Saturday, June 26, 2004
The following is quoted from an online editorial at Baptist Standard. It is an interesting article, especially for those of us in SBC ministry, and it really got me to thinking...
"We battle today over trivial issues like forms of worship, styles of leadership and approaches to ministry," Draper said. "Younger leaders are asking, 'Is there a place for me at the table in the SBC?' We'd better address the question."
Draper, an astute observer, is onto something. The young bucks who fueled the fundamentalists' "conservative resurgence" now are aging if not old. And while they may be followed closely by middle-aged preachers who want to fill their shoes, Baptists in their 20s and 30s couldn't care less about a Baptist battle fought when they were children. Many of them couldn't care less about denominational labels, and the non-existence of brand loyalty could mean disaster if the convention doesn't demonstrate its worth to the rising generations.
Now, here's an irony: Similar problems plague both the SBC and the Baptist General Convention of Texas, which have taken different tracks during the past quarter-century.
First, politics--crucial to the fundamentalists' success in the SBC and traditional Baptists' victory in the BGCT--has weighed them down. Both groups have been branded by their battles. But now, Baptists of all stripes are bone-weary of politicking and fighting. They're rejecting anyone who waves a political banner.
Second, the world is going to hell faster than Baptists are baptizing. The challenge of evangelism, missions, church-starting and ministry is greater now than ever. All Baptists need the spark of divine creativity to rejuvenate lagging efforts.
Third, the younger generation is taking a hike. If conventions are going to engage Baptists in their 20s and 30s (not to mention the younger ones), "being Baptist" must be reinterpreted in terms and values that matter on a day-to-day basis in the real world where these folks live.
While public expressions of doubt may have made many SBC leaders cringe, the discussions they should raise are necessary for the SBC to move ahead. Enough of looking back on its "conservative resurgence." Without a vision for the future, the SBC will decline.
And the BGCT should heed this lesson. The world doesn't care that we've resisted the rise of fundamentalism. It's tired of hearing what we're against and wants to know what we're for--and why that matters.
Link
posted by Kevin at 6/26/2004 07:38:33 PM
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Wednesday, June 23, 2004
Famous Places. Famous Faces.
I've had the opportunity to visit several different churches recently, and each of them have helped to renew my faith in the local church... each in their own way.
A small Baptist church in a small town north of Dallas was the first I visited. They are a growing church. Blessed with a Pastor who has a tremendous heart and vision for ministry, they have outgrown their facilities. (It also helps that they are in a growing part of the Metroplex.) But this church is positioned to explode over the next few years and it was nice to see a place that was both warm and friendly. I know small churches sometimes have a stigma, but call me crazy, I think that these places are where real ministry happens. I know sometimes its difficult and a struggle, but the New Testament seems to know nothing of a perfect church.
The next church was just down the road from here and I'd been meaning to visit for quite awhile. It was Father's Day, and it was a great service. Unfortunately this congregation has been without a Pastor for quite some time. I feel for them. If I had a nickel for every time I was in a church that was without a Pastor, well, I guess I'd have a quarter and some change. ;) Anyway, the sermon was AMAZING. I have literally never, ever heard such a poignant and relevant message to a church during their time without an undershepherd. I felt a connection to this congregation. I felt sorrow and empathy for them. I am so glad that I went, and I have a feeling that I will be back.
Finally, I was at one of the largest and most progressive churches in the nation. If I said it, you would know it. I wasn't there for a service, though I've been before, I was simply there to meet their media pastor and take a quick tour. Wow, they have some nice toys... but toys do not impress me anymore. I look at different things than technology and facilities and budgets. I look at people-centric resources. And this guy was top-quality. Literally blew me away! I just couldn't believe his spirit, depth, heart, and ministry-focus. Its good to know that there are still men in the pastorate, especially in the media pastorate, that are of such a calibre.
posted by Kevin at 6/23/2004 05:45:02 PM
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Friday, June 18, 2004
A thousand miles from nowhere
You never imagine major life moments happening in an Albertsons, let alone one that isn't of the 24-hour variety. But sometimes it happens this way and the surprise is thus magnified even more.
I was alone, except for my thoughts, as I trudged through the deli and bread aisles. They didn't have the particular mustard that I've recently taken a shine to, Grey Poupon Deli Style (with real horseradish), but they had fresh wheat buns. It's the small things that make you happy while unemployed. I then headed across the store's back-40 in order to pick up cereal and milk, always conspicuously placed furthest from the entrance. Having acquired my loot it was only a matter of weaving my way to the self-checkout through aisles better suited for families who cook and people who are gainfully employed, aisles I typically avoid.
BAM!
Out-of-body experience. Instantly I was in my Grandmother's kitchen. The kitchen that had served countless meals to seven children and almost twenty grand- and great-grandchildren. The kitchen that wasn't big enough for more than a few people to be in, but nine times out of ten was exactly where one would find Grandma. Violet. That is her name--one that closely mirrors her personality. She doesn't have a middle name, nor does she need one. And there I sat,
The mid-summer sun streams through the pain-glass window just over the counter. The window, open, allows the sound of a robin to drift in on the afternoon heat. The whir of an oscillating fan tussles my hair every few seconds. It was most assuredly purchased long before I was born and has sat prominently in that same position on the counter as long as I can remember. Occasionally I can hear Grandpa coughing or sneezing (he has the funniest sneeze I've ever heard, it still makes me giggle) on the porch swing. He spends most of his time there, lazily watching the cars that amble by about once an hour and swatting ever persistent flies. The creak of the chain can be heard through the screen door just past the window and on the other side of the sink. I look up and see Grandma smiling at me. She tosses a cookie my way (fresh from the gas oven and still warm to the touch) then goes back to her task... dinner.
Her hair, still jet black, shows little sign of the age and stress she has endured throughout life. Though her face is starting to crease it's still easy to see that she has more life before her than behind. Her sleeves are pushed up above her elbows and she occasionally wipes her brow with the back of her arm, trying to keep cool from the oppressive heat and the stove that is a mere foot behind her and loaded with various pots and pans filled with home-grown goodies. In front of her, on the table, a cream cloth is spread out and covered with flour. A canister filled with more of the same sits to one side and on the other a large ball of dough which she has just made from scratch. She grabs an old wooden rolling pin in one hand, the dough in the other, and goes to town. Flour puffs from the table and Grandma is lost in the process she's done a hundred times over. She makes quick work of it, eventually cutting it into little squares which will be included in her famous chicken and dumplins.
She looks up at me again, smiles broadly, and tosses another cookie my way. Leaning in she winks and pauses, with timing that tells she's about to let me in on a little secret, telling me not to tell my mother or else we'll both be in trouble. I can't help but think I'm in heaven.
And then it was over. I'm back in Albertsons, twenty years later, struggling to carry my cereal, milk, and sandwich material. I can't fight the feeling of being alone so I embrace it for a moment.
I looked around trying to figure out what caused this out-of-body experience and realize that I'm in the Dry Goods aisle. To my right are various brands of sugar and flour, perfectly stacked like white bricks of gold. To my left is brown sugar and cinnamon, and just down the aisle, rolling pins.
For a fleeting second, in a random Albertsons a thousand miles and twenty years from home, Grandma and I had a moment.
posted by Kevin at 6/18/2004 04:13:47 PM
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Friday, June 11, 2004
All in all, not bad. Not bad at all.
I lost a part of my childhood this week. I imagine that adulthood does not come all at once, but instead arrives as the things that define our childhood slowly pass away into history.
I grew a little older this week. It seemed that ages passed as I sat glued to the television coverage of an American great. I could not get enough. Just between you and me, there were even hours on end where my tuner was set to C-SPAN: showing a simple camera feed from the Rotunda--no music, no commentary--as literally thousands of people of all types and kinds filed through in a seemingly endless procession.
America. Through their Capitol they came, strangely reminiscent of the tired, the poor, the huddled masses spoken of on Lady Liberty...
And yet, something has had me distraught. Yes, I am greatly saddened at the passing of one of my favorite American Statesmen ever. Yet, that was not it. There was something more--something even more harrowing than the loss of an important piece of my childhood.
And there it was. The connection.
Losing Ronald Reagan felt a lot like losing my grandfather. I realized, for the first time, that I had thought of him as such. The wisp and slight wave of his hair, the cheeky grin that said everything was right with the world, and the deep laugh after a witty quip or story. He reminded me of my grandfather... and I thought of him as such. A man with impeccable tastes, wisdom that comes from both experience and age, and a presence that commanded respect.
These were feelings and images that I associated with my grandfather. But there was something more...
He made me believe in myself. He made me feel like I was better than I was, as if I were capable of doing more than I thought I could. Ronald Reagan made me feel good about being an American; my grandfather made me feel good about being myself.
As I watched Reagan this week, I realized how much I miss him. I had forgotten how much we needed him, and I found myself longing for him again. As I mourned the loss of RR, I also mourn the inevitable loss of my grandfather, even today he is only a shadow of the man he once was. And like Reagan, the twilight years have taken the wind out of his sails.
And when he passes, I will react in much the same way as I have to the passing of RR: I will remember the accomplishments he attained, the manner in which he conducted himself, the spirit he possessed, and most importantly, the legacy that he left for me (and in me).
I am a little older today due to the passing of a man who's presence defined my childhood years. But I am a little more mature today due in great part to the person that his example has helped me to become.
posted by Kevin at 6/11/2004 10:42:34 PM
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Saturday, June 05, 2004
Goodnight, Mr. President
"Without God,
there is no virtue,
because there's no prompting of the conscience.
Without God,
we're mired in the material,
that flat world that tells us
only what the senses perceive.
Without God,
there is a coarsening of the society.
And without God,
democracy will not
and cannot long endure.
-- Ronald Reagan,
The Great Communicator
"Without God,
there is no virtue,
because there's no prompting of the conscience.
Without God,
we're mired in the material,
that flat world that tells us
only what the senses perceive.
Without God,
there is a coarsening of the society.
And without God,
democracy will not
and cannot long endure.
-- Ronald Reagan,
The Great Communicator
posted by Kevin at 6/05/2004 04:00:11 PM
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Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Boxes
I walk by them every day... sometimes ignoring their presence purposefully, other times unawares. Yet they remain. Stacked high, their shape has begun to buckle under the weight and the humidity has diminished their strength.
They contain the physical remains of another life for me--the lingering objects of a ministry I've left behind. They harbor reminders of the good times and the bad, past successes and discouraging defeats. Oddly enough, I've almost forgotten they are there.
A few feet away sits another set of boxes. These a little older than the last and a lot worse for the wear. They contain the mementos of a time even further past. Pictures, papers, paraphernalia from college years clutter their tattered, torn, and taped cardboard shells.
There are other such boxes littering out-of-the-way places in my home. They contain memories from events that are mostly now out-of-mind. Yet they remain.
I keep them because, at one time, they were my identity--their items defining who I was. I found myself in these things and without them I was nothing. Or so I thought.
At some point during the journey I realized I was finding my identity in something other than Christ. The things gained, ministries worked, and awards won became my primary source of self-definition... my identity.
I no longer find myself in these temporary things. I can walk by them without a second thought or moment's notice. I have my eyes set on other pursuits and greater accomplishments... none of them for myself any longer.
The boxes, like the memories they contain, have slowly drifted away into the dust of the not-so-distant past. Yet they remain, as reminders of the person I was once was and the man I've now become.
posted by Kevin at 6/02/2004 08:08:45 PM
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