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.

READ MORE

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.

READ MORE

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.

READ MORE

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.

READ MORE

The Lost Local Church

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.

READ MORE

The Devil Never had a Chance

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.

READ MORE

Smart People

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.

READ MORE