Living a Lie

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Last night, I saw a story on the evening news that saddened and disturbed me. Several times before cutting to a commercial, the news announcer offered a teaser about an upcoming story of ministers “living a lie.” I feared the worst.

And in some ways, this really was the worst: not local church pastors neck-deep in some moral scandal, the usual fare of such exposes, but ministers who are self-avowed atheists. Yet these ministers have not confessed their loss of faith. Instead, they bear it as a shameful secret while pretending to believe.

One of the two ministers featured in the story calls himself an "atheistic agnostic" “I don't think we can prove that there is not a God or that there is a God," he says, (but) "I live out my life as if there is no God." So why does he and his fellow doubting Thomas stay in the ministry? Because they need a job and feel poorly qualified to do anything else.

As with all shameful secrets, part of what consigns these ministers to a hell of misery and self-hatred is not confessing their dilemma. Granted, if one or both of them announced this Sunday morning they are atheists, they would likely be looking for a job on Monday morning. But what if they had come clean with their troubling questions long before healthy doubt congealed into the hardened amber of cynicism and despair? That’s what the Bible does.

Writhing in agony, the Psalmist confesses, “My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, ‘Where is your God?" (Psalm 42:3). Jesus cries from his cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?!” (Mark 15:34). Even Paul, the cockiest of Pharisees, admits with refreshing candor, “We see in a mirror dimly” and “know only in part” (1 Cor. 13:12).

A religion without any capacity for critical self-reflection is a cult in-the-making. By contrast, a healthy faith is one that is always growing, always stretching, always in process. And doubt--honest to God doubt--is an essential part of an ever deepening apprehension of the Divine Mystery at the heart of all things.

The difference in the original Doubting Thomas (John chapter 20) and the two agnostic wannabees in the news story is that the first went to church and confessed his doubt while the other two did not. They didn’t trust God or their fellow believers enough to confess, “I’m hurting. I’m bewildered. And I’m so afraid.”

By contrast, the original Doubting Thomas came clean with his struggle within the community of faith and as a result, found the strength to believe and hope again.

I’m grateful to belong to a church where being honest and real is not seen as the abandonment of faith but as the epicenter of where a real and living faith begins.

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A Rare Breed

by Bob Setzer, Jr. 
Our church is one of an increasingly rare breed: a congregation that is multi-generational in makeup. More and more congregations are focused on a particular group: twenty-somethings, baby boomers, young professionals on the rise, and so on. It has long been recognized that in churches, as elsewhere, “birds of a feather fly together.”

Problem is, that’s not what the Kingdom of God is supposed to look like. According to Jesus, the Kingdom of God is like a tiny seed that grows into a tree with strong, welcoming branches where all the birds of the air make their nests (Luke 13:19).

So I celebrate the diversity of ages and stations in life represented in our church. I love the spontaneity of the children, the vitality of the youth, the social conscience of the young adults, the moral earnestness of the mid-lifers, and the wisdom of the mature. I like seeing races and nationalities different from my own in worship. I like being in a church where thoughtful Democrats and Republicans can move beyond the predicable ideological posturing to ask, “What does that have to do with the Gospel?” I like being in a church where people are defined not so much by how they are alike, but how they are different and yet bound together by the Christ who forms the heart of our fellowship.

Well, okay, to be honest, most of the time I like those things, because diversity does bring with it certain tensions. People of varying generations and traditions have differing values, preferences, and expectations.

Take this Sunday’s Processional of Commitment. For the past half-century or so on the first Sunday in November--All Saints’ Sunday--members of our congregation have marched forward, one-by-one, to place a commitment card in the little church on the altar. Most older, long-time members of our church deeply value this time of celebration and commitment. It’s a special time each year when First Baptist folk leave the safety of the pew to joyously process down the aisles and publically proclaim their love for Jesus and the church!

But to some newer members of the congregation--and younger people in general--the Processional of Commitment feels a bit showy, even pretentious. This newer generation didn’t have a hand in creating this tradition and doesn’t always understand or appreciate it. Some of these folk choose to skip Processional Sunday altogether.

So let me offer a challenge: if the Processional of Commitment doesn’t appeal to you, show up anyway and sit in prayerful contemplation as others march to the regal music. And if you love the pageantry and joy of the Processional, don’t raise an eyebrow toward those who are of a more private bent. Thankfully, there is room enough for all of us at the top of Poplar for we belong to a Kingdom so much bigger than ourselves. And we serve a Lord who delights in making us One without making us all the same.

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A Word on Halloween

by Bob Setzer
As a Baptist boy growing up in the South, Halloween was one of my favorite holidays. It was the one time of year my preferred sins were sanctioned: gluttony, especially of the chocolate variety, and getting to dress up like a ghost or goblin. The latter allowed me to go public with the fact there was a dark side to my “good boy” image.

Thus, for me, Halloween has always been a fun-loving time, both for the kids, and for the adults who get to revel in the wonder of a child’s imagination and bravado. However, there are a good many Christians and churches who view Halloween as Public Enemy Number One (or at least, Number Two or Number Three). The objections, to the extent I can fathom them, seem to be twofold: (1) Halloween began as a pagan festival and therefore, is sub-Christian and (2) Halloween constitutes dabbling in the occult.

As to the first objection, it is true Halloween has its roots in ancient Roman and Celtic festivals marking the approach of a cold, dark winter. At such times, it was believed the boundary between the living and the dead thinned and ghosts might slip through. Eventually, these pagan celebrations were Christianized as “All Hallows Eve,” the evening before All Saints Day, November 1. By the late 19th century, especially in America, Halloween had essentially become a secular holiday featuring tricks and treats for the children.

But if we’re going to dismiss holidays because of their pagan origins, let’s get rid of Christmas while we’re at it. December 25 was originally the day Romans celebrated the rebirth of the sun god during the winter solstice. Thankfully, Christians turned that day into something far better: a celebration of Jesus’ birth. Personally, I like the “take something bad and turn it into something good” approach to once pagan festivities. As Luther said of hymnody, “Why should the Devil have all the good tunes?”

As to dabbling with the occult, I seriously doubt Satan--whoever or whatever one deems Satan to be--sees Halloween as a ripe opportunity for snatching a few unsuspecting souls. No, Satan prefers the stealthy approach, sneaking up on us when we least expect it. According to the New Testament, Satan is far more likely to show up disguised as “an angel of light” (2 Corinthians 11:4) than reveal his true colors as the Prince of Darkness.

Here’s my suggestion for Halloween. Turn on the porch light. Have plenty of candy on hand. Be a neighbor. Welcome and delight in the kids who show up at your door. Smile at the parents who linger behind in the shadows. Act a lot less like a finicky, self-righteous Pharisee and a lot more like a joyous, fun-loving Jesus. Make him proud. Shine his light, share his love.

Trust me: If Satan is in the area, he won’t linger long at a place like that.

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Camping on Hope

by Bob Setzer, Jr.

There is a line in the Apostles’ Creed, an early Christian confession, that says Jesus “descended into hell.” That claim is based on some fairly obscure New Testament passages, 1 Peter 3:18-20 and 4:16, being chief among them. Did Jesus preach to the “spirits” in Hades, the abode of the dead, merely to announce his triumph? Or in “proclaiming the Gospel to the dead,” was he offering those condemned the proverbial second chance?

I’ll let other argue the fine points of theology. Let’s just say in the light of the Chilean mine rescue (and near disaster), I have a vivid picture of what it means to say Jesus “descended into hell”: It means there is Someone who loves you so much, he will stop at nothing to rescue you from whatever hell hole where you have landed.

 For seventeen days, 33 Chilean miners existed in a subterranean abode of pitch blackness, meager rations, and stifling despair. At “Camp Hope” above, determined rescuers drilled probes that eventually established an umbilical cord between them and those stranded below. With that life support, the grace of God, and the miner’s own native pluck, these men survived day after excruciating day until a opening large enough to deliver a life capsule was drilled. Finally, after 69 harrowing days, the miners were lifted to safety one-by-one as the world looked on in gratitude and awe.

Now that the nightmare is past, I find myself thinking of Jesus. What did he do on those three days between Good Friday and his Easter triumph? Knowing Jesus, he didn’t twiddle his thumbs or put his feet up on some gold-gilded ottoman in heaven. No, he started digging. He started digging through the rock hard cynicism and despair of those who had written him off. He started clawing his way through the crusty defiance of the world’s disobedience, the dirt and grime of the world’s sin, and the rich, black humus of potential squandered for want of seed.

Finally, at long last, Jesus broke through. Suddenly, his light pieced hell’s darkness, his love vanquished hell’s hate, his truth shattered hell’s lies. In the depths of a brutal, barbarous abyss, Jesus shone with a radiance divine. Then, his face etched in Easter light, he announced, “I’m headed back up. Who wants to come with me back to hope, back to God, back to life?” I suspect the Devil looked helplessly on as Jesus emptied the place, ascending with a long train of newly-minted believers (Ephesians 4:8-10).

Yes, there’s Someone who loves you so much, no matter what hell hole you land in, he’s coming after you. He’s already started digging. Listen for the crumbling dirt. Watch for the light.

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Columbus Sailed the Ocean Blue

Monday is Columbus Day, the holiday that gets no respect. Columbus Day is the holiday I’m most likely to drop by the bank only to be surprised it’s closed. Columbus Day is the day I check the mailbox at day’s end and wonder what happened. Why did the junkmail kingpins decide to give me a day off?

Who has Columbus Day celebrations? When was the last time you were invited to a Columbus Day cookout? Do they have a Columbus Day parade, even in Columbus? (I googled “Columbus Day Parade” and got 268,000 results. That’s nothing in Google land. “Elvis” garnered over 41 million hits).

So how come Columbus Day gets no respect? Is it because we now know Leif Ericson and his mighty Norsemen beat the intrepid Italian to the new world by 500 years? Or because native Americans were here for thousands of years before that? Or is the lack of enthusiasm for Columbus Day, at least in the south, due to its status as a “northern” or even a “Catholic” celebration?

Who knows? But I believe Columbus rates a day all his own and not just because giving him his due spawns another three day weekend. No, Columbus deserves a day because he embodies faith wedded to courage, faith wedded to action, and that kind of faith is the fulcrum that moves the world.

Columbus believed the world was round. This idea was not unique to him. The ancient Greeks, masters of astronomy and geometry, had long ago calculated the earth was likely round. The educated classes of Columbus’ day, steeped in the classics of antiquity, knew this. Still the folk belief persisted the world was flat--it certainly looked that way--so sailing off its edge was a distinct possibility.

But instead of debating the matter from the safety of his study, Columbus set sail with his three trusty vessels, the Santa Maria, the Pinta, and the Niña. He decided to settle the matter in the world of action. And eleven weeks and over 4,000 miles later, settle it he did when he bumped into the “new world” the Bahamas.

In the Bible, the creation of God’s people, the Hebrews, begins when God tells an aged nomad, “Leave your country and your father’s house and go to a land that I will show you” (Gen. 12:1). Perhaps God had told others the same thing but they hemmed and hawed, they doubted and equivocated, and in the end, they stayed put. But “Abram went,” the Bible says with stunning simplicity, “as the Lord had told him” (Gen. 12:4).

Maybe in a world where Christians, Jews, and Muslims are so divided, we should rechristen Columbus Day, Abraham Day, since all three religions revere the Patriarch. But the importance of acting on what we believe is an essential part of what the Bible means by “faith.” Columbus knew that. Abraham knew that. And on the second Monday in October, it’s not a bad thing for the rest of us us to remember.

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Autumn's Gifts

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
I am grateful for the arrival of autumn. I can breathe again. I can snuggle against the chill again. I can hope again.

This summer was the hottest I remember. From mid-May to mid-September, stifling days of oppressive heat were the norm. With the merciless sun bearing down, trying to run, do yard work, or attempt most any outdoor activity ranged from unpleasant to impossible.

But now at last, fall has returned like a long, lost friend showing up on Facebook or knocking at the door. The sky is bluer, the air is crisper, the stars are brighter, and people are nicer.

The poets speak of the “rebirth of spring” but for me, autumn has always been the richest season. Maybe it has to do with all those years fall meant going back to school with fresh, white pages of notebook paper aching for new learning. Or maybe I love fall because as a pastor, autumn means the church is stirring back to life after the lean summer months. Soon, the world famous FBC Stewardship Banquet will be upon us (what are our resident comics cooking up this year?), the children’s Fall Festival will populate our parking lot with inflatable adventures, the harvest table of Thanksgiving will celebrate the abundance of creation, and the lighting of the first Advent candle will defy the approaching cold, grey darkness of winter.

Fall is also the season for a quick trip to the Georgia mountains to drink apple cider and see the explosion of color in the trees. It’s the time for state fairs and cotton candy and Ferris wheel rides. Fall is when the first fire is built in the hearth to knock back the evening chill and the rustic smell of smoke delights the nostrils. Fall is Friday night football, hotdogs and hot chocolate, cardigans and the fog of rising breath. Fall is when a freshly gathered pile of leaves invites would-be skydivers. Fall is when the little ones in the neighborhood dress up like clowns and ballerinas and come knocking at your door squealing, “Trick or treat!”

Yes, there’s much to love about the Fall, but it didn’t have to be this way. We could live (or rather die) on a planet like Mars where we’d turn into a popsicle in a microsecond, or be incinerated on Mercury or Venus. But by God’s grace, we inhabit a miracle planet called Earth where the changing of the seasons is a sign of God’s sustenance and care. As God promised Noah, so God promises us, “As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease” (Genesis 8:22).

Fall is but one of God’s many gracious and often unacknowledged gifts. The least we can do is take a deep breath, awaken to wonder, and whisper “Thank You!”

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You Invited Me In

by Bob Setzer
Last Thursday, September 16, Dan Riley and I gathered with a few dozen folk to dedicate the latest Macon area Habitat House. This house located in south Macon (4251 Roy Avenue) is part of a neighborhood reborn. Five years ago, residents of this neighborhood mostly kept to themselves behind locked doors. Today, they gather freely to stroll, visit, and help each other out. According to the pastor of a nearby church, the transformation of the Lynmore Estates is a miracle of biblical proportions. Today hope is radiant where despair once stalked the streets.

Approaching this neighborhood holistically has been the heart of Habitat’s strategy for restoring the neighborhood’s vitality. Seventeen Habitat houses have been built in the area toward a goal of 40, spurring civic pride along with other renovation and development. Today, Chuckie and Janelle Williams--and their children--are the proud new owners of a safe, affordable home. As partners in the local Habitat movement, our church played a small part in their triumph.

The Williams’ home is the 12th Habitat House First Baptist has built or helped to build; this particular home was built in partnership with Mercer University and Highland Hills Baptist. According to Dan, over the last several years, our church has given 30-40% of the monies donated by churches to the local Habitat chapter. In addition to the resources and labor our church invested in the Williams’ home, the Williams’ family--like all Habitat home owners--contributed “sweat equity,” helping with construction. Thus, the help our church, Habitat, and our other partners provided was not a “hand out” but a “hand up.” The Williams will pay in full for their home over the next twenty years.

This Sunday, our church will host a guest teacher and preacher, Dr. Robert Lupton, who knows a lot about reversing urban blight through holistic neighborhood development. He is the founder and director of FCS (Focused Community Strategies) Urban Ministries in south Atlanta (www.fcsministries.org). Dr. Lupton is author of Compassion, Justice, and the Christian Life:  Rethinking Ministry to the Poor, a book studied by our Global Women and several of our adult Sunday School classes. Rather than simply wax eloquent about the problems of the poor, Dr. Lupton has developed proven strategies for empowering people to climb out of poverty. He has been instrumental in revitalizing two declining, crime-ridden neighborhoods in Atlanta, beginning by moving there himself, along with his family.

During his inaugural sermon, Jesus said his ministry, his movement, would spell “good news for the poor” (Luke 4:18). As our church strives to be “the Presence of Christ” in the world, we hope to rise to this sacred calling. Sunday’s conversation with Robert Lupton, a fellow pilgrim in the way of Jesus, may yield important insights about what we are called to be and do next.

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