Ripped from the Headlines (We might wish)

Have you been reading more news lately? I have. And I’ve noticed something: Tucked amongst the stories about the coronavirus, the election, and the economy are accounts of celebrities (usually female) posing in ways to show off their famed physiques.  Though celebrities pictured don’t always possess A-List fame, the tag usually follows this pattern: “Britney Shows Off Toned Abs in Her Bedroom.” Now, “Bedroom” is revealing. These are not pictures snapped by some persistent paparazzo as the celeb dashes to Target for more kitty litter; these pictures have been posted by the celebrities, posted to gain attention or to keep their names on the minds of isolated fans who might—understandably—be thinking about something else during the Great Isolation.

Could headlines about pastors defying stay-at-home orders to have church services offer the ecclesiastical equivalent of “Wearing a Purple Leotard J-Lo [Jennifer Lopez to you in Toledo] Rocks Her Shoe Designs”? I suspect some pastors clamoring for their First Amendment rights to have services during the pandemic—thereby ignoring the health of their members—are hoping for a little headline space. Most pastors spend their careers without attracting the media. True, pastors who embezzle funds or abuse the vulnerable get attention, earning career-ending headlines. But a story that, in the minds of some, portrays a pastor as a valiant opponent of an oppressive government can turn an otherwise undistinguished parson into a hero. A hero of sorts.

Some pastors, so I’ve learned over the years, yearn to have church members who will embrace their opinions about everything from obscure Bible passages to the morality of a new fashion trend, from medical issues to world events. Hardly a surprise. They foster dependence, wanting “What would the pastor say?” to be first question any parishioner asks.

In contrast, New Testament preachers and teachers encouraged their listeners and readers to think for themselves, to evaluate what they heard any preacher or teacher say. Paul refused to exempt himself from the scrutiny of his audience (Gal. 1:8). John challenged Christians to put those claiming to be prophets “to the test” (I Jn. 4:1). And, of course, Luke famously praised the congregation at insignificant Berea because they tempered enthusiasm with prudence when they listened to Paul, having  “. . . studied [examined] the Scriptures every day to find out if these things were true [to confirm Paul’s teaching was in line with Scripture]” (Acts 17:11 EXB).

Give your pastor the respect the office deserves—but no more. Study your Bible, confer with other believers, and think.

Reading While Sheltering

Attempting to count the “blessings” of the Great Isolation, I enumerated an opportunity to read more. One book I’ve read is Thomas S. Kidd’s God of Liberty: A Religious History of the American Revolution. It’s a study of the unlikely cooperation of “Deist” intelligentsia and evangelical zealots in crafting the new republic (not to mention fostering the revolution in the first place).  I’m sure Kidd’s treatment of the Founders’ vision for the relationship of church and state will not satisfy every reader; I can envision both the religious left’s Barry Lynn and conservative radio’s go-to historian David Barton being unhappy with Kidd’s measured answer to the question: Did the Founders intend to create a Christian nation?

Overall the book gives new insights into the lives and thoughts of familiar heroes and introduces us to lesser known, but nonetheless important, individuals from a crucial period of our nation’s history. In helping his readers understand how that nation would one day be imagined to have “the soul of a church,” Kidd reminds us that both the skeptics and the devout were united in their belief that religion (of some kind) was needed to shape the moral climate of the new country.  Related to this was the Founders’ conviction that the nation’s future depended on its having leaders who were men (this was the 18^th century, after all) of character and integrity.

I’d encourage you to read the book while you’re waiting for permission to get on with normalcy (whatever that may mean in the near future). It would be an especially good read for an election year.

Imagined Letter

Beloved Brothers and Sisters,

 I am writing to you as your shepherd, your pastor, your minister, your guide in these difficult times of confusion.

Very soon you will be getting a check from our great president. What will you do with the unexpected money, tainted though it may be by the hands of a government that has turned its back on the Bible-way?

Will you pay your mortgage with that money? Instead of thinking about your own house maybe you should think of the Lord’s House. Imagine standing at the Judgment Seat and hearing the Lord say, “Weren’t you just a little selfish thinking about your needs while your good pastor went without a Keurig for his office?”

Are you thinking about saving that check for your child’s college education? Well I guess that’s ok if you want your sweet girl or your innocent boy learning about evolution or reading those worldly books by Shakespeare or Jane Austen. Or even that Jakay Rolling and her teenage witches. What a waste when our church is ready to tell your children what to think about everything important—always ready, as long as we can keep the lights on, of course.

Could you be thinking about giving it to some charity? Sure, that sounds like a good idea, until you remember our dear Lord said, “Man does not live by bread alone.” Yes, you could feed the bodies of those folks who can’t be bothered to find a job.  But what about their souls? Remember, that same money could put your pastor’s latest book into their hands. That book will last a lot longer than a carton of baby formula.

Do I need to tell you we pastors are sometimes tempted to struggle and worry, too? But just as I am about to listen to Satan’s whisperings, I hear the Lord say, “Remember how generous my people are.” And I do remember. I am remembering now as I think about those checks. I’m sure you will do the right thing. You won’t disappoint me—or the Lord, naturally.

Praying you got the message, I remain…

Your Pastor

PS: I am truly blessed when I see how many of you defy the governor’s devilish order and come here on Sundays instead of staying at home. As long as you come, I promise I won’t fail to give you an opportunity to hear me and an opportunity to put a generous gift in the offering. Now I’m sure you’ve heard some folks who have been at these services have come down with the virus. Don’t go feeling guilty. No doubt they just don’t have the humble faith we do.

On Tea, Roofs, and Masks

In 1773, not long after the Boston Tea Party, Israel Holly, a Presbyterian pastor in Suffield, Connecticut, urged his fellow colonists to boycott goods like tea to protest the policies of the British government. He called “for individuals to give up their private commercial interests for the public good.”

I came across Holly’s words by chance as we Americans were debating the proper response to the COVID-19 pandemic. What would Holly have thought of those who claim to be good Americans, claim to be family advocates, and claim to be Christians but would have happily put the public at risk in order to sell a few more silk flowers or wall plaques?

Now the debates are beginning anew. Some want to get things rolling right away; others—some state governors included—want to wait a while longer. We know more now than we knew a few weeks ago. We’ve had an opportunity to observe the virus’s behavior. South Dakota, a state that implemented few restrictions, has become a Coronavirus “hot spot.” Meanwhile, in states like Ohio where stay-at-home orders came early the infection rate is down. Enduring masks and staying isolated,  adapting ourselves to new ways of living (not dashing off to the hardware store or bookstore on a whim), exercising caution when we consider sending fathers and mothers back into the workforce: these are things we do for the common good. Things Israel Holly would understand.

The Old Testament law includes an instruction for someone building a new home: “When you build a new house, you shall make a parapet for your roof, that you may not bring the guilt of blood upon your house, if anyone should fall from it” (Dt. 22:8). Not an elaborate building code, perhaps, but it reminds us God wants us to look out for other people.

Easter--Behind Closed Doors

This Easter, some of us will be out serving as first responders, health-care workers, or otherwise providing essential services.

This Easter, some of us will be in church, foolishly I believe, defying stay-at-home orders.

This Easter, most of us, wisely I believe, will be spending this holy day behind closed doors. As such, we are in good company.

The Apostle John, an eyewitness to the events of Holy Week, recalled:

On the evening of that day [the day of the Resurrection], the first day of the week, the doors being locked where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.”

The disciples, like some of us, were afraid, uncertain about the future. Unlike us, the disciples could easily see the threat coming, the tramp of their booted feet could be heard before the soldiers had reached the locked door. That door wouldn’t stop determined soldiers, of course, but it might slow them down enough for the disciples to slip out another way. Already shaken by what had happened to Jesus on Friday, they were further unsettled by the strange discovery of the empty tomb and the bizarre claim of Mary to have seen Jesus. Their troubled hearts needed peace. And peace is what the Risen Lord gifted them. That peace, grounded on the Lord’s victorious resurrection, would sustain them as they faced hostility, as they labored in strange places, as they set out to change the world.

This Easter we, too, need to hear a word of peace. We face a threat we cannot see without a microscope, which we cannot hear coming, which may wait quietly on a handrail or grocery cart. Like the disciples, we too may be anxious. I like the way The Voice translation has rendered Jesus’s words. “May each one of you” Jesus says, “be at peace.” This Easter our hearts may be fearful for different reasons; some by fear for their own health, some may fear as they watch a retirement portfolio shrink as investors panic, some may fear for parents who are especially vulnerable to the virus, some may fear their jobs will be lost, some may fear for loved ones who cannot remain safely indoors, some may fear for the nation’s future—financial or social. But this Easter, behind our closed doors, we may still hear the Jesus’s words of peace. This Easter, through God’s Spirit, we may still know the Risen Lord’s presence. This Easter, like the disciples before us (20:20), we may rejoice with one another—albeit electronically—in the reality of the resurrection.

So, though being behind closed doors on Easter may be different, it isn’t unprecedented.

*****

As you pray this Easter, behind your closed doors, remember our Christian brothers and sisters who always worship behind closed doors, always live under the threat of a hostile government breaking down doors to stop their worship of the Risen Lord. Pray that they may know peace.

More Than Life and Death

Two Brits are talking about English football (a game that looks like soccer to Americans).

One, who has a lukewarm interest in the game, says, “Well, football isn’t a matter of life and death.”

His more fanatical friend responds, “Right, it’s more important than that!”

I’m thinking much the same about Easter. It’s not a matter of life and death—it’s more important than that.

Yes, Easter is a time of celebration. Christians come together to say, “Christ is Risen” and to hear fellow believers declare, “He is Risen indeed.” But that affirmation of life is true whether we can meet together or not. And right now, meeting together may not be an affirmation of life. It may be a foolish act of arrogance and presumption.

I would hate to see the government padlocking churches to keep people from meeting, but I also regret some churches are behaving in ways to cause local governments to consider the action.

Pastors who are urging their congregations to gather this Easter are risking the lives of their members, their members’ grandchildren, neighbors, friends, and acquaintances. I struggle to resist the temptation to suggest those pastors are on a flagrant ego-trip. They certainly may be guilty implicit legalism—to be a Christian you must be at a certain place, at a certain time, on Sunday morning. They seem guilty of spiritual arrogance—I have more faith than my fellow pastors who are cowering before a mere virus (and may promote the same attitude in their members). They seem guilty of questionable theology—God protects Christians from getting sick and, anyway, death is the Christian’s friend.

I spoke to the first idea in my Good Friday meditation. Let me address the second now. The notion that death is our friend or a “natural part of life” stands on faulty grounds biblically. Paul refers to death as “the last enemy” (I Cor. 15:26) not as the Christian’s friend. The Christian’s attitude toward death is shaped by Christ’s Easter victory but, by no means, is the Christian to develop a kind of death-wish. Death remains the enemy until Christ’s Return.

Common experience tells us death is hardly a friend. For forty-five years, my mother and father were devoted to each other, until death took my father from her side, leaving her alone. My dear niece Amy was part of her church’s worship team on Sunday and spent her weekdays advocating for children in the Texas courts; then death took her life in a traffic accident before she was twenty-five years old. How can that be the act of a friend? Yes, we sometimes perceive death as a “release” from suffering, but can we describe that as death’s common bequest? Death far too often robs us of friends and loved ones and, in ways we can only imagine, death stops short the lives of those who may have created great beauty as artists or bestowed upon the world new discoveries that would have improved life. Is this how a friend behaves?

Are we then to fear death? We might argue Easter makes the fear of death unnecessary. Theologically true but, as John Bunyan observed in Pilgrim’s Progress, fear of death is a very human experience—the best of saints may know it. But, what attitude are we to have, especially this Easter when so many churches will be empty?

Some of the pastors who are insisting on having services on Easter say Christians should be in church because they shouldn’t be afraid of death. Well, still, not fearing death does not mean I want to hear the Almighty greet me at the gates of Heaven saying, “I knew you would die during the pandemic because you are too stupid to listen to good advice.” But I digress.

In a passage containing a hint of soliloquy, Paul shares his reflections on the possibility of death at the hands of the Romans. The Philippians, knowing the peril their friend faced in prison, were concerned about him. The apostle wrote,

    I trust that my life will bring honor to Christ, whether I live or die.  For to me, living means living for Christ, and dying is even better.  But if I live, I can do more fruitful work for Christ. So I really don’t know which is better.  I’m torn between two desires: I long to go and be with Christ, which would be far better for me.  But for your sakes, it is better that I continue to live.

     Knowing this, I am convinced that I will remain alive so I can continue to help all of you grow and experience the joy of your faith. (Phil. 1:20-29 NLT)

Paul does not fear death. Indeed, he longs to be “with Christ.” But he recognizes he cannot give in to selfish desires. Indeed, his longing to be with Christ is paired with his longing to be useful to Christ, to help his fellow believers “grow and experience joy.”

Very simply, being a Christian isn’t just about going to heaven. Being a Christian involves caring about other people, keeping their best interests in mind. One is tempted to ask if deliberately putting ourselves at risk of contracting a virulent disease is keeping our neighbor’s best interest in mind. Churches whose members are indifferent to the health of others miss an important implication of the events we recall on Good Friday and Easter.

Martyrdom for the sake of Christ first occurs in the Book of Acts; it would become more common until the church approached the fourth century when the last final frenzy of imperial hatred toward Christians would occur. Unsurprisingly, those who died for Christ were recalled with great respect. They were among the earliest heroes of the faith. During these troubled times the church occasionally faced a strange problem. Some Christians seemed to go out of their way to provoke the authorities, to draw attention to their faith-based eccentricities or their refusal to engage in such practices as offering incense to the image of Caesar. F. F. Bruce tells of how, in some areas where local officials were sympathetic to Christians—knowing they were good citizen, despite Roman propaganda—the imperial edicts were largely ignored. Officials dutifully had the local population line up and pass by an altar dedicated to the emperor. Each resident was expected to throw a pinch of incense on the altar as he or she passed. When Christians who refused to offer the incense passed, officials always seemed to be looking the other way. But, sometimes, a good brother—wrought up by the occasion—would draw attention to his disobedience. Local pastors, knowing which member would likely behave this way, often stationed another Christian behind the enthusiast to gently thump him on the head and drag him silently past the altar before he could make a fuss.

The behavior of such enthusiasts gives us the phrase, “courting martyrdom.” Church leaders generally condemned it. They knew there is a difference between facing death on account of the faith and using the faith as an excuse to seek death. Church leaders believed Christians should pursue life, not death, unless pursuing life involved abandoning the faith. (Do I have to mention that missing church during a pandemic isn’t actually abandoning the faith?)

Not only did the church take a stand against courting martyrdom, the church generally recommended that pastors and other leaders flee when they learned authorities were seeking to arrest them. There was, they insisted, no shame in this. Those who fled could continue to effectively minister elsewhere. Flight was not the same as denying Christ. (Do I have to mention that missing church during a pandemic is not denying Christ?)

But let me go back to Paul’s words to the Philippians. They recall the attitude of an old Quaker who said, “I am going to live until I die and then I’m going to live forever.” Paul wanted his friends to know, “No matter the circumstances, I intend to live.”

So often we have spoken of how Easter allows us to face death with confidence. That is surely true. But I wonder if it isn’t equally true that Easter allows us to face life with confidence.

We may live confidently, knowing that the Creator cares for us so much he sent his Son to die for us.

We may live confidently, knowing that our sins have been forgiven, that we need not carry the burden of our guilt any longer.

We may live confidently, knowing that we may relate to those around us in a new way—freed from the need to win God’s favor, we may focus our attention on thinking about the good of others.

We may live confidently, knowing God’s Spirit helps us make good decisions in the face of crises like pandemics.

So, this Easter call someone, text someone, email someone to say, “Christ is Risen.”

The Blood of Jesus: Some Good Friday Thoughts

In the myriad stories of the great isolation, those I read first usually concern the pastors and churches that flout the stay-home orders to have Sunday services. While I worry about danger involved in such cavalier behavior, I am especially incensed by reporters’ habits of using the adjective “evangelical” to describe the pastors and churches. I’m sure others, who also consider themselves evangelicals, are just as maddened as I am. We want to shout, “No, we are not like that.”

Earlier last month, a woman leaving an Ohio church was asked by a reporter, “Aren’t you worried you could impact other people if you get sick inside?” She responded, “no, I’m covered in Jesus’ blood. I’m covered in Jesus’ blood.” Before driving away, she added, that people she saw daily in Walmart, Home Depot, and the grocery store wouldn’t make her sick “because I am covered in his blood.”

 Years ago, Leon Morris carefully studied the New Testament use of the word “blood” and concluded it was usually a metaphorical (a synecdoche, I suppose) reference to Christ’s death, and only rarely a reference to his literal blood. Still, throughout Christian history there have been periods in which some believers exhibited an intense fascination with Jesus’ blood—his literal blood. For instance, Eighteenth-century Moravians developed such a fascination and it came close to leading them into heresy. Fortunately, their leader, Count Von Zinzendorf, was able to inspire them to return to emotional and spiritual balance. Still, people like the woman in Ohio need to have a Biblical perspective on what is doubtless precious to her. Seeking that perspective seems a good idea as we come to Good Friday.

In the Authorized Version (King James Version), Paul uses the word “blood” thirteen times, just over half referring to the blood of Jesus. Nowhere does he speak of the believer being “covered with [or “by”] Jesus’s blood;” neither does any other Biblical writer. Nor do any of these writers speak of this blood as a kind of shield to protect the Christian from disease or danger.

In Philippians 2, which begins with what may have been an early Christian hymn celebrating Christ’s “death on a cross" and ultimate exaltation, Paul mentions his friend and co-worker Epaphroditus (2:25-27) who had been “… ill, near to death.” Fortunately, “God had mercy on him.” Though Paul clearly believes God was the source of Epaphroditus’s newfound health, he doesn’t say how God accomplished the cure. Was in an instantaneous recovery? Was it a gradual recovery?

The point is, Epaphroditus, a model Christian, got sick—some Bible scholars believe his sickness was caused by exposure to some disease encountered during his mission, malaria or dysentery perhaps. Later, Paul mentions another co-worker, saying, “I left Trophimus sick in Miletus” (2 Tim. 4:20). Again, that dear lady needs to know, Christians get sick. Christians are not immune to “the bugs” that plague their neighbors.

More important, when speaking of the benefits of Christ’s blood, the Biblical writers focus exclusively on the spiritual benefits of his blood (that is, his death).

In a passage generally believed by evangelicals to refer to the Messiah’s suffering, the prophet Isaiah says, “with his wounds we are healed” (53:5). Although, many groups use this verse to argue for physical healing being available “in the atonement,” the context seems to suggest the reference is to spiritual healing reflecting the “peace” that death made possible. So, Paul would later write the Colossians, “For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross.”

Surely an honest humility demands we stop using non-biblical terminology to arrogantly claim protection from the virus.

It's Sunday: If You're in Church, God Help You!

Well, it’s another Sunday during the pandemic. Across the nation there are empty churches, churches led by pastors who have chosen to heed the warnings from local authorities and cancel services. But, here and there, there are full churches, led by pastors who are defying those authorities. Which pastors are doing the right thing?

Hebrews 10:24-25 contains what may be the New Testament’s only command to go to church. The writer, addressing Christians who were wavering in their commitment to Christ, says, “Do not forsake the assembling of yourselves together, as the habit of some is.” I’ve little doubt that verse is being invoked to persuade people to ignore warnings about COVID-19 and attend church. But what does this verse actually say? Does it demand your presence in a church service?

Before I answer, let me offer a brief historical note. One of the hallmarks of Protestantism is the idea of “sola scriptura,” the Bible alone as the church’s authority. But very soon after the Reformation, Protestants discovered the principle was easier stated than practiced. Even though Protestants agree to take seriously what the Bible says, they don’t always agree on what the Bible means by what it says. The quest for clarity demanded a process by which individuals and churches can discern answers to troublesome questions.

As a result, many of those Protestants began asking three questions when dealing with an issue. First, what does the Bible say on the matter? This most important question is not answered by a cursory reading of the Scripture. Instead, we must bring the best scholarly resources to the text to try to determine what the author intended to say to his audience (readers). Second, what does tradition say? Here we attempt to discover what Christians in the past have said about the issue. Third, what does reason say? By applying the canons of commonsense we judge the reasonableness of our answers. In the late eighteenth century, John Wesley added a fourth question: What does my experience say? (Thus, forming what historians call The Wesleyan Quadrilateral.)

Now, keeping those criteria in mind, what can we say to those church leaders who insist on having church during this pandemic?

First, what does Hebrews 10:24-25 actually say? While we don’t know as much about the writer (his name, for instance) and his audience, we can surmise he was writing to a group of Christians who were tempted to abandon their faith, perhaps in the face of persecution. Apparently, some of these had already abandoned getting together with fellow believers, either in homes or in local synagogues where some Christians with Jewish backgrounds still met. If that’s the case, the writer is addressing a situation where Christians had permanently forsaken or abandoned meeting with other Christians. Weymouth’s translation puts the writer’s admonition this way: he warned them against “neglecting--as some habitually do--to meet together.” He was not addressing Christians who still desired to meet together but were unable to. Doubtless, many a first-century Christian missed an occasional “Lord’s Day” meeting because he or she was a slave and had been commanded by his or her master to be somewhere else.

Second, what does church tradition say to us? Generally, the church has encouraged believers to participate in Christian fellowship (usually on Sunday, but sometimes on other days). But, at the same time, the church acknowledges spiritual growth can take place outside the confines of formal worship services. The most radical practitioners of this extra-community discipleship are hermits and anchorites. In fact, their devotion to prayer and piety has sometimes been legendary; the fourteenth century’s Julian of Norwich is, perhaps, the best known of such Christians.  By no means are their pilgrimages typical or even recommended, but they remind us that spiritual growth does not demand we sit in a pew every Sunday.

Third, what does reason tell us on the matter? The formal study of logic can be quite complicated, but I think simple commonsense is all we need to address the question of attending church during a pandemic. Christians in previous centuries knew nothing of germs, microbes, bacteria, or viruses. If they flocked to churches during plagues, they did so without knowing they might be spreading a disease. We know more now. We have no reason to believe God suspends the laws of nature from 10:00 am to Noon on Sunday mornings. Sadly, we are hearing reports of COVID-19 victims among those who recklessly attended church services despite warnings by local authorities.

I can’t help but wonder how those pastors would respond to this scenario. Let us suppose I have a daughter is going to have a baby. Let us further suppose, she has learned that some of the children who attended our Sunday school last week now have measles (their parents being anti-vaxxers) and others may have contracted the disease but don’t yet show symptoms. Would anyone question my daughter’s commitment to Christ if she chose to stay at home? What am I saying? Of course, some would. But I’m talking about reasonable people. Certainly, most would understand her decision.

Finally, what does experience tell us? I won’t talk about my own experiences—I spent most of my life going to church on Sunday morning; it was almost like a job. Instead, let me cite an example from the Bible. Near the end of the first century, the Apostle John, longtime pastor at Ephesus, was exiled to the Isle of Patmos. While the conditions on this island are not entirely clear, we know political prisoners were sent there to limit their contact with their followers. John, quite likely, was separated from other Christians. Did his faith shrivel during the experience? No. His wondrous vision of God’s ultimate victory over evil begin, “I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s Day” (Rev. 1:9-10) Though he was separated from other Christians, he was able to enjoy fellowship with God and make himself available to be used by God.

If you stay home on Sunday mornings, you aren’t revealing your lack of love for God’s people. You’re showing that love. You don’t have to be spiritually famished. Read your Bible and pray; download a thoughtful Christian book. You don’t have to be alone. If you miss your fellow believers, contact them by phone or computer (Patmos had no WIFI). You don’t have to feel guilty.

Faith or Presumption

I grew up in a small church that by any standard would have been considered fundamentalist. A dispensations chart (in full color) was permanently displayed on the sanctuary wall. You can’t get much more fundamentalist than that. Well, actually, we didn’t go to movies or dances either so maybe you can. That hardly suggests a deprived childhood; I only had to wait a couple years to see the movies I missed on TV and, given my natural lack of grace, attempting to dance would have opened me to ridicule.

I don’t think spending my youth in that church “messed me up,” like some with similar backgrounds claim. I don’t dwell on it, in any case. But lately I’ve recalled something my pastor used to say.

Stories about pastors and Christian business leaders ignoring warnings about COVID-19 remind me of my pastor saying, “There is a difference between faith and presumption.” Faith is trusting God to seek the good of his people, knowing the character of that “good” will be shaped by God’s purposes; presumption, on the other hand, attempts to coerce God into acting in a way we insist he must. My pastor pointed to one of the temptations of Christ (Luke 4:9-12), saying, “If Jesus had jumped from the temple that would have been presumption, not faith.” I suspect he would say the snake-handlers in nearby West Virginia and Kentucky are merely annoying the serpents, not modeling faith.

Calling your congregation together during a pandemic though men, women, and children may be infected or opening your store to sell essentials—like silk flowers and wall plaques--though it puts your customers and employees’ health at risk reveals indifference not care. Or, as my pastor would have said: presumption, not faith.