The Dogged Truth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Bigger and Better

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A Marriage Bog

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Watching Baseball

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.

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A Word from our Chair of Deacons

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.

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Inspiration

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.

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Triathloning

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.

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