What's with the Name?

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!).

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"Gotcha!"

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!"

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11-Minute Warning

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.

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Jesusland

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!"

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Church after Church

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."

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Ride On

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.

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Really Seeing

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.)

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