Second Street Angels

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.”

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With God, There Is No "Them"

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.

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Falling Into Seasons

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.

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A Second Home

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.

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People of the Wednesday Night

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!

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Standard Roach Letter

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.

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Jesus the Carpenter

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.

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