God's Gifts

 Once in a while, usually when one of my younger friends is showing off some new “ink,” I am asked, “Jim, do you have any tattoos?” After saying “No”, I add a line attributed to the great Daffy Duck, “I’m not like other people—I don’t like pain.”

Don’t get me wrong, I get my flu shots, have had my Shingles vaccine and booster; but I don’t look for occasions to have a needle poked into me. Botox? I’ve no inclination to get the treatment, nor the money. (Besides, after seeing the “celebrities” who’ve had it, I’ve concluded the treatment only makes you look like someone who doesn’t want to look old—or ever smile again. But I digress.)

Yet, there is one needle I’m looking forward to. The needle carrying the coronavirus vaccine. 

Baptists don’t usually quote The Apocrypha, that collection of Jewish writings dated from the end of the Old Testament period to just before Christ’s birth, writings omitted from Protestant versions of the Bible; but I’m going to make an exception. In anticipation of the vaccine, I’ve been thinking about verses I read years ago in Ben Sira, a book by a Hellenistic Jewish writer born about two centuries before Christ

The verses say, “Honor the physician with the honor due him . . . for the Lord created him.” After acknowledging that “healing comes from the Most High,” Ben Sira adds, “. . .  the Lord created medicines from the earth and a sensible man will not despise them.” (Ben Sira 38:1-5 RSV) Indeed, Ben Sira saw the physician and “the pharmacist [who makes] compounds” as God’s partners, through whom He “heals and takes away pain.” 

Although the words are not from scripture, many share the feeling. They believe the physician who saved their child’s life or the eased their parent’s pain was sent their way by God. (Ben Sira even pictures physicians praying for “success” in their diagnoses and treatments: something I’m sure happened often in 2020.)

How different the past few months would have been if more of us had honored physicians by listening to them about masks and safe-distancing. How quicker this difficult time will be over if we don’t “despise” the vaccine. 

Ben Sira believed the work of physicians and their medicines “glorified” God. Many have been praying for this difficult time to be over. Perhaps the answer to those prayers is coming through the touch of a needle.

A Lamb's Tale

I posted this story/sermon several years ago.  Someone who heard the original presentation recalled it just before we left Ohio, saying their family often read it at Christmas time. The story has no references to politics or pandemics; it is a simple exercise of my imagination. For that reason, I've decided to post it once again. I hope it blesses you.

The sun was beginning to peer over the mountains near Bethlehem.  Soon, its warmth would overcome the chill of the night.  Still, it was too early for breakfast.  No one wanted to stumble around in the dark.  When Nathan began to sing, they would know it was safe to begin eating.   For now, everyone was still asleep or, at least, trying to sleep. 

Jake was groaning and his legs were kicking the air.  Mostly, they were kicking the air.  Occasionally, he would kick Eli who was sleeping next to him. 

“Jake, Jake,” Eli whispered, “wake up.  You’re having a bad dream.”

Trembling, Jake muttered something about “Dogs” and Eli said, “There are no dogs.  We’re all safe.  Nathan is with us.”    Jake settled down and went back to a quiet sleep.

As sheep go, Jake was not especially brave, which is to say he was not brave at all. 

But he was the oldest sheep in the flock and was much loved by all the other sheep, particularly by his friends Eli, Zeb, Faith, and Hope.  They all understood why his eyes grew wide and his knees began to shake when he heard the distant sound of dogs barking. 

They would remind him that he was not alone and that they had a good shepherd, Nathan, who would protect them.  Of course, Jake knew this but he could remember when Nathan was not so good a shepherd.

Jake had been born into a very special flock.  He was part of the flock of sheep that provided sacrifices for the temple in Jerusalem, which was only four miles from Bethlehem.  There were many sheep on the hills of Judea but only a few perfect enough to be offered in worship to God.  It was a great honor to be among those taken to the temple.  Of course, Jake didn’t really know what that meant but he knew it must mean he was very special.

While Jake was still a lamb, a new shepherd began to help take care of the flock.  His name was Nathan and he was the young nephew of the chief shepherd.  He had finally reached the age when he was expected to help with the sheep.  Nathan’s father had his own flock and Nathan’s older brother helped watch them.  Nathan’s uncle, who cared for the temple sheep, had no sons so Nathan’s father sent him to help his uncle.

Nathan didn’t want to help with his uncle’s sheep, or anyone’s sheep for that matter.  His other friends were still young enough to stay in Bethlehem and play during the day.  They didn’t have to sit on the rocky hillside and watch sheep eat grass.  They didn’t have to listen to the old men tell stories of Israel’s glory days before the Romans came.  Of course, none of them could remember what life was like before the Romans but they just knew it had to be better.  It was boring. 

Then, one day, Nathan’s uncle twisted his ankle while he was looking for a lamb that had strayed.  He needed to stay home and rest for a couple days.    So, he told Nathan he would have to work alone for those two days.  The first day went by slowly.  Not a single sheep strayed.  Nothing happened to break the monotony.  The next day started out just the same.   

About mid-morning, Nathan heard his name being called.  He looked down the hill toward a nearby stream and saw his friends.  They had come out from Bethlehem to see him.  He was so happy.  They asked how he liked being a shepherd.  He told them his uncle was very strict, which they believed.  He told them he and his uncle had had chased several bands of thieves, which they did not believe.  Then someone suggested they play a game of “David and Goliath.”  In this game, each boy tried to see how far he could hurl a stone with his sling.  Nathan was always very good at this game so he quickly agreed it was a good idea.

After playing several games, they began to wade in the stream to find more stones.  Nathan completely forgot about the sheep.

Jake saw Nathan wander away but didn’t worry.  He was young and knew nothing of the dangers sheep could face.  He just continued to munch away at the sweet grass.  After a long while, he heard the other sheep begin to bleat loudly.  They were all running toward him and before he could move they had bowled him over, leaving him by himself.  As he got back onto his feet, he looked up to see a pack of wild dogs bearing down on him. 

Almost instinctively, Jake knew he couldn’t outrun them so he looked for a place to hide.  Several rocks were piled up next to a large boulder, forming a kind of shelter.  Just ahead of the dogs, Jake squeezed between two of the rocks out of harms’ way. 

One of the dogs pushed his head into the opening trying to reach Jake.  He couldn’t reach the little lamb but Jake could feel his hot breath each time the dog’s jaws snapped.  Then one of the rocks moved and the dog got closer.  Jake had no place to run so he closed his eyes and waited.  The dog snapped at him once, twice, three times, missing each time.  Then Jake felt a fiery hot pain in his right ear.  The dog had bitten Jake’s ear.  Jake waited to be bitten again but, instead, he heard the dog yelp.  Then the dogs were gone.

Nathan had finally heard the commotion and came running.  He used his sling to chase the dogs away.  Hearing Nathan call him, Jake stumbled out of hiding.  His face and side were streaked with blood from his torn ear.  Nathan didn’t know what to do.

Meanwhile, Nathan’s friends had hurried to the pasture where Nathan’s father and brother kept their sheep.  They told them what had happened and Nathan’s father rushed to his younger son.

To his credit, Nathan admitted that he had allowed his friends to distract him and that he had left the sheep alone.  “You’ll have to tell your uncle what happened,” his father told him, “but right now we have to look after this little one.”

They bathed Jake’s ear and put some tar on the cut to stop the bleeding.  By then, it was time to lead the sheep back to the uncle’s house where the sheep would spend the night in the barn. 

Nathan’s uncle was angry and said he would never let him help again.   He could not be trusted.  Ashamed, Nathan went outside to wait while his father talked with his brother-in-law.  When Nathan’s father came out of the house, he was carrying Jake.

He handed the still trembling lamb to Nathan and said, “He’s yours to look after now.  Your uncle can’t use him.  Only perfect lambs may be used in the temple and his torn ear means he is useless as a sacrifice.  I’ve bought him for our flock.  Every time you see this sheep with the torn ear, you’re going to remember that you must never leave the sheep alone.  Do you understand that now?”

“Yes, Father,” Nathan said, as he took Jake and held him close.

Jake had remained close to Nathan ever since.  And Nathan had become a good shepherd.  He would never leave his sheep alone.  Despite what his uncle said, he could be trusted.

But, still, Jake was afraid.  Always afraid.  As the years passed, each time he heard a dog bark, even in the distance, he began to tremble and tried to get closer to Nathan. 

And, he had heard dogs bark often in the past few days.  For some reason, many strangers were traveling to Bethlehem.

“Whatcha think is happening,” Zeb asked.  Zeb was a young sheep who as sheep go, wasn’t very bright.  Which is to say he wasn’t very bright at all.

Eli said, “What do you think is happening Zeb?”  Eli, who was older than many sheep in the flock but not as old as Jake, liked to help look after the younger sheep.  He liked to help them learn.

Zeb answered, “Well, I think someone changed the road sign.  All those people going to Bethlehem are lost.  Why else would so many people go to Bethlehem?  Bethlehem’s just not that important.”

“Zeb!  What do you mean Bethlehem’s not important,” cried Faith, a very thoughtful young ewe.  “Bethlehem is the ‘city of David,’ the city where David the king grew up.  Why David may have tended sheep on this very hill when he was a boy.”

“Oh,” said Zeb, “but why are so many coming to Bethlehem right now?  I could be wrong, but I think David was born before I was.”

“Zeb,” Eli snapped, “It’s not nice to be sarcas….  Never mind, you’re not being sarcastic.  I’m not sure why so many are coming to Bethlehem but maybe Hope knows.  She often hears things.”

So, the four of them—Jake, Eli, Zeb, and Faith—looked around for Hope.  Finally, they saw her several yards away, her snowy coat glistening in the morning sun.

“I think I did hear something,” she said after they had explained their mission.  “I overheard some of the shepherds talking to Nathan.  They said the Romans were collecting taxes again and wanted everyone to return to their hometowns to pay them.  These people have all come from Bethlehem.”

“So, that’s all there is to it, then,” said Jake.  “Nothing more important than taxes.  We should’ve guessed.”

“I don’t know,” Hope said, “I have a feeling something very important is going to happen in Bethlehem very soon.”

“You know,” added Faith, “I overheard Nathan and his father talking about something they heard in the synagogue.  They said the prophet Micah promised the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem.”

“The Messiah?  Who’s the Messiah,” asked Jake.

“Jake, don’t you ever listen to Nathan when he sings those beautiful psalms,” asked Faith.

“I listen for dogs,” Jake said simply.

Eli took a deep breath and said, “Jake, have you ever noticed the world is not what it ought to be?  Why would a good God make a world where there is cruelty, death, and pain?”

Jake said, “I don’t know.  It seems like God would make a perfect world but this world sure isn’t perfect.”

“Well, Jake, God did make a perfect world,” Eli continued, “but people messed it up—for all of us.”

“I thought something had happened,” said Zeb.

“Shhh, Zeb,” said Hope, “let Eli talk.”

“No, that’s okay.  Like Zeb, most of us know something has happened.  It happened a long time ago, way back when things were as they were meant to be.  Then, the first man and woman disobeyed God.  The world changed after that.”

Jake asked, “Aren’t there still some good people?”

“Oh, there are people you would rather have as your shepherds than others,” Eli answered, “but no one is what God wants them to be.  One of the old writers said it in a way all of us should understand.  He said, ‘We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost.  We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way.’  Because we’ve all gone our own way instead of God’s way, the whole world is a mess.”

“Sounds hopeless,” Jake said.  “But don’t some say this is just the way the world is and that there is no God?”

 “If there’s no God, where does the grass come from, the water, the stars we see at night, the trees that give us shade,” Zeb blurted out.

“Zeb,  those are really good questions.  Most of us look around and can’t believe all this just happened,” Eli said.  “Jake, it would be hopeless if humans had to fix the problem themselves.  They don’t.  God promised to send someone to fix it.  This someone is the Messiah.  He’s been described in many ways but since I don’t read I can only say what I’ve heard the shepherds talk about.”

“Tell us,” Hope and Faith said together.

“They said he would be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, and Prince of Peace.  They even said he would be the Lion of the Tribe of Judah.”

“Lion,” gasped Jake, “that sounds pretty scary.”

“Maybe,” Eli said, “but one writer also said he would be like ‘Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered.’  You know, like the lambs we see taken to the temple.”

“You mean he would be a perfect lamb,” Jake said.

“Right, a perfect lamb,” Eli said.

“But not just a lamb,” said Faith, “some of the songs Nathan sings describe him in other ways.  I like the one that begins, ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’”

“I like songs,” said Zeb, “I want to learn to play the drum that Nathan’s little brother Andrew  brings with him so I can sing.”

“The drum?  Why the drum,” asked Faith.

“It would be easier than the harp,” Zeb answered.  The others continued talking as Zeb wandered away. 

Jake asked, “So, this Messiah is going to be both a Lamb and a Shepherd?”

“That’s right,” said Eli, “because people need a shepherd to lead them back to God.”

“Why do they need a Lamb,” asked Hope.

“Well,” Eli said, “people offer lambs at the temple so their sins may be forgiven.  Maybe, that’s what the old writer meant when he said, God’s ‘plan was that the Messiah give himself as an offering for sin so that he’d see life come from it.’  I think that means the Messiah is going to give people back the life they lost when they disobeyed God.”

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from over the hill where the shepherds’ tent was pitched.  A moment later Zeb came over the hill.    He had a drum around his neck like a collar.  His head had broken through both sides.

“Zeb,” cried Hope, “what did you do?”

“I was trying to play Andrew’s drum,” Zeb said, sheepishly.

“Oh, Zeb,” his four friends said together.

Later that night, as the sheep lay under the starry sky, Jake whispered, “Eli, are you awake?  Eli, are you awake?”

“Yes, but only because someone asked me if I was awake,” his friend answered.

Jake said, “I’m sorry but I have a question.”

“It’s okay, Jake,” Eli said, “what’s your question?”

“Well, you know I was going to be a lamb offered at the temple,” Jake said, “then… well you know what happened.”

“Sure, I know,” said Eli.

“Well, if there are always plenty of perfect lambs, why does the Messiah have to be a Perfect Lamb?  Aren’t the others enough,” Jake asked.

“I’m not sure, Jake,” Eli said, “but I’ve thought about it.  What if those lambs—lambs like you were going to be—weren’t really perfect enough?  Maybe that’s why there are so many of them.”

“What do you mean,” Jake said.

Eli paused a moment and then said, “What if the Messiah is going to be the Truly Perfect Lamb, the final lamb, so there will never have to be another sacrifice.  What if the Messiah is going to take the sins of everyone on himself, so everyone can be forgiven?”

Deeply puzzled, Jake asked, “Do you think that’s even possible?”

“It is if God says it’s possible,” Eli answered, “And the old writer said the Messiah would carry the sins of everyone.  Everyone, Jake, everyone.  That sounds like a Truly Perfect Lamb to me.”

At that moment, a light showed down on the hill, a light brighter than the brightest day.  In the sky was a strange creature, both beautiful and terrifying.  Jake was afraid, but so were all the sheep.  Even the shepherds were afraid.  The creature began to speak.

"Don't be afraid!

"I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people.   The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David!   And you will recognize him by this sign: You will find a baby wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger."

Then many other creatures appeared in the sky alongside the first.  These creatures said

"Glory to God in highest heaven,
  and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased."

Then they were gone.

The shepherds all began talking at once.  Nathan’s father said, “We have to go to Bethlehem to see this baby they were talking about.”  So, they started out toward the city with Nathan and Andrew walking behind. 

Andrew said, “I’d play my drum for the baby but someone broke it.”

As Zeb looked at the ground, Nathan said, “I’m sorry about your drum but whoever heard of playing a drum for a baby? You’d scare him.”

As the shepherds disappeared over the hill, Jake said, “I can’t believe it.  They left us. ”

“It will be okay, Jake,” said Faith.

“Right,” said Hope, “I think those were angels.”

“I’ve heard of angels,” said Zeb, “I don’t know what they are but I’ve heard of them.”

“Angels are God’s special messengers,” explained Eli.  “God sends them to let people know when something special is happening.”

“I just knew something special was about to happen,” Hope said.

“If something special is happening, I want to see it,” Jake said calmly.

“What do you mean,” Eli asked.

“I mean I want to go to Bethlehem, too.  That’s what I meant when I said they left us.  We should be going with them.   I want to see what this is all about.  I want to see this Messiah,” Jake told them.

“But we can’t,” said Faith.

“No, we can’t,” added Hope, “we’re just sheep.”

“I’m going,” Jake said firmly.

“And, and, I’m going with him,” Zeb said.

Eli looked at Faith and Hope.  All three gently nodded and then Eli said, “We’re all going.”

The friends set out toward Bethlehem, crossing the hills toward the lights of the little town.

Once they got there, they had no idea where they should go.  So they hid in the shadows to talk about what they should do.  Faith said, “The angel said the baby would be lying in a manger.  Aren’t mangers in barns?”

“Yeah,” Zeb said, “but a barn is a funny place for a baby.”

“It is,” said Eli, “but that’s what the angel said.  Now we just have to decide what barn. “

Just then, Jake who was very tired from their journey said, “Listen.  Is that Nathan’s voice?  It’s coming from just down the street.”

They wandered a short distance down the narrow street until they came to an inn.  Behind the building, they saw light coming from a small barn and could hear Nathan’s voice more clearly.   He was telling someone about the angels who had appeared to the shepherds.

The five friends crept closer, staying in the shadows beyond the circle of light from the barn so they wouldn’t be seen.  However, they soon realized they weren’t alone.  A donkey, a cow, a chicken stood in the shadows with them.  All were looking at the scene before them.

A very young woman lay on the hay next to a manger where a newborn baby was quietly sleeping.  Standing over them, as if to protect them, was a man who looked lovingly at both of them.  Nathan, Andrew, their father, and the other shepherds were sitting on the ground before the manger.  Nathan had finished his story and the shepherds were looking at the baby with awe and wonder.

Zeb crept closer to see better.  Two doves sat on the ground next to him, unafraid of the youngster.  Zeb occasionally glanced back at his friends to make sure they were still there.

Other animals joined them in the shadows.  Jake could see the ears of another donkey as it looked around the corner of the Inn.  But Jake paid little attention to the other animals.  He couldn’t keep his eyes off this special family.

At one point, Zeb looked back, his eyes grew large, and he whispered, “Guys, guys.”

“Shush,” said Eli, “you’ll wake the baby.”

Zeb blinked a couple times and dutifully turned back around.

After a while, the moonlight threatened to flood the little courtyard.

 “We have to go,” Eli said.

“I hate to leave such a beautiful baby,” said Faith.

“Me, too,” added Hope.

“I wish we could stay longer,” Jake said simply.

“We all want to stay, but we have to get back before the shepherds see us,” Eli said firmly.

“That is truly a beautiful baby,” said a deep voice none of them recognized.

Jake realized the voice had come from whatever animal had quietly sat down next to him.  He turned to the stranger and saw the largest dog he had ever seen.

Faith, Eli, and Hope held their breath.  Zeb whispered, “I tried to tell you.”

Jake looked at the dog and said, “I’m Jake.  I’m a sheep.”

“I thought as much,” said the dog, “but I think we had better get back to the street before any of us are seen.”

So, the five sheep and the very large dog went back to the street where they stood for a moment. 

“I have to be going,” the dog said, “my master is a Roman soldier.  He brought me from Egypt—my ancestors hunted lions there.  I haven’t been here long but long enough to know that no one likes Romans…or their dogs.”

“We have to go also,” said Eli and then he added, “Jake we have to hurry.  Will that be okay?”

Zeb whispered to the dog, “Jake is a little older.  The trip was hard for him.”

The dog announced, “Then, I have an idea.”

Most people were asleep in the little town of Bethlehem that night.  Most of those who weren’t were looking at a tiny baby born in a barn.  But, if others chanced to peer out their windows, they might have witnessed another unusual sight.  They might have seen four sheep and a very large dog briskly walking together toward the hill country.  And, riding on the back of that very large dog, they would have seen another sheep.  A very calm, serene sheep.

With the dog’s help, the five friends arrived back at their pasture before the shepherds returned.  The dog quickly bid them farewell and began loping back to Bethlehem.  He ran with such speed and strength that none of those watching doubted that his ancestors could have hunted lions.

Though they had slept very little, the sheep were not ready to settle down.  So, Eli called them around and asked, “What do you think everything we saw tonight means?”

Faith answered, “I think it means God keeps his promises.”

Hope added, “I think things will never be the same and I don’t say that just because Jake rode on the back of a dog.  I mean everything will be different.”

“I felt love was all around,” said Zeb, “love for everyone.  And, now don’t laugh, but I also thought that maybe the day will come when dogs will help take care of sheep.”

Faith and Hope giggled.  Zeb just grinned and shrugged.

“Zeb, I don’t know where you get some of your ideas,” Eli chuckled and then asked, “What do you think, Jake?  What do you think about what we saw?”

Jake smiled as a gentle breeze lifted his torn ear, “Tonight, I think I saw a Truly Perfect Lamb.”

For Such a Time as This

    I’ve been attempting to read J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring. Somehow, I missed the entire saga of Middle Earth while an adolescent; and, later, after becoming a father, I never read the stories to the boys. I’m surprised how slow-moving the story seems.  I had expected swordplay and wizardry on every page. Still, during some of the quiet moments there are thought-provoking observations.

   Early in the story, the wizard Gandalf attempts to warn Frodo concerning the coming conflict with the powers of darkness, a conflict in which the somewhat timid Hobbit would play a key role. After Gandalf explains that the world had been moving toward this moment for a long time, Frodo says, “I wish it need not have happened in my time.”

   To this the wizard responds. “So do I and so do all who live to see such times. But it is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

   As Christmas and the new year approaches some of us may wish all the stressful events of 2020 “need not have happened” in our time. But they did; indeed, these times have not yet passed.

   Timing plays such a crucial role in some Bible stories that some insist there is no such thing as coincidence, that everything we experience is God-directed, coming in God’s timing. Even Albert Einstein reputedly said, “Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.”

   And, of course, as we reflect on this Advent season, there is no clearer recognition of events occurring in God’s timing than the birth of Christ. Paul puts it plaining to the Galatians, “But when the appropriate time had come, God sent out his Son….” (Galatians 4:4)

   On one level, it might seem Christ’s birth could not have come at a worse time. Palestine was under the heel of the Romans and the local ruler Herod was a cruel, paranoid despot. 

   Yet, in other ways, Christians have long marveled at the timing of the first Christmas. The empire was experiencing a period of great peace, a peace lasting until well after the gospel began to spread beyond the boundaries of the Jewish nation. The Romans had built a road system that made possible relatively quick travel throughout the empire. The same roads that allowed soldiers and royal messengers to travel from place to place, would allow missionaries to do the same. The Roman laws would—for a while, at least—protect the rights of the new Christians. And, evidence suggests, the masses were spiritually hungry, tired of the false promises of their gods. 

   As Paul said, “the time was right.”

   But I first applied Tolkien’s words to the pandemic. Why must you and I experience this stressful time? 

   There are those who think they know. God sent the pandemic to punish us for such things as abortion, same-sex marriage, and even genderless bathrooms. When I hear earthquakes, hurricanes, tornados, famines, pandemics, and so forth interpreted as God’s judgment I always wonder how those making such claims can possibly know. And, frankly, I also wonder why, if God does use such “natural” disasters to punish us sinners, He hasn’t sent such chastisements for our chronic racism, our indifference to millions who are hungry or denied adequate health care, our addiction to violence. Too often fiery jeremiads are shaped by the personal tastes of the doomsayer. 

   So, is the pandemic God’s judgement on America? (Yes, I know the pandemic is a worldwide phenomenon, but I’m just echoing the typical prophet’s perspective.) I don’t have enough information to answer that question. I don’t know anyone who does, whether television evangelist or seminary president. Indeed, Christianity’s reputation has often been hurt by those who speak as if they know more than they could possibly know.

   My friends who are more committed than I to Geneva’s famous son John Calvin may disagree, but I believe God grants us a great deal of freedom, that every moment in human history was not planned in advance—please note, this does not mean God ever says, “Well, I didn’t see that coming.” Nor does it mean anything we, as humans, may do in exercising our freedom can thwart God’s plans. It does mean the results of exercising our freedom are on us; thus, if we ignore the best counsel of those who understand the dynamics of disease, we can’t say, “God made me sick,” either to justify rage at heaven or to piously suggest God must have some purpose. As a pastor, I often struggled to comfort those who, having experienced some tragedy, were told to accept the experience as God’s will.  In fact, I don’t know how any pastor can say to a hurting church member, “Your child’s death was God’s will,” or “God has a purpose in your being assaulted in your home.” The older I became, the less likely I would endorse such theology.

   On a larger scale, God allowing us a degree of freedom may mean we need not try to reconcile God putting a narcissistic, hedonist in the White House after one election and an alleged socialist in the White House after the next election. Indeed, I recently opined God may not care who wins the U.S. presidential election; but, having said that, I’m not entirely sure I agree with me. Of course, when we begin trying to explain the mystery of providence we are tempted to digress, not to mention to pretend to know more than we can possibly know. 

   Instead, let me suggest what we might “do with the time that is given us.” There will be nothing profound here, but maybe it’s a chance to reflect and the new year approaches.

   Perhaps we can use this time to realize how important our relationships are. I’ve always been able to go into a café or restaurant, order something, and eat with a book propped in front of me. I don’t need a lunch or dinner companion. Yet, I know people who will skip lunch rather than eat alone. During the pandemic I’ve come to see how important that hour or so I used to spend each week eating with a group of fellow pastors was to my mental and emotional well-being. Zooming has helped but when the pandemic is over—and it will be over—I hope we all are more intentional about maintaining friendships.

   Perhaps we can use this time to model good behavior. This is a straight-forward observation with no intention to stereotype or offend: Back in Ohio, well before the pandemic, I often saw men and women wearing surgical masks in public (often they were Asian). I remember thinking they were afraid of catching a cold or the flu. Instead, a little research told me how in some cultures, people are very concerned lest they spread their cold or flu to others. So, these good folk wear masks to limit that possibility. Too many people are still refusing to wear masks. They use all sorts of excuses, from masks being unconstitutional to their supposedly impeding breathing to their being an insult to God. Why can’t we understand that we wear masks, not just to protect ourselves, but to protect others? Why can’t we allow ourselves to be a little inconvenienced for the greater good? Well, I know why. But so do you.

   Perhaps we can use this time to expand our knowledge and understanding. I’ve been surprised at how much reading I’ve been able to do since I’ve been unable to go to bookstores; indeed, I’ve been reading some of the books I bought in those stores and just put on the shelf. I’ve read books I might not have ordinarily read, books like a history of candy in America and, keeping other events in mind, three books on racism. When the pandemic is over—and it will be over—maybe I will have a better understanding of what has been called “America’s sin.” Don’t misunderstand, I often succumb to the temptation to binge watch TV, even those programs I’ve already seen. But, still, reading may help us get through this “time” we wish had not happened during our time. 

   Perhaps we can use this time to prepare to get back to church.  I’ve spent my life around people who go to church. For some, that weekly church experience is their only contact with others, with men and women who will give them a smile and not demand something from them. So, I can understand people wanting to be in church even if it threatened their health. I regret some church leaders haven’t done more to help their people stay safe, to maintain contact without putting themselves in danger, to help them hold on to the hope that one day the church doors will reopen.

   I can’t help but imagine that at least some of those walking back through those doors will want something different.

   As I envision an ideal post-pandemic encounter between clergy and laity, I’d hope to hear some church members say to their pastors.

--Your “feel-good” sermons didn’t prepare us for this; give us more depth.

--The strobe-lighted, concert-style worship services excite our emotions, but those emotions dissipate before we get back to our cars—we want something that exalts God, something that says the situation is not out of control.

--We don’t need celebrity preachers or singers; that money can be used to deal with practical needs in our community.

--Your refusal to censure your colleagues who scoffed at the virus and insisted their congregations meet, makes you an accessory to their foolishness and callous indifference to the health of their people. Risk criticism; say something.

--Your politics-infused activities hurt our witness and further polarizes an already divided nation; it’s time you preachers get back to eternal issues, time to lay aside political differences and unite behind the gospel.

--And, really, wear a tie once in a while. You’re balding and your kids are in high school: the 60s-youth-leader look no longer suits you. (Is that just mean?)

   It is almost Christmas. This year it will be different for most of us. Still, I hope it will be a “time” when you feel blessed by God’s love.

Don't Get Cornered

 The following essay contains language that may be upsetting to children and sensitive adults, especially those concerned about the welfare of unhygienic, destructive rodents.

    Krissy, a four-year-old Australian Kelpie mix, joined our household a few weeks ago. The very first week she saw a Norway rat in the corner of the yard. She quickly dispatched it and brought “the gift” to us. A few days later she caught another, and then a couple days after that, she caught a third—both in the same corner as the first. Then, suddenly the rats were gone. (sounds like the cheesy title of a hard-boiled mystery or film noir.) Perhaps she had eliminated the entire family, or the Rattus norvegicus were smart enough to move to yards without predators. Perhaps, we’ve reason to wonder about Krissy’s status as a representative of the “extremely intelligent” herding dogs from Australia’s sheep country.

    In the weeks since her successes, Krissy has lain with her nose pointed toward the corner, waiting and waiting. She even awakened us in the middle of the night, not to use the use the bathroom, but to check the corner. At 4:15 am, you only hear the owls and an occasional coyote. I’m pretty sure they were laughing. Still, though Krissy misses the opportunity to chase a ball or just run around with abandon, I suppose it doesn’t hurt anything for her to spend time with her nose pointed at the corner.

    We’re a little like Krissy: We embrace things that give us joy and satisfaction, especially during the Christmas season. Some of us enjoy shopping. Even those who aren’t big on shopping the rest of the year may enjoy looking for just the right gift for a granddaughter or grandson, then triumphantly joining other “shoppers rush[ing] home with their treasures.”  Some of us enjoy eating out with friends during the holidays; back in Ohio, no matter how busy we were, we usually made time to meet friends at a favorite (not necessarily “fancy”) restaurant to eat, reminisce, and laugh—we reserved the trip to the fancy restaurant to take our son and daughter-in-law out. Of course, the American Christmas season is also a time for travel, a time when, as the song says, “the traffic is terrific” (perhaps the songwriter had in mind the word’s archaic meaning: “causing terror”). We didn’t always get to see our geographically extended family at Christmas (either we couldn’t travel, or they couldn’t); but when we did, we loved being together and seeing Grandson open his gifts. And, of course, Christmas is a time for church. Many who don’t go to church during the rest of the year, will go to sit in a festively decorated sanctuary and hear a cantata recount the story of God’s Gift of Love being born in an insignificant little village in a backwater of the Roman Empire. During our years in Ohio, Christmas Eve services were always special, with the songs and tidbits of verse the children had memorized, and, maybe, a member recalling a Christmas years ago.

    But this season—this pandemic season—each of these activities is dangerous.  Yet, many will still go shopping, still eat out in crowded restaurants, still go shopping, still travel, still go to church. We’re like Krissy. Krissy sometimes seems so focused on what once gave her joy and satisfaction, she is unable to imagine finding satisfaction and joy from another source. Medical experts are concerned about this holiday season because they just know Americans won’t stay home, won’t deny themselves. I hope they’re wrong. But we’re quite capable of fooling ourselves, of coming up with strange justifications for our behavior. Over 50% of French anti-maskers claimed masks are a Zionist plot. A shameful excuse, we all agree, or we once would have. A sizeable number of anti-maskers in Florida claim masks thwart God’s will, the rationale being God wants us to breathe, masks prevent that; medically, those Floridians are using the wrong masks, theologically, they have a somewhat limited view of the Almighty. 

    It’s one thing to invoke bad theology to defend a personal decision (if God had wanted us to read, he wouldn’t have given us Netflix), but it is an entirely different matter to endanger others by our behavior.  The town council of a small community in Missouri voted against requiring face masks and other safety measures. Not long after, a thirteen-year-old middle-school girl in the town died from COVID-19, making her Missouri’s youngest victim at the time. A council member, whose daughter went to school with the thirteen-year-old, changed his vote; as a consequence, the measure now passed. 

    Krissy’s corner-watching activity hurts no one; foolishly insisting on doing what we’ve always enjoyed doing at Christmas could put lives at risk. Yours, the customer at the next table, the worshipper in an adjacent pew, your grandchild.

    Recently, Krissy has been getting satisfaction guarding the containers of sunflower seeds hanging from the deck, keeping them safe from birds that are intent on stealing their precious contents. From time to time, she still looks longingly at the corner, but she’s learned other activities can give her a sense of purpose, even joy.

    Someday, it will again be safe to shop, safe to go to church, safe to eat out, safe to travel. Until then, let’s think about others—and ourselves. Until then, let’s try to be as creative as an adopted Kelpie.

". . . and statistics."

Herb was urging members of the Church Council to add funds for a neighborhood Vacation Bible School to the church’s evangelism budget. The past summer, Herb and his wife Gena had persuaded the church to approve a special allocation for the effort to reach out to children living a few miles from the church. With the church paying for flyers and supplies, Gena recruited three other church-members (not including Herb) to help her conduct the school, which met at a park in the affluent neighborhood. Gena taught Bible lessons and provided music for the children; the others helped with crafts. After describing what he and Gena had in mind for the upcoming summer, Herb concluded by reminding us of how successful their experiment had been: “From Monday to Friday of that week, attendance increased by twenty-five percent.”

But a few of us on the council were privy to the raw numbers. On Monday, three neighborhood children attended; on Friday, and only on Friday, attendance rose to four children. I don’t recall anyone mentioning the small attendance; still, the Council felt the effort was not an efficient use of time and resources.

Several essays in Evangelicals: Who They Have Been, Are Now, and Could Be (2019), suggest the mere mention of “81%” generates a frisson of outrage among some evangelicals. (I have friends who have the same response.) Of course, the percentage refers to the evangelicals who voted for Donald Trump in 2016. Those who are so outraged at their fellow evangelicals cannot imagine any justification for voting for such a reprehensible human. Maybe they are right. But I wonder if we will ever know. 

In the same book, one editor comments on efforts to explain the 81%: “…even the best cannot explain everything that was pertinent—for example, how much of the 81 percent represented votes against Hillary Clinton more than for Donald Trump.” Well, why not find out? Pollsters and other researchers believe they can tell us within a point or two the percentage of Americans who have cold pizza for breakfast on Mondays. Why not ask, “Was your vote for Trump really a vote against Clinton?”

Michael Hamilton quotes InterVarsity Press’s Dan Reid who exclaimed, “How can Trump have gotten eighty-one percent? I don’t know a single person at IVP who voted for Trump!” One wonders if Hamilton asked, “How many of your co-workers voted for George W. Bush? How many voted for the McCain/Palin ticket?” Are evangelical academics and elites too far removed from the evangelical laborer who thought Trump would be more likely than Clinton to pursue policies that would keep the factory where he worked in this country?

Some writers, though seeming to present themselves as dispassionate analysts, could not keep their anger at bay. Again, consider Hamilton’s mocking comment on James Dobson’s switching his support from Ted Cruz to Trump. “Dobson,” Hamilton says, “helped invent and promote the fiction that Trump had recently and miraculously had a conversion experience. Trump was now—praise the Lord! —'a baby Christian.’” (Emphasis added.) For a contributor to a book that spends so many pages discussing the Bebbington Quadrilateral, such a disparaging attitude toward conversion is ironic. Yes, in some of my earlier essays I have expressed doubt about Trump’s conversion, but I have never invoked the Lord’s name to deny the possibility. (I stopped listening to Dobson long ago but not because I thought him an opportunistic liar.)

In the past few years, I’ve read some pointed books on the shocking alliance between Trump and “the eighty-one percent,” books like the compendium Still Evangelical? (edited by Mark Labberton) and John Fea’s Believe Me. Each of these books begins with the assumption, evangelicals should not have voted for Donald Trump. Some of these books offer to explain why so many benighted evangelicals did just that. Perhaps four years is still too close to the election for a thoughtful book presenting both sides to appear, too soon for those still angry at Clinton’s unexpected loss to realize those who voted for Trump may have prayed about their votes, just as they did; may have given careful thought to their vote, just as they did; may have wished they had another choice, just as I’m sure some who voted for Clinton did (come on, some of you Democrats know you harbored that wish).  

Herb and Gena knew their project had failed, knew most of the children in the targeted neighborhood were already on some church’s roll, knew cautious parents would not send their children off to be taught religion by strangers who offered snacks, yet they persisted, perhaps because they wished to embrace a “missional” lifestyle or because they remembered the good old days when children attended VBSs in droves. Whatever the reason, Herb used statistics to try to make his case, hoping that fellow Council members would say, “Wow, a 25% increase! Let’s do it.”

I may be wrong, but I wonder if some evangelical writers, still angry at the outcome of the 2016 election, are using statistics to justify calling other evangelicals (theoretically their spiritual siblings) racists, misogynists, and worse. And conservatives are accused of libeling their enemies! Indeed, their characterization of the 81% might tempt us to believe there really isn’t much to the evangel “those” evangelicals talk about, much reason to believe their conversions implanted a new heart, much reason to believe they even read the Bible, much reason to believe the cross accomplished its purpose (at least for them), much reason to believe their activism is anything but self-centered, much reason to believe the 19% don’t imagine themselves the true “Gospel People.” 

As I began work on my doctorate, I took a required course on statistics. It gave me no special expertise, but I know statistics can be a valuable tool for scholars trying to understand the past and the present. But just as so useful a tool as a hammer can be used to bludgeon an enemy, statistics can be used to mask an agenda. About the time I took the course, I came across a statement attributed to Mark Twain (but actually anonymous): “There are lies, d-----d lies, and statistics.” I know people who voted for Trump: I know they give generously to food banks, have friends who don’t look like them, and respect women. I don’t care what the numbers say.

I’m waiting to see a collection of essays, compiled by an editor who didn’t vote for Trump and one who did. For that matter, I’m waiting to see if those who voted for Joe Biden will listen to the new president and stop demonizing those who disagree with them. (So far, it seems they missed that line in his acceptance speech.) 

By the way, not that it matters, I followed John Piper and sat this presidential election out. That’s likely the only time I’ve agreed with Piper. But I digress.

An Old Prayer We Need Today

      Sorting through the boxes of books I brought from Ohio to Texas, I unpacked a slender volume a friend gave me a few years ago. It’s a collection of prayers by Reverend Peter Marshall, onetime pastor of Washington D.C.’s New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, and more famous as the chaplain of the United States Senate from 1947 until his sudden death on 26 January 1949, at the age of forty-six. Many testimonials suggest Marshall, a man of delightful wit, practical faith, and unobtrusive piety was loved by the senators. His final prayer, written just hours before his death, was read to the Senate by the Reverend Dr. Clarence Cranford on 27 January 1949. 

   It was just a week after President Harry Truman’s inauguration. The Missourian had defeated Thomas E. Dewey the previous November in a victory that surprised many. The outcome was forever memorialized in the iconic photo of the victorious Truman holding a copy of the Chicago Daily Tribune bearing the headline, “Dewey Defeats Truman.” Biographers say Dewey would seldom mention the 1948 election, though he apparently believed his failure to pursue a more aggressive campaign, in which he answered Truman’s false portrayal of the republican’s political philosophy, had helped cost him the election.

   Three months after Truman’s re-election, many were still disappointed Dewey had lost. In this context, Marshall produced his final prayer for the Senate. The prayer opens with these words:

Deliver us, our Father, from futile hopes and from clinging to lost causes, that we may move into ever-growing calm and ever-widening horizons.

   We may never know all Marshall had in mind in his prayer, but I can imagine he envisioned the disappointed voters accepting their loss and resolving to work with their former opponents as Americans who had shared in the remarkable process of choosing the nation’s leader, envisioned those from both sides eschewing name-calling and demonizing while learning to respect one another, and envisioned all Americans striving to move beyond the difficult days just past (the Depression and WWII). 

    Maybe we should offer such a prayer seventy years later.

Evangelicals and Trump, Again

 Because what I am about to say might confuse some, let me be clear: I did not vote for Donald Trump. I am an evangelical who feels evangelicals have had a bum rap for the past four years, and have been targeted by critics again the past few weeks. As will be clear, some began taking shots at evangelicals before the polls closed on November 3. There is no one explanation for why evangelicals in such large numbers voted for Trump in 2016. But, whatever the individual evangelical’s reason, I doubt it was because there is something intrinsically wrong with evangelicalism or because some 80% of evangelicals suddenly abandoned their faith. 

Beyond all his brutish behavior and boorish boasting over the past four years, the next ninety or so days may shape how we remember Donald Trump. I suspect many who profess fear the president won’t accept the results of the election, would really like to see him carried out of the White House like a puppy that soiled the carpet. And after that image has yielded all its laughs, they would continue to berate Trump, saying:

• He is racist (perhaps like Woodrow Wilson),

• He is a womanizer (perhaps on the order of Warren Harding or Bill Clinton),

• He is short-tempered and coarse (perhaps like Andrew Jackson or Harry Truman),

• He is a sore loser (perhaps like Theodore Roosevelt) 

• He panders to divisive elements in the nation (perhaps like James Buchanan).

A few historians might even recall he did what he said he would do—quickly adding that what he said he would do was wrong. But, for me, Trump may be most remembered as the man who threatened to ruin the reputation of evangelicalism.

On Election Day, a friend complained of how “80-90% of white evangelicals will vote for Trump and have no qualms about whether that conflicts with their worship of Jesus….” Young, he probably doesn’t realize it’s a bit presumptuous to claim to know the motives and the minds of millions of strangers. I know some of those evangelicals who voted for Trump in 2016, and to say they had “no qualms” is slander.

Actually, we don’t yet know how evangelicals voted on November 3. It may not matter, the anger about how they voted in 2016 hasn’t gone away. And probably won’t. Some will never forget Trump kept Hillary Clinton from returning to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, to be in charge this time.  But after four years of thinking about Trump’s election and his presidency, I have two observations. One is obvious, the other not so obvious: 

--That evangelicals helped elect Trump shouldn’t have been surprising.

--After helping elect Trump, evangelicals failed him.

Compelling Reasons

I suppose evangelicals who voted for Donald Trump are under no more obligation to explain their decision than Roman Catholics who vote for pro-choice candidates are obliged to explain their decision. Still, those who praise the latter group, have only contempt for the former. The evangelicals are painted as having abandoned the faith but not the Catholics, even though some may have voted while planning a CYA visit to the confessional just in case God is not as open-minded as their Newman Center director used to claim (CYA: Cinch Your Absolution).

The 2016 election was not the first instance evangelicals supported candidates whose positions didn’t reflect their values. In his acceptance speech, president-elect Biden mentioned how 1932 saw the advent of Franklin Roosevelt’s “New Deal.” Many Baptists and other evangelicals (called “fundamentalists” then) supported Roosevelt, despite his pledge to overturn prohibition and his seeming commitment to ideologies some found threatening. They heard the counsel of notorious Southern Baptist fundamentalist J. Frank Norris who, having seen the devastation the Depression was causing, brushed aside concerns about Roosevelt and said, “To Hell with your socialism, people are dying.” Teetotaler Baptists like Norris believed they had a compelling reason to overcome their natural inclinations and voted for the man who would reopen the saloons. Today, we don’t look back and call them hypocrites. (Note: As the Depression’s impact began to lessen, Norris raised his voice against FDR’s policies.)

Of course, Roman Catholic Joe Biden and Black Baptist Kamala Harris have supported reproductive rights and same-sex marriage, despite their traditions’ long opposition to abortion and support for “traditional” marriage. Biden and Harris have taken the stands they have taken because they found a compelling reason to do so. Only the most radical call them hypocrites. 

What compelling reasons did evangelicals have to vote for Trump in 2016? There were several. Despite his obvious lack of piety, Trump promised to protect religious rights. Though it may have garnered the most attention in the years before the election, the legal action against the Colorado bakers who refused, on religious grounds, to make a wedding cake for a same-sex couple was just one instance evangelicals perceived as a progressive government’s attempt to limit their rights. Then, too, Trump promised to use every opportunity to place conservatives or strict constitutionalists on the Supreme Court (the only hope anti-abortion evangelicals had of seeing Roe v. Wade overturned). The evolution of evangelicalism’s attitude toward abortion is complex and hardly without nuance, yet those who believe abortion a species of infanticide pursue every opportunity to see the practice ended. But the most compelling reason? Trump wasn’t Hillary Clinton.

While her apologists cannot see why anyone would object to the former Secretary of State being president, many Americans believe she (along with her husband) is thoroughly corrupt. Then, too, her words betrayed contempt for the ordinary people Trump attempted to address, who—rightly or wrongly—believed their jobs were threatened by the influx of those entering the country illegally. Instead of trying to calm the fears of such people, Clinton tossed them into a “basket of deplorables.” Van Jones’s passionate statement following Biden’s election has touched the hearts of millions of Americans, but don’t forget his reservations about the choices offered in 2016. The man who worked in the Obama White House and who was one of the few Democrats who believed Clinton could lose said, “You put Hillary Clinton up against Donald Trump, I’m scared by the choice no matter what you do.” Now, four years later, Trump may snatch from her head the crown as the nation’s sorest loser. But I digress. 

The Evangelical Failure

Jeremy Taylor, an eighteenth-century devotional writer whose influence on John Wesley (and, therefore, nascent evangelicalism) was great, summarized his understanding of a proper pastor’s responsibilities. The minister was to expend his energy “to preach to the weary, to comfort the sick, to assist the penitent, to reprove the confident, to strengthen weak hands and feeble knees…” If, as some evangelicals have claimed, Donald Trump is a “baby Christian,” he needs faithful pastoral ministry whether he lives in the White House or a penthouse (or the jailhouse, as some of his opponents fondly wish). But it seems certain those evangelicals closest to the president failed to truly “assist the penitent” and “reprove the confident.” The shameful sycophancy of evangelical leaders like William Graham and Robert Jeffress, coupled with Trump’s tendency to eviscerate any who might dare criticize him, permitted the president’s blind arrogance to put the nation’s health at risk, not to mention the damage his attitudes may have done America’s relationship with other nations.

To say or even imply a man with such conspicuous hubris was God’s anointed, was folly. Claiming any who might oppose Trump were under the influence of the demonic, as Eric Metaxas and Franklin Graham did, further compounded their failure to “reprove the confident.” Rather than help Trump see the value of civility and sitting down with one’s opponents to rationally and respectfully discuss differences, they were delighted by his name-calling, demeaning tweets. Such tweets, his admirers claimed, showed he was a real man.

As we might expect, Trump chose successful, celebrity Christians (both male and female) as his closest friends. Doubtless they enjoyed being invited to the White House and being featured in stories about the president’s evangelical coterie. Perhaps these leaders forgot how Billy Graham confessed he had been guilty of “crossing the line” in his relationships with the American presidents he called “friends.”  The evangelist believed he had been too uncritical, failing to acknowledge their flaws. 

Above all, these evangelical leaders failed to see the repercussions of their unqualified support for Trump. They forgot the warning of the late Charles Colson, a man who knew a little about politics and its temptations, “When the church aligns itself politically, it gives priority to the compromises and temporal successes of the political world rather than its Christian confession of eternal truth. And when the church gives up its rightful place as the conscience of the culture, the consequences for society can be horrific.”

These leaders not only failed Trump, they failed their evangelical brothers and sisters. Because of their failure, many are unable to differentiate the values of historic evangelicalism and the ideology of right-wing conservatism.

Ancillary Observations

Just as I was embarrassed by the fawning attitude of Trump’s evangelical supporters, I was disappointed by the conceit of those who were so above voting for such a flawed candidate they preferred renouncing the name “evangelical” rather than ask if somehow they had remained blind to their favorite’s flaws—and never, ever asked why so many of their spiritual siblings, including some famed for moral rectitude bordering on  priggishness, should feel compelled to vote for someone like Trump. In short, their devotion to Clinton seems no less uncritical than the devotion to Trump displayed by the scruffiest Proud Boy.

If those thinking of abandoning evangelicalism would listen, I would remind them of the rich history of the term “evangelical.” I would tell them of how Evangelicals were at the forefront of social change in 18th and 19th century Britain, of how American evangelicals like Katharine Bushnell passionately called for equality for women (in Bushnell’s case, basing her claims on a detailed, scholarly analysis of the Bible), of how evangelicals opened hospitals, orphanages, and schools in all the lands where they went as missionaries. I would warn them against a kind of pervasive American provincialism that infects the most liberal of us, reminding them that evangelicalism is a worldwide phenomenon, that William Graham and Jerry Falwell, Jr. are not representative of all evangelicals. In the recent book Evangelicals: Who They Have Been, Are Now, and Could Be (2019), Mark Noll, one of its authors, reminds us that “from a global perspective . . . the fate of evangelicalism depends on more than the ebb and flow of parochial American concerns.”

And, then, I might tell the young friend I quoted at the beginning about another friend of mine. Will, a fellow pastor and a man with strong opinions, knew more about contemporary American politics than anyone I have ever known, before or since. Shortly before his death a few years ago, Will began to insist “no Christian could vote Democrat.” In this opinion he was immovable. Doubtless my young friend, a committed Christian and a Democrat, would be incensed. He might even tweet his outrage. Then, I would gently remind him of how much this sounded like his opinion of fellow-Christians who voted for Donald Trump. 

It’s called reproving the confident.

Praying on Election Eve

 Anne Lamott tells of a friend who begins her day with the prayer, “Whatever.” She ends her day praying, “Oh, well.” 

Over the years I attended many denominational meetings that took place only weeks before an election. Usually the moderator would include in his benediction, along with prayers for travelling mercies and blessings on the churches represented, a phrase like, “Lord, we pray for your will to be done in the upcoming election.” To this, the assembled pastors and church leaders would intone, “Amen.” Then, weeks later, at least some of those who had endorsed the seemingly bipartisan spirit of that prayer would complain about the results of the election.

How should we pray on this day before the election? Should I say THE election? After all, many a pundit has said this is “the most important” election in our lifetime. (Seems we’ve had a lot of those in recent years.)

I confess I am feeling the weight of not being able to join my friends at our weekly lunch (a situation first imposed by the pandemic and then rendered permanent by our cross-country move): there is no opportunity to laugh away the angst generated by this election. Or maybe these usually optimistic guys are also fearful of what will happen after November 3. This stressful year has seen both the Left and the Right spawn groups willing to meet disappointment with violence. 

Nearly a half-century ago, I did a pastoral internship under Ira Stanphill (1914-1993). Stanphill wasn’t a Baptist but he still graciously allowed a student at a Baptist seminary an opportunity to meet with him weekly and listen to his wisdom. Though he was a successful pastor and evangelist, his real legacy is found in the songs he wrote. His “Room at the Cross for You” was often used during the invitation at Billy Graham crusades. But another of his songs is on my mind on this election-eve. Written in the midst of the turbulent post-war years, I Know Who Holds Tomorrow, speaks of the inevitable flirtation with anxiety even in those who know the futility of worry. The song's refrain speaks to situations like those we face this election:

Many things about tomorrow

I don't seem to understand

But I know who holds tomorrow

And I know who holds my hand.

That’s certainly more comforting than, “Oh, well.”

When Should We Remember to Forget?

 Here’s some news from the Lone Star State. The Longhorn band is refusing to play “The Eyes of Texas.” It seems the song’s author, John Sinclair, writing in 1903, used a phrase UT’s president William Prather often said to the students, “the eyes of Texas are upon you,” meaning the people of Texas were expecting great things of the students. But—and here’s the bugaboo—the phrase was adapted from one Prather recalled Washington and Lee College president Robert E. Lee using, “the eyes of the south are upon you.” Hence, the objection. 

Now for something completely different. A digression, as it were. 

Way back when I graduated from seminary you couldn’t consider your study of a New Testament passage done (or started, perhaps) until you had consulted Kittel? For the innocent, I refer to the eight volume Theological Dictionary of the New Testament that explored the background and use of every significant Greek word in the New Testament—and there were a lot. I even asked Pat to buy the set for me, one volume at a time, birthday, then Christmas, then anniversary. I made it to three volumes when I decided I could head to the West Texas State library to use their set—and enjoy a greater variety of gifts, gifts that didn’t tax our budget quite as much. No doubt there’s been a lot of preaching made to sound deep because of Kittel’s editorial efforts. Anyway, maybe I wasn’t paying attention when this was discussed in my classes, but I’ve discovered Gerhard Kittel was a flaming Nazi. (He had a really nasty opinion of Jews.) I can’t imagine our seminaries making a bonfire of the volumes, though I’m sure there are online resources to compete with the big blue books. More important, I’m encouraged to believe that someday the truly valuable work of some pastors and educators will be remembered when their political follies are long forgotten. Just a thought. 

Reading About Racism

      I have recently read two books on racism. One author writes from a secular (albeit not anti-religious) perspective; the other from an overtly Christian perspective (as might be expected in a book from an evangelical publisher). Each author is black; each, a southerner. Each writer addresses a post-Obama nation. Each book offers insights into the shameful problem of racism in the United States. Each book acknowledges America’s failure to live up to the vision embodied in the words: “all men are created equal.” Each book admits there is much to be done in exorcising racism from our nation’s ethos. Only one of the books celebrates the progress the nation has made in challenging racism. Only one of the books offers hope. That book is not the book written from the Christian perspective. Simply put, I find that sad.

A Forgotten Woman in Billy Graham's Life

 Joe Biden was being pressed to justify his habit of inappropriately (“uninvitedly?”) touching women. Characteristically, Biden both apologized and made jokes about the complaints. Ironically, roughly two years before the Biden story broke, the current vice-president, Mike Pence, was criticized for following what is often called “The Billy Graham Rule.” The rule, established early in the evangelist’s career and followed as a protocol by his whole team, most famously governed Graham’s behavior with women who were not members of his immediate family; in short, he refused to be alone with them—ever. It is unclear if Joe Biden ever wished he had followed Graham’s example. No matter. Our focus on Billy Graham and women, especially one woman.

After the Pence story broke, the media and the internet were rife with comments on “the rule,” some praising the practice, some condemning it as demeaning to women and to men. Law professors declared the practice to be illegal; comedians wove it into their monologues. Some Christian writers praised the rule as comforting to wives while other Christian writers declared the policy to be harmful.  In addition to providing another opportunity to attack an already unpopular administration, the discussion inspired renewed interest in Billy Graham.   

What did the world’s most famous preacher think about the role of Christian women? Ellen Ott Marshall quotes two articles from 1969 and 1970, respectively, in which Graham gave his opinion, an opinion crafted to answer the arguments of the increasingly vocal women’s movement. In Graham’s own Decision magazine he insisted the Bible teaches a woman’s “primary duty…is to be a homemaker.” The next year, in The Ladies’ Home Journal, he opined, “Wife, mother, homemaker—this is the appointed destiny of real womanhood.”  This, although Graham insisted Jesus was the true source of women’s liberation.

No wonder Anne Graham Lotz felt her parents’ displeasure as she began her preaching/teaching ministry.

Yet, there were influences in Graham’s life, even in the earliest days of his career, that may have eventually, though unintentionally, produced a broader vision for women in ministry.

From 1947 to 1952, Graham served as president of Northwestern Schools in Minneapolis. Founded in 1902 by William Bell Riley as a safe enclave to train young ministers where they would be shielded from the ravages of liberalism, the school, by 1947, functioned as a Bible school, liberal arts college, and seminary. In its earliest decades, female graduates often became missionaries, evangelists, and pastors both abroad and in the United States. By 1930, however, voices within the school’s administration and faculty began questioning the propriety of preparing women for public ministry. In September 1931, professor C. W. Foley wrote in The Pilot, the school’s widely-circulated magazine: “It is a plain as anything could possibly be, that a woman is not to take the oversight of a church, or publically preach or teach in the man’s appointed place.” Foley based his argument, in part, on the claim that a woman in public ministry was “inconsistent with the subordinate position God had assigned her.” By 1935, Riley seems to have concurred in denying women a place in public ministry.  This shift reflects the pattern reported on elsewhere in this study.

Though Foley and Riley denied women a place in public ministry, what could not be denied was the evident success of Northwestern Schools’ female graduates who were serving as evangelists and pastors. Such women could be found in churches throughout the upper Midwest and as far away as China. Chief among them were Minnie S. Nelson, who served several pastorates where she was involved in “[r]esurrecting dead churches” and “uniting divided ones,” while still traveling and preaching; and the evangelistic team of preacher Alma Reiber and singer Irene Murray, who began ministering together in 1910 and were still working as “school-sponsored evangelists” as late as 1937. 

In 1948, Minnie Nelson wrote an autobiographical sketch of her years in ministry. Her passion for service is evident; in addition to her work as a pastor she recalled, “My pulpit has often been the radio, street corners, country schoolhouses, taverns, jails, hospitals, and hundreds of homes.”  

Trollinger focuses on Alma Reiber as an exemplar, not only of female graduates of Northwestern Schools, but of male graduates as well. “Alma Reiber,” he writes in his biography of Riley, “was a wonderful example of the graduates the Northwestern Bible School produced at its most successful. Northwestern inculcated Reiber and her comrades with a burning desire to serve as Christian warriors who would advance the cause of truth in an unfriendly world.”  As president of Northwestern Schools, Graham doubtless heard of the accomplishments of women the school had sent to become pastors, evangelists, and missionaries. While that knowledge may not have been enough to cause Graham change his early opinions about women in public ministry, it may have become part of a “data bank” that could not be ignored in his later years. 

Another incident, occurring just on the cusp of Graham’s rise to fame, also involved a woman, a woman who deserves to be better known among American evangelicals. Unfortunately, her role at a crucial time in Graham’s pilgrimage is sometime omitted or forgotten. Indeed, Graham biographer Walter Martin presents her simply as a rich woman who taught a large Sunday school class and had famous friends in Hollywood. Yet, when she died, Graham said he doubted if any woman other than his wife and his mother had had so much influence on him.  

Henrietta Mears (1890-1963) was born in Fargo, North Dakota, into a prominent banking family.  Financial reverses associated with the Panic of 1893 forced the family to resettle in Minneapolis where they again prospered. 

Henrietta was converted at age seven and from that age continued to exhibit a depth of commitment unusual in a child. At age twelve she taught her first Sunday school class and continued teaching classes for most of her life. After receiving her degree from the University of Minnesota, where she studied chemistry, she taught high school and later became a principal. 

In 1927, while teaching a girls’ class in William Bell Riley’s First Baptist Church (Minneapolis), she wondered if God might be calling her into full-time Christian ministry. Her class for eighteen year-old-girls had grown from five (who called themselves “The Snobs”) to over five hundred, an accomplishment sure to draw attention. At Riley’s suggestion, Henrietta and sister Margaret took a sabbatical that included a stay in California.  The sisters visited Hollywood Presbyterian Church whose pastor Stewart P. MacLennan had met Henrietta in Minneapolis and had been impressed with her. He asked her to speak several times at the church. At his invitation, she agreed to become the education director at the church.

In 1928, she and Margaret moved to California. Within two years, Mears helped the Sunday school at Hollywood Presbyterian grow from a few hundred to over four thousand. Dissatisfied with the quality of Sunday school literature available—she believed it boring and ill-suited for children—she began writing her own. Her material was unique in that it was graded, specially prepared for different ages in the Sunday school. Many churches found the material useful and asked Mears for copies. As a consequence, in 1933, Mears and some business partners founded Gospel Light Press to meet the need for good quality, evangelical Sunday school literature.

Mears became convinced ministry to college students was crucial. She taught a popular class for these students who were often at critical junctures in their pilgrimages. In 1937 this conviction led her to found the Forest Home Conference Center where students could hear clear Bible teachings from some of the world’s best teachers and be challenged to a greater commitment to Christ. These conferences would continue for more than a quarter-century.

In 1948, Mears invited a rising young evangelist to be one of the speakers, Billy Graham. As president of Northwestern Schools, Graham was the youngest college president in the US; and as an evangelist for Youth for Christ, he had had great success in calling men and women to Christ. Unknown to Mears, he was also facing a spiritual crisis.

Graham’s good friend and fellow YFC evangelist Chuck Templeton had begun to have doubts about the reliability of the Bible and the relevance of the message both he and Graham had been preaching. Templeton had also been invited to Forest Home for the conference. With seventy-year’s hindsight, it’s clear the mountain retreat became a battleground: the prize was Billy’s heart. 

There had been previous skirmishes. Templeton had once traveled to North Carolina to challenge Billy’s traditional faith. The impact of Templeton’s campaign on Graham was telling; in the first issue of Christianity Today (October 1956), he spoke of his struggle. He said the doubts had impacted his ability to preach with authority, and added, “Like hundreds of young seminary students, I was waging the intellectual battle of my life.”  In his autobiography, Graham admitted he had determined that should the crisis go unresolved, he would leave the ministry and become a dairy farmer.  Templeton, brilliant and charismatic, aimed to win Graham to his brand of urbane skepticism. 

At the same time, Mears, along with British historian/evangelist J. Edwin Orr (another conference speaker), set out to assure Graham of the Bible’s trustworthiness. While Templeton taunted him, Mears and Orr prayed with him and for him.  But both Mears and Orr were also able to discuss the scholarship Templeton found so attractive. Of Mears’s, Graham wrote, "She had faith in the integrity of the Scriptures and an understanding of Bible truth as well as modern scholarship. I was desperate for every insight she could give me."  

Although, A. J. Appasamy stresses Orr’s involvement in helping Graham through the struggle, Graham focuses on Mears’s role. He speaks of having “times of prayer and private discussion with Miss Mears at her cottage.” Apparently, these were far from dispassionate discussions of modern theological options. Graham recalled, “I ached as if I were on the rack, with Miss Mears stretching me one way and Chuck Templeton stretching me the other.”  

Of course, this struggle ended with the now-famous “stump prayer,” that moment when Graham resolved to preach the Bible as God’s Word, despite being unable to resolve all the questions he may have had. In time, Graham would describe Mears as "the great Christian educator and Bible teacher who had been so instrumental in my spiritual growth in Los Angeles."  Billy Graham might have found his way through this period of doubt without Henrietta Mears’s help; that she was so instrumental earns her the gratitude of all who have benefited from Graham’s ministry.

Wendy Murray Zoba described Mears as “the ‘grandmother’ of modern evangelicalism.”  I won’t quarrel with the accolade, though I understand if some might question why I would include Mears in this account. After all, she probably would have never accepted ordination and always believed herself teaching under the authority of the pastor—avoiding using the pulpit in most cases. Yet, even when she subordinated herself to the pastor, she believed she functioned as an equal, possessing a “strong sense of authority.” Vonette Bright, wife of Campus Crusade founder Bill Bright, in whose home Mears lived for several years, recalled, "[S]he could be impatient with a person who did not give her an opportunity to do what she had been called to do."   

Jennifer Tait wrote, “Henrietta would never allow herself to be called a "preacher," though others attributed the title to her. She believed that preaching was a male role and preferred "Teacher," which became the loving nickname her friends and students called her.”  This was a somewhat ironic stance for a woman bred in fundamentalism; after all didn’t Paul say, “I do not permit a woman to teach?” Obviously, she had found “wiggle” room, perhaps because she knew—deep in her heart—her beloved Paul would not have asked her to deny her obvious gift. But I digress.

I have spent so much time on this important woman because she was an important woman—in Billy Graham’s life. Knowing he was almost certainly aware of women like Alma Reiber and sensing his clear admiration for Henrietta Mears, we might have expected Graham to have held an advanced view of women as he emerged on the American scene. As we’ve seen, that wasn’t the case.

Ellen Marshall’s analysis of Graham’s viewpoint implies the evangelist failed to see its inherent contradictions. In short, Jesus liberates women but not to do what he frees men to do. She cites William Martin’s biography of Graham at length to illustrate.

Given his own marriage to a strong and capable woman, Graham had to admit that ‘in one sense, the husband and wife are co-equal in the home; but when it comes to the governmental arrangement of the family, the Bible…teaches that man is to be the head of the home…He is the king of the household, and you, his wife, are the queen.’ A proper queen, he said, would prepare the king’s favorite dishes, have the meals on time, make their home as attractive and comfortable as possible, and feel ‘it is her duty, responsibility, and privilege to remain at home with the children.’ 

This prompts Marshall to write:

I do truly believe that Graham values equality and freedom for all people and that he believes that Christianity ensures these things. And yet his argument for gender-prescribed vocations is deeply inconsistent with these core commitments. To put it simply, one cannot simultaneously affirm equality and freedom and prescribe vocation according to gender.

Regardless of gender, all people must have equal freedom to pursue their own sense of vocation, whether that is primarily in the home or not. Vocational discernment is not a matter of fulfilling a biblically prescribed duty but of prayerful consideration of one’s gifts, attentiveness to one’s calling, and accountability to one’s deepest commitments to self, to family, and to community. Vocational discernment is not a matter of adhering to rules. It is about crafting a life that is authentic and meaningful. 

She is more succinct when she says, “Either we are all equal, with the same range of freedom, or we are not.”  She further challenges what she sees as Graham’s insistence that women are made to be mothers (mothers who stay at home) and his persistent observation that world-changers tend to be sons (who have been shaped by godly, stay-at-home mothers) with no hint that daughters might be world-changers other than indirectly.

She further challenges Graham’s charge that any woman who does pursue a vocation outside the home is guilty of pride and rebellion. Instead, she suggests women who do not use their gifts to benefit a world wider than their household may, like the man in the parable, be guilty of burying her talents. She is, however, careful to avoid judging either the women who work outside the home or those who don’t. 

Marshall doesn’t expend much effort in exploring changes in Graham’s opinions over nearly five decades. That is regrettable. During that half-century there was a movement toward a broader understanding of what God is about in the world. For instance, many in Graham’s denomination, the Southern Baptist Convention, once believed “speaking in tongues” either to be demonic or an expression of mental illness. The libraries of some Baptist colleges catalogued books on Pentecostals under “cults.” Although such harsh judgments are seldom made today, key leaders believe the convention’s chief doctrinal statement presents “a de facto cessationist” position; that is, Baptists who claim to follow the statement are expected to teach that spiritual gifts such as tongues ceased at the end of the apostolic age.  By 1987, Graham acknowledged God had “used the charismatic movement throughout the world to wake up a lot of communities”; at the same time, conceding many “godly people” have the gift of tongues, a gift they have found to be life-changing. 

 Graham vexed wife Ruth when he announced his new opposition to the death penalty, having concluded it was too often unjustly and wrongly applied—nothing suggests Ruth ever changed her mind. Though part of a denomination where many ministers still condemn using any form of alcohol, Graham insisted the Bible does not teach teetotalism and admitted taking an occasional drink of wine—at bedtime. Formerly known for his hawkish stance, the evangelist came to believe the arms race was detrimental to nations’ economies and ultimately made peace less likely. From seeing feminists as prideful rebels he came to acknowledge “women have been discriminated against.” And, while never abandoning the evangelistic imperative to call each man and woman to trust Christ, he became more supportive of a gospel with explicit social implications. He would eventually say of himself: “I am a man who is still in process.”  Though he was speaking of his new appreciation of the “peace movement,” the description applies to other long-held views.

Including the issue of women’s ordination. Early in the 1970s Graham began to move toward a more supportive position on women in ministry. From 1975 to 1977, he had moved from uncertainty on the issue to saying, “I don’t object to it like some do because so many of the leaders of the early church were women. They prophesied. They taught.” Having grounded his still somewhat modest support on scripture, he then turned to the modern church to observe: “You go on the mission fields today and many of our missionaries are women who are preachers and teachers.”  

Apparently, he even conceded women might one day be accepted in the role of pastors. William Martin outlines Graham’s position:

‘I think [women as pastors] is coming probably, and I think it will be accepted more and more. I know a lot of women who are far superior to men when it comes to ministering to others.’ Men might resist giving them full rights in the church, but such women ‘are ordained of God whether they had men to lay hands on them and give them a piece of paper or not. I think God called them.’ 

By the mid-1980s, Graham was allowing a few such women to lead prayer and take more visible roles in his crusades, thus “quietly [placing] his stamp of approval on women ministers.”  Graham, who eschewed the term “inerrancy” because of its divisive nature, might not have called himself an “egalitarian” in the debates over women in ministry but his position was far from that of John R. Rice. 

While Marshall’s essay on Graham’s view of women is helpful, she does not stress a very significant matter. Years ago, Billy Graham denied being a “fundamentalist.” Not everyone believed him. After all, he regarded the Bible as the Word of God; he believed Jesus was born of a virgin; he claimed Jesus had died for sinners and had risen again; he preached that Jesus was coming again; he insisted all need to repent and be born again. He sure sounded like a fundamentalist. But critics who made that charge missed two important points. Billy regularly acknowledged those who disagreed with him were still good Christians and, more significantly, he sometimes changed his mind. Not traits most fundamentalists exhibit.