High Lites

What's with the Name?

2011-08-04T20:56:00.000-07:00

by Bob Sezter, Jr

So what's up with the name, "The First Baptist Church of Christ"? It's a question we get a lot from newbies to our family of faith.

Which is a good thing. Because the question gives us a chance to explain we are not a garden-variety First Baptist Church. This is said not in arrogance or in judgment, but as a simple statement of fact. The truth is, we are more progressive in spirit, liturgical in worship, and welcoming and ecumenical in our reach than most First Baptist Churches in the south (and perhaps beyond the south, but I claim no expertise in Yankee religion!).

But the somewhat novel name of our church predates who we are today. In fact, the lovely, lilting name, "First Baptist Church of Christ" hails from our founding in 1826 when we were christened "The Baptist Church of Christ at Macon." (The "First" came later when other Baptist churches were founded in the area.) Being designated a Baptist Church "of Christ" was not unique in Georgia in the early 19th century. However, as Baptists became part of a more tightly-structured denomination, many congregations dropped the "of Christ" and "Baptist" alone was used in the name.

That, I fear, was regrettable. After all, being Christian is more important than being Baptist. (Anyone wanting to argue the point, please take it up with Jesus!). We are Christians first and Baptists second. Being Baptist is not unimportant, but it is secondary to the fundamental confession that formed the church and binds believers throughout time and eternity: "Jesus is Lord!"

As to our relationship to the "Church of Christ" and the "Disciples of Christ,” we are kissing cousins but not denominationally related. While these churches share certain similarities to Baptists, such as local church governance and believer's baptism, Baptists hearken back to 17th century England and the "Christian Churches" to 19th century America.

So why do we stubbornly insist on remaining the "First Baptist Church of Christ", despite the curiosity and confusion the name sometimes arouses? Because the name reminds us Who we are and Whose we are.

Yes, we are a band of freedom-loving believers who don't baptize babies, answer to Bishops, or sacrifice conscience in the service of creeds. And yes, we are "First" because we are the Mother Church of Baptists in Macon. But first, last, and always, we belong to Christ. It is our deepest passion to know, love, and follow him.

So if someone asks what the name means, tell them, "We are the `First Baptist Church of Christ' because we belong to the crucified and risen One.

"Gotcha!"

2011-07-28T15:45:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Gotcha is the universal trademark of the trickster or tease. He or she fires off a prank or pun and waits for a reaction from the target. When realization dawns, the one so afflicted (or delighted!) turns to see the jokester watching in amused glee. The polished provocateur points, winks, and says, "Gotcha!"

There are a lot of gotchas in the Gospels.

One of those occurs in the 18th chapter of Matthew. Jesus is offering some practical tips on managing the inevitable spats that occur within any family, especially the family of the church. And for once, Jesus' teaching sounds imminently doable. Matthew, notepad at the ready, is scribbling furiously. "This is good!" he muses. "I've got to get this in my book!"

"First thing," says Jesus. "If someone ticks you off, go and speak privately with him or her about this matter" (Mt 18:15). Matthew isn't entirely happy with this advice. Shouldn't the jerk who made this mess have to take the first step in fixing it? But Jesus is soft on jerks. Matthew knows this. So he swallows hard and writes down Step One.

"Secondly," says Jesus, "if you two can't talk out the problem by yourselves, get some help. Find a referee or coach, maybe an honest-to-God counselor” (Mt 18:16). Matthew has mental health benefits on his health plan so he can hire a professional for little or no out-of-pocket expense. He can live with this.

"Then," says Jesus, "if ya'll still can't work it out, take the matter to the church" (Mt 18:17). Yes!, thinks Matthew. This just gets better and better. I can't wait to expose this scoundrel to the church. Once folks know the whole story, surely they will side with me!

"Finally," says Jesus, "if the impasse remains," let this person be to you as a Gentile and tax collector" (Mt 18:18). That is insider language for people considered expendable. At long last, thinks Matthew, I can write this low life off. Whew!

But thirty or forty years later, as Matthew is writing his Gospel, he sees that last phrase, still wet with ink on his papyrus, start to pulsate with a white hot glow as the Holy Spirit breathes upon the words. Suddenly, it dawns on Matthew how Jesus treated "Gentiles and tax collectors." He cared about them, reached out to them, and beckoned them into the embrace of his own limitless forgiveness (70 x 7!, Mt 18:22) and love.

Matthew puts down his quill pen. He sighs and shakes his head. A smile begins to form at the corners of his mouth as from some place deep inside, he hears Jesus say yet again: "Gotcha!"

11-Minute Warning

2011-07-23T18:22:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Now here's a scary thought: The typical guest visiting our Sunday morning worship service decides within the first eleven minutes whether he or she is coming back! That is one finding of a recent study about reaching those without a church home.

The so-called "eleven-minute rule" means the person negotiating his or her way to the top of Poplar for the first time is not undecided for long. From the moment he or she lands on our property, the clock is ticking. And at every step along the way, he or she is making judgments, consciously and unconsciously, about whether this place and this people are a good fit.

In other words, long before the best church choir in middle Georgia rises to sing, the guest already "knows" if he or she will return. Long before the preacher rises to offer his carefully crafted sermon, the pilgrim has already decided if this "Interpreter's House" is for him, for her. That means the two elements of the service the ministers and laity spend the most time preparing and sharing, come too late to alter the guest's instinctive sense about our fellowship: Does this place feel like "home”?

What then are the crucial factors in forming a guest's all-important first impression? This discernment process begins in the parking lot. Can he or she easily find a place to park? (That's why it's so important to leave those clearly marked "Guest Parking" spots for guests!) Does the church lawn beckon with flowers and color or does a ragged lawn shout, "We're not expecting guests!" Is the entrance to a large, overwhelming church complex clearly marked? Fortunately, our imposing banks of front steps make that obvious, assuming one has the physical vitality to mount them. But what if granddaddy is in a wheelchair? What then?

Then, upon entering that mysterious, sacred space called a "sanctuary," is there a warm, smiling greeter? Does the bulletin provide important clues about how to negotiate the service, such as listing the page number in the hymnal for the "Gloria Patri?” When the guest scans the congregation are there other young people/older people, singles/couples, white folks/people of color like oneself? And do the people seated nearest the visitor smile and nod in greeting, warmly welcoming him or her without being nosy or intrusive?

Longtime, deeply-connected members of the First Baptist family easily forget how intimidating it is for our guests to negotiate a room full of strangers. But that's who and what our church is to most people in their first eleven minutes of visiting: an unknown space full of strangers. Little wonder the Scriptures commend us to hone our hospitality skills (Romans 12:13; Hebrews 13:2). For creating a safe space for strangers is the first, vitally important step in drawing people into the welcoming embrace of God's love, God's family, and God's kingdom movement.

Jesusland

2011-07-14T04:45:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Not infrequently, Jesus shows up in some pretty surprising places. According to recent news reports, the face of Jesus has been seen in a pizza sold in Australia, a poppy petal photographed in the high desert of California, and in the swirling images on a tie-dyed T-shirt in Cleveland. (http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/popup?id=2729440)

But of all the Jesus sightings reported in the news of late, the one that most piqued my interest occurred in Kinston, North Carolina. There a utility pole draped in kudzu, created a jaw-dropping sensation. The locals say the kudzu, hanging from the pole and electrical wire, looks like Jesus hanging from his cross. And from the AP photo I saw of this signal event (pun intended), they are right! (http://www.macon.com/2011/06/29/1614332/holy-kudzu-vine-in-nc-town-said.html).

Kent Hardison, a commuter who passes the kudzu draped utility pole each day, considered blasting the offending vine with herbicide. But as Mr. Hardison peered at the vine, he had an epiphany: "It looks like Jesus!" And then the sobering realization hit home: "You can't spray Roundup on Jesus!"

Now as a preacher, always on the lookout for new material, I appreciate Mr. Hardison's keen eye for signs of God's Kingdom in the world. The theological word for such postings of the eternal in time is a "sacrament." A sacrament is something that points beyond itself to the Divine and/or becomes a channel of God's presence to believers. Even so, this kudzu up in the Tarheel state has become a sacrament to many. As Mr. Hardison observed in the local paper, "It's doesn't matter what you do, kudzu is going to be around. Ain't that a lot like Jesus?"

Who can argue with that?

At our church this summer, we are unpacking the parables of Jesus, Sunday by Sunday. And one of the most striking features of Jesus parables are all the places Jesus sees God's truth, God's kingdom, poking through in the most surprising of places: in seed and soil, weeds and wheat, leaven and flour, booty hidden in a field, a glowing pearl, and all kinds of fish dragged up in a net! And all that's just in Matthew chapter 13! Continue traipsing after Jesus in the Gospels and you'll see him discover the kingdom in even more shocking places: a crooked accountant (Lk 16:1-9), a nosy neighbor (Lk 11:5-8), and an indigent with a sign that says, "Will work for food" (Lk 16:19-31). With Jesus, it seems, there is no place and nobody where God is not already present, quietly, mysteriously at work.

Granted, there will come a time, says Jesus, where God will separate the wheat from the weeds (Mt 13:40-42), the good fish from the bad (Mt 13:47-50), and the sheep from the goats (Mt 25:31-46). But that time is not yet and when that time comes, God, not us, will do the judging. Our job as followers of Jesus is not to judge the world, but to point with irrepressible, heart-thumping glee at all the places, all the people God where is already at work in wild and wonderful ways (quite often without our help, thank you very much!). And sometimes, this Good News we hold in trust helps someone discover their heavenly Abba is near.

So keeping looking for the living God in the sparrows, the stranger, the enemy, and maybe even in the kudzu. You never know where Jesus is going to show up next.

Church after Church

2011-07-01T22:43:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Recently, Jonathan Alderman and I were talking in the parking lot after Wednesday night church. Most veteran FBCers realize the parking lot, as well as the sanctuary, can be holy ground. Often, in encounters on the asphalt, "church after church" unfolds.

That evening, Jonathan and I were talking about his sister, Amelia Anne, who died much too young in 2009. He recalled Amelia Anne's love of stories. Indeed, those of us who knew and loved Amelia Anne can vouch that "story" was her primary dialect.

"Whenever I needed an answer from Amelia Anne about something," Jonathan said, "I could never get a simple yes or no answer. With her, it was always, ‘Let me tell you a story.' Eventually, she would give me an answer to my question, but only after she told her story. Sometimes, the story was the answer."

Jesus shared Amelia Anne's love of story. Whenever someone asked him a probing or thorny question, his most characteristic response was, "Let me tell you a story."

Jesus' stories are called "parables" from a Greek word meaning "to cast alongside." He didn't invent the genre, but he used it to maximum advantage, teaching God's truth with poignancy and punch and staying power. With his stories, Jesus usually avoided the direct hit, preferring to "cast alongside" a pivotal truth, like a master fisherman casting just to the side of a fallen tree in the shallows. When a big six-pounder ambles along and clamps down on the lure, that bass is a goner.

Or to use another metaphor, Jesus' parables function like depth-charges to the soul. He tells a simple story about a lost son, a mustard seed, or leaven. His first hearers and we nod in appreciation. But then Jesus' story stays with us, working its magic, turning and twisting in the back of the mind and in the depths of the heart. Then a day or two later, or maybe a month or even a lifetime, some new facet of Jesus' truth discharges in the hidden places of the soul. "Oh!," we say in wonder and awe. "So that's what he was talking about."

This Sunday, we begin a sermon series on some of Jesus' best stories as told in Matthew's Gospel. These are stories about organic farming and poor etiquette and unfair labor practices and cold-hearted jerks who get what they deserve (see front cover for entire series). But again and again as Jesus tells these stories, he sneaks up on us from behind and taps us on the shoulder with some surprising, world-altering truth about God.

"What shall we say the Kingdom of God is like?," asks Jesus. "What parable shall we use to explain it?" (Mark 4:30). A grin forms at the corner of his mouth and there is mirth in his eyes as he looks as us and says, "Let me tell you a story."

“LET ME TELL YOU A STORY”
A sermon series on some of Jesus’ stories from Matthew’s Gospel

July 3: A Story about Good and Evil: The Wheat and the Tares (Mt. 13:24-30)
July 10: A Story about going Deep: The Sower and the Soils (Mt. 13:1-9)
July 17: A Story about Passion: The Pearl of Great Price (Mt. 13:44-50)
July 24: A Story about Forgiveness: The Unmerciful Servant (Mt. 18:23-35)
July 31: A Story about Grace: The Landowner and the Laborers (Mt. 20:1-16)
August 7: A Story about True Obedience: The Two Sons (Mt. 21:28-32)

Ride On

2011-06-17T07:04:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
A couple of weeks ago, I went on a long bike ride on one of those 102 degree days. This was not as daunting as it sounds. While biking, one gets a breeze most of the time, especially when whizzing downhill. And in Macon, one's t-shirt is soaking wet within the first ten minutes. A wet, clammy t-shirt plus a steady breeze makes for pretty effective cooling.

That day I had a route mapped out in the countryside beyond Bolingbroke. At first, I was blissfully breezing along, marveling at the beauty of the pastures, horses, and farms that rolled past to my left and right. I took care to stay hydrated, gulping frequently from my water bottle. The ride was a lot of fun, but taking longer than I anticipated. Much longer.

Finally, after about an hour of riding, I stopped to assess my situation. I was way out in the country and clearly lost. Somehow, I had missed a turn (or two or three). Further, my water bottle was now empty and the sun was reaching its zenith. I had a cell phone with me, but I was nowhere near admitting defeat and sounding the SOS.

Sweating profusely and road-weary, I climbed back on my bike and chugged up another couple of hills. To my relief, I saw an intersection in the distance but when I arrived, none of the roads had a sign. There were three choices: straight, left, or right. I didn't have a clue which road to take.

That's when it hit me, as a smile slowly spread across my face: "My dad would be so proud of me!"

My dad, who died in June three years ago, was an avid bike rider. When I was a boy, we took an annual ride from our home in Greensboro, North Carolina, to Hanging Rock. That was a long ride in those days, especially with old, heavy, five-speed bicycles. And my dad would not let me push my bike up the mountain. We had to ride up that long, torturous climb, stopping to rest, occasionally, but never permitted to walk or hobble up the hill. Pedal power only.

Fathers, even when gone, are part of us forever. I'm always surprised when mine shows up unbidden in my consciousness. Usually it is when something special happens that I want to share with him; and sometimes, glancing up at heaven, I do. Sometimes those bittersweet moments of recollection occur when I yearn for my father's advice or guidance; thankfully, I have rich stores of his wisdom to draw upon when needed. Occasionally, my father visits me in my dreams; he reminds me of the Hope we share that means someday, I'll see him again.

Meanwhile, back in the hinterlands of Monroe County, I flagged down a driver at the intersection and got my bearings. Then I set off again and Dad and I rode all the way home.

Really Seeing

2011-06-11T07:25:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer Jr.
When I was about 9 or 10, my mother took me to the eye doctor. He told me to look at a page of different colored circles, each about the size of a bead, and asked what I saw. No problem. I saw the shapes and patterns clearly. Or so I thought. Actually, I saw the "wrong" shapes and patterns, the ones you see if you are color-blind. That's when my mother figured out why I sometimes wore one blue sock and one black one.

Being color "blind" doesn't mean one cannot see colors, except for a rare form of the malady. Rather, most color-blind people (usually boys and men) see colors a little differently. For example, it's hard for me to discern hues of color, say purple as opposed to blue or tan instead of brown. I was an adult before I learned a "green light" was actually green; growing up, I thought the light was white, like the light bulbs in a house; the "green" part I took to be a reference to a bygone age when traffic lights were actually green. (To tell you the truth, I'm still a little suspicious about this one. Grass is green; I can't believe a traffic light is that color.)

Fortunately, the liturgical colors that mark the passing seasons of the church year are primary colors, rich colors, colors so close to the center of the target even I can see them aright. Since Easter, the cloth on the Communion table and hanging from the pulpit has been white, the color of joy and victory. The earliest Christians marked their baptism with a white robe, as we do still today.

This Sunday, Pentecost Sunday, the color of the cloths ("paraments") will change to red. Red is the color of fire and commemorates the "tongues of fire" that fell on the early church at Pentecost (Acts 2:3). Since red is also the color of blood, red paraments are used on Palm or Passion Sunday marking the beginning of Holy Week and on Good Friday.

If you don't like change, then settle down because Sunday week, the liturgical color will shift to green and stay way throughout the Pentecost season, the seventh-month period that carries us all the way to Advent.

Since the fourth century when Christianity became legal in the Roman Empire, many churches marked the changing seasons of the church year with colors. Why? Perhaps because God does, changing the colors of the world with the changing seasons: green in the spring and summer, gold, red, and yellow in the fall, and sometimes white in the winter.

Liturgical colors are simply another way of telling the Gospel story, enhancing the beauty and symbolism of worship, and affirming our kinship with the larger Christian church. And the really great part for color-blind people like me, is that these colors are so rich and full, we can actually see them!

Membership

2011-06-01T17:10:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
What does it mean to be a "member" of the First Baptist Church of Christ?

Is a member someone who was baptized in the 1960s following Vacation Bible School, but has not been seen or heard from since?

Is a member someone who was once active in our church but moved away years ago and never joined another congregation? And what exactly is a "non-resident" member? How can one be a member of a church without being ever being present to the church?

Is a member someone who drifted out of active participation with a local community of faith, years ago, but still shows up for the Christmas Eve Service?

Or is a member someone who worships with us most Sundays, supports the church with her prayers, presence, and financial gifts, is willing to help with Vacation Bible School or go on a mission trip, when asked, but has never "walked the aisle"?

According to the formal canons of membership in most churches, everyone described above is considered a member of the church except the last! Go figure.

A recent article in The Christian Century titled, "What's Happening to Church Membership?", got me thinking about this. According to the article, many people today identify with a congregation to the point of real connection and commitment, without ever formally affiliating. Younger people especially are most prone to connect through informal networks of relationships rather than through institutional rituals.

Most Sundays at the top of Poplar, I see many beloved fellow pilgrims who "belong" to our church but have never joined. Some don't see the point. Some recoil at the thought of promenading to the front of the church in front of a gawking crowd. Some fear taking that final step of commitment.

Would I like to see these friends "join" our church? Yes. Because "joining," clarifies our relationship. In such an act of celebration and consecration, a congregation and a seeker make public their covenant of trust and commitment to Christ and to one another.

But meanwhile, at the dawn of the 21rst century, we may need to rethink what membership means. The older, bureaucratic model of congregations needs to give way to a more Jesus-friendly, New Testament-like understanding of membership as belonging not to an institution, but "to one another" (Ephesians 4:25).

In other words, we need to be more an organism than an organization. We are not a civic club, after all, but a body, the body of Christ.

Safe and Free

2011-05-25T18:00:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
I hold in my hand a glossy DVD case embossed with a gently waving American flag. The flag frames a photo of a Chinook helicopter hovering in the sky. The title on the case reads, "Memorial Service, 21 February 2007, Fort Campbell, Kentucky . . . Bravo Company, 160th Special Operations, Airborne."

This DVD was given to me by the grandmother of one of the young men remembered in the memorial service. She is a fellow pilgrim in the journey with Jesus at the top of Poplar. I will always remember going to her house upon learning her grandson had been killed in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan. There were no magic, preacherly words to say, to make everything better, just an offering of shared anguish and of tears.

It's been four years since that terrible night in the desert but my friend’s tears still flow as she watches the video of the memorial service. I carried the DVD around with me for a week before I could bring myself to watch it. I didn't want to confront the costs of war in such a direct, personal way.

The Memorial Service for these five Night Stalkers--a night flying unit that delivers special op soldiers--was profoundly moving. Fellow soldiers offered tributes to their fallen comrades, one-by-one. These ramrod straight warriors in their green uniforms with colorful emblems on their chests, stood quivering, Kleenex in hand, sniffling and fighting tears, as they told personal stories about the precious lives lost. These fallen comrades in arms were not just soldiers, still less statistics. They were beloved husbands, devoted sons, doting fathers, and faithful friends. The photos of these once vibrant souls cradling their babies or with their sweethearts, bright-eyed and beaming at their sides, broke my heart.

Because these five Night Stalkers performed with skill and valor, fighting to keep their doomed aircraft aloft, 14 servicemen survived the crash. Thus, in the truest sense, these men embodied Jesus' words, "Greater love has no man than this that he lay down his life for his friends."

As to whether the sacrifice of these lives and so many more in Afghanistan and Iraq, was "worth" what has been won in those far flung field of battles, I don't profess to know. It's easy to say "of course," in the abstract. Harder when you confront that jagged, forever empty place in your heart where a precious grandson, so full of life and promise, used to be.

All I know is that when I and my fellow Americans fire up our grills for Memorial Day, the least we can do is pause, remember, and thank God for those who sacrificed everything trying to keep other people's grandsons, in both America and Afghanistan, safe and free.

Thinking about Osama

2011-05-19T19:09:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
I'm about to get myself in real trouble.

Osama bin Laden is the man we all love to hate and Lord knows, he deserves it. The mastermind of the 9/11 attacks on our nation unleashed immeasurable suffering and loss for thousands of American families. Further, the political and economic consequences of his diabolical design continue to define our world in costly and terrible ways.

Still, when I see those video clips of that pathetic, graying old man hunched in front of his 14" color TV set with a remote in his hand--as though he still controlled the fate of men and of nations--I find something strange, ugly, and repellent welling up within me: pity. I can't help but feel pity that some mother's son turned into such a spectacle of shame, hatred, impotence, and utter isolation, which to me is a pretty good working definition of "hell."

Jesus likened hell to the garbage dump outside Jerusalem (Greek Gehenna) where the refuse never stopped burning and the worms feasted 24/7 (Mark 9:43-48). Quite apart from metaphysical speculation about the life to come, Osama's compound sounds like hell in the here and now: brooding hate, desperate for a target, but mostly cut off from its minions; pornography stashed under the bed rather than risking intimacy with a real person; the trash strewn premises of a "million dollar compound" that in truth, hardly qualifies as a low rent hotel; living in morbid fear of the resolute justice that sooner or later will come storming through your door.

To me, those grainy images of bin Laden in his final days are an ugly portrait of evil turned in on itself. The video clips of that stooped, shrunken shell of a man provide a revealing picture of a life completely divorced from God's love and truth: such a person loses touch with both reality and the divine. Perhaps that's what Jesus means when he speaks of "blaspheming the Holy Spirit" (Mark 3:28-29). To blaspheme the Holy Spirit is to lock oneself up so tightly in the bell jar of one's own evil machinations, even God is at a loss to penetrate such hostile, mad defenses.

But none of that changes the fact that one of God's most prodigal of sons wandered so far off the reservation, he never found his way home. And for God, at least--the loving Abba of Jesus' teaching--that must be a very costly loss. Ask any parent of a child who has gone terribly wrong: the grief-stricken mother or father never quits hurting over the loss of what might have been.

So go ahead and fire off the flaming emails. Maybe I deserve them. But I can't help but feel a surprising sadness over the tragedy of a life gone so terribly wrong that in turn, heaped such tragedy and suffering on the world. Surely, the Devil must be proud.

What Is It About You Preachers?

2011-05-13T20:39:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.

"So what is it about you preachers? Why is preaching so important to you?"

Someone asked me that after hearing how badly I missed being in the pulpit on Easter. Thankfully, I was where I needed to be that Sunday, by Bambi's side in the immediate aftermath of her mother's death. And I knew the First Baptist family could not be in better hands with Edd Rowell as our guest preacher.

Still for me, not preaching on Easter was a significant loss. Any preacher who doesn't long to be in the pulpit on Easter, passionately proclaiming “Christ is risen indeed!”, really needs to look for a new line of work.

"So what is it about you preachers? Why is preaching so important to you?" Hmm. Let me count the ways.

Time passes a lot more quickly in the pulpit than in the pew! In the pulpit, twenty minutes passes by in a flash; in the pew, twenty minutes can feel like the Chinese water torture. That's why every preacher should have to warm a pew from time to time. It breeds compassion.

The pulpit, like an eagle's nest high above the valley floor, gives one a unique view of those gathered for worship: All those faces, so eager, so searching, some strained by sadness and loss, some radiant with joy and triumph. In those faces, the cross and resurrection are etched in the sinews of life.
The Celtics spoke of "thin places" where the boundary between heaven and earth was especially thin. For me, the pulpit is my premier "thin place." I'm always surprised by all the ways the Holy Spirit shows up to meet me there: in a flash of insight, the swelling of emotion, some deeply felt connection with an upturned face below.
The sacred calling of living deeply into the life of a particular Christian community--and speaking out of that experience--turns preaching from being a monologue into a symphony sung by many voices. As Carlyle Marney said it, "The preacher listens for seven days for the privilege of speaking 20 minutes on Sunday."

"So what is it about you preachers? Why is preaching so important to you?"

Bottom line, it is a God-breathed passion and calling. Like old Jeremiah, I have known hard times when I was tempted to do something else: "But then there is within me a burning fire shut up in my bones; I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot" (Jeremiah 20:9).

Preaching is the one thing I can’t not do. If and when I find delight in being out of the pulpit on Easter, it will be time to do something else.

In This World=Trouble

2011-05-05T20:53:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
In John 16:33, Jesus proclaims, “In the world you will have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” It is a promise we need in the wake of seeing the devastation and ruin wrought by recent killer tornadoes.

I saw some Google satellite pics that reveal before and after shots of the tornado-seared landscape in Tuscaloosa County, Alabama. The swath of utter destruction left by that black, billowing cloud packing 200 mph winds is hard to fathom. The loss of life and property is mind-numbing and heartbreaking. According to one report, there are nearly 400 people dead or missing in Tuscaloosa alone.

Plans are underway for a First Baptist Memorial Day Weekend trip to one of the devastated regions in Alabama. The focus of the trip will be supply delivery and debris removal. The cost to trip participants will be minimal as our church will provide transportation and the work group will sleep on cots in a CBF church. Those unable to go can help by contributing supplies--as specific needs are identified--or funds to secure those supplies. Carrie Ingoldsby is serving as Trip Coordinator and Jody Long as staff liaison so please speak with either of them for additional information.

On another front, this was the week Public Enemy Number One on the world’s list of top terrorists was finally brought to justice. While forgoing the ghoulish delight the death of Osama bin Laden has sprouted on Facebook, internet postings, and elsewhere, I commend the courage and resourcefulness of the U. S. Special Forces who took the decisive action required to stop bin Laden from foisting still more evil and suffering on the world. Along with the “Arab spring” of greater freedom and democracy sweeping many countries in the Middle-East, perhaps bin Laden’s death will signal a new, more promising chapter in the struggle for peace and justice. I also pray these startling developments mean we can at last bring our troops home.

Finally, this Sunday is Mother’s Day, a day of great joy and celebration on the one hand, and much sadness and loss on the other. For some, this will be the first Mother’s Day since their mother died. For some, it will be a day to confront the pain of the mother they never knew. Thus, on a day of happiness for many, others will be quietly dabbing at tears.

Jesus looked the real world square in the eye when he said, "In the world, you will have tribulation." But thank God, that is not the end of the story. For this side of Easter, we can answer, "But be of good cheer. The crucified and risen One is at work in the world bringing hope in the face of despair and healing in the face of our profoundest loss."

A Grieving Good Friday

2011-04-28T19:27:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
On Easter Sunday morning, I worshiped in Greensboro, North Carolina where Bambi's mother, Mrs. Lilly Wilson, passed away the Friday before. Certainly given the circumstances, I was profoundly grateful for the great Good News of Easter that Christ robbed death of its prey. But I sorely missed being with God's people at the top of Poplar, rubbing shoulders with beloved fellow pilgrims, soaking up the beauty of stained-glass light, and thrilling to the music of the best choir this side of heaven.

I was thankful my friend Edd Rowell was available to fill the pulpit with his usual wit, wisdom, and passionate faith. And I was grateful for staff colleagues and others who urged me to stay by Bambi's side in North Carolina rather than rush back to Macon to preach. Still, for any preacher who loves his or her craft, being out of the pulpit on Easter is a trying ordeal.

But there are times when the preacher needs to hang up his Superman cape and join the ranks of bereaved mourners, stunned and grieved at the loss of a loved one. As Jesus stood trembling by the tomb of his beloved Lazarus, tears coursing down his cheeks (John 11:35, 38), so the pastor must honor the pain of his own broken heart. These days, as I bury so many dear friends from our First Baptist family, I do that more and more.

During the two weeks Bambi was at her mother's side as Mrs. Wilson's death drew near--and during my own brief sojourn Greensboro--I was reminded of several things grief-stricken families learn:

It's not what people say when trying to offer a word of comfort that matters; it's that they care enough to acknowledge one's loss with an email or Facebook message, a call, or better yet, a hug. Similarly, the beautiful spray of flowers sent by the First Baptist family calmed and cheered our hearts.
It helps immeasurably when a loved one is dying to have a team of family members, as Bambi did, to support each another through the spasms of grief that momentarily cripple every care-giver.
A sensitive pastor, minister, or Hospice chaplain who can be present, without being intrusive or excessively pious, becomes a lifeboat in a family's churning sea of grief. We were blessed to have such a pastor minister to us in the wake of Mrs. Wilson's passing.

Bambi's mother died on Good Friday. Perhaps in some sense, every Christian does. For it is in dying with Christ that we experience the great reversal, namely, having our death vanquished by the power of our Lord’s risen life. This year, more than most, I am deeply grateful for the One whose Easter dawn shatters our most impenetrable darkness.

Holy Week

2011-04-20T20:18:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
As this column is being written, the church is in the midst of Holy Week. But though the dark shadows of Good Friday yet loom, there is no doubting how the story will end. On Easter Sunday, Jesus will rise with the dawn to vanquish the darkness of sin and death, so on that blessed day we will gather to sing and shout our Alleluias.

The journey of Lent--the forty days preceding Easter--is a time to enter more deeply into Jesus’ suffering and passion. During Lent, we revisit Jesus’ challenge to Jerusalem--and us--as he unmasks our hypocrisy, pride, and willful blindness. Seeing the escalating tension, we feel the tightness in our stomachs as the story rushes toward it terrible climax. On Palm Sunday, we leave the top of Poplar with heavy hearts. As one child told his mother, tears streaming down his cheeks, “They killed Jesus again!”

But throughout the journey, however intense it grows, we know the story will not end at Golgotha but at the Garden. For there, through an opening created by an empty tomb, hope and healing will spill out to a broken world.

It’s a little like watching a classic movie we’ve seen time and time again. Knowing how the story will end does not prevent great drama from speeding up our pulse or bringing tears to our eyes. Rather, knowing how the story will end allows us to bear the disappointments and tragedies of the drama in a new way. We feel less fear and foreboding. We may weep, but ours are tears of sadness, not of desperation.

We are an Easter people living in a Good Friday world. Disappointments, struggles, tragedies, and injustice assail people of faith like everybody else. The difference is that Easter people know how the story will end. Somehow, God will find a way. Somehow, God will bring new life in the face of every death.

The great Methodist evangelist, W. E. Sangster, suffered from multiple sclerosis. As his life neared its end, the progressing illness claimed the muscles in his throat. It was a sentence worse than death: an ardent preacher, unable to speak. Refusing to be silenced, Sangster celebrated Easter from bed by penning these words: “It is a terrible thing to wake upon Easter morning and have no voice to shout, `He is Risen!’ It is more terrible to have a voice and not want to shout, `He is Risen!’”

Sunday morning, we will gather at the top of Poplar in full voice for we are an Easter people. Before every broken heart and shattered dream, we know to shout: “The Lord is risen! He is risen indeed!” Jesus lives! God is yet writing the end of the story.

Competing Processionals

2011-04-15T21:59:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
In their short but masterful work, The Last Week, Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan imagine two processions entering Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.

The first was a peasant band, cheering wildly, as their champion rode into town for the Passover festival. John’s Gospel tells us the adoring crowds cut down palm fronds to make a carpet for their advancing king (John 12:3) The crowds cried, “Hosanna! Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!” (Mark 11:9-10). The object of their affection sat astride his donkey, gaze fixed ahead, stoic and silent. As his admirers would soon learn, he was indeed a king, but not the king they wanted or expected.

On the other side of Jerusalem, approaching from the west, was a regal Roman procession. Riding a white stallion at the head of a column of cavalry and foot soldiers, was the Roman Governor, Pontius Pilate. Ordinarily, Pilate stayed at his sumptuous palace in Caesarea by the Sea, 60 miles away on the Mediterranean. But during the most sacred of Jewish festivals, the Passover, the locals were apt to get up in arms, stirred by patriotic hopes of liberation. So Pilate came to town with his crack Roman troops, complete with their armor and state-of-the-art weaponry, to send a clear message: challenge Rome at the cost of your lives!

Thus, what Christian tradition dubbed “Palm Sunday” began with competing processionals: Pilate entering Jerusalem from the west with his banners and golden eagles held aloft; while on the east side of the city, Jesus descended from the Mount of Olives with his ragtag bunch of fickle followers in tow.

That these two processionals entered Jerusalem the same day, perhaps at the same hour, was no coincidence. Jesus carefully planned this moment, arranging to have his humble beast of burden at the ready (Mk 11:2-7). According to the prophets, this was the chosen mount of the One who would “command peace to the nations” (Zechariah 9:9-10). Thus, the festivity of Jesus’ Palm Sunday processional was hardly a spontaneous celebration. It was a carefully orchestrated challenge to the city of God, over which he wept (Luke 19:41), and also a challenge of the imperial claim that Caesar was divine, and that his rule was the only one that mattered.

In the end, Jesus died in a collision of his procession, his proclamation of the rule and reign of God above all, and the privilege and power of a corrupt religious establishment in bed with a cruel, ruthless empire. With triumphant glee, Jerusalem and Rome thought that was the end of this nettlesome rabbi from Nazareth. But even then, in the bowels of the earth, God was fomenting a revolution.

Selling Easter?

2011-04-06T19:37:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Recently, the news wires hummed with the story of a church in Ohio sponsoring an Easter Sweepstakes. Two lucky winners will walk away with $500 each just for showing up for Easter Sunday worship!

Apparently, such theatrics "work" if the goal is to pack the pews with lottery winner wannabees. Last Easter, the sponsoring church more than doubled its usual attendance.

Today I read about a Georgia pastor who is planning to jump his motorcycle, Evel Knievel-style, over nine buses outside a Baptist church in Florida. This enterprising daredevil for the Kingdom also plans to jump through a wall of fire.

It's not hard to spoof or dismiss such attention-grabbing antics. They are crude, sensational, and manipulative. They appeal to people's basest motives. They represent the sort of melodrama and magical thinking Jesus rejected so emphatically during his Wilderness temptation: he was not partial to swan dives off the Temple (Matthew 4:5-7).

But much to the chagrin of my more sophisticated friends, I must confess the other side of my ambivalence: at least these folks are trying to gain a hearing for the Good News of Jesus. Maybe this is their best effort to get a increasingly secular, self-absorbed culture to even notice the church, much less pay attention to its message or feel its welcoming embrace.

Now, relax. I'm not about to suggest some flamboyant, tactless measure to generate a crowd. But what's Plan B? What does a church like ours need to do, want to do to draw others into the journey with Jesus? How can we learn to cultivate and practice the restless, seeking love that goes after the "lost sheep" until it is found? How do we practice evangelism (literally, "Good News-ism") with the sensitivity and compassion of Jesus?

Maybe we start by thinking of one person we know who needs Jesus and Jesus' people, the church. Then we covenant to pray for that person each day until our heart aches for him or her to know God's loving touch. Maybe we ask God to create an opening for us to speak with that person about faith in a gentle, non-threatening way. Maybe we invite him or her not just to church, but to community--to sit beside us, to share a laugh or a tear, and maybe even Sunday lunch. After all, Jesus never missed a chance to break bread with those falling in love with God, despite their best efforts to keep God at a distance.

Raffles and stunts are not likely to draw people into a relationship with the living God. For that, we need Jesus. And Jesus needs us to be his hands and heart, opening wide to all those who have an ache in their life only the loving Heavenly Abba can fill.

Photo Albums

2011-03-31T19:54:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
On my study shelves, there are six church directories from Macon’s First Baptist Church. The earliest hails from the mid-80s and features pictures of secretaries with typewriters at their elbows (and not a computer monitor in sight), shots of elegantly dressed ladies stepping out of boat-sized sedans, and photos of ministers sporting bushy mustaches and “preacher hair” even more pronounced than my own!

But aside from the humor in looking back and seeing how times and styles have changed, those church directories are a precious archive of dear saints, many of whom are now gone, who have journeyed with Jesus in the company of God’s people at the top of Poplar. These are the faces, the memories, and the snapshots of grace that tell us something of who we are by telling us something of who we were.

Likewise, in my home and office, there are a succession church family portraits that chronicle the story of the Setzer clan. The first is a black-and-white photograph featuring a spiffy-looking kid with a crew cut and skinny tie flanked by two lovely sisters. An earnest-looking dad and smiling mom, bursting with pride, stand behind their brood. A later portrait shows Bambi and me in all our technicolor splendor, huddled up close as young love birds do. Still later, a bespectacled seven-year-old Whitney makes her debut in the pics. Since my family was and is deeply invested in the life of a local community of faith, these portraits were all taken “at church.” K-Mart or a studio of more expensive and refined tastes, never had a shot at us. Pun intended.

I realize that in these days of camera phones and cheap digital cameras, everyone and his cousin fancies him or herself a photographer. But have you noticed how many of those digital shots end up stored on a computer where, unless someone studiously organizes and manages them, they disappear into cyberspace and are soon forgotten? By contrast, a professionally rendered 8x10 glossy (free to those who participate in our church directory) is much more likely to end up framed and hung on the wall or perched on a desk.

Thirty years from now when I’m rocking on the porch of the retirement home, I will long to remember the “good ‘ole days” at First Baptist from the year of our Lord, 2011. Perhaps my trembling, arthritic fingers will not be able to manage whatever electronic gadget is the display device of the moment. Or maybe I’ll lack the technological savvy to pull up digital images from the long ago and far away. But I will still be able to pull a printed church directory off the shelf, thumb through its pages, and remember with gratitude and joy the dear saints with whom I journeyed with Jesus.

Please make sure your picture is in our upcoming church family directory so when that day comes, I’ll be looking at you.

Room for Elephants

2011-03-24T20:31:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Last Sunday night, we began our Spring Ethics Series, “The Church and Homosexuality.” The Great Room was packed with a polite, attentive audience. Craig McMahon, a member of our church and University Minister at Mercer, led us through an exploration of the seven biblical texts that speak specifically to homosexual practice. Having served as a pastor for 25 years, Craig knows how tense an issue this is for most local churches. He also knows the struggle many families face in embracing their gay sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, and other loved ones, while feeling conflicted about the moral and religious implications of that acceptance.

Craig didn’t solve all the issues surrounding our theme for the evening, “The Bible and Homosexuality,” nor was that our goal. But he did treat the biblical text with respect and understanding, probing for the real meaning of what the Bible meant in its original context, the first critical step in understanding what the Bible means for us today. Essentially, Craig argued that much of what is under consideration when the Bible speaks of homosexuality relates to such deplorable practices as gang rang (Sodom and Gomorrah) or the Greco-Roman practice of turning boys into sex toys (1 Corinthians 6:9), and not what we think of as homosexuality today. In his thoughtful sharing, my friend, Craig, showed me anew how much the Bible has to offer on most any subject, when interpreted aright.

This Sunday night, our series continues with ethicist David Gushee from the McAfee School of Theology and our own Rick Wilson, a theologian and Chair of the Christianity Department at Mercer. These two will offer their own theological perspectives in relating biblical truth, Christian tradition, and the modern understanding of what it means to be born gay rather than to choose a particular lifestyle. The following Sunday night, April 3, Dr. Paige Tench, a psychiatrist and FBC member, will acquaint us with the current state of medical research on homosexuality. The last night, April 10, I will lead a panel discussion of persons directly affected by the question of “The Church and Homosexuality.”

Therapists sometimes speak of “the elephant in the room.” The expression refers to the reluctance of many families to talk about the secret or shame (e.g., daddy or mama’s alcoholism) that is causing the family much pain. Healing only begins when someone summons the courage to name “the elephant in the room.”

To those who wonder why we must talk about such “unseemly subjects” as the Bible and sexuality, out loud and at church!, I can only answer that’s what families do when they love and trust each other enough to grow toward greater understanding, health, and compassion. As God’s people at the Top of Poplar, “speaking the truth in love” (Eph. 4:15) is our native dialect. After all, we learned to talk like that from our older brother, Jesus.

Japan's Catastrophe

2011-03-18T17:04:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Like most Americans, I am deeply saddened by the horrific destruction unleashed in Japan. Truly, the dimensions of this catastrophe--including the continuing threat of a nuclear meltdown--are apocalyptic in scope. It is heartbreaking to watch the shell-shocked survivors, sifting their way through a wasteland.

We have eight students from Japan in our English-as-a-Second-Language (ESL) ministry. They all report their families back home in Japan survived the catastrophe, as does our own Yumiko Jones. In addition, I understand the families of the Japanese nationals working at the local YKK factory are, for the most part, safe as well.

Thankfully, America has responded with her usual blitzkrieg of compassion. Aircraft carriers have been dispatched, rescue teams have flown to the devastated regions, and charities of every description are gearing up to help. Despite the eagerness of critics, from the left and the right, to point out America’s every failing, she makes me proud in her willingness to be a “first responder” every time disaster strikes the world.

Within the Baptist branch of the Christian family, Baptists are marshaling their resources. Within 24 hours of the disaster, the Baptist World Alliance sent two rescue teams from Hungary; the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship began relief efforts through the Japanese Baptist Convention; and the Southern Baptist Convention, God bless ‘em, sent an initial gift of $100,000 to help.

On the other hand, the Christian subculture on the internet is already buzzing with stories about God sending a “message” through this earthquake or that its eruption means “The End” is near. And, true enough, Jesus said earthquakes would be one sign of apocalyptic times, times when the world seems to be coming apart at the seams (Mark 13:8). But Jesus’ response to such a crisis in his day was to go to the heart of the world’s suffering and erect a cross that would be forever after the sign of Immanuel, “God with us,” especially when life turns ugly and mean.

The natural disaster that struck Japan is not God’s doing, but the result of the earth’s crust shifting and realigning. Nonetheless, the heartbreak and loss caused by such catastrophes do create “apocalyptic moments” when our usual preoccupations are stripped away. It is then we are confronted in a stark, sobering way with our need for each other, for a help and hope larger than ourselves, and for God.

If the God who draws near in Jesus is trying to send a message in the wake of Japan’s disaster, the message must surely be this: “My heart is broken too. And I’m counting on people of good will to show up and do what they can to help, especially those who bear the name of my Son, the One who never saw any form of human suffering without heading straight into the bowels of the storm.”

The Real Jesus

2011-03-11T17:26:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer
As a boy, growing up in the Bible belt, the death of Jesus seemed simple enough: he died for my sins. To me, Jesus' childhood, youth, and adulthood were mostly just warm-up acts for the epic, world-changing moment when he died upon the cross and won the salvation of the world.

It's not that my childhood version of the story was altogether wrong. The New Testament does makes stunning claims about the cosmic meaning of the death of Jesus (Mark 10:45; John 1:29; Romans 5:8; Hebrews 9:26; 1 Peter 1:20 for starters). And I still believe Jesus' death on the cross—answered emphatically by his resurrection—is the "big bang" at the dawn of God's new creation, the crux (from "cross") of everything that ultimately matters.

But the Gospel is not a fairytale. It is not a sweet, sentimental story with a heartwarming ending. Nor is it religious fiction like the gripping stories of the Olympians ancient Greeks told their grandchildren. No, the Gospel purports to be true, meaning grounded in history, a real story about a real person. In short, Jesus’ life is what gives such world-altering meaning to his death.

Granted, Jesus’ story is told by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John with unrestrained enthusiasm; the writers never claim to be unbiased reporters. Indeed, in an era when watchers of CNN dismiss the claims of Fox News, and vice versa, we now recognize there is no such thing as "detached objectivity." At least the writers of the Gospels are honest about what they are up to, namely, trying to make "believers" of everyone in sight (John 20:31). But there is no doubting they are writing about a real, flesh-and-blood, first-century carpenter with a knack for telling unsettling truths about God.

So here's some of the questions I plan to wrestle with from the pulpit during Lent and to do so at the level of history, rather than cosmic meaning only: How did arguably the noblest and wisest man to ever tread upon the earth end up pinioned against the sky on a Roman cross? What forces of a corrupt religious and political establishment conspired to engineer the capital punishment of the Son of God? How is it that the radical love of God of and neighbor can get you killed?

During this sermon series on "The Last Week of Jesus' Life," we'll unpack the dark, sinister forces that struck down Jesus in his prime. Those forces are still very much with us. That's why we need not only a meek and mild Savior, but also a determined, fierce Deliverer.

Thank God, Jesus is both.

I Can't Forget Haiti

2011-03-03T19:08:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer
Our first night at the mission compound in Haiti, a smiling Haitian pastor told us, "You will leave Haiti, but Haiti will never leave you!" So far, his prophecy has proved true.

I can't forget the beautiful, neatly-dressed children singing and chanting their way through the school day. They live in a gray, barren world of dirt and crumbling concrete yet they are joyous and cheerful in a way most more affluent Americans are not.

I can't forget the wiry, trim, hard-working Haitians who labored beside us building concrete posts and laying block. One was a sixty-five-year-old man, always smiling, who shoveled rock and dirt at a manic pace. When everyone else rested, Gibray's shovel never stopped. A profoundly spiritual man, his passionate prayer for our team when we parted brought tears to every eye.

I can't forget the heartsick mothers who showed up at our medical clinic with wailing babies in their arms. Some of those babies were in agony over ear infections that the simplest of antibiotics could (and did) knock out. Yet such mothers and other sufferers waited quietly and without complaint, until they could be helped.

Haiti was a study in contrasts: bone-crushing, mind-numbing poverty and yet a remarkably optimistic and resilient people; children, squealing with delight while playing soccer on a packed-earth, gravel-strewn lot with net-less "goals"; neighborhoods of concrete block hovels, looking like war zones, and beaches of breathtaking Caribbean beauty. During my week in this strange, new world, I found myself alternating between gratitude and awe at the Haiti people while welling up with sadness at their hardscrabble life.

In the midst of the devastation and ruin, there were oases of hope. These were the churches where people gathered to sing and pray with a fervency of devotion that stirred the heart. Many of those churches, like the ones with whom we partnered, are involved in holistic ministries of education and healing (like Jesus' own!) that can and will make a difference for Haiti's children. By making a difference for the children, Jesus’ people in Haiti are shaping a more hopeful future for the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere.

This Sunday in worship, the 16 members of our First Baptist Haiti team will share reflections, slides, and videos of the trip. I look forward to hearing from my fellow pilgrims. Following worship, at the Fat Tuesday Lunch our GAs will continue the Haitian theme and share more heart-stopping video.

Yes, so far the Haitian pastor's prediction has proved true: I have left Haiti, but Haiti has not, will not, leave me.

Another Interpreter of Dreams Saves Egypt

2011-02-18T09:44:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Long centuries ago, God used an obscure Hebrew ex-con to save Egypt. After serving time for most of his twenties, this young man interpreted Pharaoh's troubled dreams and was catapulted to Egypt's second-in-command. From that exalted position, he saved Egypt from a famine and in saving Egypt, saved that part of the world. The young man who went from prison to the palace was Joseph. He was 30-years-old when he began his storied service to the world (Genesis 41:46).

More recently, God used an obscure Google executive on the rise to save Egypt. His name is Wael Ghonim and like Joseph at the time of his ascension, Ghonim is 30-years-old. Ghonim was also a dream interpreter, using his Facebook page to give voice to the dreams of the Egyptian people. And like Joseph, Ghonim served time, in his case for daring to oppose the modern Pharaoh, President Hosni Mubarak. After his release from jail, Ghonim was at the center of the firestorm that erupted in Tahrir Square. Eighteen days later, an oppressive regime came tumbling down.

No one it seems, save the living God, saw this coming. Not the State Department. Not the CIA. Not the talking heads on television. Not the local despots in the Middle East, now trying to keep their shaky hold on power. Not even the Egyptian people, two-thirds of whom are 30-years-old or younger. (God must be partial to 30-year-olds when changing the world. Jesus was also 30-years-old when he began his revolution [Luke 3:23]).

A great deal has been made of the social media that fueled Egypt's mostly non-violent revolution. And certainly tech-savvy kids armed with Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube used these powerful tools in game-changing ways. But I believe the remarkable liberation of the Egyptian people welled up from a deeper source, namely, the loving, oppression-hating heart of God to whom the nations and their leaders, are but “drops in a bucket” (Isaiah 40:15).

After all, we've seen this story before. The Iron Curtain fell in 1989 in much the same shocking, world-altering way, and that was before the Internet took flight. Our own nation's revolution against tyranny was fueled by quill pens and musket balls. And the Bible is full of stories about the One who told Pharaoh, "Let my people go!" (Exodus 5:1) and whose Son began his life among us with the decree, "He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives" (Luke 4:18).

Granted, things in Egypt may deteriorate very rapidly. It is possible the people's revolution may be lost or co-opted by extremists. But for now, I am celebrating this remarkable win in God's ongoing battle to give back what tyrants keep trying to take: the precious privilege, bequeathed to us by a loving Creator, to live lives of freedom and dignity, joyfully crafting the life we choose.

Super Bowl Flub and Sufficient Grace

2011-02-12T12:29:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.

As someone who offers up the high-wire act of public performance every Sunday, I have more sympathy than most for Christina Aguilera’s widely publicized flubbing of the national anthem at the Super Bowl. What appears so easy from the comfort of one’s stadium seat or pew, can become nearly impossible when adrenalin or anxiety sabotages the brain’s ability to do its job.

The question as to why a wildly successful pop singer can’t belt out the national anthem, without forgetting the words, is easy enough to answer: she was trying to sing a song with a daunting vocal range before the glare of spotlights and cameras, more than 100,000 fans, and viewers from half the civilized world. Further, she felt the need (shared by most performers at the Super Bowl, it seems) to strut her vocal talents instead of simply offering up the stirring beauty of the song.

But the more interesting question, at least to me, is why do we take such secret delight in the very public failures of others? What twisted part of our own psyche accounts for the relish at seeing an icon of performance, professional, or spiritual excellence take a fall?

Perhaps it’s because we create our “stars” to embody the qualities we know to be so lacking in ourselves. Since our own inner landscape is littered with the debris of fear, failure, self-doubt, and even self-loathing, we look elsewhere for the hope of an imagined personal or spiritual perfection. Thus, we create our “American Idols” (or family idols or Christian idols) to keep alive the hope someday our own imperfections can be vanquished and we too can be gods or goddesses.

But when an icon of our own making, like Christian Aguilera, fails and disappoints, the whole charade comes crashing down. And we are furious at being reminded that if perfection eludes her, it may well elude us as well.

There is a better way. It is the way of grace. It is the riveting realization God has already accepted, loved, and blessed us as we are. Because of God’s reckless, scandalous grace in Jesus Christ, there is nowhere to go because you are already “home.” And there is no one else you need to be because your heavenly, motherly Father is already punch drunk in love with the person you are.

The original, primal temptation is to “be like God” (Genesis 3:5). The Good News of Jesus is the call to be yourself, the person you are and can be in him (Galatians 2:19-20). It is only as we forgo the myth of perfection for the scandal of grace that we are set free to be our best, not so God will love us, but because God already does.

According to news reports, Ms. Aguilera will be returning to the stage this Sunday night to open the Grammys. I wish her the best. But apart from the deeply-felt assurance the Everlasting Arms are there to catch us when we fall, it’s gonna be tough.

Founders and Football

2011-02-04T19:20:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
With Super Bowl XLV almost upon us, much is being made of the matchup between two storied franchises: The Green Bay Packers who dominated pro football in the 1960s and the Pittsburgh Steelers who reigned supreme in the 1970s.

As a kid, I watched mesmerized as Vince Lombardi paced up and down the sidelines in that gray fedora and overcoat, always conjuring up a way to win. A decade later, the Pittsburgh Steerlers were at their manliest and meanest just as the steel industry was tanking. It gave the locals--and the nation--something to cheer about during a trying economic downturn. Now having returned to their former greatness, these two larger-than-life sports franchises are poised to battle it out on the gridiron.

Meanwhile, at the top of Poplar, this Sunday is Founders’ Day, a sort of Super Bowl of the Spirit. On this day, we celebrate the vision and values of the nine stalwart souls who planted the first Baptist church in the new frontier town of Macon, Georgia in 1826. We also preach and sing and pray in hopes the living God will continue to bless our life and witness. Apart from the divine breath, animating who we are and what we do, we can never rise to our vocation as a beachhead of the coming kingdom of God.

So to draw on the football fascination of the moment, what sort of faith “franchise” are we? What are the recurring themes of our history, the defining characteristics of our fellowship, the guiding principles of our movement? Among these, I would suggest . . .

A Jesse Mercer-like commitment to loving God with the mind, as well as the heart
A deeply felt yearning to live one’s faith in the world rather than just talk about it at church
Worship and music that are warm and reverent, evoking both joy and awe in response to the nearness and “otherness” of God
A church with a progressive spirit that landed on the right side of the missions debate in the 19th century, the struggle for integration and women’s rights in the 20th century, and the _____________(fill in the blank!) controversy in the 21st century
A church where Christ is the dynamic, living center of who we are and what we do, rather than a controlling ideology or creed

There are certainly other characteristics that define the First Baptist “brand” or “franchise.” What other elements of our worship, life, and might you add to the list?

I like to believe that in the Kingdom of God, we are a stellar franchise our Lord can count on year after year, decade after decade, even century after century to keep on making a difference for Jesus’ sake. After all, we’re not in this game to win the Vince Lombardi trophy. We’re after far bigger stakes than that.

Recreation Retreat

2011-02-02T05:03:00.000-08:00

Check out the photos from the retreat.

Site Password: fbcfamily

Defining Spam?

2011-01-26T20:54:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Recently, I came across a software jewel that has made my life in cyberspace much easier. It is a utility that nests in my email program called “Unsubscribe.” This little ditty makes “un-subscribing” to emails from marketers, organizations, or news providers wonderfully easy.

Often, stopping subscriptions to an e-newsletter or weekly email flyer is a laborious process. The user must email the marketer or news provider and ask to be removed from the distribution list. The other party then sends an email confirming one really wants to stop their incoming messages. The user must send yet another email confirming, “Yes, I really want to stop your service!” Most of the time, this works, and one’s inbox is not quite so crammed with SPAM.

But with my new favorite program, “Unsubscribe,” one just hits the magic onscreen button that says “Unsubscribe” and Voila, the offending marketer is gone!

Lately, along with expelling a number of message providers from my Inbox, I have also been reviewing deacon assignments for our church. This time of year, all our active deacons are given lists of the individuals and families assigned to their care. Most of the people on those lists are folks our deacons will know and recognize. But there are always a few church members assigned to deacons that long ago hit the “Unsubscribe” button. For various reasons, these individuals fell out of active involvement with the church.

Some on the FBC “Unsubscribe” list simply got distracted with work or family obligations and fell into non-attendance; once they stopped gathering with the church family week by week, the rhythm of work and worship, work and worship, ceased to be part of their lives. Some on the FBC “Unsubscribe” list, left because they were disappointed or disillusioned with the pastor or another church member. Some ceased to be actively involved because they were hurt or wounded and no one seemed to notice or care. A few of these folks eventually drifted on to other churches, but most are still in limbo: they receive the Highlites and other occasional contacts from the church, but have little meaningful engagement. They’re not quite “in” but thank God, not quite “out.”

So here’s my challenge to all FBCers: look around your Sunday School class, your section of the sanctuary, or your Wednesday night table. Who’s missing? Who hit the “Unsubscribe” button? Drop that person an email, send him or her a note, or better yet, pick up the phone and call. Find out what’s going on and how you can help.

And to those currently on the “Unsubscribe” list, we’re not only missing you, but hoping you’re missing us! Come on back and take your place in the family of faith. No excuses or explanations needed, just the willingness to be embraced by brothers and sisters glad to see you’re home.

Hitting “Unsubscribe” will do when dealing with electrons in cyberspace. But at First Baptist, we’re family and we owe each other better than that.

Better to Give

2011-01-20T04:15:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer
At our most recent Wednesday night’s conference (January 5), we did some celebrating. The celebrating was spontaneous and deeply felt as we received the news our church ended 2010 in the black. 2010 was a difficult year financially for many people in our church and community. As one person at conference observed, “It’s tough out there.” But despite the trying economic climate, our church rose to the challenge of vanquishing our deficit and starting the new year on a firm, financial footing.

Our budget gifts for 2010 totaled $684,665.19 with income exceeding expenses by a little over thirty-five hundred dollars. Of the $684,665.19 given to the mission and ministry of our church, 10.1% of those receipts (a tithe) was directed to missions beyond the local church, primarily through our partnership with the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship. In addition, another $47,032.52 was given to special missions causes such as Haiti Relief, Habitat for Humanity, the Crisis Closet, the Liberian Student Fund, Ricks Institute, the Circle of Hope, and more besides.

Okay. Enough with the facts and figures, lest the number-challenged like myself go numb trying to follow the discussion. Suffice it to say that our members gave faithfully and sacrificially, even during a recession, because for them the work of Christ and his church was not discretionary spending, but rather a top priority. Thus, in a year when many churches were forced to cut back vital ministries and even downsize staffs, the ministry we hold in trust was not compromised. Due to the generosity of God’s people, we were able to honor our commitments and fulfill our obligations. And for that, I am deeply, deeply grateful.

While giving a commencement address at McGill University in Toronto, the renowned novelist Rudyard Kipling exhorted the beaming, bright-eyed graduates to pursue higher values than mere wealth, position and personal glory. “Someday,” Kipling warned, “you will meet a man who cares for none of these things. Then you will know how poor you truly are!”

As Christians, we have met the man who cares for none of those things: his name is Jesus. As we follow him, he teases our minds and hearts away from acquiring more and more stuff and instills within us a new passion for caring about others. In the process, we are transformed from mindless consumers into reckless givers. Money becomes a means to an end, an opportunity for serving God and neighbor, rather than an idol clung to with fanatical zeal and soul-crushing devotion.

Yes, Jesus lived and taught “it is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35). What a privilege to belong to a church that really believes that is true.

From Ephesus to Tucson

2011-01-14T19:53:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
The book of Acts is dotted with riots caused by Paul. Then as now, Paul had a finely-honed knack for annoying people.

In Acts chapter 19, Paul and his helpers, Gaius and Aristarchus, incite another riot. Paul’s preaching is causing a dip in sales of silver idols of the local goddess, Artemis. Some enraged silversmiths drag Gaius and Aristarchus into a 25,000 seat amphitheater. The theater is soon packed with a raging mob that shrieks, “Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!” Things are about to get ugly for Gaius and Aristarchus. Paul is restrained by friends from entering the theater, lest he inflame the situation even further.

After others have failed to calm the mob, an unnamed town clerk steps forward. He is a respected leader with the moral capital to gain a hearing. After quieting the crowd, he appeals to his fellow citizens’ decency and common sense. “We all know Artemis is the greatest goddess ever,” he argues. “That is not open for debate! And if anyone has a complaint against this Paul, the courts are open. So disband and go home before you do something you will regret.” Remarkably, the seething crowd heeds his counsel, disperses, and violence is averted.

In the aftermath of the tragedy in Tucson, one of the “ordinary heroes” to step forward was the local sheriff, Sheriff Clarence Dupnik. His calm, frank demeanor in the immediate aftermath of such terrible, senseless violence, helped reassure an anxious public, both in Tucson and throughout the country. With seasoned, no-nonsense professionals like him on the job, we knew somehow we would get through this.

Other “ordinary heroes” stepped forward to keep an unbearably awful tragedy from becoming even worse: the bystanders who tackled and restrained the shooter before he could wound or kill even more innocent people; the people in the crowd who rendered immediate aid to the victims; the 20-year-old college student who stayed Congresswoman Gifford’s bleeding until the EMTs arrived; the doctors, nurses, and other medical personnel who rendered state-of-the-art, life-saving aid. And there were no doubt others at the scene, many known only to God, who did their part to quell the shooter’s violence and comfort and help the victims.

None of this is to suggest that awful day in Tucson was anything other than a living nightmare of horrific proportions. But there is no doubt it would have been even worse had not some “ordinary heroes” stepped forward to do their duty. In the face of a senseless tragedy, that is one thing we can be thankful for.

Yes, in the wake of the Tucson massacre, hard questions need to be asked about access to guns, helping the mentally unbalanced before they hurt themselves or others, and the state of our nation’s very uncivil discourse. But for now, I’m just giving thanks that this country still produces ordinary heroes who in the moment of crisis, do what God and their neighbors need most.

Why Does Change Have To Be So Hard?

2011-01-06T04:17:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.

One week into the New Year, much January 1 resolve is flagging fast. What seemed so easy when greeting the new year has now turned into the daily grind of fighting temptation. The reservoirs of will power are draining at an alarming rate. It won’t be long before the thin, svelte new You--so clear in the mind’s eye--will perish in the greedy grab for another donut. Or the heartfelt promise to rise early and knock out 30 minutes on the treadmill will be squashed with one thump of the alarm’s snooze button.

Some people have wised up and learned to “win” the game of New Year’s resolutions by never making any. At least they don’t have to face the looming spectacle of failure. And a few people succeed in making needed changes: they go cold turkey and quit smoking or drinking, or begin a diet/exercise regimen that keeps the pounds off for good. But in early January, most of us find ourselves stranded in the netherworld of dreams: we can imagine a new, improved Self but seem powerless to create one. Why does this have to be so hard?

In his new book, Why We Get Fat: And What to Do About It, science writer Gary Taubes argues that the battle of the bulge is won or lost at the cellular level. When the body is assailed by a diet heavy in processed carbs, the fat cells go crazy. Like tumor cells that live only for themselves, they start gobbling up food and nutrients needed elsewhere. As a result, one becomes hungry and tired and moves less and eats more. Thus, the cycle is reinforced and the dilemma deepens.

While I am no expert in diet and nutrition, much of what Taubes says resonates with my experience that losing weight or maintaining a healthy weight is not so simple as flipping a switch that says “Don’t eat that!” There are powerful forces on the inside arrayed against the effort to change.

The same is true in making any much needed but challenging change. Will power alone cannot overcome the deep-seated resistance that dwells within us, some of it known but much of it hidden and mysterious. As the Apostle Paul confesses in Romans 7, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate . . . I can will what is right, but I cannot do it.”

Thus, real change--profound, systemic, deeply spiritual change--arises from two sources. At the level of the will to be sure, where we say “Yes” to Jesus’ call, “Follow me.” But the real work is done, or perhaps better said, unfolds, as we follow him. And in the company of his living Presence, and his Word, and his People, the church, we are slowly transformed from the inside out.

In striving to become a new person, it’s not that the will is unimportant. But according to the Good News of Jesus, the will is not enough. We need something more. We need him. We need fellow pilgrims who will hold us precious and hold us accountable. We need honesty with ourselves, with God, and people we trust. We need much prayer and reflection. We need patience and hope and love.

In short, in a culture enamored with the power of the Will (alias, “Self-Help”), we need a good dose of God-sized humility, meaning a need in your life only God can fill. That’s why this Sunday, Christians will gather for worship on the first Sunday of Epiphany, and meet Jesus in the waters of his baptism (Matthew 3:13-17). His baptism is not for him; it is for us. Because he knew how badly we would need him, especially after yet another slew of New Year’s Resolution lay slain upon the shore.

Christmas Deep Inside

2010-12-17T21:30:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.

Here’s a dirty little secret about Christmas: amid all the gala and festivities, the parties and the laughter, the back-slapping and the smiles, a lot of people are sad. Most strive to hide their heaviness of heart, not wishing to impose their grief on others. But deep inside, where only a few dear friends and God can see, such bereaved souls are nursing a broken heart. And at Christmas, especially, they wonder if that broken place inside will ever heal.

The first Christmas after the death of a loved one is the hardest. All the familiar rituals are upset by the looming absence: the empty seat at the Christmas table, the missing hug, the once familiar aroma of a loved one’s aftershave or perfume, now gone, the poignant realization there is one less gift to give or receive. And the worst part is all this happens when gaiety is at a premium and the culture declares a moratorium on grief.

Besides bereavement, other kinds of grief can be especially daunting at Christmas. Some are facing the loss of a marriage and the challenge of waking up on Christmas morning without a familiar presence at one’s side. Others are dreading trying to explain why Santa’s rounds were so skimpy this year, given a parent’s unemployment. Still others are hoping against hope their chronic illness will not rob the family of its Christmas cheer.

In his moving memoir, Lament for a Son, Nicholas Wolterstorff writes, "Another's tears are salve on our wounds." There is healing power in having one’s grief acknowledged in a deeply feeling way. When Jesus show up at the tomb of our lost brother or loved one, our lost marriage or shattered dream--his face streaked by tears--we don’t feel quite so hopeless and alone (John 11:33-35). Most often Jesus shows up at such times in a fellow pilgrim who is not frightened away by our tears, but is willing and able share them.

This Sunday night, December 19 at 6 p.m., our church will host a “Christmas Service for Grieving Persons.” This service is open to all but is especially intended for those who lost a loved one in the last year, or are facing another kind of crushing loss at Christmas. The service is a simple one, featuring Bible readings, quiet, reflective music, a brief message, and prayer. The sanctuary is darkened and illuminated by candles, creating a private, intimate setting. There will be no pressure and no embarrassment, just a sanctuary--a safe place--where it is okay to be sad at Christmas.

The wonder of Christmas is not just the angel’s glad shout, “Good News of Great Joy for All People!” The wonder of Christmas is also that in God’s Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, we have an ever present companion and friend is who “acquainted with grief” in a deeply personal way. Some Christmases, that is the best news of all.

The Extra Point

2010-12-11T21:21:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
As virtually everyone in Georgia knows, this year’s epic contest between the Bulldogs and the Yellow Jackets came down to a missed extra point.

It had been a back-and-forth game with neither team playing their best. Still, Georgia appeared likely to cinch its next win in this storied rivalry. Tech was trailing as the fourth quarter ground to a close.

Then Tech mounted an impressive drive and scored a touchdown with 4:57 remaining. Once the extra point was made, the game would be tied. With the momentum in the game seeming to shift, ever hopeful Yellow Jackets believed they were poised to eke out a victory.

But then Scott Blair, the place kicker, missed the extra point. After hitting 77 straight extra points, he chose that moment to miss. The ball wobbled wide of the uprights as Tech fans looked on in disbelief and Georgia fans erupted in wild jubilation. There was a last gasp effort on Tech’s part to come back and win, but after that missed extra point, the game was essentially over.

Extra points are the gimme putts of football. No college or pro kicker is supposed to miss an extra point, ever. But to miss that extra point at the end of a hard fought contest between two bitter rivals, is unthinkable. Sadly, that mishap is likely to be the defining event of Scott Blair’s football career, if not his life.

As our church approaches the end of the year, financially speaking, we are trailing in the game of income and expenses. As December began, our checkbook was in arrears about $23,000. That is not surprising given a floundering economy and the tough financial year many in our church have faced. And fortunately, we have the reserves to keep a one-year shortfall from being catastrophic.

Still, I hate to see us lose a game we have it within our power to win. And I don’t want our history of balancing the church family checkbook by strong year-end giving to lull us into complacency. This year, more than most, we need very strong December giving.

So here’s what needs to happen if we’re to avoid flubbing the game-winning extra point:

Don’t assume someone else is going to ante up. This is a team effort and we need everyone doing his or her part if we’re to meet our goal.
Curb your Christmas gift-giving, if necessary, to make sure Christ and his kingdom gets its fair-share of your hard-earned dollars.
If you are in a position to give over-and-beyond what you pledged or intended, this would be a great time for some Jesus-style, grace-intoxicated excess.

The defining kick of Scott Blair’s life is over and I’m sure he’d give anything to have that one back. For us, the game is still within our grasp.

Advent Conspiracy

2010-12-02T22:16:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
According to one recent study, the fastest growing religion in America is not Islam or Christianity. The symbol of this rising faith is not the star or the crescent or the cross. No, the symbol of this burgeoning movement is a dollar sign, for the religion that is swallowing Christianity whole is rampant unrestrained consumerism.

So argue the authors of a provocative new book entitled The Advent Conspiracy and a companion website, www.adventconspiracy.org. The pastors and congregations at the helm of this movement believe the celebration of Christ's birth has been shanghaied by compulsive spending that returns less and less, at least as measured by the love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control the New Testament suggests are the litmus tests for the truly spiritual life (Gal. 5:22-23).

Of course, an anti-capitalist crusade of the "Ain't it awful" variety is pretty standard fare at Christmas. But The Advent Conspiracy is different. It is not driven by joyless, wincing Christmas stooges but by serious Christians asking what a Christmas with Christ at the center might look like in twenty-first century America. The Advent Conspiracy is about saying "No" to Christmas excess so we can say "Yes" to the things that really matter: like giving very personal gifts to the people we love while sharing our bounty with those in need.

The four movements of The Advent Conspiracy will provide our focus for the four Sundays of Advent:

Spend Less
Americans spend nearly half-a-trillion dollars each Christmas. That's enough money to provide clean drinking water to every person on the planet, many times over. Are we buying what's on Jesus' Christmas wish list, or just our own?
Give More
The point of spending less Christmas is to stay out of debt and give more to Kingdom causes. But "giving more" isn't just about giving money. It's about giving yourself. When God gave the best God had that first Christmas, God didn't give more stuff, even good stuff. God gave God's Son, God's Self.
Worship Fully
Advent and Christmas are sacred times to gather and sing our hearts out to the newborn king. On Sunday, December 12, the third Sunday of Advent, our choir will present "A Service of Lessons and Carols." Not to be missed!
Love All

Jesus' first act of solidarity with the poor and needy was to be born among them. What does that tell us about the radical, reckless love of God?

The Advent Conspiracy is a plan for treating Christmas like the birthday party for Jesus it was always meant to be. I'm going to give it a try. Care to join me?

Living a Lie

2010-11-12T05:01:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Last night, I saw a story on the evening news that saddened and disturbed me. Several times before cutting to a commercial, the news announcer offered a teaser about an upcoming story of ministers “living a lie.” I feared the worst.

And in some ways, this really was the worst: not local church pastors neck-deep in some moral scandal, the usual fare of such exposes, but ministers who are self-avowed atheists. Yet these ministers have not confessed their loss of faith. Instead, they bear it as a shameful secret while pretending to believe.

One of the two ministers featured in the story calls himself an "atheistic agnostic" “I don't think we can prove that there is not a God or that there is a God," he says, (but) "I live out my life as if there is no God." So why does he and his fellow doubting Thomas stay in the ministry? Because they need a job and feel poorly qualified to do anything else.

As with all shameful secrets, part of what consigns these ministers to a hell of misery and self-hatred is not confessing their dilemma. Granted, if one or both of them announced this Sunday morning they are atheists, they would likely be looking for a job on Monday morning. But what if they had come clean with their troubling questions long before healthy doubt congealed into the hardened amber of cynicism and despair? That’s what the Bible does.

Writhing in agony, the Psalmist confesses, “My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, ‘Where is your God?" (Psalm 42:3). Jesus cries from his cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?!” (Mark 15:34). Even Paul, the cockiest of Pharisees, admits with refreshing candor, “We see in a mirror dimly” and “know only in part” (1 Cor. 13:12).

A religion without any capacity for critical self-reflection is a cult in-the-making. By contrast, a healthy faith is one that is always growing, always stretching, always in process. And doubt--honest to God doubt--is an essential part of an ever deepening apprehension of the Divine Mystery at the heart of all things.

The difference in the original Doubting Thomas (John chapter 20) and the two agnostic wannabees in the news story is that the first went to church and confessed his doubt while the other two did not. They didn’t trust God or their fellow believers enough to confess, “I’m hurting. I’m bewildered. And I’m so afraid.”

By contrast, the original Doubting Thomas came clean with his struggle within the community of faith and as a result, found the strength to believe and hope again.

I’m grateful to belong to a church where being honest and real is not seen as the abandonment of faith but as the epicenter of where a real and living faith begins.

A Rare Breed

2010-11-05T20:39:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Our church is one of an increasingly rare breed: a congregation that is multi-generational in makeup. More and more congregations are focused on a particular group: twenty-somethings, baby boomers, young professionals on the rise, and so on. It has long been recognized that in churches, as elsewhere, “birds of a feather fly together.”

Problem is, that’s not what the Kingdom of God is supposed to look like. According to Jesus, the Kingdom of God is like a tiny seed that grows into a tree with strong, welcoming branches where all the birds of the air make their nests (Luke 13:19).

So I celebrate the diversity of ages and stations in life represented in our church. I love the spontaneity of the children, the vitality of the youth, the social conscience of the young adults, the moral earnestness of the mid-lifers, and the wisdom of the mature. I like seeing races and nationalities different from my own in worship. I like being in a church where thoughtful Democrats and Republicans can move beyond the predicable ideological posturing to ask, “What does that have to do with the Gospel?” I like being in a church where people are defined not so much by how they are alike, but how they are different and yet bound together by the Christ who forms the heart of our fellowship.

Well, okay, to be honest, most of the time I like those things, because diversity does bring with it certain tensions. People of varying generations and traditions have differing values, preferences, and expectations.

Take this Sunday’s Processional of Commitment. For the past half-century or so on the first Sunday in November--All Saints’ Sunday--members of our congregation have marched forward, one-by-one, to place a commitment card in the little church on the altar. Most older, long-time members of our church deeply value this time of celebration and commitment. It’s a special time each year when First Baptist folk leave the safety of the pew to joyously process down the aisles and publically proclaim their love for Jesus and the church!

But to some newer members of the congregation--and younger people in general--the Processional of Commitment feels a bit showy, even pretentious. This newer generation didn’t have a hand in creating this tradition and doesn’t always understand or appreciate it. Some of these folk choose to skip Processional Sunday altogether.

So let me offer a challenge: if the Processional of Commitment doesn’t appeal to you, show up anyway and sit in prayerful contemplation as others march to the regal music. And if you love the pageantry and joy of the Processional, don’t raise an eyebrow toward those who are of a more private bent. Thankfully, there is room enough for all of us at the top of Poplar for we belong to a Kingdom so much bigger than ourselves. And we serve a Lord who delights in making us One without making us all the same.

A Word on Halloween

2010-10-30T18:00:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer
As a Baptist boy growing up in the South, Halloween was one of my favorite holidays. It was the one time of year my preferred sins were sanctioned: gluttony, especially of the chocolate variety, and getting to dress up like a ghost or goblin. The latter allowed me to go public with the fact there was a dark side to my “good boy” image.

Thus, for me, Halloween has always been a fun-loving time, both for the kids, and for the adults who get to revel in the wonder of a child’s imagination and bravado. However, there are a good many Christians and churches who view Halloween as Public Enemy Number One (or at least, Number Two or Number Three). The objections, to the extent I can fathom them, seem to be twofold: (1) Halloween began as a pagan festival and therefore, is sub-Christian and (2) Halloween constitutes dabbling in the occult.

As to the first objection, it is true Halloween has its roots in ancient Roman and Celtic festivals marking the approach of a cold, dark winter. At such times, it was believed the boundary between the living and the dead thinned and ghosts might slip through. Eventually, these pagan celebrations were Christianized as “All Hallows Eve,” the evening before All Saints Day, November 1. By the late 19th century, especially in America, Halloween had essentially become a secular holiday featuring tricks and treats for the children.

But if we’re going to dismiss holidays because of their pagan origins, let’s get rid of Christmas while we’re at it. December 25 was originally the day Romans celebrated the rebirth of the sun god during the winter solstice. Thankfully, Christians turned that day into something far better: a celebration of Jesus’ birth. Personally, I like the “take something bad and turn it into something good” approach to once pagan festivities. As Luther said of hymnody, “Why should the Devil have all the good tunes?”

As to dabbling with the occult, I seriously doubt Satan--whoever or whatever one deems Satan to be--sees Halloween as a ripe opportunity for snatching a few unsuspecting souls. No, Satan prefers the stealthy approach, sneaking up on us when we least expect it. According to the New Testament, Satan is far more likely to show up disguised as “an angel of light” (2 Corinthians 11:4) than reveal his true colors as the Prince of Darkness.

Here’s my suggestion for Halloween. Turn on the porch light. Have plenty of candy on hand. Be a neighbor. Welcome and delight in the kids who show up at your door. Smile at the parents who linger behind in the shadows. Act a lot less like a finicky, self-righteous Pharisee and a lot more like a joyous, fun-loving Jesus. Make him proud. Shine his light, share his love.

Trust me: If Satan is in the area, he won’t linger long at a place like that.

Camping on Hope

2010-10-24T19:04:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.

There is a line in the Apostles’ Creed, an early Christian confession, that says Jesus “descended into hell.” That claim is based on some fairly obscure New Testament passages, 1 Peter 3:18-20 and 4:16, being chief among them. Did Jesus preach to the “spirits” in Hades, the abode of the dead, merely to announce his triumph? Or in “proclaiming the Gospel to the dead,” was he offering those condemned the proverbial second chance?

I’ll let other argue the fine points of theology. Let’s just say in the light of the Chilean mine rescue (and near disaster), I have a vivid picture of what it means to say Jesus “descended into hell”: It means there is Someone who loves you so much, he will stop at nothing to rescue you from whatever hell hole where you have landed.

For seventeen days, 33 Chilean miners existed in a subterranean abode of pitch blackness, meager rations, and stifling despair. At “Camp Hope” above, determined rescuers drilled probes that eventually established an umbilical cord between them and those stranded below. With that life support, the grace of God, and the miner’s own native pluck, these men survived day after excruciating day until a opening large enough to deliver a life capsule was drilled. Finally, after 69 harrowing days, the miners were lifted to safety one-by-one as the world looked on in gratitude and awe.

Now that the nightmare is past, I find myself thinking of Jesus. What did he do on those three days between Good Friday and his Easter triumph? Knowing Jesus, he didn’t twiddle his thumbs or put his feet up on some gold-gilded ottoman in heaven. No, he started digging. He started digging through the rock hard cynicism and despair of those who had written him off. He started clawing his way through the crusty defiance of the world’s disobedience, the dirt and grime of the world’s sin, and the rich, black humus of potential squandered for want of seed.

Finally, at long last, Jesus broke through. Suddenly, his light pieced hell’s darkness, his love vanquished hell’s hate, his truth shattered hell’s lies. In the depths of a brutal, barbarous abyss, Jesus shone with a radiance divine. Then, his face etched in Easter light, he announced, “I’m headed back up. Who wants to come with me back to hope, back to God, back to life?” I suspect the Devil looked helplessly on as Jesus emptied the place, ascending with a long train of newly-minted believers (Ephesians 4:8-10).

Yes, there’s Someone who loves you so much, no matter what hell hole you land in, he’s coming after you. He’s already started digging. Listen for the crumbling dirt. Watch for the light.

Columbus Sailed the Ocean Blue

2010-10-08T05:49:00.000-07:00

Monday is Columbus Day, the holiday that gets no respect. Columbus Day is the holiday I’m most likely to drop by the bank only to be surprised it’s closed. Columbus Day is the day I check the mailbox at day’s end and wonder what happened. Why did the junkmail kingpins decide to give me a day off?

Who has Columbus Day celebrations? When was the last time you were invited to a Columbus Day cookout? Do they have a Columbus Day parade, even in Columbus? (I googled “Columbus Day Parade” and got 268,000 results. That’s nothing in Google land. “Elvis” garnered over 41 million hits).

So how come Columbus Day gets no respect? Is it because we now know Leif Ericson and his mighty Norsemen beat the intrepid Italian to the new world by 500 years? Or because native Americans were here for thousands of years before that? Or is the lack of enthusiasm for Columbus Day, at least in the south, due to its status as a “northern” or even a “Catholic” celebration?

Who knows? But I believe Columbus rates a day all his own and not just because giving him his due spawns another three day weekend. No, Columbus deserves a day because he embodies faith wedded to courage, faith wedded to action, and that kind of faith is the fulcrum that moves the world.

Columbus believed the world was round. This idea was not unique to him. The ancient Greeks, masters of astronomy and geometry, had long ago calculated the earth was likely round. The educated classes of Columbus’ day, steeped in the classics of antiquity, knew this. Still the folk belief persisted the world was flat--it certainly looked that way--so sailing off its edge was a distinct possibility.

But instead of debating the matter from the safety of his study, Columbus set sail with his three trusty vessels, the Santa Maria, the Pinta, and the Niña. He decided to settle the matter in the world of action. And eleven weeks and over 4,000 miles later, settle it he did when he bumped into the “new world” the Bahamas.

In the Bible, the creation of God’s people, the Hebrews, begins when God tells an aged nomad, “Leave your country and your father’s house and go to a land that I will show you” (Gen. 12:1). Perhaps God had told others the same thing but they hemmed and hawed, they doubted and equivocated, and in the end, they stayed put. But “Abram went,” the Bible says with stunning simplicity, “as the Lord had told him” (Gen. 12:4).

Maybe in a world where Christians, Jews, and Muslims are so divided, we should rechristen Columbus Day, Abraham Day, since all three religions revere the Patriarch. But the importance of acting on what we believe is an essential part of what the Bible means by “faith.” Columbus knew that. Abraham knew that. And on the second Monday in October, it’s not a bad thing for the rest of us us to remember.

Autumn's Gifts

2010-09-30T20:04:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
I am grateful for the arrival of autumn. I can breathe again. I can snuggle against the chill again. I can hope again.

This summer was the hottest I remember. From mid-May to mid-September, stifling days of oppressive heat were the norm. With the merciless sun bearing down, trying to run, do yard work, or attempt most any outdoor activity ranged from unpleasant to impossible.

But now at last, fall has returned like a long, lost friend showing up on Facebook or knocking at the door. The sky is bluer, the air is crisper, the stars are brighter, and people are nicer.

The poets speak of the “rebirth of spring” but for me, autumn has always been the richest season. Maybe it has to do with all those years fall meant going back to school with fresh, white pages of notebook paper aching for new learning. Or maybe I love fall because as a pastor, autumn means the church is stirring back to life after the lean summer months. Soon, the world famous FBC Stewardship Banquet will be upon us (what are our resident comics cooking up this year?), the children’s Fall Festival will populate our parking lot with inflatable adventures, the harvest table of Thanksgiving will celebrate the abundance of creation, and the lighting of the first Advent candle will defy the approaching cold, grey darkness of winter.

Fall is also the season for a quick trip to the Georgia mountains to drink apple cider and see the explosion of color in the trees. It’s the time for state fairs and cotton candy and Ferris wheel rides. Fall is when the first fire is built in the hearth to knock back the evening chill and the rustic smell of smoke delights the nostrils. Fall is Friday night football, hotdogs and hot chocolate, cardigans and the fog of rising breath. Fall is when a freshly gathered pile of leaves invites would-be skydivers. Fall is when the little ones in the neighborhood dress up like clowns and ballerinas and come knocking at your door squealing, “Trick or treat!”

Yes, there’s much to love about the Fall, but it didn’t have to be this way. We could live (or rather die) on a planet like Mars where we’d turn into a popsicle in a microsecond, or be incinerated on Mercury or Venus. But by God’s grace, we inhabit a miracle planet called Earth where the changing of the seasons is a sign of God’s sustenance and care. As God promised Noah, so God promises us, “As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease” (Genesis 8:22).

Fall is but one of God’s many gracious and often unacknowledged gifts. The least we can do is take a deep breath, awaken to wonder, and whisper “Thank You!”

You Invited Me In

2010-09-26T04:48:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer
Last Thursday, September 16, Dan Riley and I gathered with a few dozen folk to dedicate the latest Macon area Habitat House. This house located in south Macon (4251 Roy Avenue) is part of a neighborhood reborn. Five years ago, residents of this neighborhood mostly kept to themselves behind locked doors. Today, they gather freely to stroll, visit, and help each other out. According to the pastor of a nearby church, the transformation of the Lynmore Estates is a miracle of biblical proportions. Today hope is radiant where despair once stalked the streets.

Approaching this neighborhood holistically has been the heart of Habitat’s strategy for restoring the neighborhood’s vitality. Seventeen Habitat houses have been built in the area toward a goal of 40, spurring civic pride along with other renovation and development. Today, Chuckie and Janelle Williams--and their children--are the proud new owners of a safe, affordable home. As partners in the local Habitat movement, our church played a small part in their triumph.

The Williams’ home is the 12th Habitat House First Baptist has built or helped to build; this particular home was built in partnership with Mercer University and Highland Hills Baptist. According to Dan, over the last several years, our church has given 30-40% of the monies donated by churches to the local Habitat chapter. In addition to the resources and labor our church invested in the Williams’ home, the Williams’ family--like all Habitat home owners--contributed “sweat equity,” helping with construction. Thus, the help our church, Habitat, and our other partners provided was not a “hand out” but a “hand up.” The Williams will pay in full for their home over the next twenty years.

This Sunday, our church will host a guest teacher and preacher, Dr. Robert Lupton, who knows a lot about reversing urban blight through holistic neighborhood development. He is the founder and director of FCS (Focused Community Strategies) Urban Ministries in south Atlanta (www.fcsministries.org). Dr. Lupton is author of Compassion, Justice, and the Christian Life: Rethinking Ministry to the Poor, a book studied by our Global Women and several of our adult Sunday School classes. Rather than simply wax eloquent about the problems of the poor, Dr. Lupton has developed proven strategies for empowering people to climb out of poverty. He has been instrumental in revitalizing two declining, crime-ridden neighborhoods in Atlanta, beginning by moving there himself, along with his family.

During his inaugural sermon, Jesus said his ministry, his movement, would spell “good news for the poor” (Luke 4:18). As our church strives to be “the Presence of Christ” in the world, we hope to rise to this sacred calling. Sunday’s conversation with Robert Lupton, a fellow pilgrim in the way of Jesus, may yield important insights about what we are called to be and do next.

Gospel on the Ground

2010-09-16T16:56:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
I’ve been trying to sit out the Ground Zero Mosque controversy. This is one of those toxic issues sure to contaminate anyone who touches it.

Nonetheless, in light of the invective and hatred that has been unleashed during this controversy--rising to the level of “Burn the Koran Day”--I don’t think silence is golden. I think it is moral cowardice. So in the interest of being an equal opportunity offender, let me suggest a Bible passage for each side of this controversy to ponder.

To the Imam and his supporters, both Muslim and Christian, who believe building a Muslim center near Ground Zero is an effective way to combat American stereotyping of Muslims as terrorists, I would commend the truth of Romans 14. In this passage, as in 1 Corinthians 8 and Galatians 5:13-14, Paul argues being free to do something does not mean that is the wise or loving thing to do. Sometimes in the service of understanding and love, one’s freedom must be reined in. So yes, in this great country where freedom of religion is a birthright, you are free--within the bounds of local zoning and building codes--to plant your Muslim center wherever you like. But as a Christian pastor who is deeply grieved at the hatred being leveled your way, I would encourage you not to do so. Recognize that the noble intention of building bridges of understanding is not being served by building your center near such an emotionally charged site. Insisting on your rights in this matter will only further alienate and inflame the very people you say you want to reach.

And to those Americans who insist on painting all Muslims with the same brush--as godless extremists intent on destroying our nation--please meditate upon the Parable of the Tares and the Wheat (Matthew 13:24-30). Our Baptist forebearers often appealed to this passage in 17th and 18th century England and America when they were a religious minority regarded with hostility and suspicion. In this story, Jesus argues that our attempts to eradicate evil (or what we regard as evil) can be more destructive than the evil itself. I see this happening in the ugly slurs about Muslims (all Muslims, even those who are loyal Americans) that keep landing in my inbox and sounding on the airwaves. Since many of those spewing this hatred profess to be Christians, their antics besmirch the name and cause of Christ. I don’t believe the Lord who rebuked his disciples for wanting to rain fire on a village of nonbelievers (Luke 9:52-55) is pleased when his followers indiscriminately attack and vilify their “enemies.”

I understand why so many American are violently opposed to a mosque being built near Ground Zero and in time, I hope those wanting to build that mosque will fathom and respect that sentiment. But in the meantime, despising and attacking our Muslim neighbors is not something real Christians are free to do.

When I say, "God"

2010-09-10T04:46:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
On Tuesday and Thursday mornings, bright and early at 8 a.m. sharp, I teach “Introduction to the Old Testament” at Mercer university. Recently, I gave my students an assignment: “When you say ‘God,’ Who or What do you mean? Write your answer in 25 words or less.”

The answers were revealing. Several students thought of God as a philosophical or cultural idea. One wrote, “God, if not personal, is the whole sum of all ideas and morals central to the faiths that invest in him.”

Another 10 or so students thought of God as an impersonal being, someone unknown and probably unknowable, but nonetheless present as a cosmic, guiding force. A typical response: “By God I mean the Judeo-Christian and Islamic concept of an all-powerful being who is like, but not, human, and who is interested in and influences human history.”

The other half of the class gave voice to a more personal image of God as “Father,” “Friend,” “Lord,” “King,” “Savior,” or “Jesus.” One student wrote, “Our Lord, the one who helps guide us through life and gives us the power and faith to go on the journey.” Another wrote the wrenching confession, “The reality or being that saved my life and gave me a second chance, but also took two of my friends. A mysterious character.” That one weighed on my heart.

It is revealing that in a class of 30 college students in the Deep South there is no broad consensus about who or what, exactly, “God” is. Despite much wishful thinking to the contrary, many Americans do not believe in the same God, if they believe in any God at all.

So when politicians or political figures clamor for America to get “back to God,” which God do they mean? The tribal god of their political party or persuasion, who smiles benevolently on their agenda while plotting retribution on their enemies? Or the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who refuses to be confined to the genie bottle of our beliefs (Ex. 3:13-14; 20:4,7), who has a passionate concern for “widows and orphans” (James 1:27), and who implores us to pray for our enemies, rather than relish their destruction (Matt. 5:44-45). Sadly, I hear precious little about that God in our political discourse.

The back-to-God rhetoric sounded in the political arena has great mass appeal. But strip away the pious gloss and what such language usually means is: “America needs to get back to my God, my values, my beliefs, my agenda.”

If America were really to get “back to the God of Jesus,” there would be fewer smug, self-serving appeals and a lot more genuine respect, caring, and compassion. I don’t see that happening anytime soon.

Defining Meaning

2010-09-02T21:06:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
For anyone who doubts the transition from print to digital media has passed the tipping point, here’s a news flash: the next edition of the Oxford English Dictionary will likely be “published” on the web but not in print.

The last edition of the Oxford English dictionary weighed in at more than 170 pounds in 20 bulging volumes. 30,000 sets have been sold since 1989 at $1,165.00 a pop. By contrast, the online version of the Oxford English Dictionary gets 2 million hits a month from subscribers who each ante up $295.00 a year. You do the math. (1)

Still, there is something deeply unnerving about Oxford University Press quite literally “closing the book” on print and slinking toward cyberspace. If such a venerable old publisher steeped in stodgy English tradition, can’t be counted on to keep churning our books, who can?

Yes, I know, many of us First Baptist types are in love with books. We just finished an authors’ series featuring a number of our published authors who between them have generated a sizeable poundage of volumes. And to a person, they profess an enduring love affair with books: the heft of books, the smell of books, the tactile pleasure of turning the pages. But most also acknowledged we are in the midst of a publishing revolution not seen since the invention of the printing press.

As to how this evolution will impact Christian education and spiritual formation, we shall see. Already, numerous video and online providers are bringing top quality resources into churches, homes, and classrooms. Our own Nikki Hardeman is featured each week as a Bible teacher on one such site, www.faithelement.com. And our church’s weekly sermons are available at www.fbcmacon.org as “podcasts,” meaning a downloadable audio file playable on most computers or portable players. This sort of innovation will continue to grow as churches become more sophisticated in harnessing the power of the web.

If it’s any consolation, the church existed for its first 1,500 years without printed books. During that period, Bibles were laboriously hand-copied. Thus, most Christians only heard the Bible read in public worship, saw Bible stories etched in stained glass windows, and committed Bible passages to memory.

Fortunately, the “word of God is not fettered” (2 Timothy 2:9), whether by print or anything else. That word sounded at creation (Genesis 1:3), was fleshed out in Jesus of Nazareth (John 1:14), and remains the sword of the Spirit (Ephesians 6:17), piercing the heart and renewing the soul (Heb. 4:12). And whether that word is sounded in a medieval chant, the enchanted pages of a gold-gilded Bible, or in an audio file on the web, the promise remains that God’s word will not return void, but will accomplish God’s purpose (Isaiah 55:11),

Thankfully, while the Oxford English Dictionary is destined to fade and perish, “the Word of our God shall stand forever!” (Isa. 40:8).

----
(1) The Macon Telegraph, 9A, 8/30/2010, AP, Sylvia Hui, “Internet may phase out printed Oxford Dictionary.”

Sessions with John

2010-08-27T20:43:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
In a shameless act of self-promotion, let me announce the publication of my new book, Sessions with John: The Vocabulary of Grace. This book is an exploration of key words and themes from the Gospel of John. Unlike most studies of John’s Gospel, this book does not journey through John in the usual chapter-by-chapter fashion. Instead, it unpacks the meaning of twelve words from John’s distinctive “vocabulary of grace,” words like “life,” “light,” “truth,” “believe,” and “eternal life.”

My guiding image of John’s Gospel is a spiral staircase. The enchanting power of a spiral staircase rests in its ability to give an ever-changing perspective on the same space. As one ascends the staircase, the sights above and below are seen again and again but each time, from a slightly different angle, at varying distances and in shifting light. The result is a much fuller immersion in the beauty of a lovely, inviting entrance than is possible from ordinary stairs.

Similarly, in John’s story of Jesus, certain words and themes appear again and again. The reader leaves a given emphasis, only to circle round and see it reappear, but this time in a different context. With each “spiral” of the truth or theme, the reader’s grasp of the message deepens until Jesus’ “words of life” penetrate the deepest parts of the self where real transformation begins (John 6:63, 68).

The Vocabulary of Grace is, broadly speaking, a Bible study book for individuals and groups. Indeed, it is part of a larger Smyth and Helwys series called Sessions with . . . (various Bible authors). But what sets this book apart, at least in my mind, is the way it follows John’s artful unfolding of a single truth throughout his work, step by step, up each round of a spiraling ascent toward a dazzling view of God’s grace and glory in Jesus Christ (John 1:14-18).

Naturally, I hope members of the First Church family will want to buy a copy, whether out of love for John’s Gospel or just to help pad my retirement account! But in the likely event some do not, I want all to see the book’s dedication:

To the good people of the First Baptist Church of Christ of Macon, Georgia, who taught me far more about knowing, loving, and following Jesus than I ever taught them . . . and to Bambi--my wife, pastor, and friend--who has become Christ’s truth and grace to me time and time again.

I have been deeply blessed by John’s Gospel, by my dear wife, and by you, the people of God at the top of Poplar. That’s the truth. And the truth, John’s Gospel tells us, “shall set you free” (8:32).

Lightning Strike

2010-08-19T20:32:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
During the severe thunderstorms that rumbled through Macon on Saturday, August 21, lighting struck the taller of the two towers on our church. The lightning struck on the Washington Avenue side where the roof line meets the face of the tower. The band of white quatrefoils ("four-leaf clovers" for the architecturally challenged like me) that borders the top of the tower shows slight signs of damage. Twenty feet below there is a damaged area of chipped brick where the lightning exited the building.

Among the fragments of brick and mortar found on the sidewalk and street below, there was a white, pressed tin quatrefoil from far above and a piece of charred timber about the size of a book of matches. That fire-blackened fragment was from a rafter in the roof line of the spire.

When I first held that charred piece of timber in my hand, I was struck by how close we came to a real catastrophe. Twice before, our sanctuary was destroyed by fire: first, in 1883 (a former sanctuary on Second Street) and then in 1885, just days before our present structure was to be dedicated. The congregation resolved to rebuild and consecrated our present house of worship two years later in 1887.

While the cosmetic damage to the tower appears slight--and a Sunday afternoon inspection by the fire department revealed no structural problems--the lightning strike created havoc elsewhere. It knocked out the air conditioning, the PA system, some electronic stops in the pipe organ, the alarm system, and portions of the phone system. Fortunately, the wizards on our audio crew rigged up a makeshift PA system and Anne played beautifully on the piano instead of the organ. Other able helpers managed to resurrect the blowers, if not the air conditioning, so the sanctuary--while warm--was bearable. Many worshipers turned their bulletins into makeshift fans as we enjoyed an unplanned "heritage Sunday," battling August heat much as our predecessors did 100 years ago.

The good news is that the air conditioning is now fully functional, the alarm is on, and the phones are working. A complete repair to the audio system and organ may take a couple of weeks, but we will be in business Sunday, lustily singing our praises and proclaiming the best news of all: that whether catastrophe befalls us, or we are spared, in times of wrenching tears and joyous song, God is faithful and loving and true. For while lightning is fickle and unpredictable, "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever" (Hebrews 13:8). And for that, most of all, we say, "Thanks be to God!"

Riding the Waves

2010-08-12T21:11:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
During our recent vacation at the beach, I did a lot of body-surfing. In fact, that is probably my favorite thing to do at the beach. Bambi is the sun goddess. I prefer frolicking in the surf.

For the uninitiated, “body-surfing” means to ride the waves with one’s body in a prone position, stiff as a board. The would-be surfer waits waist-deep in the ocean for the “right” wave to come along, meaning a wave large enough to propel the person forward but not so strong as to overwhelm him or her. When the swimmer commits to a wave, he or she stretches out with arms and legs suspended like Superman, rocketing through the sky. The wave rises and lifts the swimmer until he or she is skimming on the surface, hurtling toward shore. If all goes well, the swimmer may glide 20 or 30 yards before the wave sputters out or the surf becomes too shallow to support a swimmer.

When there is good symmetry between a swimmer and a wave, the resulting ride is exhilarating. To feel the power of the ocean surging beneath one’s body, spiriting one along, is to experience the playful abandon of the dolphins while leaving the landlubbers behind.

It struck me while riding the waves that this experience was an apt metaphor for authentic spirituality (Trust me. Preacher’s minds work like that). So often, spirituality is conceived as what we must do to make God pay attention or take notice of us. But what if God is not an impatient school master, waiting for us to turn in our lessons, but a glistening, swelling wave, inviting us to play? What if “being spiritual” is not so much about the religious games we play or the pious (or impious) words we use but learning to pick the best wave of the Spirit to ride? What if God is already at work, churning up the surf, and our job is but to join God in God’s mission, rather than stubbornly pursue our own plan or program?

Spirituality seen as Kingdom work we must doggedly pursue leaves us exhausted, while spirituality viewed as Kingdom work God will do while we wait for divine deliverance, leaves us immobilized. In truth, the best spirituality--the most transforming mode of discipleship--involves all the artistry and skill we can muster yoked to a heady confidence in the grace and goodness of God. As Paul writes to the Philippians, “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling”--a strong affirmation of human initiative--“for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure”--an equally strong affirmation of the buoyancy and momentum of grace (Phil. 2:12-13).

Sure sounds like body-surfing to me.

Living Water

2010-08-07T19:23:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
During our recent beach vacation, Bambi and I took a day trip to the Universal Studios theme park in Orlando. Built around Universal Studio blockbusters, the park is full of glitz and glamour and adrenaline-packed excitement. Fans of Shrek and Harry Potter will think they have died and gone to heaven.

For me, however, the park was something of a disappointment. Yes, it was “fun,” but fun as cotton candy is fun, full of sensory stimulation but no enduring satisfaction. Watching the sun rise over the Atlantic swells the soul with gratitude and awe; disembarking from the “Revenge of the Mummy” ride at Universal Studios left me wondering, “What’s next?,” like an entertainment addict looking for his next hit.

Granted, I don’t exactly fit the park’s demographic target. I’m caught in the strange no man’s land between fatherhood and (hopefully!) grandfatherhood. No doubt having a couple of kids along to relish Universal Studio’s playground would have increased my fun by a factor of 10!

Still, I feel somehow out-of-sync with my culture’s love affair with the movies. Sure, I enjoy a good flick as much as the next guy, but I don’t believe Hollywood is nearly as important as all the hype would have us believe. The movies, like a theme park, reside in an artificial, make-believe world. But to learn the truth about myself and my world, I find myself hankering after Jesus. He is more sunrise than blockbuster, more soft light than spotlights, more beauty than glamour, more lasting peace than passing pleasure. That’s why I love him so.

In their book on the Lord’s Prayer, Lord, Teach Us to Pray, Will Willimon and Stanley Haueras point out that on any given week, about 50 million Americans attend a service of worship in their church; only a small fraction of that number go to a movie. Yet when you open your web browser or newspaper on Monday morning, you’re a lot more likely to read about Lindsey Lohan or Paris Hilton than Jesus.

That’s why the church is so vitally important: it helps us remember and see and feel what is essential and enduring and eternally true. No, Sunday worship at the top of Poplar (or anywhere else) is not as entertaining as the Universal Studios theme park or their latest blockbuster. But Sunday worship bears witness to the unseen but powerfully real Presence that gives life meaning that doesn’t fade with the roll of the credits at the end of the film.

Jesus promised “living water” that would lead believers to “never thirst” (John 4:14). Maybe what he meant was that believers are the folk who remember--when lost in a wilderness filled with everything else--what they are truly thirsting for, namely, the life and love of God, radiant in and through the Risen One.

The Pulpit's Backside

2010-07-30T21:41:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Sunday morning as I was waiting to preach, I noticed a small fan humming away from inside the pulpit. It was angled to cool the preacher as he delivered the sermon on a day the heat index reached 109 degrees. A 109 degree day--plus the additional hot air being generated in the immediate vicinity of the pulpit--might lead to head stroke. An unseen angel thoughtfully added a fan.

That fan was just one more strange artifact to end up on the back side of the pulpit, a holy place most people never see.

In the great Temple of Jerusalem, the innermost sanctum was the Holy of Holies, a small chamber where the Ark of the Covenant was kept and the High Priest went to atone for the sins of the people. No one save the High Priest could venture into the Holy of Holies and he but once-a-year.

Our “holy of holies”--the back side of the pulpit--is available for all to see, though few adults ever bother to look. The children do, though, and they can tell you what is found there: a glass of ice water (just in case!), a box of Kleenex, two reading lights, a hymnal or two, and a foot stool for children to stand upon when reading Scripture during the service.

Then there’s all the stuff that ends up inside the pulpit that doesn’t “belong”: abandoned sheet music, a director’s baton, somebody’s reading glasses, broken pencils, forgotten bulletins and sermon notes, a half-devoured pack of Hall’s throat lozenges, and a necklace or ear ring bound for lost-and-found.

Perhaps those who picture the sanctuary a serene and holy place where heaven and earth meet find the truth about the backside of the pulpit disconcerting: all that chaos, debris, and inelegance! Shouldn’t everything in the sanctuary be in perfect order, prim and proper to a T?

I hope not because if the sanctuary is that kind of place, nobody I know is welcome. Each of us is comprised of both a shiny, presentable exterior and a hidden, interior world filled with anxieties and fears and secret hopes and longings. Occasionally somebody gets to see the “real me,” the “essential you,” but such moments are rare. Mostly the only One to see the back side of the Soul is God, before whom the secrets of every heart are disclosed (Psalm 44:21).

Thus, for Christians, the holy of holies is not some supposed perfect place but rather honest heart where we quit pretending to ourselves, to others, and to God. And this, we can dare to do for we have a high priest who has opened up a “new and living way” to God that starts with being real about our need for grace (Hebrews 10:19-22).

Miss Manners notwithstanding, I don’t worry much about the unkempt nature of the back side of the pulpit. We are a Good News people, after all, a people of grace.

Vacation BIBLE School

2010-07-22T17:10:00.000-07:00

DOWNLOAD GALATIC BLAST

by Julie Long
Several years ago, I was having dinner with a family of the church in the weeks preceding Vacation Bible School. Since the wife was volunteering at VBS, the conversation naturally shifted toward our preparations. As we clamored on about the jazzy theme, decorations, and schedule of activities, the husband sarcastically snorted, "I remember the days when the theme of Vacation Bible School was THE BIBLE!"

Many times since that occasion, I have remembered that comment – mostly when I have been on a ladder hanging a sparkly decoration from the ceiling or rearranging the sanctuary to create a beach scene or space shuttle mission control center!; Sometimes, when I have been racking my brain for a creative backdrop or am exhausted by the countless hours of preparation, I have been tempted by the same wondering – can’t VBS just be a little simpler?; Maybe you have wondered the same thing as you’ve entered the festive building on the Sunday morning before VBS!

But then, the Monday morning of VBS arrives, and I see the wonder-filled eyes of our preschoolers and children as they see this familiar place take on a new shape. For this week, their imaginations are allowed to run wild. The church becomes outer space, or a western ranch, or an exciting summer camp. They enjoy games and snacks and music and science experiments. They make new friends, both with kids their age and with various generations of adults who have given their time to help. Above all, they LEARN because they are having fun! And they feel special because they know that all of this energy and excitement and preparation is done just for them.

So is all of the effort and planning and time and money worth it? Does what we invest in Vacation Bible School make a difference? Yes. For the 90-something kids that entered these church doors last week to worship the God of the universe, it did. For the 60-something adults and youth who volunteered their time to laugh and play and be a role model for children, it did. And for a church who looks hopefully toward her future, it is worth every dime and every moment.

I overheard a long-time VBS volunteer say last week, "VBS is not what it used to be! But that’s a good thing." No, VBS is not what it used to be. All good things must endure some change in order to survive. But for the children of this church and community, VBS continues to be a wonderful gift. It teaches our children that they are loved by God and by this church, and it teaches them to share the love that they have received with our community and our world. When that happens, no matter what the decorations say, the theme of Bible School is the Bible!

Time, Time, Time

2010-07-15T21:39:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
The Sunday after Father's Day, I marched into the sanctuary five minutes late. Not a "few minutes" late but five minutes late. On the dot.

At the time, I didn't realize I was late so I was shocked to open the sanctuary door and find the service already in progress. It was like awakening from a dream to discover the world you thought was real, was not, while the real world had gone on quite nicely without you.

Still dazed, trying to figure out what happened, I now realized why I hadn't heard the choir sing their final warm-up next door to my study. But it was June, after all, and sometimes in the dog days of summer, we have a solo rather than a choral anthem. The uncommon quiet and stillness in the moments just before worship should have been a warning, but lost in final preparations for the service, I didn't notice.

So standing up there in front of God and everybody, five minutes late for the high and holy hour, I wracked my brain: How did this happen?! My digital watch clearly said "11:05," which meant I was right on time because I have run my watch five minutes fast for years. The practice provides an extra measure of protection to prevent just such embarrassing moments as this!!

Then it hit me. My daughter, Whitney, gave me a new watch for Father's Day. And this high-tech wonder automatically syncs with the national automatic clock in Colorado. So even though I set the watch five minutes fast, it automatically corrected the "error" without bothering to tell me!

Since then, I've been trying to readjust my life to live on "real" time. Like the most annoying of friends (you know, someone like Jesus) the watch insists on always telling the truth! So far, I’ve been spared any further embarrassments, but I've also been surprised at how hard it is to retrain my time-keeping habits. Even small lies, once long-held and fiercely coddled, are not easily surrendered.

The experience left me wondering about all the other "little lies" that shape or rather, mis-shape my character: Lies about my good intentions ("This time will be different"), lies about diet and nutrition ("Really need to start that new regimen--tomorrow") lies about money ("One more credit card purchase can't hurt"), lies about...

On Sunday, we'll come face-to-face with one of the saltiest of the prophets, Amos, who proclaimed God was dropping a plumb line into the life of Israel (Amos 7:7-9). What was straight and right and true would stand; what was warped and twisted was destined to fall.

Plumb lines, atomic clocks, and yes, Jesus, proclaim there are certain, unerring truths that define our lives whether we like it or not. I don't like that rule, but as my five-minutes- late worship caper proves, I am stuck with it. A loving God long ago decided, "The truth shall set you free" (John 8:32). The only play we get to make is deciding when to fess up and find the true freedom our lies can never give.

"Christian" is a Noun

2010-07-02T06:50:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
With July 4 looming, I expect the usual flurry of e-mails telling me the following: (1) On the aluminum cap atop the Washington Monument are two Latin words, Laus Deo, meaning, “Praise be to God;" (2) the Founding Fathers were deeply religious men who founded the American republic on Christian principles; and, (3) the phrase “separation of church and state” does not appear in the United States Constitution. All those points are true or mostly true, in my view; however, the usual implications drawn from them in the free-floating Internet ditties I receive are not.

As to point one, yes, “God language” is and always has been a prominent part of our national dialect. The president’s recent speech addressing the disaster in the Gulf was rich in religious imagery. He spoke of the blessing-of-the-fleet ceremonies in which Gulf fishermen appeal for God’s protection and help in good times and bad. Despite highly publicized attempts to remove “In God We Trust” from our coins or the phrase “under God” from the Pledge of Allegiance, the Supreme Court has consistently held that such generic references to “God” are permissible. It is advancing one religion at the expense of another that violates the spirit and substance of the First Amendment.

As to point two, it is true most of the Founders were conventionally religious for their place and time, meaning they were Deists. They were not, for the most part, evangelical Christians, but more philosophically minded believers who thought God wound up the Universe like a clock and was now letting it run according to “natural law.” So, yes, the Founders believed “God” was, in some sense, watching over the republic, founded on the general principles of the Judeo-Christian heritage that characterized the Western world.

Nonetheless, they deliberately did not create a “Christian Republic,” but a secular one -- despite some of those present at the Constitutional Convention of 1787 pressing for a formal acknowledgment of Christianity in our founding document. This faction did not prevail -- not because the other delegates were anti-religious, but because they were fiercely committed to freedom of conscience for all people and had seen the atrocities perpetrated by state-sponsored religion in both Europe and the
colonies.

As to point three, it is correct that the literal phrase “separation of church and state” does not appear in the Constitution. Neither does “separation of powers” nor “a trial by a jury of one’s peers.” Each expression is, rather, a shorthand phrase that summarizes important constitutional provisions.

The phrase “separation of church and state” is usually dated to Thomas Jefferson’s letter to Connecticut’s Danbury Baptist Association in 1802. The Baptists were thankful for Jefferson’s strong support of religious liberty, since they were then facing rebuff and ridicule from the local Congregational religious establishment.

“Separation of church and state” means the state doesn’t get to “establish” religion or “prohibit” its “free exercise.” As always, the devil is in the details, and conscientious Christians and other people of faith (and no faith) will disagree about the application of this principle in practice. But the all-too-common sentiment this time of year that America is, or should be, a Christian nation is neither true to the facts nor to the American experience.

Nations, after all, can’t be Christian. Only people can. As that Baptist maverick of yesterday, Carlyle Marney, would remind us, “Christian” is best used as a noun, not an adjective.

Deep Calls Out to Deep

2010-06-23T20:02:00.000-07:00

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?

The Dogged Truth

2010-06-17T17:58:00.000-07:00

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.

Bigger and Better

2010-06-10T18:54:00.000-07:00

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.

A Marriage Bog

2010-06-07T22:10:00.000-07:00

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!"

Watching Baseball

2010-05-27T21:42:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Watching baseball on television is not my idea of a good time. I constantly glance at my watch, wondering when the misery will be over.

But going to a baseball game, now that’s a different matter. I love to go to the ballpark and see the action up close and personal, rub shoulders with the crowd, and hope for a foul ball hit in my direction. So on Thursday May 20, I was at Turner Stadium with some clergy buddies for what turned out to be an epic baseball contest.

The Cincinnati Reds jumped out early to a decisive 8-0 lead. The Braves managed to eke out a few hits and crawled back to 9-3 by the end of the third inning. Then we settled in for a long afternoon of boring baseball, but I didn’t mind because I was sedated with a cup of glazed pecans, a greasy hot dog, and a $4.50 Coke.

Finally, the bottom of the 9th rolled around. I stretched and gathered my things. A lot of fans had already left. Three quick outs and we’d be on the road in time to beat the worst of the Atlanta traffic.

But wait! Hit 1, hit 2, hit 3! No outs! At least we were going out in style! A walk with the bases loaded. A run or two. Hope!

Still no one, certainly not I, saw the magnitude of the victory that was coming. With the bases loaded, local middle Georgia sensation, Jason Heyward--whose homer won the game the night before--struck out. The next batter, Brooks Conrad, amassed a 3-2 count. It looked like the Cincinnati pitcher was poised to smoke him. If that happened, one more out and the game was over.

But Conrad’s bat erupted with a crack that sent shivers down every spine in the stadium. The ball sailed for the left field fence. The Cincinnati fielder leapt high and touched the ball with his glove, just enough to tap it over the great divide. Home run! Conrad’s grand slam won the game and set the stands to shaking from fans delirious with relief and joy.

The moral of the story? Don’t leave the game in the 8th inning. And if a baseball game can create that kind of surprise and sensation in the bottom of the 9th, just think what God can do!

On Good Friday, Satan was gleefully thinking, “Game over!” Then on Easter morning, Jesus hit a walk away homer with the bases loaded. Satan shook his head in numb disbelief. He never saw that one coming. And if Jesus could come back to win a game so completely in the bag as that, Satan’s cocksure confidence was gone. In fact, it was worse than the Prince of Darkness thought. Easter was just the beginning because the God who raised Jesus from dead revels in surprise comebacks.

Forgive me if likening Easter to a baseball game offends. But that Thursday in Atlanta, with Turner stadium shaking in awed triumph at an impossible win, somehow the one made me think of the other.

A Word from our Chair of Deacons

2010-05-20T15:57:00.000-07:00

by Bryan Whitfield
I always think of summer as a special time for fellowship: watermelons and home-churned peach ice cream, singing around the piano, catching fireflies at dusk. Just as that was true for my family growing up, so I’ve found it true for our church family at First Baptist Church of Christ. In recent summers, we have gathered for fellowship at Vespers at the top of Poplar. This year, however, only one Sunday School class volunteered to serve as hosts. Knowing the importance of fellowship, we decided to develop a series of home fellowships centered around our deacon family groups. Our deacons will team up together to host First Family Fellowships on June 27, July 25, and August 22.

On these Sundays, we will gather in homes for a meal, a time of fellowship, and a brief devotional focused on passages from Paul’s letter to the Philippians. This time of fellowship will enable us to get to know one another better, to deepen our understanding of a short biblical passage, and to have fun together. In most cases, two or three deacon family groups will meet together. The informal atmosphere and brief time of study mean that the fellowships are designed for all ages to join together for intergenerational fellowship.

We will also have a weekly devotional resource for individuals and families to use each week during the summer. These resources will be available in print copies and on the FBC website. Families and individuals will use them on Sunday nights, or perhaps at another convenient time during the week. These devotional resources will also focus on Philippians and will include material especially designed for families. They will suggest mission project options that members may complete during the week. On these Sabbath weeks when we do not have a First Family Fellowship, we will encourage families and individuals to use the devotional resource and also to plan creative ways to have fellowship within and beyond the family unit. You might meet with another family one week, or invite a single adult to join you for supper and Bible reading, or find a group to work together on a common mission or service project.

You will be hearing more about these exciting summer events during the month ahead. In particular, you will receive a note, card, letter, or email from your deacon reminding you about the dates and indicating where your deacon family group will meet. I look forward to hearing about the ways you find these new initiatives strengthen our fellowship as a congregation and deepen our faith.

Inspiration

2010-05-14T04:31:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
The short answer is “Yes,” Bambi, Whitney, and I successfully completely our relay in the Knoxville Mother’s Day triathlon. Caroline, Whitney’s sister-in-law who is recovering from a traumatic brain injury, inspired our participation in this triathlon. We owe many blessings to Caroline. For me, one of those was recovering the joy of cycling.

When I was a boy, my dad and I rode our bikes from Greensboro, North Carolina to Hanging Rock State Park. It was a ride of over 50 miles, mostly uphill, on 5-speed, low-end bikes that weighed a ton. We didn’t train for the ride; we just “did it.” My dad was an ex-Marine. He was of the “grin and bear it school.” When we finally got to Hanging Rock, I suggested we get off and walk our bikes up that long, tortuous climb. My dad wouldn’t hear of it so we huffed and puffed our way to the top.

Some years later, my dad got a decent road bike. Eventually, like most of the good stuff he ever owned, he gave it away, in this case, to me. It was that bike, a vintage 1980s 10-speed racer, I rode in the Knoxville Triathlon.

While training for the Triathlon, I thought often of my dad. Riding “his” bike made me feel close to him, even though he died almost two years ago. It was as though he was near, enjoying the rush of scenery, the deep, renewing breaths, the rhythmic pumping of the legs, the wind whisking the sweat beads off the brow.

On race day in Knoxville, my 25-mile bike ride started out easily enough. But once we left the city and entered the foothills of the Blue Ridge, things got tough in a hurry. The hills were steeper and longer than any of my practice runs in middle Georgia. As I pedaled with grisly determination up a 1½- mile incline, a woman with a “53" magic-markered on her calf passed me. That meant a 53-year-old lady was beating me! My pride wounded, what little steam was left in my engine fizzled out. I started to climb off my mount and walk to the top.

Then I thought of what my dad would say. And I thought of that “great cloud of witnesses” Hebrews 12:1-2 hints may be cheering us on at such moments. So I stayed on my bike and kept slamming my legs down, down, down on the pedals, like a 19th century immigrant driving spikes in the transcontinental railroad, one after one after one, seemingly forever. Eventually, I crested the hilltop, and felt the flush of triumph.

Some miles later as the finish line drew near, I saw a faint “53" on a biker’s calf up ahead. It was the woman who had passed me! I pumped harder than ever, feigning a strength I did not feel, gaining on her and eventually flying by her. It really wasn’t fair though, because from some place deep inside, an unseen coach was egging me on. I think it was my dad but it might have been You-Know-Who.

Thanks, Caroline. The triathlon you inspired touched a lot of lives and mine was one.

Triathloning

2010-05-05T21:49:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Bambi and I are going to have a different kind of Mother’s Day this year. We’re heading to Knoxville to participate in a Triathlon. Our daughter Whitney put us up to it. Kids do that sort of thing.

Our foray into Triathloning began with a tragedy that with God’s help, was turned towards good. In the fall of 2006, Whitney’s sister-in-law, Caroline, sustained a traumatic brain injury in an automobile accident. Since then, Caroline has been fighting her way back to an ever increasing measure of strength and vitality. Caroline is bright and bubbly, communicates through sign language, and is a joy and inspiration to all she meets.

In Knoxville’s Mother’s Day Triathlon, Caroline will participate with the help of her brothers, Jay--Whitney’s husband--and Reid. Caroline’s family commissioned a specially designed bicycle that will allow Caroline to pedal from a sitting position during both the cycling and running portions of the race, as her brothers provide balance and steering. During the swim, she will kick as her brothers pull her on a raft.

Caroline’s world-class parents, David “D” and Susan Owen, have devoted themselves to Caroline’s recovery and rehabilitation. While D resumed his practice as a OB/GYN physician, Susan has spent the last 3½ years as more-than-full-time mother, always at Caroline’s side tending to her needs, sharing her laughter, and updating her Facebook page! You can follow this remarkable and still unfolding story at www.caroline.can or www.caringbridge.org/visit/carolineowen. If ever there was a life story that illustrates the truth of Romans 8:28--that God works in all things for good--this is it.

The Owen family has also committed themselves to raising money for the Patricia Neal Rehabilitation Center in Knoxville, a facility that has proven essential to Caroline’s recovery. Our participation in the Triathlon is part of the family’s efforts to raise $100,000 to endow a scholarship fund for physical therapists; over $70,000 has been raised thus far.

So... Whitney persuaded Bambi and me to gear up for our part of a three-person relay team in the Knoxville Mother’s Day Triathlon: Whitney will swim a mile, Bambi will power-walk a 10K (6.2 miles), and I’ll ride my bike 25 miles through Knoxville’s rolling hills. Thus, this will be for Bambi and Whitney a special Mother’s Day, indeed. As usual, the dad--me--will be along for the ride, literally and figuratively.

Meanwhile, back at the top of Poplar for the first time in the history of our church--and I say this with no fear of contradiction--a mother will preach the Mother’s Day sermon. Julie is an excellent preacher anytime, but with the birth of Merrill (now 11 weeks old!), this sermon will hold special meaning for her and for our congregation. I hate to miss this memorable, yea, historic event. But I’m glad to know from the top of Poplar to the top of Rocky Top, Mother’s Day will be a blessed day for the First Baptist family, far and wide.

The Lost Local Church

2010-04-28T20:57:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Recently, two articles got me thinking about the future of pastoring, at least as I have known and loved the vocation.

The first article reported that less than one-third of students now attending seminary plan on serving in local congregations. That’s not less than one-third plan on being pastors; that’s less than one-third plan on working in a local church in any capacity.

The second article was by an author new to me, but so far, I like her spunk. Her name is Karen Zacharias and she has a new book out with the eyebrow-raising title, Will Jesus Buy Me a Doublewide? ('Cause I Need More Room for My Plasma TV). The book is a funny but deadly serious critique of the so-called “prosperity Gospel,” the notion God wants to make you rich (unlike Jesus), not from any hard work or savvy on your part, but solely as a reward for your prayer, devotion, and generous donations sent to Brother-So-and-So’s P.O. Box.

Ms. Zacharias’ article about the current state of pastoring is entitled, “Need Your Pastor? Follow Him on Twitter” (@ ethicsdaily.com). The article is a nostalgic look at her beloved childhood pastor, Brother Smitty. Here was someone who knew your name, knew your Mama, and cared about the state of your soul. Ms. Zacharias contrasts this vanishing breed of pastor with the celebrity-obsessed, success-driven pretenders who are too busy and self-absorbed to visit hospitals, officiate at funerals, or do other “pastoral” work. Such congregational “rock stars” (her word) leave the grunt work of ministry to subordinates.

Most pastors I know, of whatever variety, do not deserve the skewering Ms. Zacharias so artfully gives them. But I do believe the day when pastors were first and foremost, shepherds of God’s flock, are on the wane. There is just too much pressure to be bigger (rather than better), more popular (rather than more prophetic), and more trendy (rather than timeless). Even the best-intentioned pastors can end up as CEOs of slick, ecclesiastical corporations instead of honoring the heart of their vocation. “Pastor” is from the Latin word for Shepherd, after all.

Perhaps a congregation too large for the pastor to know everyone’s name is simply too large. Such a belief dates me and consigns me to irrelevancy in an age when the megachurch is the gold standard of ministerial success. But when Jesus commissioned the first pastor, Peter, he didn’t say, “Run my operations” or “Increase my profits.” He said “Feed my lambs, tend my sheep” (John 21:15-19). In a world that seems intent on making everything else more important, I try to remember that.

I hope the one-third of seminary graduates open to local church ministry will learn what I have discovered: the real rewards of ministry are rarely found “on stage” but in the lush pastures and dark valleys where the footprints of the Good Shepherd go before us in loving, often anonymous, service.

The Devil Never had a Chance

2010-04-22T20:45:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
My calendar disappeared. It’s not like I lost it or anything. It was “there,” then it was gone. Poof! Vanished without a trace.

The Bible says “The Devil goes about like a roaring lion looking for whom he may devour” (1 Peter 5:8). The way I figure it, the Devil took a swipe at me. He opened his vicious, ugly mouth as wide as it would go and then sent his choppers crashing down. Thankfully, all he got was a mouthful of calendar. I slipped away unscathed.

Nonetheless, this mishap has greatly inconvenienced me and proven thoroughly unnerving. After all, who am I without my calendar? All those commitments neatly etched in the rows of boxes in April, May, June, and so on, give me identity and direction. Without them, my selfhood seems fuzzy, like an out of focus photograph.

John Locke, the Enlightenment thinker, said we all come into the world as a tabula rasa, a “blank slate.” But pretty soon our parents and siblings and culture are scribbling all over us, telling us who we are, what is good, what is bad, what boys do and what girls do and why Democrats or Republicans are to be regarded with suspicion. Eventually, we take up our own pen or keyboard and start trying to write our own script. But as my calendar caper, or unemployment, or divorce, or other such unsettling experiences soon reveal, it’s hard to remember who you are when the things that once defined you are snatched away.

Of course, the Bible says we are more than a tabula rasa. We are persons created in the “image of God” (Genesis 1:27), meaning there is within us a faint memory and haunting sense of who we are meant to be, namely, sons and daughters of God (John 1:12). But in the “real world,” we don’t take much time to ponder the depths of the self. We’re too busy trying to make the next appointment, or the next sale, or the next whatever. But then something happens to wipe the slate clean, and it’s just us and God again. Now what?

Now is the opportunity to start fresh, to start new, to make decisions about who we want to be instead of living on autopilot. This is hard, scary work, but exhilarating too. “Work out your salvation with fear and trembling,” Paul counseled the Philippians (2:12). There’s a lot riding on what you do with your days because what you do with your days becomes your life.

So yes, I’m trying to recreate my calendar which is to say I am trying to recreate myself. For a while at least, there will be more blank spaces and more breathing room. This is a gift of grace the Devil never saw coming. Thankfully, he never does. “For God is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for God’s good pleasure!” (Philippians 2:13).

The Devil never had a chance.

Smart People

2010-04-15T18:48:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
One of the great benefits of being pastor at First Baptist is all the smart people who give me the benefit of their learning, insight, and life experience. On most any theological, moral, or political issue, there are any number of people in our church who know a lot more about the subject at hand than I do (I realize a lot of you don’t find that the least bit surprising!).

Getting to talk to sharp, conscientious people with widely varying views about a given issue is a gift. It broadens my understanding and awakens me to the complexities that attend most matters about which good people disagree.

I hope and believe others in our fellowship find such diversity a blessing, as well as a challenge. For if we are to be Jesus’ people, we must not mimic our culture and only hobnob with others like ourselves. Jesus had an annoying knack for seeking out and welcoming the most unsavory, controversial, counter-cultural folks in the neighborhood: ladies of the evening, IRS men, Samaritans, poor folks, and the like. And every time Jesus put his arms around someone the locals were bred to despise, he turned to his disciples and said, “Now go and do likewise.”

Recently, one of the many “smart people” in our congregation put me on to a book entitled, Going to Extremes, in which legal scholar, Cass Sunstein, analyzes the rise of extreme partisanship in America. Sunstein offers a wealth of evidence to suggest when like-minded people talk only to one another, they become hardened in their views. Liberals who gather to discuss affirmative action become far more aggressive in their demands while conservatives who discuss the same subject with one another become far more skeptical. If Sunstein is right, then one reason people seem to be gravitating toward extremism of both the right and left is that our cable network/internet world allows them to listen to folks only like themselves.

This Sunday night, we will begin the first of three conversations on difficult moral questions (see cover article): capital punishment, homosexuality, and war and peace. The safer course would be to avoid such controversial issues, or only talk about them in predictable, “like-minded” forums. But what if the church is the last place in America where thoughtful, passionate people of differing convictions can have meaningful dialogue? What if one mark of a disciple of Jesus is someone not afraid to open his, her ears and heart to people whose politics he or she finds objectionable?

Ed Friedman, another of the “smart people” who taught me a lot, said the definition of a true liberal is someone who can have a meaningful relationship with a conservative. I believe that more and more even as I see it lived out less and less. Maybe Jesus can help me, help us keep alive the dream of loving and listening to people very different from ourselves.

Depending on God

2010-04-08T21:07:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
After listening to yet another thoroughly forgettable audio book, I decided to revisit the classics. Since I remembered being captivated by Robinson Crusoe as a boy, I decided to start my romp through great literature with that selection.

What surprised me this time through is how prominently the Bible is featured in Daniel Defoe’s fictionalized account of a castaway on a Caribbean island. Early on during his stay on “Despair Island,” Crusoe is a hardened cynic, angry with himself and the world. While resourceful and determined, Crusoe is isolated and alone in a far deeper sense than mere solitude can account for.

But then while rummaging through a chest, salvaged from the beached wreck of his ship, Crusoe comes upon a Bible. The very first words he stumbles upon are these: “Call on me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver, and thou shalt glorify me” (Psalm 50:15). Later, reflecting on the experience, Crusoe muses, “The words were very apt to my case, and made some impression upon my thoughts at the time . . . though not so much as they did afterwards.”

Now this is the sort of thing that every trained student of the Bible knows should not happen, or if it does happens, should not be taken seriously. After all, the Bible is not a collection of folk wisdom, to be plundered at will, like a desk calendar complete with a quote-for-the-day. The Bible is a library of sixty-six books written in widely diverse places and times. Only by placing a given text in its proper biblical and historical context, is there any hope of interpreting it aright.

But despite the degrees on my wall that mean I should know better, the fact of the matter is that ever so often, God gives you one on the house. Even when one does something as seemingly silly as letting the Bible flop open, where it will, one is sometimes confronted by a pointed, personal Word from God (Isaiah 55:11). At least that has been my experience and to hear Robinson Crusoe tell it, it was his experience too.

Prompted by this seemingly random word from God, Crusoe begins reading the Bible from cover-to-cover (an even better plan!). And while reading the Bible does not magically deliver him (Crusoe has another 28 years to go on the island!), his reading does gradually transform him. No longer is he so hopeless and alone. Now he has an unseen companion, whispering to him through the pages of Holy Writ, giving Crusoe a new measure of contentment, resilience, and courage.

Having just finished listening to the New Testament as part of our church’s “Faith Comes by Hearing” emphasis, I have been reminded anew: it’s a lot easier to live on whatever island you find yourself, if day-by-day, you give God a chance to whisper “sweet everythings” in your ear.

Game Over

2010-04-02T00:06:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
The other night, Bambi and I were channel hopping when we stumbled upon a gripping NCAA tournament game between Kansas State and Xavier. It was an epic match in which the lead kept passing back and forth. The basketball artistry, the oft-reversed flow of momentum, the earnestness etched on the young men’s faces--all of it made for an unforgettable contest.

Eventually, the game ended in a tie and went into overtime. By this point, I had gone to bed, but Bambi--our night owl--soldiered on. She stayed on the edge of her seat by the television, as everyone in the arena leaned forward with anticipation. The first overtime ended in a tie. Finally, the buzzer sounded at the end of double-overtime as the Kansas State Wildcats snatched the win from the anguished Musketeers.

Only later, did we discover that we were watching a rerun of the game! (Let’s just say once the Yellow Jackets got whipped by Ohio State, our NCAA tournament watching was mostly over.) Thus, the basketball game we watched on Monday night with such rapt attention was actually decided the Thursday before.

This Sunday, the church will sound her proclamation of Christ’s Easter triumph in words and music. We will gather to raise our confession, "He is risen!" and to sing our "Alleluias." With Christians throughout time and eternity, we will give thanks for the victory that changes everything.

Indeed, if the New Testament is to be believed, Christ’s victory over death is the Great Reversal. All that has gone so terribly wrong with the world--sin, evil, death--has been trounced by our Lord’s triumph over the grave. As 2 Timothy 2:9-10 sings, "(God’s) grace . . . has been revealed by the appearing of our Savior Christ Jesus, who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel."

That’s a lot to claim, a lot to hope, a lot to count on, that Christ has "abolished death and brought life and immortality to light." But the great, glad cry of Easter is nothing less. Because "He is not here! He is risen!", the stranglehold of sin and death is broken.

To be sure, we remain creatures in process. Like the mythical centaur, half-man, half-beast, our new, resurrected self in Christ has not fully emerged from the person we used to be. And yes, those we have loved and lost, have passed beyond our sight and reach into God’s nearer Presence.

But the day is coming--by God’s great mercy and power, the day is coming--when at last faith will turn to sight and God will wipe all the tears from our eyes (Revelation 21:4).

Easter means we know how the game will end. And because of that, we can live with a Christlike courage and calm and good cheer that would not be possible apart from who Jesus was and what he did.

Working Out... Reach

2010-03-25T21:14:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
It is the nature of families and other groups to turn inward toward familiarity, comfort, sanctuary, and safety. There is nothing inherently wrong about this; mostly, it’s just inevitable. In fact, what we find most rewarding in relationships is being deeply known and loved.

    But from the beginning, Jesus commanded his followers to complement the natural human tendency to turn inward, with a God-spurred, grace-filled reflex to turn outward: outward toward the stranger, outward toward the lonely and the wounded, outward the bewildered and the lost. The disciples were to share the Good News so others could enter God’s warm, welcoming embrace, and so are we.

    I’m training for one leg of a Mother’s Day Triathlon in Knoxville. Bambi will do the 10k walk, Whitney will do the 1.2 mile swim, and I’m to do the 25 mile bike ride. The point of this exercise is to raise money for the Patricia Neal Rehabilitation Center, a clinic that has been instrumental in the recovery of Whitney’s sister-in-law, Caroline, from a traumatic brain injury. While I enjoy running, I haven’t biked in years, but I’m moving out of my comfort zone to support a good cause and develop some atrophied muscles. Indeed, one of the benefits of cycling for runners, is that it develops the opposing muscles of the upper legs. Doing so contributes to leg strength and injury prevention.

    Churches that have overgrown outreach muscles, tend to be shallow and superficial. Churches that have overgrown inreach muscles tend to be sickly and declining. Churches that have strong and complementary muscles of inreach and outreach tend to be both deep and wide, thoughtful and passionate, warm and welcoming, in short, a lot like Jesus.

    With Easter almost upon us, now is a great time to give your outreach muscles a workout. Here’s some suggested exercises:

•    Invite a neighborhood child or family to join you for the Easter Egg hunt this Sunday

•    Make a special effort to bring an unchurched family member or friend to worship on Easter Sunday.

•    Circle something in this newsletter of interest to someone you know and pass it on to him or her (or forward the emailed version).

•    Tell someone going through a divorce about the help to be found in the Divorce Recovery Group starting Sunday, April 11 at 6:00 p.m. (see next page)

•    Share some java and good times with a coworker who needs a faith home at the Side Door Coffee House on Sunday Night April 11

    Again, building and celebrating community is essential to a living faith. But for an Easter people, the nesting instinct must always be balanced against the centrifugal force of love.

Running Out of Gas

2010-03-18T14:30:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
It’s probably been twenty years since I last ran out of gas. The last time I had plenty of excuses. That was before dashboards had idiot lights that blink, pulsate, and do everything but grab you by the lapels and scream, "You’re running on fumes, buddy. Stop, fill up, or else!"

Of course, after a while, the idiot lights become idiot proof. One starts thinking, "The last time that light was carrying on like this, and I filled up, I still had two gallons in the tank. Obviously, the light is rigged to lie. I can ignore it." So I did.

Early Wednesday morning, driving to work, the idiot light was glowing like hot, molten lava pouring out of a volcano. It seemed to get brighter and more insistent with each passing mile. Driving down Riverside, passing a number of gas stations, I thought, "I really ought to get gas today." By that point, I had ignored the idiot light for two whole days. It was time to pay homage to the gods of petrol.

Turning onto College Street from Riverside, full of good intentions, my car sputtered to a stop. I thought, "This can’t be happening to me." Looking up from my new curbside roost, I saw Jack Caldwell’s beautiful antebellum home looming large. Wonder how Jack would like me knocking on his door, unannounced at 7:30 in the morning. "Hey Jack, can you spare a cup of coffee . . . and some gasoline?"

I decided to pray instead. People far wiser and more sophisticated than I think it unseemly to pray in such circumstances. Me? In a crisis, I fire off prayers like a marooned sailor firing his last flare into the night sky, hoping against hope for a miracle.

Well, I got one. After saying my "Dear God, help!"　prayer, I turned the ignition and the car coughed its way to a shaky start. My vehicle started rolling, uncertainly, spastic and sputtering, toward the gas station at the corner of College and Hardeman. At a long red light (they’re all long when you’re running out of gas), I looked both ways and eased my way through the intersection. No blue lights or sirens. Home free! I crested the hill 100 yards from the gas station and figured, if needed, I could coast to refueling heaven. As it turned out, I made it just as my ‘96 Camry--suffering from the exact opposite problem of the ones making the news!--gave up the ghost.

Sunday, in our consideration of the 7 deadly sins, we’ll be pondering the sin of "sloth." It’s not what you think. Essentially, the sin of "sloth" is running out of gas. And the spiritual struggle is where to find the fuel you need to start up again.

Say your prayers and show up. Who knows? You might get a miracle too.

Celebrating Grace

2010-03-11T10:37:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Martin Luther marveled at music's power to tap into the hidden wellsprings of faith. With characteristic bluntness, he wrote, "If any (one) despises music, as all fanatics do, for him I have no liking; for music is a gift and grace of God. It drives out the devil and makes people cheerful. The devil flees before the sound of music almost as much as he does before the word of God." Thus, in addition to writing great tomes of theology, Luther also wrote hymns. He knew that for spiritual truth to reach people at the depths, they would have to sing it.

Another preacher and teacher who turned to music to immortalize his movement was Jesse Mercer, the Baptist leader for whom Mercer University was named. In the early 19th century, Jesse Mercer published a hymnal that gave shape and voice to the Baptist witness in his place and time.

Now at the dawn of a new century, a new generation of Baptists is birthing a new hymnal. Called Celebrating Grace , this hymnal debuted earlier this week at a two-day musical extravaganza at the Second-Ponce de Leon Baptist Church in Atlanta. Members of our choir, along with several other church choirs, sang selections from the new hymnal. While I was not present for these inaugural concerts, several who were said the music was deeply moving and at times, unspeakably beautiful.

Three members of our church were key players in the creation of the Celebrating Grace hymnal. Tom McAfee was the visionary who gave shape to the project and shepherded it to completion. John Simons served as coordinating editor of the hymnal and Stanley Roberts served alongside Tom and John as part of the seven member editorial team that made the final selections for the hymnal. In one of the many articles published about the hymnal’s release, Stanley said the team longed to "provide a resource that our current generation and future generations could use for worship in the local church."

The new hymnal incorporates both a treasure trove of old favorites, as well as offering some of the best new hymns and worship songs. It will be complemented by an online resource providing additional helps for musicians and worship planners.

Due to the generosity of a family in our church, we are one of the first congregations to purchase the Celebrating Grace hymnal. We will be introducing the hymnals into our worship in the near future. And on a May Sunday morning, we will have our own First Baptist celebration of this wonderful new resource to enhance our congregation’s worship of the living God.

Long, long ago, the Apostle Paul urged the Ephesians to "Speak to one another with psalms, hymns and spiritual songs. Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord" (Ephesians 5:19). Thankfully, with the debut of the Celebrating Grace hymnal, a new generation of Christians can take Paul’s counsel to heart and put it to song.

Toyota and Truth

2010-03-04T19:31:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Why has the Toyota recall garnered so much frenzied press coverage? Some pundits say it is because the baby boomers who pushed Toyotas into car sales stardom, are angry their heartfelt trust was betrayed.

I can’t speak for the press, but as for this baby boomer, I’d agree with that assessment.

Since I started driving at 16, there’s always been a Toyota in our family. The first was a ‘66 four-door with a straight drive on the column. My dad dubbed that little car the “Blue Bullet.” The name stuck out of humor, rather than accuracy. A “bullet” it was not. More like a golf cart on steroids.

I can still remember the smell of the clutch burning as my older sister learned to drive a manual transmission on that car. At least I think it was the clutch. It may have been my dad’s simmering temper boiling over. In fact, all three of the Setzer kids learned to drive in the Blue Bullet. Eventually, I took it to college and then to seminary. I drove it until--quite literally--the drive shaft fell off.

In the early 80s, Bambi and I bought our first new car: a 1983 Toyota Tercel. The interest rate was 17%! But it turned out to be a good buy because I kept that car forever. It had over 200,000 miles on it when I finally retired it 20 years later. The time came when fixing the AC would cost twice what the car was worth. I sold it for a few hundred bucks to some fellow who didn’t mind driving around Macon in July with the windows down.

Then there was the “Bean Mobile,” a ‘81 Tercel my dad gave me when we needed an extra car. Whitney coined that name after declaring I looked like Mr. Bean, the British comedian, driving around in his too-small car. Later, we bought a ‘96 and ‘06 Camry that we still drive. Every one of those cars has been a low-maintenance, high-value, long-lived wonder.

So do I, a baby boomer Toyota loyalist, feel betrayed by Toyota dragging its feet to address a serious safety defect? You bet I do. I thought here was a company where quality and integrity really counted. Turns out for the right price, those values can be compromised, if not sold out altogether.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said “Let your yes be yes and your no be no” (Matthew 5:33-37). In other words, be a person--or company--of such integrity, you don’t have to resort to swearing, or covert tactics, or eating humble pie during a Congressional hearing. Tell the truth, even when it hurts. I hope I am that kind of person. I know Jesus was. And with the Toyota exposé, I’ve been reminded yet again: there’s only one Name that will never let you down.

'Tis So Tweet to Trust...

2010-02-25T11:34:00.000-08:00

A “Twitter Bible,” anyone?

For the uninitiated, “Twitter” is a web-based service that allows users to send messages of up to 140 characters to whoever is “following” the sender via a computer or cell phone. A lot of folks love Twitter, and there have been times, such as the recent disaster in Haiti, when this technology proved invaluable. But as a rule, there’s no one I find sufficiently interesting--myself included!--that I wish to know whatever free-floating association passes through their mind every hour or two.

But what if one could receive “tweets” (messages via Twitter) throughout the day . . . from God?! That’s the idea behind the Twitter Bible.

Some German Christians summarized key passages from the Bible into terse, Twitter-sized messages. Some of the imagined tweets from Jesus include, "40 days without food. Satan doing a full court temptation press. Does he really think he can win?"; "5 loaves + 2 fishes x the power of God = Fish and Chips for 5,000! Thanks for your lunch kid!"; "Watching my disciples as I ascend to heaven. They look helpless. Will send Holy Spirit soon."

The German language “Twitter Bible” fits over 31,000 verses of the Bible into just under 4,000 rapid-fire messages. For someone who made it though high school, CliffsNotes in hand, I must confess a certain appeal. But if Mrs. Lithgo, my English teacher, was right--that reducing Thomas Hardy’s Return of the Native to a soulless summary guts the work of its majesty and power--how much more so the Bible?

In fact, though Tweets are new, reducing the Bible to snippets of folk wisdom is not. Very few Christians have read so much as a single Gospel, much less the whole Bible. For far too many of us, our “Bible” consists of a few memorable sayings we think came from the Bible. Here’s a hint: “Time heals all wounds” and “Money is the root of evil” are not in the Bible.

For serious Christians, the Bible is our primary source of knowledge about Jesus. It is difficult to know, love, and follow Jesus without a working knowledge of the Gospels that tell his story, the New Testament letters that think through the implications of his claims, and the Old Testament that was Jesus’ Bible.

That’s why at the First Baptist Church of Christ, we are listening to the whole of the New Testament during the 40 days of Lent. And that’s why this Sunday night, we are beginning a three- Sunday night series on “How We Read the Bible about Moral Issues.” Because we want to do more than tweet the Bible. We want to learn how to plumb the “whole counsel of God” (Acts 20:27) in finding direction and meaning for our lives today.

What's to Love About Macon?

2010-02-18T20:55:00.000-08:00

Let me tell you a dirty little secret about Macon, Georgia.

No, let’s start over. Let me tell you some of the reasons I love Macon, Georgia. I love Macon because its people are warm and friendly, its southern cooking second-to-none, and its weather--the current winter a notable exception--is temperate year round. I love Macon because Sherman spared our fair city on his infamous “March to the Sea,” for reasons the historians continue to debate. At any rate, because Macon was spared, it is home to some of the most beautiful antebellum homes in Georgia. I love Macon because of its rich heritage of music, from Gospel to soul to southern rock. I love Macon because of the great stories locals tell about ghosts in the Hay House, Clark Gable learning to speak “southern” in Macon during the filming of “Gone with the Wind,” and such strange and tortured souls as Anjette Lyles who liked to add a dash of arsenic poison to buttermilk.

Yes, there’s a lot of reasons to love Macon, Georgia, and all of them swell my chest with pride.

But there is a shameful secret about Macon that needs to be said aloud, even in a “family newsletter” like this: our city is home to one of the most thriving “massage spa” cultures in the Southeast. Most such “Asian spas” have nothing to do with the therapeutic, medically sanctioned massage practiced by certified professionals. Many such self-proclaimed “spas” are simply fronts for seedy and illegal activity.

There are 25 “massage parlors” or “Asian spas” in Macon, a city of approximately 93,000 people. San Francisco, 10 times the size of Macon, has only 99. Why is Macon such a hotbed for this type of “establishment”? The fact that we are located at the intersection of two interstate arteries, plays a part, but the main reason is that Macon--unlike any other city of comparable size in Georgia--has no licensing or other requirements regulating the “massage parlor” industry.

What goes on in illicit massage parlors is not a “victimless crime.” Underage minors and internationals who can barely speak English--lured into the “trade” under false pretenses--are routinely pressed into service as “massage therapists.” The Lord who began his ministry proclaiming “release to the captives” (Luke 4:18) would surely include such girls and women in his promised liberation for the oppressed.

There is a growing, interfaith coalition of clergy and lay leaders, of which I am a part, determined to address this blight in our community. Thankfully, the Bibb County Commissioners are poised to pass needed legislation at their March 2 meeting. God willing, the Mayor and Macon City Council will be next.

Seven Deadly Sins

2010-02-11T07:30:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Years ago, at the old Baptist hospital in downtown Atlanta, I learned something of the craft of pastoral counseling. One day a week, I sat with several other counselors-in-training, and wrestled with real-world cases of mental and emotional illness. Under the supervision of skilled professional counselors, we also practiced what we were learning at various out-patient clinics around Atlanta.

One of the tools I was given was the "Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM) of Mental Disorders." It was an encyclopedia of knowledge about the diagnosis and treatment of emotional disorders and full-blown mental illness. By consulting this manual, a counselor could draw on the received wisdom of how a particular disorder functioned and was best treated.

Fifteen hundred years before the DSM made its debut, Christian tradition developed such a diagnostic tool: it was and is called the "Seven Deadly Sins." The Seven Deadly Sins were not so much bad things to be avoided as they are windows on the soul. They were keys to understanding why otherwise intelligent and well-meaning human beings, keep doing harm to themselves and one another.

One modern interpreter has dubbed the Seven Deadly Sins "Seven Habits of Highly Destructive People." That gets to the nub of the matter. These seven character disorders are "deadly" because they set us on a course of becoming someone we don’t want to be. If one persists blindly and doggedly in any of these paths, long enough, the end-game is moral and spiritual disintegration or "death"--certainly "death" to the kind of vibrantly alive, fully-formed person we see in Jesus.

With the possible exception of envy, each of the seven deadly sins has something good at its heart: pride (healthy self-esteem), anger (righteous indignation), sloth (renewing leisure), greed (motivation), gluttony (appetite), and lust (God-given sexual desire). Instead of viewing the "deadlies" as inherently bad, they are best understood as the extreme end of a spectrum beginning with something positive. But when otherwise natural and desirable dimensions of our humanity become all-consuming--in theological language, gods--they destroy us. For example, the problem with the glutton is not delighting in good food and drink; the Bible commends such enjoyment (Psalm 104:15-16) and Jesus practiced it (Matthew 11:19). The problem with gluttony is trying to satisfy with excessive food and drink the hunger and thirst for something, Someone, else.

Starting this Sunday and continuing through Lent, we’ll be asking, "What’s So Deadly about the Seven Deadly Sins?" Each Sunday, the sermon will address one of seven proven ways of doing serious damage to oneself and others. Why bother? Because 1,500 years of Christian reelection suggests recognizing the true shape of our bondage is the first step in getting free.

Gracious Politics

2010-02-02T09:56:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer
Every pastor or counselor soon learns: hearing from only one partner in a troubled marriage gives the listener a very distorted picture of what is going on.

It’s not that the spouse unburdening his or her heart is deliberately misrepresenting the dynamics of the marriage. He or she may rightly complain about being treated unfairly or callously by the once beloved husband or wife. But what is almost always lacking in such revelations is any self-awareness of how one sometimes invites, encourages, and empowers such a response in the other party in the relationship.

When a counselor can get both parties from a troubled marriage talking to one another rather than about one another, miracles of reconciliation and healing are possible. Such miracles are not quickly or easily won, but they do happen when honest, heartfelt, face-to-face sharing replaces the angry, bitter monologues that went before.

The power of genuine dia-logue--a talking through rather than talking at--was hinted at in that remarkable exchange between the President and some of his fiercest critics last Friday in Baltimore. The President and the Republican members of the House of Representatives went toe-to-toe in a mostly respectful exchange. Granted, hard-liners of both the left and right--like fans watching a title bout--only scored points for their “champion.” But the rest of us--the folks mystified by why Washington has become so petty and mean--were gratified to see political and philosophic enemies talking with one another.

The one-liners, zingers, and sound bytes that have characterized recent political debate, were replaced by the “Yes, but” of thoughtful Republican critiques to the President’s usual stump speeches. And the President was able to confront those in the room who contaminated the political climate by vilifying him, rather than contributing to constructive debate. Maybe it was dreaming or wishful thinking on my part, but I thought I saw some “Aha” moments on both sides of the aisle: “Oh, I get it. So that’s what is driving this.”

Don’t hear me saying we’re now dancing merrily down the road to real progress on the many pressing problems facing our nation. That would require many more difficult and challenging conversations like the one last week in Baltimore. And at the end of the day, some Republicans and Democrats have such diametrically opposed visions for America, there is very little compromise to be found. Eventually, after a decisive issue has been fairly examined and debated, the matter must be brought to a vote and settled, at least for now.

But in politics as in life, the simple Christian grace of seeking out an adversary and trying to have a meaningful conversation, is an act of hope and healing. For whether that adversary is an ardent political opponent or the most intimate of “enemies,” there is no possibility for a real relationship until honest dialogue begins (Matthew 18:15-18).

Long before we can “love” our enemies, we have to learn to talk with them.

Faith by Hearing

2010-01-28T10:20:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
For years, I’ve been a fan of audible books. Audible books, once known as “books on tape,” are these days more likely to be “books on CDs” or “books on an iPod.”

Well, starting February 17--the first Wednesday in Lent (a forty-day season leading to Easter)--I’ve got a really great read lined up. I’m going to start listening to the story of Jesus as recounted in the New Testament, and I want you to join me.

Through our partnership with the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship, every member of our church will be offered a free recording of the New Testament. By listening to this recording just 28 minutes a day, one can listen to the entire New Testament in 40 days, just in time for Easter!

According to a recent Barna survey, fully two-thirds of self-professed “Bible-believing” Christians have never read the New Testament. Thus, by participating in this church-wide listening program, you can accomplish something most Christians have never done: read (ok, listen) your way through the New Testament, cover to cover.

Here are the particulars of our “Faith Comes by Hearing” emphasis:

• Audio recordings of the New Testament will be offered to every member of our church on Sunday, February 14 and at the Ash Wednesday service on February 17.

• These recordings are in MP3 format which allows the entire New Testament to be put on one CD-type disk. By contrast, it takes 15 regular CDs to hold the New Testament. Most computers and DVD players will play MP3 disks, as will iPods or other portable players. A portable CD player capable of playing MP3 disks can be bought at Wal-Mart for less than $25.00.

• This technology allows one to listen to the New Testament while driving, exercising, or otherwise on the move. Such listening is easily incorporated into one’s daily routine.

• A children’s version of the New Testament will also be available.

• Our church will sponsor an online forum at www.fbcmacon.org for sharing thoughts and questions about the “reading” for the day.

• To learn more about the “Faith Comes by Hearing” venture, go to www.thefellowship.info/ygtt or speak with our Adult Education Chair, Connie Jones.

In his letter to the Romans, Paul writes, “Faith comes by hearing and what is heard comes through the word of Christ” (10:17). There is power in hearing the Word of God. For 1,500 years before the invention of the printing press, most Christians only heard the Scriptures read in public worship.

Well, starting February 17, it will be “back to the future” at the First Baptist Church of Christ. During our Lenten journey this year, as many members of our church as possible will listen to the Word of God each day for 40 days. Those who do will likely be surprised and transformed by what they hear. And when we’re done, we’ll be a “people of the Book” not in word only, but in deed and in truth.

A Suffering Mystery

2010-01-21T10:13:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Pat Robertson has taken a well-deserved drubbing for his remarks attributing the earthquake in Haiti to the judgment of God. Of course, he has also generated intense media coverage for himself and his enterprise so perhaps he’s not so foolish as he appears.

But there is a sort of “judgment” in the catastrophe in Haiti if by “judgment” one means awakening to what is most vital and precious in life, and striving to reorder one’s life accordingly.

When questioned about a cruel slaughter unleashed by Pilate, Jesus said, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? NO, I tell you” (Luke 13:1-3). In answering “no,” Jesus distanced himself from the popular theology then (and regrettably still much in vogue today) that all suffering is due to sin. An earthquake in Haiti? Obviously, someone did something wrong. Job’s friends advance this argument against him again and again. At the end of the book, God sides solidly with Job and with Jesus: suffering and evil remain a mystery that defies simplistic answers.

But in responding to the question about Pilate’s slaughter and another about the collapse of a tower that kills 18 people, Jesus not only rejects the simplistic theology of Job’s “friends,” then and now. Jesus also utters a shocking, surprising word: “But unless you repent, you will all perish as they did” (Luke 13:3, 5). In other words, the disasters that leave Jesus’ hearers thinking about others need to redirect their focus to themselves. Life is precious, life is fleeting. It can be snatched away in an instant. Given that reality--which in Haiti has seized the headlines and our attention--is the life we are living really the life we want and ought to live?

The loving Abba (“Father”) Jesus revealed does not handpick impoverished Caribbean nations as Ground Zero for earthquakes. But given the magnitude of this natural disaster (caused by shifting plates in the earth’s crust rather than God) can we not thank God for the heroism and sacrifice this disaster has evoked in so many? Can we not thank God we live in a nation that responds with such altruistic fervor to the suffering of our neighbor to the south? Can we not thank God for this opportunity for Haitians and their allies to build a better, safer, and more prosperous nation?

Crises, especially those of the magnitude of the one in Haiti, bring out the best and the worst in people: in that is the judgment. Following Jesus means we side with the suffering and the desperate in their plight, doing everything in our power to help: in that is the hope, and not just for Haitians, but for Americans and Asians and Africans and all the world.

If there is an “answer” to the question of suffering and evil, that is it.

Sanctuary in Blue

2010-01-13T21:24:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
The sanctuary has been feeling a bit blue lately. I know this because she and I visit often. Mostly she talks, and I listen. Listening is a big part of a pastor’s calling.

The sanctuary is feeling blue because all the gorgeous ornamentation of Advent and Christmas is gone: the glorious purple and gold banners, the enchanting Advent wreath, the Chrismon tree bedecked with twinkling lights. The crimson red poinsettias have snuck off stage and the baby Jesus is no longer resting peacefully in the hand-carved manger scene. Naturally, the sanctuary is feeling the loss.

I tell the Lady at the top of Poplar she is still beautiful, and she is. I tell her how I love her soaring buttresses, the sun-drenched rose window at her back, the skylights that lift the eye and heart upwards toward God. I tell her how it calms my heart to soak up the warmth and color streaming through her stained-glass windows.

She nods appreciatively, if sadly, as fading beauties sometimes do. Because truth be told, some of her beauty is gone. At least for a while.

Maybe you feel it too. The wonder of Christmas is behind us. The sweet, non-threatening baby Jesus has been replaced by a nettlesome rabbi with an attitude. The packed house on Christmas Eve has thinned. The hymns and anthems are still moving, but how does one trump “Silent Night” and “The Hallelujah Chorus”?

The church has an expression for this awkward, less exciting season in which we find ourselves: it’s called “ordinary time.” “Ordinary time” is the season between Epiphany and Lent/Easter and from Pentecost till Advent/Christmas. In other words, most of the church year is spent in “ordinary time.” Most of life is lived in “ordinary” time.

Yes, there are special, epoch-making moments when the joy bubbles up and gratitude spills off the plate: new births, graduations, weddings, silver and gold anniversaries, the once-upon-a-time gold watch at retirement. But those special times of celebration are formed and sustained by the day-to-day caring and commitment that gives them meaning.

The same is true in following Jesus. His invitation was not “check in with me whenever faith runs fresh and free.” No, his invitation, yea, his demand was and is “Deny yourself, take up your cross daily, and follow me” (Luke 9:23) in ordinary time, that is today, tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that. Because following Jesus day-by-day-by-day is what it takes to slowly become a little more like him. And thankfully, even ordinary time becomes sacred and precious when spent in his company, his service, his joy.

As I left the sanctuary this morning, she seemed to rise to her new calling. I know God’s people at the top of Poplar will do the same.

Financial Hope

2010-01-06T20:05:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Since the first of the year, I’ve noticed a new breed of ads popping up on the internet and on television. The thrust of these ads is to suggest the current recession has an upside: it is teaching Americans the value of thrift. An easy-money economy got us into this mess, but it will take a return to frugality and fiscal discipline to get us out.

One of these ads features an Allstate Insurance spokesman who says our nation has weathered 12 recessions since the Great Depression. In each case, according to the pitchman, "After the fears subside, a funny thing happens: people start enjoying the small things in life: a home-cooked meal, time with loved ones... It’s back to basics and the basics are good."

I recognize this is slick marketing. It even has a name, "recession marketing." But I hope and believe the basic message in this ad is true.

Yes, many people are suffering. A lot. Jobs--even low-paying jobs--are nowhere to be found. Many parents are having to cut out the "extras" and the kids don’t understand. Tiptoeing one’s way through a minefield of financial uncertainty and stress takes a toll on families.

But with such challenges also come new opportunities, indeed, a pressing need to reclaim lost values. Suddenly, Grandma’s mantra about not buying on credit is no longer a castaway truth from a bygone age. Now such practice is a critically needed survival skill!

In the family census of our church, completed last summer, the respondents’ number one identified need was help with managing money. Thankfully, our Stewardship Committee has explored and is now ready to offer a proven seminar to address that need: Dave Ramsey’s "Financial Peace University" (see related Highlites article: "Ramsey Preview: January 17th"). This is a 13-session course in getting one’s financial house in order. In a nutshell, the course teaches one how to live within one’s means, get out of debt, save for the future, and give to worthy causes.

As those who have watched Dave Ramsey on television or heard him on radio can attest, Ramsey is opinionated, assertive, and directive. And like most people who talk for a living (present company included!), he says stuff some folks find annoying. But Ramsey has developed a proven program for helping ordinary people get out of debt and on the road to financial security. During the 13-week seminar, the average household pays off $5,300 in debt and saves $2,700.

There is hope for families in financial crisis. That hope is found first in God’s faithfulness, God’s Word, and God’s people. That hope is also found in developing the life skills to negotiate a better future. At the First Baptist Church of Christ, we aim to offer both support and skills because both are needed.

Kissing the Season

2009-12-28T17:57:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Christmas always comes early for me on a Friday night in December. That’s the night the Douglass Theater hosts two guitar maestros playing Christmas carols. The two musicians--Robin Bullock and Steve Baughman--play a unique blend of Celtic and Appalachian music on guitars, mandolins, and dulcimers. This dynamic duo rarely sings, offering up instead the pure, sweet sounds of acoustical music. Most years, Christmas descends for me in all of its joy and power as I hear Robin and Steve pluck and strum “Good Christian Men, Rejoice” or “Angels We Have Heard on High.”

Part of what makes this music so special is that Robin and Steve never do any sentimental, schmalzy Christmas music, just proven hymns and carols that have moved audiences for generations. As Robin Bullock asked at this year’s concert after introducing, “Good King Wenceslas”--a tune he said dated from the 13th century --“Does anyone really think people will be singing Brittany Spears tunes eight centuries from now?”

The laughter rippling through the crowd answered the question.

But this year, there was an especially magical moment at the concert. It was during intermission when the Master of Ceremonies was giving out door prizes. Among the prizes were several bags of Hershey’s Kisses, the gold-wrapped ones with an almond inside. Upon learning of this delectable offering, I sat forward in my seat. I listened in rapt attention as the winning numbers from the ticket stubs were called. My mouth watered in anticipation. I had to win those Hershey’s Kisses. What a thrill it would be to soak up the Celtic Guitar Summit while wolfing down all that chocolate laced with nuts!

One by one, the winning numbers were called. One by one, my hopes faded as the Hershey’s kisses were handed out to the winners. Finally, all the numbers were called and I was destitute, forlorn, defeated. No Hershey’s kisses for me.

The concert resumed, and I listened as best I could, distracted by my unfulfilled chocolate cravings. I was not feeling festive.

As Robin and Steve delivered up a bright, airy version of “Ding Dong Merrily on High,” the person to my left gave me a little nudge. She then handed me an open bag of Hershey’s Kisses. One of the winners, several seats away--far more overwhelmed by the Christmas spirit than I--had chosen to share his or her windfall with others. I took my two Hershey’s kisses (OK, three) and passed the bag on to the person at my right. The bag made its way on down the row, surprising and delighting one person after another.

I popped the Hershey’s kisses in my mouth and smiled at the burst of flavor. My earlier selfish, greedy grasping had been vanquished by some selfless soul’s spontaneous generosity. So there, in a darkened theater one Friday night in December, for me Christmas happened.

Chronos and Kairos

2009-12-16T06:35:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
The Advent wreath that graces our sanctuary is a gift to our church and the great Church from the Lutherans of 16th century Germany. They first began the custom of twisting fir or spruce branches into a wreath graced by candles. The Advent wreath came to America by way of German immigrants. It was and is a special way to mark the passage of sacred time.

The New Testament uses two Greek words for time: Chronos and Kairos. Chronos is the ticktock time of a clock; it is the seconds and minutes of the day marching resolutely on. Our words "chronology" and “chronograph” derive from this root.

The other New Testament word for time is Kairos. Kairos time is time brimming with significance. It is the kind of time embodied in the phrase, "I had the time of my life!" Kairos time is precious. Chronos time is monotonous, forgettable, and fleeting.

The Advent wreath marks chronos time, even as it invites us to experience kairos time. On the one hand, there is the routine of lighting a candle, Sunday by Sunday. But on the other, the glittering gold stand holding the wreath, the candles' flickering flames, the singing of "O Come Let Us Adore Him," all awaken us to the holiness of the season. During Advent, the church is not just marking time or "killing" time. The church is on a pilgrimage to Bethlehem.

This Sunday, the fourth Advent candle will be lit, meaning the holiest of nights is drawing near. The fourth Advent banner, "Love," will bear its silent witness as will the poinsettias, signifying the blood red love of God. Then the congregation will erupt in singing, "Joy to the World!" The children will rush forward for the children's sermon with more than their usual anticipation. The chancel choir, still basking in the glow of last Sunday’s glorious Cantata, will offer its heartfelt Alleluias. And Jonathan Johnson will raise the roof with his stirring rendition of “O Holy Night!”

Yes, this Sunday, the Advent journey will draw near its end. Then on Christmas Eve at 5 p.m., friends and family will come to the top of Poplar one last time this Advent season. For that night, the candle of candles will be lit, the Christ candle signifying the Light of the World. And at last, all the waiting and watching will bear fruit as we hold our candles aloft and sing, "Silent Night." As twinkling light and sweet song fill the sanctuary, the faithful will feel in their hearts and souls and in the very marrow of their bones, that at last, the moment of kairos has come: "For in the fullness of time, God sent forth his Son, born of woman" (Galatians 4:4). And in the wonder of that moment, the dull monotony of ordinary time will be consumed by the glory of the Eternal One, coming to dwell among us.

Christmas Blues

2009-12-09T21:21:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer
Here’s a dirty little secret about Christmas: amid all the gala and festivities, the parties and the laughter, the back-slapping and the smiles, a lot of people are sad. Most strive to hide their heaviness of heart, not wishing to impose their grief on others. But deep inside, where only dear friends and God can see, such bereaved souls are nursing a broken heart. And at Christmas, especially, they wonder if it will ever heal.

The first Christmas after the death of a loved one is the hardest. All the familiar rituals are upset by the looming absence: the empty seat at the Christmas table; the missing hug; the aroma of a loved one’s aftershave or perfume, now gone; the poignant realization there is one less gift to give or receive. And the worst part is all this happens when gaiety is at a premium and the culture declares a moratorium on grief.

For others, the burden of grief takes a different form. Some are facing the loss of a marriage and the challenge of waking up on Christmas morning without a familiar presence at one’s side. Others are dreading trying to explain why Santa’s rounds were so skimpy this year, in light of a parent’s unemployment. Still others are hoping against hope their chronic illness will not suck the joy out of the family’s Christmas cheer.

In his moving memoir, Lament for a Son, Nicholas Wolterstorff writes, "Another's tears are salve on our wounds." There is healing power in having one’s grief acknowledged in a deeply feeling way. When Jesus show up at the tomb of our lost brother or loved one, our lost marriage or shattered dream--his face streaked by tears--it helps us feel not so hopeless and alone (John 11:33-35). Most often Jesus shows up at such times in a fellow pilgrim who is not frightened away by our tears, but who loves us enough to share them.

On Sunday night, December 20 at 6 p.m., our church will host a “Christmas Service for Grieving Persons.” This service is open to all; indeed, just about everyone is carrying around a load of grief about something. But this service is especially intended for those who have lost a loved one in the last year, or are facing another kind of crushing loss this Christmas. The service is a simple one, featuring Bible readings, quiet, reflective music, a brief meditation by the pastor, and prayers. The sanctuary is darkened and illuminated by candles, creating a private, intimate setting. There will be no pressure and no embarrassment, just a sanctuary--a safe place--where it is okay to be sad at Christmas.

The wonder of Christmas is not just the angel’s glad shout, “Good News of Great Joy for All People!” The wonder of Christmas is also that in God’s Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, we have an ever present companion and friend is who “acquainted with grief” in a deeply personal way. Some Christmases, that is the best news of all.

The Main Thing

2009-12-01T16:17:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
According to a recent report, this Christmas Americans will use over 28,497,464 rolls and sheets of wrapping paper, 16,826,362 packages of tags and bows, 372,430,684 greeting cards, and 35,200,000 Christmas trees.

If as E. B White observed, “To perceive Christmas through its wrappings becomes more difficult with every year,” trying to find Christmas beneath that much stuff is going to be a problem.

Meanwhile, the little book, Scroogenomics: Why You Shouldn’t Buy Presents for the Holidays, has become quite the rage. Essentially, the author argues Christmas is the ultimate bait-and-switch in which we spend gazillions of dollars on gifts that don’t bring any lasting satisfaction.

We all know this of course. And we’ve come to expect the familiar dressing down from the pastor or some other pulpiteer or editorialist about the need to put “Christ back into Christmas.” Still, nothing much changes. The preacher says the same predictable stuff while he, she, and we keep doing what we’ve always done.

How ‘bout another approach, a savvy both/and instead of a stern and sober, either/or? If you’ve got the discretionary income, buy the people you love something special. Me? I’ve always been a sucker for Santa Claus. There are worse things than lavishing special gifts on the kids and grandkids, especially if you help them understand this kind of lavish grace is because of Jesus. Just keep the credit cards on ice, remembering the wisdom of Proverbs, “The rich rule over the poor, and the borrower is the slave of the lender” (22:7).

Further, spread some Christmas cheer by giving generously to the Salvation Army ringer and the Crisis Closet, making a gift to Global Missions, and catching up your year-end giving to the church. Make sure you spend at least as much on Christ, his church, and his causes as on everybody else. It is his birthday after all.

But amid all the festive buying and giving, do the other thing too. Bring the family to worship during Advent. Let the children sit in spell-bound wonder before the twinkling Advent wreath and Chrismon tree. Delight to the pure, sweet sounds of the Children’s Choirs singing their Alleluias! Reel with joy as a world-class church choir presents a heartfelt Cantata. Gather on Christmas Eve to form a circle in the sanctuary, raise your lighted candle, and sing, “Silent Night.” And better yet, bring an unchurched friend or neighbor with you, someone who really needs him who is the Hope of the World.

Christmas is a blessed time for celebrating God’s indescribable gift, the gift of God’s one and only Son (2 Cor. 9:15; John 3:16). Amid the festivities and the fun, just work at keeping the main thing, the Main Thing!

I Hope All Is Well

2009-11-28T20:07:00.000-08:00

by Jody Long
In his book, The Hopeful Heart, John Claypool quotes Father William Inge’s definition of hope: “Hope sees that which is possible, but is not yet.” This is where we begin our Advent journey this Sunday. We begin with hope, the “Cinderella sister” of 1 Corinthians 13 according to Bishop William Frey. We spend a lot of time focusing on faith and love because they seem, at first glance, more tangible to us. We even have specific Christian holy days for both: for faith, Easter, and for love, the feast of St. Valentine (despite its American trappings!). However, there are not many days set aside for hope.

That’s why celebrating every Sunday of Advent is important. As we anticipate the coming – the advent – of the Christ Child, we are compelled to move through the web of feelings of the holiday season: hope, love, joy, and peace. Before we get to the others, though, we celebrate hope. For many of us hope is hard to come by, especially this year. Family tragedies, family struggles, job and employment issues, national and global concerns dominate our daily lives.

Who has time to “see what is possible, but is not yet”? We all do. The coming Christ Child certainly could have found a better place to make his entrance than in the poverty of a young couple, so poor that a barn would serve as a delivery room. He easily could have found a better time frame for his coming than the cruel, premodern time of the Roman Empire. He certainly could have found a “more deserving” couple – at least in the world’s eyes – than Mary and Joseph and chosen a comfortable life. But he didn’t.

In fact, his coming into that place, time, and family illustrates the beauty of hope. If hope really is seeing what is possible but is not yet, then Jesus could not have chosen a better entrance. For much of the world then – and now – finds itself in the situation of Mary and Joseph: poor, outcast, and oppressed. The Christ child came to bring hope to the multitudes then and now that long for deliverance from circumstances of their own making and those beyond their control.

A practice I began long ago was to close most correspondence with the phrase, “I hope all is well.” It is not a throwaway line. It is my sincere hope that the great vision of what could be but is not yet grounds and sustains friend and foe alike. It is in the midst of the “everyday-ness” of life that we need this vision of possibility to make through the Advent season and every day of our lives. As we begin Advent, I hope all is well with you, now and in the days until we celebrate together the coming of the Harbinger of Hope in our lives.

Aren't We All One?

2009-11-18T19:27:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
In a recent Baptists Today article, I read about a nineteenth century Baptist congregation that censored a slave for dancing. The slave was a "member" of the church, though as human chattel, it was his job to sit in the slave balcony, keep his mouth shut, be subservient as the Bible required (Eph. 6:5; Col. 3:22), and count on his heavenly reward to someday make everything right.

But one Saturday night, this slave did too much drinking and too much dancing and was sanctioned by "his" church. Of course, the real irony was that the local brethren were incensed over the slave’s alleged misconduct while remaining oblivious to their own far greater evil of owning slaves.

Looking back, we wonder how good, well-meaning, God-fearing people could think owning slaves was consistent with following Jesus. They did so by cherry picking Bible passages that seemed to countenance slavery while ignoring other passages that cried out for the liberation of all people in the name of God! (Luke 4:18; Gal. 3:28; Philemon, etc.). And they read their Bibles the way they did because their economic interests, social conventions, and racial prejudice led them to do it.

Recently, the Georgia Baptist Convention (GBC) voted to exclude the First Baptist Church of Decatur for having a woman as pastor, my colleague and sister in Christ, the Rev. Julie Pennington-Russell. Julie’s a gifted preacher and pastor and I doubt the GBC action will hurt her or her church, but it will certainly hurt the witness of Baptist Christians in the eyes of an unchurched world. And maybe in 25 years, or 50, or 100, the GBC action will seem as reprehensible to all Baptists as it does to me.

On the "women’s issue," or any other, I try to read the Bible in the light of Jesus, the One who told Mary to stay put, studying with the men folk, when her big sister, Martha, ordered her back to the kitchen (Luke 10:38-42); the One who commissioned a woman, Mary Magdalene, as the first Evangelist of his Easter triumph (John 20:17-18); the One who unleashed a Spirit-breathed movement where the promise "your sons and your daughters will prophesy!" was sounded with joy and passion (Acts 2:17).

Yes, there are passages in the Bible can be read as demeaning to women, as there are passages that can be (and were!) read as condoning slavery. But I choose to read such passages as speaking to a particular place and time while the universal word of the Gospel, the really Good News, the Jesus-emblazoned truth that should guide our reading of the Bible and the living of our lives is this: "In Christ, there is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female; for you all are one in Christ Jesus!" (Gal. 3:28).

It took the church nineteen centuries to understand that passage applied to slavery. Maybe in the 21st century, all of God’s far flung will finally see it applies to women too.

Praying the Psalms

2009-11-11T05:45:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Along with most Americans, I am still reeling from the Fort Hood shootings. That thirteen brave soldiers, pledged to defend my life and liberty, were struck down by a madman on our native soil, breaks my heart and turns my stomach. That the gunman was a psychiatrist pledged to help soldiers manage combat stress adds to the perversity of the carnage. That he was a Muslim who allegedly cried "Allahu Akbar" (Arabic for "God is great") as his rampage began makes my blood boil.

I know I’m not supposed to feel that way. I am a preacher and a follower of Jesus. We’re supposed to be in the forgiveness and reconciliation business, as was our Master. Pray for your enemies. Turn the other cheek. It rains on the just and the unjust. You know the drill.

But right now, I’m not feeling like much of a Christian. In fact, I’m getting reacquainted with parts of my inner life I mostly keep out of view, even from myself. Like the lust for revenge, a lingering suspicion of Muslims since 9/11, and the justified outrage at a demented individual that so easily putrefies into a simmering hatred toward a people.

Fortunately, there are better people than I offering sane and sound counsel: “Don’t rush to judgment. Get the facts straight. And remember that the deranged killer, Nidal Malik Hasan, is no more representative of Muslims than the Oklahoma City bomber, Timothy McVeigh, was representative of Christians.” Those observation are all true. What bothers me is how powerless they are to quell the rage simmering within.

So right now, I’m praying the Psalms. I’m discharging my anger on the heavens. I’m railing at God so I don’t unload my anger on others in destructive ways. There’s a reason most of the Psalms are laments, after all. There’s a lot to lament in the world. And the Psalms are a gracious God’s invitation to rail and weep through a long, dark night in the hope a new day will dawn (Psalm 30:5).

There is a little Muslim boy in my city who went to bed last night ashamed and afraid. He is ashamed of what a madman did in Texas that besmirched the name of his family’s faith. He is afraid the kids at school will make even more fun of him than before. He wonders if he is still welcome in this great land called America he loves with all his heart.

I’ve never met this little boy, but as I was praying the Psalms last night, Jesus told me about him. And Jesus said this boy is my neighbor and that I am called to love and befriend him, and others like him, who are innocent and yet so afraid. Because that’s who Christians are. And with Jesus’ help, that’s what Christians do.

Wonder Bread

2009-11-06T05:21:00.000-08:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
The wonder of God's provision of manna in the wilderness did not quiet Israel's fears. She continued to be afraid God would leave her in the lurch, somewhere well short of the Promised Land (Exodus 16:19-21).

We read the story and wonder, "How could this be? After God marvelously delivered the Hebrews from Egypt, culminating in the crossing of the sea, how could they doubt their Lord?" And yet throughout Israel's wilderness wanderings, her anxieties, complaining, and desperation continued to mount.

Maybe the problem was Israel was only given manna one day at a time. These days, we call that living "hand to mouth." It is not generally regarded as a desirable way to live. Maybe if God could have cut Israel some slack and allowed just a little something for a rainy day, she might have lightened up.

Then again, maybe not. Turn over to Mark chapter 8. Jesus and his disciples get in a boat to retreat from the crowds. They need some down time after a busy but fruitful couple of weeks. Among other things, Jesus has fed 5,000 hungry folk in chapter 6 and 4,000 more in chapter 8. But despite such outpourings of plenty, the disciples are still worried when they discover they have but one loaf of bread between them (8:14, 17).

Jesus looks at them, at us, his face etched in astonishment: "When I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you collect?"

The disciples look at him dully and answer, "Twelve."

"And when I broke the seven loaves for the four thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you collect?"

Again they count up in their heads and answer, "Seven."

Jesus shakes his head in wonderment and asks, "Do you not yet understand?"

No, Lord, we don't. We're trying but we don't understand, at least not for long. Our fears are large and our faith is fleeting. Even in the face of your abundant mercies, we worry and whimper and plead. It must be hard to love us sometimes. Forgive us all the ways we test your patience and break your heart.

Just don't give up on us. Maybe someday, we will understand. Maybe someday you can count on us as we can count on you. In the meantime, give us this day our daily bread. And take our worries, when that is all we have to offer, and keep turning them into faith. Amen.

A Rare Breed

2009-10-28T13:24:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Our church is one of an increasingly rare breed: a congregation that is multi-generational in makeup. More and more congregations--especially the flagship churches of the church growth movement--are focused on a particular group: twenty-somethings, baby boomers, young professionals on the rise, and so on. It has long been recognized that in churches, as elsewhere, “birds of a feather fly together.”

Problem is, that’s not what the Kingdom of God is supposed to look like. According to Jesus, the Kingdom of God is like a tiny seed that grows into a tree with strong, welcoming branches where all the birds of the air make their nests (Luke 13:19).

So I celebrate the diversity of ages and stations in life represented in our church. I love the spontaneity of the children, the vitality of the youth, the social conscience of the young adults, the moral earnestness of the mid-lifers, and the wisdom of the mature. I like seeing races and nationalities different from my own in worship. I like being in a church where thoughtful Democrats and Republicans can move beyond the predicable ideological posturing to ask, “What does that have to do with the Gospel?” I like being in a church where people are defined not so much by how they are alike, but how they are different and yet bound together by the Christ who forms the heart of our fellowship.

Well, okay, to be honest, most of the time I like those things, because diversity does bring with it certain tensions. People of varying generations and traditions have differing values, preferences, and expectations.

Take Sunday’s Processional of Commitment. For the past half-century or so on the first Sunday in November--All Saints’ Sunday--members of our congregation have marched forward, one-by-one, to place a commitment card in the little church on the altar. Most older, long-time members of our church deeply value this time of celebration and commitment. It’s one of the few times First Baptist folk leave their pews to process down the aisles, joyously proclaiming their love for Jesus and the church!

But to some newer members of the congregation--and younger people in general--the Processional of Commitment feels showy and ostentatious. This newer generation didn’t have a hand in creating this tradition and doesn’t always understand or appreciate it. A good number of these folk choose to skip Processional Sunday altogether.

In the spirit of a better Kingdom ethic, let me suggest an alternative: if the Processional of Commitment doesn’t appeal to you, feel free to sit quietly in your pew and silently enjoy the pageantry and joy erupting around you. And those who march must promise not to raise an eyebrow at those who don’t! We’re in this together after all. We belong to one another. And we belong to Jesus.

The Frosty Fool

2009-10-22T10:22:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Millionaire David Pizer has made arrangements to freeze his body after death. He believes medical science will someday be sufficiently advanced to restore his frozen remains to life.

To insure he has ample funds for his next life, Mr. Pizer has set aside 10 million dollars in a “personal revival trust.” Given the miracle of compound interest, Mr. Pizer figures when he wakes up in a couple hundred years, he will be one of the richest men in the world!

This seems the ultimate expression of Jesus’ parable of the rich fool (Luke 12:16-21). In that story, another self-absorbed business tycoon can think of nothing better to do with his wealth than to build bigger and bigger barns to secure it. Just as he is poised to “eat, drink, and be merry,” the man dies unexpectedly, leaving his vast fortune for others to enjoy. God declares this man a “fool” for storing up treasures for himself but not being “rich toward God.”

Of course, it’s easy to see others’ folly but not so easy to recognize our own. Most of us think neither Mr. Pizer’s story nor Jesus’ story of the rich fool has much to do with us. But Jesus didn’t tell his story to the Mr. Pizers of the world. Jesus told this story to regular folk struggling to find work, pay their bills, and keep hungry mouths fed. In other words, Jesus told this story to people like us.

We are in the Stewardship Season at church, that time of year when the calendar, if not Jesus, forces us to face an uncomfortable subject: money. How much (or little!) we have and how much (or little!) we can afford to give away. This year more than most, this is a difficult conversation because so many folks are struggling financially. In our anxiety, we are apt to think first about how little we can do.

Jesus would shift the conversation from one of our scarcity to God’s abundance. In fact, his remedy to our financial worries is to “Seek first the Kingdom of God and God’s righteousness and the other things you need will be provided as well” (Matthew 6:33; Luke 12:31). For Jesus’ people, the first question is no longer how much can I stuff into my barns, but how much can I invest in God’s Kingdom, Christ’s church, and the Good News, proclaimed and lived, that changes everything.

This year, amid all the anxieties swirling about us, try to decide what you can and will give first to the God Movement at the top of Poplar. We are the First Baptist Church of Christ, after all. Our priorities and our calling are right there in our name.

Second Street Angels

2009-10-15T06:53:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Atop three buildings on Second Street in downtown Macon, six angels keep silent vigil. They are First Baptist angels. I call them our “Second Street Angels.”

Those angels have kept watch from their present posts since 1884, or thereabouts. Before that, they were fixtures in the First Baptist sanctuary that once stood where the Crest Finance and EZ Finance buildings stand today. That sanctuary burned down after smoldering embers from a defective flue took hold in the organ, then blazed throughout the building. A lovely gothic sanctuary, said to be “second to none in the state,” was reduced to a smoking ruin.

Which begs the question, Where were our our Second Street Angels when our sanctuary burned down? Were they asleep on the job? Did they let us down?

According to the frequent emails I receive featuring angels, angels are the private security force of the faithful. So long as the angels are on your side, you have nothing to fear. No harm can come your way.

That wasn’t so for Jesus. In fact, the Devil tempted him with just such a half-truth about angels: “Throw yourself from the pinnacle of the temple and the angels will protect you!” Not so, said Jesus. You shall not test the Lord your God.

When the time came for Jesus to lay down his life for the sins of the world, the Bible says he could have called 72,000 angels. He didn’t. Because sometimes, the path of suffering and loss is the one that bests serve the mysterious purpose of God.

So where were our Second Street angels the night our Second Street sanctuary burned down? Weeping in attentive anguish I would imagine. And plotting the revolution that would plant our witness atop Poplar--in an even more magnificent sanctuary--where we worship today.

Our Second Street Angels each has a sickle in hand. Jesus said he would send his angels at the end of the age to reap a great harvest. That’s when it will become clear, if it is not clear already: the beautiful sanctuary on Second Street--and the lovely Sanctuary atop Poplar’s Hill--never were the wheat. The buildings were the chaff; the wheat was and is the people that by God’s grace, yet bear witness to the “love that wilt not let us go.”

With God, There Is No "Them"

2009-10-07T18:08:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Those searing images of devastation in Indonesia and the Samoan Islands are hard to watch. They pop up on our television and computer screens, or in our newspapers, and we recoil in shock. Seeing so many people devastated by nature’s fury, leaves us shaking our heads in disbelief and sadness. Perhaps we breathe a prayer for the victims and their families. Perhaps we feel gratitude for the Christian service agencies, international organizations, and our own government working to aid in the recovery. But in very short order, most of us are back to wondering if our alma mater will win this Saturday and what’s for dinner.

While it may sound callous to admit, this is not altogether surprising. When we do not know the victims of a disaster personally, especially a disaster on the other side of the world, our capacity to feel the anguish of the victims is somewhat limited. Our most deeply felt sadness is reserved for people we know whose suffering is tangible, and touchable, and painfully close to home.

I wonder, though, what it must be like for the One to whom there is no “other side” of the world; the One for whom not even the sparrow’s fall escapes divine notice; the One whose tears we see on the face of Jesus; the One for whom the Samoan fisherman, whose family and home perished in a Tsunami, is not a statistic, but the intimately known and dearly treasured child of God?

After the earthquakes that spawned a tsunami in the Samoan Islands and brought death and ruin to Indonesia, my wife, Bambi, introduced me to a web app called “Google Earth.” One of the views this application provides is a series of red dots showing all the earthquakes presently occurring. It’s unbelievable. There are red dots everywhere. Of course, most of these seismic disturbances are not large enough to cause a problem, or shake the world in remote places or under the sea where nobody lives, so they escape notice. But when Jesus said 2,000 years before Google, “there will be earthquakes in various places” as the “birth pangs” of the new creation (Mark 13:8), he surely knew what he was talking about.

What if in heaven, there is a cosmic monitor with little red dots that shows all the earthquakes, metaphorically speaking, presently occurring upon the earth: joblessness, sickness, bereavement, divorce, depression, and all the rest? And what if the One looking at the red dots, does not look with detachment, but with anguish and with tears? Because this One has lived our life, walked our earth, plumbed our darkness and died our death, that he might live at the epicenter of the world’s pain and need? In other words, where you live. Where I live. And where that bereft and bewildered Samoan fisherman lives too.

That would be and is the Good News, that our God is Immanuel: God with us and with “them” too.

Falling Into Seasons

2009-10-01T08:46:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer
The other evening while going on a run, I felt something not felt in a long time: I felt cool. Not air conditioned, pretend cool but wet, clammy T-shirt, chest-tingling cool. I couldn’t believe it: still September in Macon, Georgia and the crisp, cool embrace of fall was in the air.

The last couple of years, we didn’t get much fall. Punishing hot summers extended well into the “winter” months and then suddenly, the blooms were back. In February, as I recall. The autumn leaves went from green to brown to dead with hardly a moment’s burst of autumn glory to mark their passing.

I’m hoping for better this year. I’m hoping for a fall where jackets and cardigans are essential rambling around gear. I’m looking for a fall where hot apple cider drives the chill from your bones. I’m aching for a fall where a bright, colorful canopy of leaves lifts the eyes and the heart to the Artist behind the masterpiece.

For much of my life, fall was the season of new beginnings because that’s when I, or my daughter, or the kids in the neighborhood went back to school. Fall meant new notebooks with fresh, unmarked pages, new pencils with sharp, unbroken points, new classes, new friends, new challenges. Now that school starts in early August, the elegance of starting school when the world around us beckons change, is lost.

But in the church, at least in our church, fall has long been the ingathering season, the regrouping time, the time for reconnecting and starting again. We return from our summer travels hoping to see --and be seen by-- our fellow worshiper a little more often. Come October, our brain trust of talent--also known as “committees”--is turning over a new leaf and the family budget is being reworked and hopefully, funded. The long, dawdling season of Pentecost--from June to December--is almost over. Soon Advent, the restart of everything will be here complete with the Chrismon tree, and Cherub choirs singing.

Yes, I love the fall and the beauty about to debut all around us. But we are formed not just by the sights we see but by the stories we tell: the story of Abraham and Sarah, Moses and Miriam, Peter and Mary Magdalene, and supremely, the story of Jesus. We are also formed by the stories of the brother or sister at our side, behind and before us, in the family of faith. So this fall, bring your summer stories, your fall hopes, and your best and brightest dreams to the top of Poplar. Because for many of us, like the tired, summer trees aching for autumn glory, it’s time for a new beginning formed by a Spirit-breathed, Story-fed hope.

A Second Home

2009-09-22T19:30:00.000-07:00

by Julie Long
In May, our church’s Family Life Committee sponsored a survey of families in our congregation. The Church Census, developed and analyzed by the Center for Family and Community Ministries at Baylor University, was made available for us at no cost thanks to a grant through the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship.

The survey asked questions about the makeup, stresses, strengths, and challenges of our families and our congregation. Our answers not only told us more about who we are as a congregation but gave us insight into how the church can help meet the needs of our families and our community.

Many in our congregation were unable to attend the census report given on September 2. Here are some of the highlights:

- Our congregation is extremely well-educated, with nearly 75 percent with college or graduate degrees. Of those ages 40-59, the percentage is as high as 92 percent.

- A significant number of respondents (19) have attended our church 1-4 years, with 35 percent attending 11-22 years and 14 percent more than 30 years. This indicates a committed core group serving alongside newer members.

- The most prominent stressors for families include health concerns (illness, disability, depression/emotional problems and death of family/friends) and financial concerns (prioritizing money use and financial strain).

- In terms of living our faith, we are strong in worship, Bible study, prayer and giving. Challenges include sharing our faith and promoting social justice.

When asked “how the church can help,” the most common responses were consistent with most common stressors. Families want the church to help them know what they can do to make a difference in the world through working for justice and community service. Families also need the church’s support in caring sick or aging family members and managing their finances.

If you would like to learn more about the census results, a copy of the full report is available in the church library for your review. (A shorter 3-page summary is available here.) Our church leaders and pertinent committees will be having further discussions about how to apply the results to our current ministries and future planning.

Our children did not complete the full survey but offered their own insights into our church through drawings and writings. When asked, “How does our church help your family?,” one child answered, “by giving us a second home.” My prayer is that these results will help our church continue to be family to one another so that each that comes here will find a place of belonging, nurture, and love.

People of the Wednesday Night

2009-09-15T19:22:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
In an article entitled "A Catholic Looks at Baptist Spirituality," the author--Dr. Samuel Weber--calls Baptists "People of the Wednesday night." He implores Baptists to cherish and protect this part of their common life: "I urge you to preserve the Wednesday night. Guard it faithfully and keep it continually. Do not allow the pressures of modern living to take over. You do the world a great favor and bring many blessings on all of us when . . . you gather together to hear the word of God, to pray, and to break bread in . . . the ‘company of those who believe.’”

In imploring Baptists to remain, “People of the Wednesday night,” Dr. Weber is taking a page out of the book of Acts. There we read of a vital early church that "Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread and ate their food with glad and generous hearts" (2:46). This "breaking of bread" continued Jesus' own emphasis on shared meals and shared fellowship. Not coincidentally, he put a meal--the Lord's Supper--at the center of his kingdom.

Gathering with fellow believers to rub shoulders, pass the potatoes, and say our prayers continues to be a vital part of the Christian life. However, finding time for shared meals at home--and at church--is a growing challenge. On the way to the computer revolution, everyone got busier than ever. So much for the “paperless” office or the 40 hour work week! Plus the competition for the time and energies of students and their families continues to intensify. Who would have believed 15-20 years ago there would be sports practices and ball games on Wednesday evenings and even Sunday mornings in the heart of the Bible belt?

Despite such challenges, our staff and lay leaders continue to tweak our Wednesday night offerings in an effort to keep “church family night” alive and well at the top of Poplar. Our menus are being revamped and the top choices of the congregation will be served starting October 1. And while the supper line opens at 5:15 p.m, you can get served as late as 6:00 p.m. Children and youth events begin at 5:50 p.m. Adults continue in the Fellowship Hall (a revealing name, don’t you think?) for prayer and praise at 6:00 p.m. Adult studies and programs, along with Chancel Choir practice, begin at 6:30 p.m.

The enclosed insert details upcoming Wednesday night adult offerings. In addition to the Fellowship Hall topics, a fascinating Walter Brueggemann study will be offered along with a new Bible Study for Internationals. We’re hoping these offerings will add numbers, depth, and diversity to our Wednesday night experience.

I hope we will always be the “People of the Wednesday night” because it’s hard to be family without eating together at least once a week!

Standard Roach Letter

2009-09-10T05:11:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Warning: Do not read the following column while consuming your dinner salad.

When a prepackaged airline lunch was served on an international flight, a passenger opened her salad container and discovered a cockroach. Her yelp of disgust and outrage brought the head stewardess running who did her best to calm the passenger and contain the damage.

Immediately upon arriving home, the still fuming passenger fired off an angry letter to the President of the airline. In very short order, she received a reply by special courier rather than regular mail.

The President of the airline was most remorseful and responsive. His letter read, “Dear Ms. Smith, This was very unusual, but don't worry. I want to assure you that particular plane has been completely fumigated. In fact all the seats and the upholstery have been stripped out. We've taken disciplinary action against the steward who served you and he may even be fired. It's highly probable that this aircraft will be taken out of service. I can assure you that it will never happen again. And I trust, Ms. Smith, that you will continue to fly with our airline.”

Just as Ms. Smith was feeling somewhat vindicated, she noticed her original letter had inadvertently been enclosed with the President’s response. On the back of her letter was scrawled his note: “Please reply with the standard roach letter”!

I’m guessing she did not fly with that airline again.

In a world where computers spit out “form letters” pretending to be personal, a truly personal letter is an increasingly rare treasure. From time-to-time I hope you receive such a letter. From time-to-time I hope you write such a letter.

Write a card or note of encouragement to friend going through a hard time. Write a letter of thanks to a beloved teacher from your childhood. Write a thoughtful personal letter to your Congressional Representative. Write a family member a special letter celebrating his or her birthday. Write a letter to God and tuck it in the back of your Bible. In a world of relentless yet fleeting email, a personal letter--especially one that is hand-written--conveys a depth of caring and substance cyber-communications lack.

Fully 20 of the 27 books of the New Testament consist of personal letters. Granted, those letters are written to people in another place and time, but the pastoral concern and spiritual passion of the writers yet bleed through the pages. And in the power and presence of the Holy Spirit, breathing upon those old, old words, they can yet become God’s very personal word to You, second personal singular (Luke 24:32; John 14:26).

Surely it is no accident God sent his Son into the world--and the New Testament witness was penned--long before email put personal letters on the endangered species list.

Jesus the Carpenter

2009-09-02T08:55:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
With the Labor Day holiday upon us, I find myself reflecting on the fact Jesus spent far more of his life in ordinary labor than in certifiably religious work. Depending on how one reads the Gospels and does the math, Jesus spent 1-3 years in a ministry that began at the age of thirty. Thus, for most of his adult, Jesus lived and worked in a blue-collar world as a carpenter.

Today, a “carpenter” can mean anything from a day laborer to a skilled craftsman and small businessman. Jesus was more like the latter. Recent scholarship has concluded the Greek word tekton, translated in English Bibles as “carpenter” (Mark 6:3), would better be rendered “builder” or “contractor.” For one thing, wood suitable for construction was rare and very expensive in the Palestine of Jesus’ day. Most building was done with stone and brick. And most such work was found not in the tiny mountain village of Nazareth, but in the nearby metropolis of Sepphoris. In that bustling city, King Herod was always throwing up a new Roman theater or other government building.

In all events, Jesus spent most of his life as a “working man.” (Everyone knows teaching and preaching are not “real work,” so that doesn’t count!).

I believe much of the earthiness in Jesus’ teaching--the grounding of his truth in everyday life and pressing human need--came from his real world work experience. As he walked to and from work projects in Sephorris, he observed the farmers, shepherds, and landscapes that would populate his parables. On the construction site, he learned the importance of properly bidding a job (Luke 14:28-29) and how much more savvy good business people could be than the religious types holed up in Jerusalem (Luke 16:1-9).

During my teen and college years, I delivered newspapers, sacked groceries, mowed grass, mopped floors, and worked in a convenience store. But I’ve had this cushy one-day-a-week job in the Temple for a long, long time.

Fortunately, my dad spent his working life as a tool-and-die-maker. Though he died last year, he is with me still. Usually, when I am working on a sermon or lesson, I hear him whisper, “Do you really need that big word?” “Does the guy working at the plant need to hear that?” “In the real world where real people live, who cares?” The dad who shows up in the back of my mind to say such things, doesn’t always win the debate, but I can count on him to ask the hard questions.

Most persons serving in religious vocations come from working-class families. Whatever the reason, it’s a plus. The temptation is strong in religious work to keep one’s head in the clouds. It helps to have a dad and Jesus keeping one’s feet firmly planted on the ground.

Health Care? Jesus Complicates It

2009-08-26T11:03:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Like most Americans, I’m trying to sort through the current health care debate. But for me, this issue is complicated by the fact I am not just an American consumer of health care; I am also Christian. So I don’t have the luxury of reducing the current debate to “What’s in it for me?” That question gets things in focus pretty quickly. But I have to ask the Jesus question as well: “What’s in it for my neighbor?” It was the Master after all, who said the essence of a godly life was to (1) love God and (2) love your neighbor as yourself.

Does that mean I’m about to lobby for a “big government” solution to the nation’s health care ills? A lot of people seem to make that leap: bring Jesus into the discussion and anybody who is sick should get whatever help they need at taxpayers’ expense. And yes, Jesus did challenge the entrenched interests of his day, stood by and with the poor, and taught us to pray, “Thy Kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.” But as to the public policy mechanisms for making that happen, Jesus’ teaching is mostly silent. No surprise in that. He lived under Roman occupation, not American democracy.

The one time Jesus was pressed on a hot button political issue--paying taxes to Caesar--he asked for a coin. “Whose picture is on it?,” asked Jesus. When told the emperor’s image was on the coin, Jesus said, “Then give unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God, the things that are God’s!” In my mind’s eye, Jesus then flips the coin back to his interrogators. He hasn’t so much answered their question, as deepened it. The answer is still theirs--and ours--to forge.

Do I believe Jesus cares about the health care plight of so many uninsured and under-insured Americans? Absolutely. And neighbor-love, which is at the heart of following him, requires that I care too. And more than “care,” that like the Good Samaritan, I do what I can to get sick and wounded people the help they need. But as to the exact shape of that moral obligation in the current health care debate, I have more questions than answers.

How can we be “wise as serpents and innocent as doves” in lobbying for needed changes in our nation’s health care system? How can we make sure children, the special objects of God’s compassion, are not penalized for being born into poor families without adequate medical care? How do we balance “neighbor love” with taking responsibility for oneself and one’s own family?

I know a lot of people have this all figured out. I don’t. But then most of the time, Jesus doesn’t simplify my life so much as he complicates it. That is why following him is so much more fulfilling--and infuriating--than following the Answer Man we keep wanting our Messiah to be.

What's in a Name?

2009-08-18T09:29:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer Jr.
With a last name like “Setzer,” I am familiar with having one’s name butchered by well-meaning if ill-informed people. My name has been variously mispronounced as Seltzer, Setzie, Settie, Setzler . . . the list goes on and on.

Given that, one would think I might be particularly sensitive to getting people’s name’s right. In fact, I am. I am also fallible. Despite my best intentions, sometimes the brain skips a track and I forget or misspeak a name.

It happened recently during a funeral. Following a fine eulogy by Mercer Law professor, Joseph Claxton, I began my remarks by referencing his. Unfortunately, I mispronounced his name not once but several times, calling him “Mr. Callaway.” Members of the First Church family in attendance who realized the error were appropriately mortified.

Later, after learning of my mistake, I sought out Professor Claxton and profusely apologized. He was more amused than annoyed. I explained I had a professor in seminary named Joseph Callaway. It was an honest mistake and Professor Claxton graciously waved it aside.

He then told me about being in boot camp, 40 years before, where the drill sergeant regularly called him “Clayton” rather “Claxton.” After enduring this indignity for some weeks--as wise recruits do--Mr. Claxon was finally fed up. As gingerly as possible, he informed the drill sergeant of the mispronunciation. The drill sergeant glared and growled, “C-L-A-Y-T-O-N, drop for twenty! You are C-L-A-Y-T-O-N as long as I say you are C-L-A-Y-T-O-N!”

Ten pushups into the prescribed punishment, the drill sergeant called Mr. Claxton by his proper name and told him to get up. That was as close to an apology as any self-respecting drill sergeant could get!

Sooner or later, if one’s name is more challenging than “Jones” or “Smith,” someone will likely mispronounce it. Even pastors and professors can unwittingly dole out such an injury. Thankfully, our Lord cannot. For the Bible contends again and again that God knows people by name, loves names, and never forgets a name.

God says to Moses, “I know you by name” (Ex 33:17). God says to Cyrus, “It is I, the God of Israel, who calls you by your name” (Isa 45:3). There are whole pages of the Bible with nothing but names. Take a look at 1 Chronicles chapters 1-8 for a sampling: names, names, and more names. In fact, there is precious little besides names on those pages.

Maybe it’s meant as a reminder: Someone remembers. Someone will forever value your mark upon the world. Someone knows--and will never forget--your name. Someone knows and will never forget, You.

I try to remember that vital truth when an ordinary mortal mispronounces my name. In a universe where Almighty God never forgets, it is an offense easily forgiven.

God's Subversive Truth

2009-08-05T07:24:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
I keep being amazed at how Bible stories and Bible truths keep showing up in real life. This shouldn’t be amazing, since it happens all the time. I must be a slow learner. Or maybe my confidence in the Bible is subtly eroded by a culture that seeks wisdom everywhere else.

A recent case in point of a Bible truth hidden behind the headlines: “Mortals look on the outward appearance but the Lord looks on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7). This subversive truth about God is sounded in the story of God selecting the shepherd boy, David, as king.

Meanwhile, on a porch in Cambridge, Massachusetts, this truth from the 11th century B. C. makes its presence felt in an ugly way. A prominent professor and an able, well-intentioned police officer erupt in an altercation because each thinks the worst of the other. And at the heart of the misunderstanding is the matter of appearances: one party to the dispute is black, the other white.

From the “black” perspective, people of color in general and black men in particular are sick and tired of having others assume the worst about them, simply because of the color of their skin. From the “white” perspective, you don’t erupt in angry, disrespectful behavior at a police officer trying to do his job, even if you are dog-tired and fuming at being questioned about “breaking into” your own house! There is, of course, a measure of truth in both those perspectives. But as to exactly what happened on that now infamous porch, only God knows: “For mortals look on the outward appearance but the Lord looks on the heart.”

Notice that vital Bible truth isn’t primarily a statement about how things ought to be but about how things are: we tend to think the best of people like ourselves and are most suspicious toward those who are different. This is especially true when we are under stress or even attack. Because of this, racially-fueled misunderstandings are not likely to disappear soon, if ever. Sadly, such a preference for “our own kind” may even be hard-wired into our DNA.

What then is our hope? Moral perfection? No, grace. Grace to listen to those who are different from ourselves. Grace to admit our mistakes and learn from them. Grace to yearn for and pray for and work toward a Kingdom where people are valued for who they are on the inside, not on the outside. Grace to be part of a community that while not color-blind is color-full, celebrating all the shades of God’s multi-complexioned family. In short, grace to be more like Jesus and less like our often defensive, fearful, and yes, racially-biased selves.

Granted, this is a high hope, but such is the call of the Gospel. I learned that from the Bible too.

And That's The Way It Is

2009-07-29T08:56:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
With the death of Walter Cronkite, I lost a piece of my childhood. Growing up, he was the presence, the Voice, who reassured my family and me all was right with the world.

Of course, even then, we knew everything wasn’t alright: Vietnam, Kent State, riots in the streets, JFK and MLK, Jr. shot down in cold blood. But somehow, Walter’s calm, grandfatherly demeanor helped us believe the sun would rise again tomorrow. There was still hope. The latest crisis wasn’t the end of the world.

How reassuring to hear at 6:59 each evening, “And that’s the way it is.” Contrast that with the wimpy sign offs of today’s anchors: “I hope you have a good day” or “We hope to see you right back here tomorrow night.” When Katie Couric came on as the CBS anchor in 2006, she even appealed to her viewers to suggest her tagline. How the world has changed. Today, anybody with a cell phone camera and a Twitter account can be a “journalist.”

True, Walter’s trademark phrase was a little over the top. It’s impossible to distill the essence of the world situation down to 22 minutes, not counting commercials. But his weighty pronouncement held out the hope there is such a thing as real, objective truth in a world of ever-changing perceptions. Yes, “the truth” is best arrived at by interviewing multiple witnesses, listening to alternative interpretations of a given event, and making sure women and people of color--and not just middle-aged white guys like Walter and me--have their say. But at the end of the day, there is real truth to be found if the news isn’t reduced to entertainment or political posturing.

The New Testament pulsates with just such a conviction. There is not just one witness, but four to the epoch-making, world-reshaping event of Jesus Christ: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Each speaks with a distinctive voice arising from his own life experience and the pressures and questions driving his witness. But all four Gospels share the conviction God has come near in a decisive way in Jesus Christ, and that his life, death, and resurrection change everything. As the book of Hebrews declares in its opening salvo, “Long ago God spoke in many and various ways by the prophets, but in these last days God has spoken to us by a Son” (Heb. 1:2).

The church doesn’t exist to pretend there are certain special people who have everything figured out. But in a world where increasingly the mantra is, “One person’s truth is as good as another’s,” we do have a holy obligation to keep our heads and hearts clear about the One who is “the way, the Truth, and the life” (John 14:6).

Walter Cronkite understood the elemental human hunger to know the Big Truth above and beyond all the little truths. Let’s hope God’s Good News people do also.

Vacation Bible School 2009

2009-07-28T20:25:00.000-07:00

Thank you to all the children and workers who helped make VBS a great success.

From July 13-17, Kids experienced God through Bible stories, crafts, recreation, snacks, missions, music, science experiments and relationships. The time allowed kids to learn the Bible in various ways while building relationships with other kids and adults.

The Day She Was Remembered

2009-07-17T12:53:00.000-07:00

by Ed Grisamore
In his July 10th Telegraph column, Ed Grisamore compared Ruth Cheves’ memorial service with the Michael Jackson service held the same week. The column is a classic and appears here in a in a slightly abridged form -- Dr. Bob

There was no gold casket in the sanctuary at First Baptist Church on Thursday morning, only a gold picture frame.

There were three dozen roses and two candles at the altar. A needlepoint bookmark, made by Ruth Cheves, rested against the pages of an open Bible. There were no TV cameras on the steps, no paparazzi at the top of Poplar Street. Nobody pulled out a Blackberry to dispatch details of the funeral on “Twitter.”

I sat in the third pew, with my wife and mother, and listened to the tributes, scripture readings, beautiful music and heartfelt eulogy. If only the world could have seen this, too, I thought.

Four days ago, the planet paused to watch Michael Jackson’s memorial service. About 30.9 million viewers tuned in — more than for Ronald Reagan’s funeral but less than Princess Di’s — as if it were a ratings contest. Only about 100 people attended Ruth’s service. I’m sure Miss Ruth never would have approved of turning her farewell into a box-office attraction, anyway.

I did not watch the memorial for the “King of Pop.” Although I applaud his humanitarian efforts, his rather bizarre lifestyle was hardly worthy of hero worship. (Frankly, he lost me after the Jackson Five.) He was, however, an extraordinary talent. I’ve never seen anybody move like M.J.

Miss Ruth never married and lived alone. I once served as her deacon. For years, my family invited her to join us at Thanksgiving. She was born in 1918, grew up in Fort Hill, went to school at Fort Hawkins and joined First Baptist Church when she was 6 years old. She never caused a ripple of trouble, except for some mischief the time she and a few childhood friends waxed the trolley tracks with soap, causing a slight derailment.

Ruth was a pioneer in working with special needs children. Her studies in the field were among the first published in the U.S. She spent 16 years in the Christianity department at Mercer.

She was an avid reader and served as our church librarian. She loved crossword puzzles and classical music. She never needed a dial on her radio. She kept it planted on FM-89.7, the local public radio station.

In 1974, she was the only Georgia woman (and one of 132 in the country) asked to contribute a needlepoint panel for the United Nations in New York. She put 40,000 stitches into her square, which represented Russia.

No, I wasn’t much of a Michael Jackson fan, but I did belong to Ruth’s fan club. Her memorial service replicated the way she lived her life. No fanfare. More substance than glorification.

She was one of those saints who lived her life, served her Lord and would have been proud of the way she was remembered.

(Used by permission of the Macon Telegraph)

The Shoeless Boy

2009-07-08T13:01:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
On Tuesday, a little boy wandered into my office with one sandal off his foot. His mother was at the church helping to prepare for next week’s Vacation Bible School (VBS). As mom met nearby with Julie, her son went exploring and winded up on my doorstep.

I knelt to help him with his wayward sandal. After it was properly secured, he beamed and went merrily on his way.

Not long afterwards, my study door slowly swung open. I turned see my young friend bearing a pair of men’s hiking boots. I got up to greet him and he placed the boots at my feet as though they were a trophy. It was his way of saying “Thank you.” I was blessed.

Very shortly, Mom came and found her wandering son. She explained with a chuckle she spent a good part of her day trying to keep shoes on his feet. And alas, I discovered the boots were not mine to keep, but were meant for a VBS display elsewhere in the building. I gave up the boots, but the blessing remained.

One of the perks of being a pastor is getting to have children in one’s life, even after all the children in one’s home are gone. Jesus taught children are vital to our spiritual growth: “Unless you change and become like children, you cannot enter the Kingdom of God” (Matthew 18:3). Here Jesus pointed to the need for a natural, trusting love in the One he called Abba, Father. Indeed, discovering that the awesome Creator of the cosmos is also a most loving, gentle, and attentive Parent is in at the heart of entering the Kingdom of God.

Children bring a joy and spontaneity to life that keeps super-serious adults from dying of sheer boredom. Children keep us vital, young, and alive. No wonder Jesus chided his disciples when the “big boys” pushed the children away (Matthew 19:14). He needed the children as much as they needed him. Indeed, it’s hard to become like children when there are no children around. That’s why churches without children are destined to die.

Next week, our church will be teeming with children as we host an extravagant, grace-filled, Bible-rich celebration called Vacation Bible School. From nine till - 12:15 p.m., Monday through Friday, our staff ministers and many volunteer leaders will be teaching the children about Jesus. But if my encounter with the shoeless boy is any indication, the children will also be teaching us.

Drop in next week for a much needed shot of child-induced enthusiasm. Or join us next Friday at 12:15 p.m. for the VBS Commencement program and lunch, complete with jubilant VBSers waving their arms and singing their songs. It will do your heart good. And Jesus will be smiling.

The Point of Worship

2009-06-24T05:31:00.000-07:00

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
This week, someone asked me for the Bible reference to the “quiver of arrows” I mentioned in last Sunday’s sermon. He remembered this verse as likening “the children of one’s youth” to a bountiful supply of arrows. The verse he was searching for is Psalm 127:4-5. The only problem was--if indeed, it was a problem--I made no such reference in my sermon.

This sort of thing happens to me a lot. People hear all sorts of things in sermons I don’t remember saying. In some cases, they are simply mistaken; in others, I surely am. But there is another reason people often hear things in sermons I didn’t actually say: maybe I’m not the one doing the talking. We gather in worship to hear the Word of God, after all.

In fairness to my friend searching for the quiver of arrows, I did use the expression “wild quiver of joy” in my sermon. Apparently at that point, his mind skipped a track and he went merrily on his way chasing a holy rabbit. At least he was thinking about the Bible!

Some preachers and worshipers find such holy rabbit chasing deeply troubling. The preacher’s job, they seem to believe, is to make sure everyone hangs on the preacher’s every word. Toward that end, some pastors expect people to take notes on the sermon or at the very least, doggedly follow the PowerPoint presentation.

But what if the point of worship and preaching is not to get every word in the preacher’s head into the head of every worshiper with as few transmission errors as possible? What if the point of preaching and worship is instead to create a context for hearing what God has to say to you, second person singular? What if a sort of sanctified mind-wandering if one of the primary ways God’s word speaks to us where we need it most?

In a recent issue of Discover magazine, researchers report that even when concentrating, the mind spends as much as 50 percent of its time not focused on the task at hand. And the mind does some of its most important work while “wandering,” a sort of waking dream, in which the mind searches for solutions not immediately evident to the conscious brain.

We might as well be honest: that’s the way most people hear a sermon. Hopefully, the hearer is snagged by a point, phrase, or image that fires the imagination. Then he or she checks out of the sermon long enough to probe the feeling or idea evoked by the preacher’s words. Sometimes the listener spends a few seconds, or a few minutes, wrestling with him or herself in the presence of God’s people and God’s Word. And often, it is during those private moments of reflection that the sword of God’s truth finds its mark and the Holy Spirit exclaims, “Gotcha!”

I don’t take offense when minds wander during my sermons. In fact, I rather expect it, indeed, I count on it. For it’s when the defenses are down that God’s Spirit is mostly likely to scale the walls of an unwitting worshiper’s heart.