What's in a Name?

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.

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God's Subversive Truth

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.

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And That's The Way It Is

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.

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Vacation Bible School 2009

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.

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The Day She Was Remembered

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)

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The Shoeless Boy

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.

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The Point of Worship

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.

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