history. Oil money payed for my diapers after all, and every time I drive when I could walk or ride a bicycle, or excessively heat or cool my home, I help create the economic climate where it is profitable for companies to take insane risks to feed my addiction to fossil fuels. Early on in the Gulf oil disaster, I read that the oil billowing from the bottom of that sea would fuel America's highways for 15 minutes. Obviously, that number has climbed since, but the sickening shock of the realization remains.

The first job God gave Adam and Eve was to be good stewards of the creation they held in trust. Our first forbearers failed miserably at their task and judging from the soupy sea of oily sludge wreaking havoc with the Gulf's helpless creatures and heartsick citizens, our generation has fared no better. No wonder the Apostle Paul proclaimed the creation as "groaning" for redemption (Romans 8:22). Apparently, only God can save God's once beautiful world from the likes of us.

Or maybe God is waiting on us, counting on us to do something radically different in light of this disaster. What is your best Spirit-filled guess as to what that might be?

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The Dogged Truth

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Last Wednesday morning started off badly. I woke up and found that my dog of nearly 14 years, Maggie, had died.

This was not unexpected. Maggie had an inoperable tumor behind one eye that was slowly squeezing the life out of her. The day was drawing near, said the vet, when we would have to put her down. Still, upon seeing Maggie’s lifeless form where so much joy and love used to be, I felt a geyser of grief burst forth from some place deep inside me.

The chapters of my life are marked by the dogs I’ve loved. My first was a little terrier named “Bandit” for the patch of color that covered one eye. During seminary and early marriage, Bambi and I had two Irish setters, “Tillich” and “Tennille,” the one named for high-brow theology and the other for low-rent music, two of my passions then as now. After Whitney came along, we had a sleek, black lab mix named “Catra” for the “Princess of Power” action figure, then the rage.

But of all the dogs to grace my days, none was more loving, loyal, or long-lived than Maggie. For years we ran together, the two of us panting our way though hot Macon summers. She hated our pool, having fallen in as a pup, but loved to yap at her silent friend, the Polaris, trolling the depths of the pool, sucking up debris. At night, a rawhide chew or steak bone brought hours of sweet contentment. But the best part was the way Maggie always lit up with joy at the sheer gift of my presence. Until the very end, she never lost that, but now she has and I have too.

Now Maggie lies at rest in the woods behind my house. Her grave is well marked and I will visit it from time-to-time. As to what becomes of beloved pets when they die, the internet is full of the assurance they live on in God’s nearer presence. By contrast, the Bible is silent on the question, though there can be no doubt animals are even more beloved by God than they are by us.

The creation story abounds with animals, all of which are God’s exquisite handiwork; animals are trotted onto Noah’s Ark while most of the rest of the world is lost in the flood; the humane treatment of animals is a staple of the biblical revelation (e.g., Deuteronomy 25:4; Proverbs 12:10; Jonah 4:11); Jesus said the Heavenly Father notes the sparrow’s fall, while the promise the lion and the lamb will lie down together is a central premise of the New Creation (Isaiah 11:6; 65:25).

Does this mean Maggie is “in heaven”? As much as I want the answer to be “yes,” Jesus never made any such promise. But I do know the promise of a new heaven and a new earth means that much God (and we!) love about this world, gone so terribly wrong, will be redeemed and restored. As to what that means for the plot of ground where my beloved Maggie now rests, I don’t presume to know. But on resurrection morning, God willing, I’ll be there to see.

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Bigger and Better

by Jody Long
As you read this, 10 FBC high schoolers and 3 chaperones will have recently returned from the annual FBC Youth Ministry High School Mission Trip. In past years, we have journeyed to such far-flung locales as Arlington, TX, Washington D.C., and Miami, FL. These trips - and many more - have been formative for many of our youth through the years. Short-term mission trips provide a place for relationship building, utilizing known (and unknown) skills, and exploration into God’s calling for our lives.

Recently, The Christian Century magazine featured an article about the pitfalls of short-term mission trips. One of the problems that stuck in my craw was the following:

“If this is 2010, then we must be in Tanzania: Tanzania this year, Bosnia next year, Nicaragua the year after that, and the Philippines in year four: a different country on a different continent every year! Changing the mission trip location each year may provide variety for participants, but it subverts the goal of establishing deep and lasting relationships. Better to make a commitment to one community.”

One of the temptations of church ministry, in general, and youth ministry, specifically, is to always do "bigger and better."

The idea is that we build on each event or program by making its successor bigger and better than before in hopes to attract more people to our church or event. It doesn’t require too much imagination to see the tragic ends to which this ministry philosophy leads. It requires a swelling budget, more resources, more planning, more publicity and more effort. Eventually, though, you run out of places, events, or ideas.

This summer, instead of shooting for bigger and better, we went for smaller and local. Instead of flying to an exotic location to serve God’s neediest children, we traveled all the way to Americus, Ga. After the long, hour and a half drive, we pulled into Maranatha Baptist Church to hear President Jimmy Carter teach Sunday school and worship with the good folks of Plains, Ga.

The final stop was Koinonia Farms, founded by Baptist prophet Clarence Jordan and birthplace of Habitat for Humanity. The group spent the week living in a guest house without air conditioning, picking organic blueberries, clearing brush from the Peace Trail meditation trail, making candy from south Georgia pecans and various odd jobs around the farm. A trip to Habitat’s Global Discovery Village and Cafe Campesino helped frame international issues of housing, poverty, and economics.

Most of the time was spent focusing on building relationships among our group and learning to be community to each other. In an increasingly scattered world, the best mission for our students may be working, learning and reflecting alongside each other. It may be a wise lesson for the rest of us, too.

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A Marriage Bog

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
This Saturday morning at 11:00 a.m., I'll be taking my place at the Bog Garden in my hometown of Greensboro, North Carolina. A "bog" is a marsh that grows out of rich deposits of decaying plant material. This particular bog is a beautiful park nestled in the center of a thriving city.

I'll be taking my place in this bog to officiate at my younger sister's wedding. Some might prefer a sanctuary for such an occasion, but for this wedding, a bog seems perfect. A bog is a living testament to the power of life in the face of decay and death. And promising second marriages, like this one, represent new life rising out of death.

My sister, Linda, married an abusive alcoholic the first time around. He left her with a toddler and a baby on the way. Years of struggle and sadness followed, and not just for Linda, but for her children and the people who held her and them precious, most notably, my parents who lived just around the corner. I still remember my dad sitting on the front porch, baseball bat in hand, waiting for, hoping for my sister's deadbeat "husband" to come around. Fortunately, he never did.

Linda managed to eke out a living and a life for herself and her children, but the demons of depression were ever lurking. Eventually, they had their way with her and she was left to fight a long battle with a disabling illness. But after years of wrestling with her demons--plus treatment, support and her own courageous persistence--Linda emerged from her ordeal like a water lily flowering into life from the dark, lush peat hidden below the surface of the pond.

Linda's not ashamed of her struggle, else I would not speak of it. But with the help of a good church, a gracious God, and some faithful friends, her struggle helped shape and sculpt her into the wise and able woman she is today. Now she works as a volunteer chaplain, offering others "the consolation with which we ourselves are comforted by God" (2 Cor. 1:4).

So yes, it's entirely fitting that Linda's wedding will be held in the bog that has become for her a place of solace and renewal. For a bog takes things that are ugly in themselves and turns them into something beautiful. And with the help of the One who raised Jesus from the dead, that's what God's people do too.

I'm sorry I'll miss a truly special day at the Top of Poplar this Sunday, as our Global Women lead in worship. Our Global Women have heard and believed the promise of Pentecost that God's "sons and daughters shall prophesy!" (Acts 2:17). They have also given wings to some innovative new ministries, such as a computer lab for training and empowering underprivileged women.

Because of Easter and Pentecost, our world is alive with hope. And we say, "Thanks be to God!"

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