CONVICTIONS ARE NOT ENOUGH

 I’ve been reading about some individuals with real convictions, individuals willing to oppose the power of the government, individuals who believed their lives and their world-views were rooted in the Bible. 

One of these men was Benjamin Tillman. He held onto his convictions even though many disagreed with him. And he would not be silent. He shared his convictions across the country. Listen to Tillman’s words in response to Theodore Roosevelt appointing William Crum as customs collector in Charleston, an act Tillman believed reflected the president’s faulty political philosophy, an act he believed to be harmful to America, “We still have guns and ropes in the South and if the policy of appointing the Negro to office is insisted upon, we know how to use them.” Crum was a black man; Tillman was a Democratic senator from South Carolina at the beginning of the 20th century.

Yes, like many in the post-Reconstruction South, Tillman was a man of conviction. His courageous stand for his convictions was hardly that. He simply knew he wasn’t alone. Claiming to speak for his fellow southerners, Tillman said, “We of the South have never acknowledged that the Negroes were our equals….” 

I’m going move on from those disgusting words because this post isn’t about racism. We all know Tillman’s words are hateful and immoral (at least I hope we do). But my point is Tillman’s convictions were wrong—even though they were strong. 

Of course, I didn’t have to resurrect an obscure American politician to make my point. Think of the Nazis whose convictions (especially about the Jews) were so strong. Think of those who flew planes into the twin towers and the Pentagon—their convictions were strong. Then, too, think of those who stormed the capitol on January 6; did they have anemic convictions? No. Were they, therefore, right to jeopardize lives and destroy property?  “No,” did you say? But their convictions were so strong.

I was raised in an Evangelical church. I attended “youth rallies” where, as good Evangelicals, we were encouraged to share our faith. This meant being ready to counter any argument raised against becoming a Christian. Speakers told us we would face those who said, “It doesn’t matter what you believe as long as you’re sincere.” We should, we were told, counter this fallacy with an analogy like the following. Suppose you are given a large bottle of iodine which someone (a psychopath, no doubt) had labeled “cherry soda.” Thirsty, you drink it down. No matter how strong your conviction that the bottle contained a red sugary beverage, it would kill you. 

Of course, the lesson from those meetings isn’t a “religious” truth; it applies to the world of science as well. Centuries ago, most people embraced the conviction that the sun revolves around the earth. Then, certain scientists—sometimes at great peril—challenged that conviction. They proved their conviction—that the earth moves around the sun—with math and observation. Any conviction—a strongly held belief—needs corroboration.  

Usually, we Americans are generously liberal in allowing our neighbors the freedom of their convictions. If my neighbor believes he was a grilled cheese sandwich in a previous life, so what. If he doesn’t march outside my home to protest my occasionally having such a sandwich with a bowl of soup for lunch, we will probably get along. His convictions don’t really matter.

But this isn’t always true. Another neighbor may believe Ivermectin will prevent or cure COVID-19. Should I allow my neighbor to act on this conviction, allow him to act on his convictions even though he puts his life and the lives of his family members at risk? Should I stand by and admire her acting on her convictions when I am sure she is harming herself? 

Usually, we Americans feel we have an obligation to intervene. For instance, we make every effort to prevent individuals from acting on their convictions that cocaine or heroin is the way to peace and happiness. We may disagree on how to deal with these individuals (jail or therapy), but we all agree we cannot remain indifferent to their self-destructive behavior. I am not ready to force my neighbor to get a vaccination or wear a mask. But neither am I ready to remain silent. My convictions won’t let me.

Recently, I read an essay praising the Southwest Airlines pilots for standing on their convictions until management backed-off their vaccine mandate. The author compared them to Jesus and George Washington—men who stuck to their convictions. As I read, I wondered what the author would have said if Southwest’s executives had stood by their convictions, even at the risk of lost revenues. I doubt they would have been praised. 

Those who refuse the vaccine and eschew the mask (risking their health and the health of others, according to many scientists) may be exercising their rights as Americans and may even be standing up for their convictions. But don’t ask me to applaud them.

Fear: Now and Then

 “I would like to speak briefly and simply about a serious national condition. It is a national feeling of fear and frustration that could result in national suicide and the end of everything that we Americans hold dear.”

Those are not the words of a contemporary politician, columnist, or “influencer” you might find on YouTube; they are the opening words of a speech made by a Republican senator from Maine, Margaret Chase Smith. The words began her “Declaration of Conscience” which she made before the US Senate in June 1950. She was responding to the activities of a fellow Republican senator from Wisconsin, Joseph McCarthy. 

Like others from both political camps, Smith believed McCarthy’s usually unfounded claims that Communists had thoroughly infiltrated the State Department and other American institutions were eroding the nation’s confidence. Yet, McCarthy had such influence that even the newly elected Dwight Eisenhower hesitated to criticize him. And any journalist who dared to do so faced a barrage of anger and accusation. Because the “Milwaukee Journal” criticized his antics, the senator told business groups that supporting the newspaper was “contributing to bringing the Communist Party line into the homes of Wisconsin.” Despite flimsy proof or no proof for his accusations, McCarthy won followers.

In many ways, the Cold War thrived on fear. On the radio, there were programs like “I was a Communist for the FBI,” a fictional series following the exploits of an agent who had infiltrated the Party and regularly thwarted Moscow’s numerous plans to undermine America’s freedom. Of course, there was always the implication that somewhere in America there might be plotters who were not thwarted. Comic books distributed in our grade school encouraged us to report any un-American comments made by our teachers. The rumor mill said Saint Louis (a mere fifteen miles from my hometown) was a prime target for Soviet bombers. Though we had air-raid drills in our school, more knowledgeable (i.e., older) students informed us our efforts would be of no use if a bomb struck so close. Never telling my parents, I often lay in my bed wondering if the plane flying over in the night could be carrying a “the bomb.” 

Like today, some religious leaders capitalized on fear to increase their following. My mother, who never voted because she didn’t “trust any of them,” listened to Billy James Hargis and his Christian Crusade. Hargis who said, “All I want to do is preach Jesus and save America,” believed saving America meant accusing any Christian who differed from him of being weak on communism or worse. Hargis opposed Billy Graham (who certainly preached Jesus and was no friend of communism) because he cooperated with non-fundamentalist Christians whom Hargis said were sympathetic to the communist cause, and branded Martin Luther King, Jr as an out-and-out communist. Like McCarthy, Hargis (and his ally Rev. Carl McIntire) won followers by sowing fear.

Of course, fear was used to manipulate the thinking of Americans well before the Cold War.

Documentary filmmaker Ken Burns has compared today’s national mood with that of the late Ante-bellum period. I can see that. The nation was divided. Section opposed section. Politicians used fear to foment anger and distrust, especially in the South. There, those who did not own slaves and had little prospect of ever owning even a single slave were told the abolitionists would happily free millions of slaves who at worst would become a murderous hoard threatening their safety and at best a source of cheap labor who would take their jobs. In some of their ugliest rhetoric, these fear-mongers warned that Republicans like Lincoln would allow blacks to vote and marry white women. Secession—inspired, in part, by this campaign of fear—was the course taken by the Southern states despite Lincoln’s insistence he would allow slavery to remain were it was already legal and only bar it in any new states.

(In fairness, I should add that Lincoln’s opponents in the North were just as capable of using fear to stir voters to deny the president a second term. During the 1864 election campaign, the New York Times opined there would soon be a black son-in-law in every Republican family in the city.)

So deeply engrained were these fears that the appearance of the Ku Klux Klan during the Reconstruction period following the war was greeted as a godsend. The Klan’s supporters had no qualms about its penchant for violence toward blacks and any whites who supported the freedmen, especially those northern whites who came to teach the former slaves to read and write; all manner of harassment of the newly freed slaves was acceptable, including lynching. The Klan and scheming politicians robbed African American men of their vote. 

And, of course, many who endorsed the Klan were active church members, professing Christians who would openly shed pious tears at the still popular revival meetings, while their churches supported a racist hermeneutic that taught blacks were cursed, destined to be subservient. 

To me, this is one of the saddest features of today’s situation, that churches are so regularly aiding in creating division and suspicion. They are fostering fear and despair, not faith, hope, and love. 

At long last, McCarthy’s influence was fatally undermined when a bi-partisan vote of the US Senate officially censured the senator in December 1954. Decency prevailed. 

Some modern historians have attempted to rehabilitate McCarthy’s image, claiming recently opened KGB files proved there were spies in high places in the US government. Of course, I know of no historian who claims there were no Soviet spies at work in the nation; but “McCarthyism” thrived on making accusations without proof, of vague claims to have access to secret information (which the senator refused to make public), and character assassination. 

McCarthy’s chief weapon was fear, a weapon freshly honed and newly wielded each generation. Sometimes those brandishing the weapon succeed in dividing the country; sometimes they fail.

At the risk of being simplistic, I think resistance to fear’s power to disorient involves three aspects of our nature. Intellectually, fear can often be combatted with fact. Those who listen only to rumors and outright error are more susceptible to fear than those who ask probing questions and take the time to do more than visit a partisan website. Socially, fear can be resisted with the help of our friends. But only if we have been mature enough to make friends who don’t always agree with us—friends who faithfully listen to our opinions and then gently challenge our assumptions and ask us for our proof.  Spiritually, fear can be combatted with faith. When we keep in mind that God loves us, fear cannot get a grip on our hearts and minds.

Three Words for a Not-So-Happy Trail

 Back in 1955, during the Cold War, an actress known as “the Queen of the Cowgirls,” composed a simple little song recommending qualities the church has long described with the lofty term: “The Theological Virtues.” Dale Evans’s song said, “Have faith, hope, and charity.

That's the way to live successfully. How do I know? The Bible tells me so.”

It’s not a deep song. It doesn’t even define living “successfully.” Though from a subsequent verse we might infer successful living means pleasing God; nothing suggests it means getting rich, having the latest gadget, getting a long-sought promotion. Despite her show business successes, Evans, best known as Roy Rogers’s wife (if you have to look him up, you’re really young), had not escaped pain and loss, yet that didn’t keep her from seeing what is important. But, lest I digress, I’ll move on to a more relevant analysis of this bit of poetry, written when poems still rhymed. 

Relevant because it talks about virtues we could well use today.

FAITH. 

Our faith seems to be at a low ebb. We’ve lost faith in our leaders, lost faith in our institutions; and some, it seems, have even lost faith in God. I get it. Over the past few years, I have been disheartened over the number of pastors and church leaders who have fawned over a man whose attitudes and behaviors would have once inspired jeremiads. Some even argued that opposing this man was as good as being in league with Satan!

Then I think about Elijah, the Old Testament prophet who also tried to communicate with people committed to a leader whose morals had long been jettisoned. Elijah preached to people who didn’t listen, people who had forgotten their own history and heritage. Perhaps he hadn’t lost his faith, but he seemed ready to turn in his notice as a prophet. Frustrated and convinced he alone had remained faithful; Elijah saw no reason to go on living. At this point, God said to Elijah, “Just a minute there, Sunshine, there are lots of good folks who haven’t gone over to the dark side.” (Ok, that’s a bit of a paraphrase.)

If your faith is wavering, maybe you need to broaden your social horizon. Maybe you need to listen to other people than those who continually sing songs of doom and gloom. Maybe you have Facebook “friends” you need to block for thirty days—maybe indefinitely. Maybe you need to expand your reading habits. Read a biography about some man or woman who triumphed over tough times.  If you’ve decided it’s safe to go back to church, take a serious listen to what the pulpit is saying—do the sermons build your faith or do they inspire despair? (This is not an invitation to criticize your pastor; it’s just a reminder that pastors, too, are subject to the general malaise so prevalent right now.) In time, some of us may have to make hard decision about the kind of churches we will support. (Again, I digress.) The point is, nourish your faith; don’t starve it.

Above all perform the exercise that builds faith: Reflect on the blessings God has bestowed on your life and those you know, even as the pandemic impacts our lives.

HOPE.

Hope also seems to be in short supply. It absence may be heard in the words of those who simply say, “I don’t think we will ever get back to normal.” Or in the weary observation of the one who nervously comments, “I’m afraid we are on the verge of another civil war.” And, I can’t help but wonder if some who insist the 2020 election was “stolen” take that position because they saw one man—flawed though he might be—as the key to the future they long for, a future where their beliefs are not mocked, their moral sensibilities are not assaulted, their nation is still respected around the world. In short, this man was their hope. 

Rather than put our hope in those who demand our attention by their bluster, maybe we should look for hope in incidents that might have otherwise gone unnoticed. My friend Tom called my attention to a group of Marine “body bearers” (a unit assigned to help during funerals at Arlington cemetery) who, after serving at four funerals, took a moment to help a woman whose car was stranded in flood waters in Washington, D.C. The incident prompted Tom to say, “There’s hope.” When interviewed about their actions, one of the marines, Cpl. Jered Tosher, insisted what they had done was nothing special. Instead, he hoped such actions might become part of a cycle, saying, "And if people [who benefited from a good deed] just reciprocate that, and do good unto others, I think our country is headed in a good direction." 

Of course, our eternal hope—a hope untouched by the challenges of this life—is in Jesus Christ. Without getting into the intricacies of Christian theology, Christians believe who Jesus is and what he did makes possible real hope. The hope we have for the future changes how we see the present. That hope reminds us that justice will triumph, wrongs will be righted, life will prevail over death. As Tim Keller says, "Our Christian hope is that we are going to live with Christ in a new earth, where there is not only no more death, but where life is what it was always meant to be." 

LOVE. 

Wait, what happened to “charity?” The English language happened to “charity.” While the translation was fine in the early 17th century, most modern translations prefer translating “agapē” as “love.” This is the love that seeks the best for others. Older evangelical theologians called it “disinterested benevolence,” doing good for others with no thought of being repaid or rewarded. It is a love that does not first ask, “What’s in it for me?”

Just consider the fuss over masks. Most of those who complain seem immune to the suggestion they might wear a mask for someone else’s benefit. While many of the anti-vax arguments are spurious (Magnetized. Really?), some might be granted a degree of plausibility; yet the anti-mask arguments seem 98% self-centered. “I can’t breathe when I wear a mask,” some say; this, while millions around the world breathe just fine while wearing a mask.

We know 2020-21 will be remembered for the pandemic and the continuing election fury. Perhaps I should add the “Karen phenomenon.” You’ve seen her in action, usually marked by an explosion of self-centeredness ignited by a conviction of privilege. 

Wouldn’t you enjoy waking to stories about some “Teresa” (such women need a generic name, too) who has committed an unbridled act of kindness while seeking nothing in return, an act that affirms rather than demeans?

With so many voices, on the left and the right, promoting division, outbursts of love are needed in every corner of our world. We need “Teresas” (and “Nicks,” for that matter) to counteract hate and indifference. As with “Karens” (and whoever their male counterparts may be), these purveyors of love can come from every part of society, from millionaires who build social centers in blighted neighborhoods to high schoolers who mow a disabled neighbor’s yard. 

Of course, the great inspiration of this love is Jesus. Look again at the New Testament for illustrations of his love—manifested in acts of benevolence and grace. Throughout the Christian centuries, mystics, sages, theologians, and ordinary believers have understood that close contemplation of Jesus’s love will change how we treat one another. Philip Yancey explains, “One who has been touched by grace will no longer look on those who stray as ‘those evil people’ or ‘those poor people who need our help.’ Nor must we search for signs of ‘loveworthiness.’ Grace teaches us that God loves because of who God is, not because of who we are.” 

One promise of the new birth is that as we continue our pilgrimage our love will become much more like God’s love because of what God’s love is making us. 

Martyrs? No.

 The Book of Acts reports the death of Stephen.  Outraged over Stephen preaching the gospel, authorities ordered him executed by stoning. With his last breath, Stephen prayed that God would not hold their actions against his killers. Christianity sees Stephen as the first “martyr,” the first of the many believers who would confirm their witness by death. 

The long list of martyrs stretches from the first to the twenty-first century. A review of church history would include among the most famous Polycarp, Perpetua and Felicity, Narcissa Whitman, Oscar Romero, Jim Eliot, and Maximillian Kolbe. Lesser-known martyrs would include sixteenth-century Margaret Cliterow and the forty-five Anglican and Catholic youngsters (most mere boys) who were martyred in Uganda during a bloody persecution from 1885 to 1887. Already in the twenty-first century, there have been martyrs for the faith, including Matthew Ayariga, Gayle Williams, and Son Jong-nam.

A common thread in all these stories is the martyrs’ refusal to give up their faith; and in most accounts, the martyrs’ refusal to respond to their persecutors with violence or even ill-will. 

The former president’s characterization (see AP 18 July 2021) of those facing trial for participating in the January 6th assault on the nation’s capital as “martyrs” cheapens the word, tarnishes it by linking the notion of martyrdom to vandalism and disregard for human life.

They are no more martyrs than John Brown, though some describe the man who attacked Harpers Ferry, Virginia, in 1859 with the term. In the name of God, Brown committed cold-blooded murder. His actions jeopardized the welfare of thousands of slaves. Even those who shared his abhorrence of slavery, believed he was “mad” at best, bedeviled at worse. 

No, those who attacked the capital and now face the due consequences of their actions are not martyrs.

Who's Singing Next to You?

 I’ve been reading about the work of English Baptist theologian and leader Dan Taylor (1738-1816). Taylor was an advocate for congregational singing; he believed it blessed the whole church. Some of his fellow Baptists weren’t so sure. They believed such singing violated Paul’s rule against women speaking in church (I Cor. 14:34). Taylor’s view eventually prevailed. Isn’t it curious how we will take some verses and squeeze every imaginable implication, however improbable, from them? Yet, we take a command like “Love your neighbor” to mean we should love people who look like us—and maybe not all of them. 

A Medic Alert Bracelet for Snow White?

 Have you heard? Disney is being pressured to change their “Snow White Ride” because the Prince gives the unconscious Snow White a kiss without her consent.

Now just a minute here, this story includes a woman who hands our poisoned apples, and the kiss is what people worry about? Makes you wonder. 

And, what about those dwarfs? 

--Dopey: Come on, many, many good people are not destined for Harvard, and may even spend their lives in repetitive work (dumping inferior diamonds, for example), but do we really have to label?

--Grumpy: He spends his days in a hole in the ground, sure he might not be cheerful, and might even be irritable at times … but if people live up to our expectations, what if we called him “Sanguine” instead. We could give him a chance to change, to live up to a new image.

--Happy: If Grumpy sees the flagon as half empty, Happy sees it as half full. I guess he’s the opposite of Grumpy, the mirror image…. Wait. Snow White was a simple girl. How much did she know about math? Could there have been only six dwarfs? What if the Happy/Grumpy dwarf (or the Grumpy/Happy dwarf) was a single dwarf suffering from bipolar disorder. Far-fetched? Maybe not. Several biographers suggest Walt Disney experienced severe mood swings. Do Grumpy and Happy add up to a cry for help?

--Sneezy: Since moving to Texas I’ve learned a lot about what the locals call “Cedar Fever.” It’s an allergic reaction to “cedar pollen” in the air. It really slows some people down. Imagine the poor kid who goes to school every day with a red nose and watery eyes to face his friends calling him “Sneezy.” How insensitive.

--Sleepy: I have a relative with narcolepsy. It isn’t funny. She is afraid to drive long distances by herself for fear she will fall asleep at the wheel. Again, insensitivity reigns: A sleepy dwarf is a funny dwarf.

--Bashful: We don’t know a lot about him. He tends to be a bit reticent, reserved. In a world where the extravert gets the attention, we overlook the Bashfuls. Yet he could be the deepest, most insightful of the dwarfs. But we’ll never know.

--Doc: It’s a bit of a cliché, but he’s older and therefore wiser. Was he once a doctor? If so, what tragic event sent him into the mines—the dwarfs are miners, you know.

But wait. The dwarfs are miners. What are they doing to the environment? Why should they have all that wealth (diamonds)? Did the mine belong to the pixies before the dwarfs came along? Is it silly to make so much fuss over a fairy tale? Yeah, probably.

Maybe Disney should give Snow White a Medic Alert bracelet. It could say, “Any handsome prince who finds me, while I am suffering from an enchantment, has my consent to give me a kiss.”

Some Lessons from X-Files

 Gillian Anderson has recently won her second Golden Globe. She won her first in 1997 for playing Special Agent Dana Scully in the science-fiction series X-Files. Her second was awarded earlier this year for her portrayal of another tough lady, Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, in The Crown. While I suspect her Thatcher may have lacked balance, favoring the harsher memories of her critics rather than the more balanced realty, I want to use her role as the UFO skeptic to offer up a few lessons from the iconic X-Files. Here are five just to prime your thinking. If you were a fan like I was, you will probably recall more.

-When you say, “The truth is out there,” you’re motivated to look.

-Having a friend who doesn’t believe everything you say may be a good thing.

-Don’t discount the existence of a hidden enemy who doesn’t want the truth known.

-Conspiracy nerds (i.e., The Lone Gunmen) may know more than you first imagine.

-When you start saying, “I want to believe,” you may become susceptible to error.

Easter and the Popular Theologian

 Tomorrow is Easter. Today is what some have called “Silent Saturday.” It refers to the disciples huddled together, whispering their fears about the reach of “the authorities” and quietly voicing their profound disappointment. The crucifixion had broken their hearts. They had no idea (though they had been told) what the next morning would bring.

You don’t have to be an expert in world religions to know the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth is crucial to understanding Christianity. 

A popular theologian—yes, such creatures apparently exist—offers up what many of his disciples see as a more palatable explanation of the cross than the traditional view offers. (I will leave the popular theologian unnamed since, despite claims that his viewpoint is new, he really represents a certain type of theologian, a type who has been around for centuries.) Instead of the cross being a place where a man died to placate an angry God, the popular theologian sees the cross a place where a man died to self—his self-centeredness, selfishness. This allows the popular theologian to avoid what he sees as troubling aspects of the standard explanation of the cross. As for the resurrection—the Easter event—our focus shouldn’t be on a lone man leaving the tomb, but on the light emanating from that tomb, a light filling the whole world. Indeed, some of the popular theologian’s critics wonder if he believes the resurrection was the kind of event that could have been captured on cell phone cameras had they been around in the first century. The popular theologian believes his view frees God from scandalous character flaws more traditional orthodoxy attributes to Him. The popular theologian probably believes this. 

The popular theologian claims he is rescuing God’s reputation; in fact, he is rescuing humanity’s reputation. The cross doesn’t show how harsh God is; is shows how bad we are. Only the death of God’s Son could deal with the problem of sin. 

The popular theologian doesn’t like the imagery of sacrifice when the cross is mentioned, even though that image is found everywhere in the New Testament. In Hebrews 9:23, Jesus provides the better sacrifice. In Romans 3:24-26, Jesus is described as providing “propitiation” for our sins. I have left the popular theologian unidentified, but I will respond to his thinking using an old cliché about Christianity. If he is Protestant, he must deal with Paul who says, “We have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins….” (Ephesians 1:7 AV).  If he is Roman Catholic, he must deal with Peter who says, “you were not redeemed with corruptible things as gold or silver, from your vain conversation [way of life] of the tradition of your fathers: But with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb unspotted and undefiled…” (I Peter 1:18,19 Douay-Rheims).

In short, the popular theologian does not take our sins seriously, nor the depth of God’s love. Rather than the cross proving God’s harshness, the cross proves God’s love—self-sacrificing love. It can’t be much clearer than Romans 5:8, “Christ proved God’s passionate love for us by dying in our place while we were still lost and ungodly!”

Look for references to the cross in the New Testament and you’re likely to find, close by, a reference to the resurrection. Though the initial response to the Risen Jesus showing up may have been, “Well, that was unexpected,” further reflection produced another response, “Well, of course.” The earliest preachers insisted it would have been a monumental injustice for Jesus to remain in the grave and, linked to this, was the claim that his resurrection proved who he was: God’s Anointed, the Messiah, in fact, God Incarnate (Acts 2:39, Romans 1:4, Philippians 2:9). At the same time, they argued the resurrection was evidence Christ’s self-sacrifice provided effectively dealt with our sins and provided salvation (Romans 4:25). 

Now what I have just outlined in the last three paragraphs is a kind of generic theology.  It’s what you would expect to hear in an Easter sermon. In fact, if you hear a sermon on Easter, you will probably be able to guess what the preacher is going to say next. That’s not a bad thing, but it’s something the popular theologian can use. He offers novelty. He offers to give you insights your parents don’t have. If you embrace, what the popular theologian has to say, you a cut above the ordinary Christian. You have special knowledge.  You are more mature. (Huh, that almost sound like Gnosticism. But mustn’t digress.)

Sure, the popular theologian’s promise of living in a new way, selflessly, lovingly, sounds good. But, it is an empty promise without the cross and the empty tomb. The popular theologian’s alternative leaves you powerless. The orthodoxy of the Bible promises Christ’s resurrection power, mediated through the Holy Spirit in your life (Acts 2:33). 

So, this Easter be aware of the popular theologian. Don’t let yourself be fooled by about how good you are, about how you can be like Jesus on your own. It sounds good, but it doesn’t work. 

The popular theologian will never go away. He shows up whenever people want to hear they are not so bad that Christ had to die for them, wherever we want to hear how much we can do if we really try, with no need for silly notions like repentance and forgiveness. Instead, the popular theologian flatters our egos. That’s why the popular theologian is popular. But remember, the popular theologian has traded truth for popularity.

Maybe Next Year, Part 2

 

Hierarchicalism has unintended consequences. Husbands, fathers, boyfriends, brothers who may be prone to violence may use the stance to “encourage” the women in their lives to be properly submissive. 

Even if it were successfully demonstrated that hierarchicalism is the Biblical model for family relationships, nothing in the Bible allows for violence toward wives and daughters. Not when Paul says, “the husband must give his wife the same sort of love that Christ gave to the Church, when he sacrificed himself for her” (Eph. 5:25 Phillips).

For centuries English common law allowed husbands to beat their wives, as long as the stick used was no thicker than a man’s thumb. Puritans in seventeenth century New England may have passed the first laws to make wife-beating illegal. By no means did they espouse egalitarianism, but they did recognize such violence had no place in their community. 

In a climate when family violence seems rife, those who insist hierarchicalism is the Biblical vision for marriages must take extra steps to make sure husbands and wives should know physical and psychological violence cannot be tolerated. No pastor must ever tell a bruised wife that staying in the path of her husband’s fists is God’s will for her. No church must ever allow an abusive husband to remain in a position of authority and influence; if his wife may not be a deacon merely because of her gender, his behavior should certainly preclude his having the title. With that, I will move on.  

There is yet another hurdle those committed to hierarchicalism must face. By its very tenets, the doctrine limits the freedom of more than half of those within Christ’s church. I say “more than half” deliberately: since at least the seventeenth century more women than men have been active participants in the church. Limiting their freedom is a significant privilege to presume. It demands certainty. 

Yet, curiously, J. I. Packer, in an article in Christianity Today, admits there are questions about the crucial passage I Timothy 2:13-14 but urges churches to give Paul “the benefit of the doubt” and refuse to ordain women (11 February 1991). When I first read those words, I wondered why giving Paul that benefit of the doubt meant assuming the apostle intended to support a viewpoint which coincidentally was the viewpoint Packer held. How can we presume to limit the freedom of our spiritual sisters when we are not convinced beyond “doubt” Paul sanctioned our doing so?

Unlike Packer, not a few of those who believe Paul was proposing gender hierarchy within the church would never admit there are questions about the passage. Objections to their viewpoint simply won’t be allowed. I once heard a local radio host in Columbus, Ohio, answer a listener’s question about women preaching. He said, “Anyone who allows women to preach has to explain away Paul’s words in First Timothy.” That’s it; that was his answer. The man who had spent years as a pastor could not imagine that anyone who disagreed with him might actually be offering a reasonable alternative understanding of Paul’s words, not simply explaining them away or dismissing them. 

It will be impossible to persuade such a man that there might be another way to read the texts he has so long assumed supported his viewpoint. So, I will abandon that endeavor.

Instead, I will ask you to pursue the answers to a few questions.

Have you ever considered what our churches are losing by preventing women from making full use of their talents as leaders, teachers, preachers?

Why would Paul praise women as co-workers, allow them to prophesy, and describe them as church leaders in other places, yet seemingly limit their roles in a couple passages in his letters to Timothy and Titus?

If they were allowed to teach and preach, could women give us greater insights into marriage, family life, and domestic violence than male teachers and preachers?

What can we do to make sure our daughters and sons hear about the many female heroes in church history? (Why should our children know about John Smith but not Anne Hutchinson?)

Could the church’s youthful critics—who see Christianity as sexist—be exposing a family secret, one that demands we reevaluate our glib repetition of old formulas?

If we had more women leaders, would our churches and denominations have been so inclined to support men who demean women and trivialize assault?  

Is it possible Paul’s words that seem to limit the freedom of women did not lay down eternal principles; but, rather, were addressing specific situations?

That’s a start. Maybe answering these questions won’t persuade you to take an egalitarian stance, but maybe you will come away with a better understanding of those who already stand there. If you are an egalitarian, maybe this exercise will strengthen your case.

During this Women’s History Month, it seems appropriate to challenge some of ways women are being treated, ways that should be history. Maybe someday.

Hope for the "New" Normal

 I am sitting at the kitchen table as I look through the window at the brilliant sunshine. The grass is turning green, some trees are blossoming. It’s hard to believe that just over a month ago I would have been sitting here shivering because we had no electricity, looking through the window at snow and ice, and hoping none of our pipes had frozen. More than eighty people died during that freak-weather induced blackout; certainly, too many to allow media darlings to mock Texas. We’d seen bad weather in Ohio, but not like this. In Ohio we were prepared (on both the community and personal level). Ohio’s Franklin County has a fleet of snowplows; here our county has none. When we had no electricity in Ohio, we could slip away to any mall that was open or to the library to warm-up and recharge electronics; here the roads were covered with ice and many places like the malls and libraries were also dark. (Of course, the pandemic would have kept us home.) 

As bad as it was it could have been worse. We were able to drive the car a little way out of the garage to charge cell phones.  We could drink the water, though not all of our neighbors could (some had no water at all). We had food. We had a stock of tuna and peanut butter. Had the blackout lasted much longer we might have tried mixing them, but it never came to that. Our son and friends in Ohio checked on us. Neighbors here checked on one another. Our power went out on Monday morning, it came back Thursday noon. Others were still without power two weeks later. 

On Friday, my EMT neighbor and I shoveled snow off the driveway. On Saturday, our son, daughter-in-law, and Grandson showed up to help shovel snow off the deck and elsewhere. In recent days we’ve turned off the furnace, taken pleasant walks, planted flowers to replace those killed by the cold, and even cut the grass. It gives me hope that whatever “normal” may mean after the pandemic won’t be too unfamiliar.

A Christian theologian, I believe God cares for us and uses “agents” to help mediate his grace. Maybe those agents include a wife who suggested we buy a dozen cans of tuna just a couple weeks before the storm. Maybe God is responsible for the whim that prompted me to say we should get some peanut butter, though I can go weeks without eating it. Maybe those agents include the folks who called, texted, or just showed up.

Oh yes, Krissy our dog has apparently forgiven us for making her cold. Though, I’m not sure our neighbor’s cats have forgiven them.

Maybe Next Year

 One Sunday, while a first-year seminary student, I preached at a small rural church. After the service, one of the saints, thanked me for my “talk.”  If someone could confuse my sermon for a talk, I suppose someone could confuse Beth Moore’s talks for sermons. 

Beth Moore recently announced she was leaving the Southern Baptist Convention. The popular Bible teacher and author explained her departure by pointing to the continuing support given to Donald Trump by certain key figures in the denomination. Such support, she believes, evidences an indifference to women’s concerns. 

In recent years, Moore has been criticized, not only for opposing Trump (and supposedly supporting Hillary Clinton), but also for allegedly preaching. Moore does not call herself a preacher, but her critics apparently believe she has crossed the line from teaching to preaching. Almost certainly, that dear lady from the rural church could explain to me why I was merely giving “a talk” while Moore is preaching. But I digress.

What finally prompted Moore to break with the Convention was its response to the sexual abuse of women by pastors and other leaders. Although, the Convention has issued statements condemning such abuse, Moore and others feel the response lacks the commitment to do the difficult work of removing offenders from places of influence, large and small. 

It is hard to deny this charge. Paige Patterson was removed from the presidency of Southwestern Seminary for failing to act on accusations made by a female student against a fellow student, whom she said raped her at gunpoint. Moreover, Patterson allegedly attempted to coerce the student to keep silent and portrayed her as a willing participant in the sexual activity. Yet, even after the trustees dismissed Patterson, they wanted to give him the title of president emeritus and appoint him (and his wife) as “theologians in residence,” a status that would provide a nice residence on the campus. The revelation that Patterson apparently had a treated another female student the same way while he was president of another school, prompted the trustees to terminate him with no plans to appoint him to any other position. 

In response, over two-dozen wealthy Southern Baptists, all donors to the seminary, insisted Patterson be kept as part of the school’s leadership team. Using a tactic familiar to every Baptist pastor who ever dealt with furious members united in a coterie, they threatened to end their support of the seminary. 

In an angry letter to the trustees, they wrote, “Dr. and Mrs. Patterson continue to have our absolute and unwavering support. They are both esteemed scholars and were stately ambassadors for the Seminary. Your treatment of them is a travesty that must not go unaddressed.” (Julie Zaumer, “Angry donors threaten to withhold money from seminary that fired Paige Patterson,” The Washington Post, 4 July 2018. Emphasis added.) Only a nationwide protest kept trustees from acting on the demands. Reportedly, Patterson was later hired as an adjunct professor at another seminary. His job: teaching ethics.

From my standpoint, it is easy to understand why Moore and many other women were angry.

Now, I am not writing about sexual abuse. Rather, I am addressing the matter of unintended consequences. But before I do so, I need to briefly define a couple terms. First, hierarchicalism. This notion says God intends men to play the role of leader in any relationship with women. Those who hold this position insist it does not demean women, nor does it suggest women are less intelligent or somehow inferior to men. It simply insists this is God’s plan. A simple analogy comes from the US Constitution. A naturalized citizen has the same rights and status as a native-born citizen. However, according to the Constitution, the naturalized citizen may not serve as President of the United States. (Hence the unfounded “Birther conspiracy.”) In the same way, despite not being in anyway inferior, women are barred from leading churches. In contrast, egalitarianism is the notion that men and women are equal in every way. If there are innate differences in the genders, they do not diminish the value of either. Significantly, egalitarians believe women may have any role in the church, including deacon, elder, or pastor. A third important term is “complementarian,” which will be clarified later.

Fairness demands I admit the hierarchical position has supporters among women. Dorothy Patterson has a Doctor of Ministry degree from Luther Rice Seminary and a Doctor of Theology degree from the University of South Africa, so she is sometimes called “Dr. Patterson.” Dr. Dorothy Patterson, who has been described as "one of today's leading scholars on the topic of biblical womanhood” (The Christian Post, 12 May 2013), helped prepare the 2000 Baptist Faith and Message which raised hierarchicalism to confessional status for Southern Baptists. She is an editor of The Women’s Study Bible, which promotes the hierarchical interpretation. Her popularity reminds me that a surprising number of women are content with this viewpoint, believing it provides God-given protection from the challenges men face in church leadership. Not every woman agrees.

Many women believe hierarchicalism leads to attitudes that foster abuse. Beth Moore does not believe this, but writers like Ruth A. Tucker (Black and White Bible, Black and Blue Wife) and Kristin Kobes DuMez (Jesus and John Wayne) apparently do. If their assessment is correct, I hope it is an unintended consequence. In truth, any man who wishes to physically, emotionally, or sexually abuse his wife needs no theological justification. However, that man’s pastor may find hierarchicalism a hinderance to counselling the abused wife or correcting the abusive husband (if you’re the “head” how can you tolerate defiance). In the same way, the pastor might, for example, find it difficult to tell the woman to defy her husband and leave.

This may be why some who embrace hierarchicalism prefer the term “complementarian” for their perspective. It is a promising term but a little confusing. Many egalitarians would insist that they, too, are complementarians, believing that whatever—spiritual, emotional, or intellectual—it is that makes a woman a woman and whatever—spiritual, emotional, or intellectual—it is that makes a man a man lie behind the words of the Creation story: “So God created man in his own image, . . . male and female he created them.” (Genesis 1:27 NIV) Each half of humanity stands alone while completing the other half.

I know men and women with hierarchical convictions; they would be incensed at the suggestion they endorse spousal abuse. I’ve seen no reason to doubt their commitment to the safety of women. Even so, this does not mean the position cannot be misinterpreted or distorted.  I’ve concluded those who do not listen very carefully (or humbly) to the explanation of the hierarchical position will almost inevitably suspect (or insist) there is something lacking in the female, spiritually, emotionally, or mentally. This deficiency precludes their serving as leaders in the church.  While more sophisticated hierarchicalists might speak of “the order of creation,” that suspicion of innate female inferiority will persist among many who hear them. Convinced of this, they may find a license to treat women with disdain.

Those who believe the hierarchical view is thought in scripture have the responsibility to insist the view allow no room for bullying or abuse in any form. Honesty demands the admission they have often failed.

During this Women’s History Month, it seems appropriate to challenge some of ways women are being treated, ways that should be history. Maybe someday

Domestic Disturbance

     Maybe you’ve heard this story. It’s found in Luke 10. It takes place while Jesus was visiting the home of a woman named Martha (other gospels suggest she shared the home with her brother and sister, Lazarus and Mary). While Martha was busy in the kitchen preparing a meal, Jesus was teaching in what we might call the living room. Mary, according to one version, “… sat before the Master, hanging on every word he said.” 

    If read this story as twenty-first century westerners, we might miss something significant. Jesus was teaching Mary. 

    Back in 1983, Barbra Streisand played the title role in a movie called Yentl. It was the story of a young Jewish woman in Eastern Europe a little before the beginning of the Twentieth Century. Yentl’s father, a rabbi, had broken tradition and taught his only child the Torah, despite the notion that such learning wasn’t for females. After his death, Yentl wanted to learn even more; but, of course, women were not allowed to study the Torah. So, Yentl, disguising herself as a young man, enrolled in a rabbinical school. The story is touching, and the situation inspires humor, especially as Yentl finds herself attracted to another student. Yentl’s story reflects attitudes very much present in first century Judaism. In short, many rabbis said women were incapable of learning, that teaching them was a waste of time. For Jesus to teach Mary and the other women who were his followers was revolutionary. Though Luke doesn’t tell us, it is quite possible other women were present. Jesus’s attitude toward women marked the beginning of something novel and liberating. 

    Now, back to the story.

    At some point Martha had enough, so she fumed out of the kitchen to declare, “Master, I am slaving away in that kitchen and Mary is in here doing nothing.”

    To this Jesus, responds, “O Martha, you are fussing too much. Sandwiches would be just fine. Besides, Mary has her priorities straight. Why don’t you join her?” (Please note, this is a somewhat free paraphrase.)

    Usually, the story of Mary and Martha is cited to remind us of the danger of allowing “busyness” to cause us to neglect our opportunities for spiritual growth. Some writers even suggest there are “Marys” among us and “Marthas” among us: the Marthas must be on guard against neglecting their spiritual nurture; the Marys must continue to “sit at Jesus’s feet” while never using that as an excuse to neglect the truly essential duties found in a church community. Both the Marys and the Marthas need balance. I think these are proper lessons to be drawn from Luke’s glimpse into the women’s lives. But I wonder if there might be a further insight into human nature to be discovered. 

    As you know, both congregations I have served were involved, either directly or tangentially, in the debate over whether a woman may serve as a deacon in her church. In each church there were at least a few women who held an opinion I find curious. That opinion was best expressed by a woman in my Texas congregation. When the subject of women serving as deacons came up, she said, “No real woman would want to be a deacon.” Again, I found the same opinion expressed in Ohio, though never expressed in quite so compact terms.

    I don’t think this opinion was rooted in their Biblical exegesis. Nor was it a way to say, “I don’t want to be a deacon.” Very clearly, they didn’t want any woman to have access to the deaconate. I eventually found that some women held similar views about women preaching.

    What is up with that? I’m not sure I know, but recently I’ve begun to wonder if this old story of Martha and Mary might offer some insight.

    Spoiler Alert: The following is speculative. I would hardly suggest Luke was intending to say what I am about to say. Still, if we assume those who populate the pages of the Bible were real people, perhaps some of the following is not too far-fetched.

    Is it possible Martha saw things were changing, that Jesus was introducing a new way to look at women, a way that honored rather than suppressed their gifts? Could Martha have seen that new opportunities and responsibilities would be opening to her and other women? Might Martha have realized she could no longer sit back to wait for a man to address a new challenge, realized she would have to woman-up when a job needed to be done?

    Liz, the woman whose declaration regarding “real women” so piqued my curiosity, had a lot of influence in the church, despite having no title. Her husband was a deacon. It was often clear Roy was bringing Liz’s ideas to the deacons’ meetings. If her suggestions were accepted, and were successful, Roy gallantly admitted it was his wife’s idea. If the suggestion failed, with equal gallantry, Roy kept quiet about the idea’s true source. Liz won either way.

    I suspect most women would gladly have their talents and gifts honored; yet, some women, like some men, don’t want to serve. Most such men don’t mind telling a nominating committee “No” when asked if they will serve. Still, I’m sure some would like to say, “I want to serve, but I’m not allowed.” And, of course, some women, like some men, prefer to pull strings like a puppeteer who remains out of sight of the audience, wielding influence without garnering criticism. 

    As long as we place restrictions on the kinds of ministry women can do, limit their freedom to say, “Yes,” we make those who cherish the old way of doing things happy and comfortable. Yet, we also fail to allow gifted women to use their talents for the Kingdom; more important, we fail to follow Jesus’s revolutionary example.

Lesson Learned: Don't leave your snow shovel behind.

As you may have heard we had unusually cold and icy weather here for the past week or so. Trees and wires are coated with ice. Roads are hazardous. Whereas Ohio’s Franklin County has a fleet of snowplows, Texas’s Williamson County has none. Anyway, here’s the story. Or, at least, the prologue to the story.

Very early Saturday morning (2/13) we lost our power—something of a problem in an all-electric house.

A little later, Pat called David and Kelly to tell them we had lost our power and they asked if there was anything they could do. David specifically asked if we needed coffee—important to his morning ritual. I told them we were okay and not to worry. Anyway, about 8:30 an Uber driver left a 12-cup carafe of Starbucks at our door. (We had restored power by that time.)

I quickly had a cup and texted a thank you to David and Kelly. About three hours later David called to say he had just seen the text and that they hadn’t sent any coffee. Somewhere in the neighborhood someone went without their morning coffee. I hope the deprived souls managed without their morning boost. There remains no clue who was supposed to receive the coffee.

Sunday was fine, although there were ominous warnings of bad weather to come. Sure enough, about 3:00 Monday morning we lost our power. Come dawn we had six to eight inches of snow. And our snow shovel was safely back in Ohio. 

Although, we were promised the power would soon be restored, we were without electricity until Thursday noon. 

Outside, temperatures dropped to single digits on some days. Inside, it grew colder and colder, in the upper thirties at one point. We wore layers. We had tuna and peanut butter, occasionally indulging in M&Ms, things we could eat without a stove. It was too icy to drive and the grocery stores were closed anyway. During this time, we read (using the dwindling power of our iPhones) about a homeless woman in Austin who gave birth outside and was found trying to keep the newborn warm in a sleeping bag. We will keep complaining about the situation, but we will try to keep perspective.

When there was no electricity to power the pumping stations, many lost their water, along with their electricity. Some with water (but no power) were told to boil their water. No stove, no problem—just use your camp stove. I’m glad we never received a boil order. Since my idea of “roughin’ it” means turning the electric blanket down to three, we don’t have a camp stove.

At one point we drained the power from this very laptop to charge a phone. We hoped for an update, only to hear how Bette Midler suggested God was punishing Texas for Ted Cruz. Apparently, people love to hate Texas—I knew that before our sojourn in Ohio and now that we’ve moved back, I see it’s still true. This, though the road from the Golden State to the Lone Star State seems to be far more crowded one direction than the other. But I digress.

Still, I hope some out there hear stories like this.

Hear how some Austin restaurants gave away free food during the crisis.

Hear how one couple put out the word on the neighborhood blog that if anyone without water would put empty jugs on their porch, they would fill them and put them back on the porch while they waited in their cars. Thus, helping neighbors while maintaining safe distancing.

Hear about the EMT who came off a 24-hour shift and began shoveling snow from his older neighbors’ driveways.

Hear how Christians from all over the nation and every place on the political spectrum were praying for Texas. We thank God and those who braved the cold to fix broken lines that our lights came on yesterday.

I’m sure we will hear about more of these heroes.  Now, these folks who gave away food, water, and time didn’t ask if those they were helping were Democrat or Republican. They just knew a neighbor needed help and that they could give that help. Seems like a good way to live; but maybe I’m naïve. 

There were times during the past four days I found myself saying, “Hey, let’s get the power on, then start pointing fingers.” Made sense to me, but maybe that’s further evidence of chronic naïveté.  

As a pastor I’ve spent years fighting the nonsense behind Bette Midler’s remarks. Funny, how someone saying “Katrina was God’s punishment for gay marriage” is a bigot; but a Hollywood type saying “God was punishing Texas for Ted Cruz” is clever. I pastored in Texas for years, I know its people are both admirable and flawed. 

So, I will respond to Midler and her gang by citing the words spoken by the great Jack Nicholson in As Good as It Gets: “Sell crazy someplace else. We're all stocked up here.”

Amanda Smith: From Washerwoman to International Evangelist

    In recognition of Black History Month, I’ve extracted this material from The Place Accorded of Old, my book on women in ministry. Some of our nation’s best known African Americans are preachers and pastors—Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., Rev. Al Sharpton, Rev. T. D. Jakes, and others. This woman was never allowed that lofty title, but her ministry was powerful.

    Amanda Berry Smith (1837-1915) was an effective African American evangelist during the latter half of the nineteenth century. Indeed, after ministering on four continents, she would surely be considered an effective evangelist whether black or white, male or female. 

    Amanda was born as a slave in Maryland, but her father was able to buy the family’s freedom while Amanda was still a child.  Amanda’s mother and grandmother were ardent believers and, despite their status as slaves, they boldly witnessed to their master’s children, especially his young daughter. Amanda recalled how her mother told about encouraging the “young mistress” to give attention to her soul. Their appeals were so effective the girl announced she wished to go to “the colored people’s church.” Her parents, of course, refused and even insisted she have no more contact with the two servants, but the young woman conspired to secretly meet with the older women for prayer. 

    Despite living with her own “Lois and Eunice,” Amanda was not converted until she was almost twenty. It was March 1856; she was now married and working as a washwoman. Apparently, she had been in spiritual distress for some time, seeking peace only to have it elude her. She tells the story in her autobiography.

I was sitting in the kitchen by my ironing table, thinking it all over. The Devil seemed to say to me (I know now it was he), ‘You have prayed to be converted.’

I said, ‘Yes.’

“You have been sincere.”

“Yes.”

“You have been in earnest.”

“Yes.”

“You have read your Bible, and you have fasted, and you really want to be converted.” [Despite having little formal education Amanda could read.]

“Yes, Lord. Thou knowest it; Thou knowest my heart, I really want to be converted.”

The Satan said, “Well, if God were going to convert you He would have done it long ago; He does his work quick, and with all your sincerity God had not converted you.”

“Yes that is so.”

“You might as well give it up, then” he said, “it is no use, He won’t hear you.”

    Amanda reluctantly agrees and supposes she will be “damned.” But she seemed to hear a voice whispering, “Pray once more.” She decided to pray one more time despite seeming to hear another voice saying, “Don’t you do it.” She responded defiantly, “Yes, I will.” 

And when I said, “Yes, I will,” it seemed to me the emphasis was on the will,” and I felt it from the crown of my head clear through me, “I WILL,” and I got on my feet and said, “I will pray once more, and it there is any such thing as salvation, I am determined to have it this afternoon or die.”

She put bread and butter on the table; knowing the young daughter of the house could finish dinner if she were still praying or they had found her dead. She went to the cellar to pray. She began to pray earnestly, continuing to seek salvation. Finally,

…somehow I seemed to get to the end of everything. I did not know what else to say or do. Then in my desperation I looked up and said, “O, Lord, if Thou wilt help me I will believe Thee,” and in that act of telling God that I would, I did. O, the peace and joy that flooded my soul!  The burden rolled away; I felt it when it left me, and a flood of light and joy swept through my soul such as I had never known before. 

    Thus, began a pilgrimage that would involve her ministering on four continents as an evangelist. Her story recalls how in eighteenth-century America men and women never expected conversion to either quick or easy. Most believed the transformation only came after a struggle.

    Amanda had married Calvin Devine in 1854. Devine was only a nominal Christian, claiming faith only “for his mother’s sake.” In Amanda’s words, “He could talk on the subject of religion very sensibly at times; but when strong drink would get the better of him, which I am very sorry to say was quite often, then be was very profane and unreasonable.”  She had not known he was a heavy drinker; if she had, she might not have married him. This experience may have fired her interest in the temperance cause along with the holiness message in her ministry. Eventually, the couple separated. Devine was killed in the Civil War fighting for the Union side. Amanda moved to Philadelphia where she married James Smith, a deacon at the Bethel African Methodist Church.   Sometime after marrying Smith, the couple moved to New York City. There, Amanda began attending Phoebe Palmer’s Tuesday Meetings. 

    According to Bettye Collier-Thomas, James Smith, despite being a deacon, was an abusive husband. Amanda sought counsel from a woman who advised her to seek God for “enduring grace,” apparently a God-given capacity to graciously accept her situation. This grace, Amanda concluded, would be the product of sanctification. 

    The experience came in September 1868 when she visited the predominately white Green Street Methodist Episcopal Church and heard John Inskip preach on the possibility of “instantaneous sanctification.”  She received the experience and began to pray for James Smith to receive it as well; nothing suggests he ever did. 

    James Smith died in November 1869; a short while after Amanda’s only remaining child at home had died. The next year she began an itinerant ministry as an evangelist and holiness teacher. At first, she spoke primarily to black congregations, and then in the early 1870s she began to speak to crowds of both blacks and whites.

    A brief chronology will summarize her busy career.

1870—Preaching at camp meetings. Some of her most vocal opponents were African American ministers who opposed “women preachers.” Support from some prominent ministers helped curtail these criticisms. During these years her reputation grew and she made several influential friends among the Methodists.

1878—She traveled to England to preach. She was well received and would eventually preach in Scotland and Ireland.

1879—She felt called to go to India to serve as a missionary. She worked in Calcutta with Methodist missionaries there, though she considered herself an independent or “faith” missionary.

1881—She returned to England to preach.

1882—She went from England to work with missionaries in Liberia.

1890—Amanda returned to the United States where she continued her evangelistic ministry before settling near Chicago. She established The Amanda Smith Orphanage and Industrial Home for Abandoned and Destitute Colored Children; the home was closed in 1917 following a tragic fire. She occasionally appeared with noted “feminists” of the period in support of women’s rights.

1912—She retired to Florida where she lived in a home bought by her admirers.

1915—Amanda Smith passed away.

    Bishop James Thoburn (1836-1922), a proponent of women in ministry, wrote the introduction to Amanda’s Autobiography, published in 1893.    In it, Thoburn tells a story illustrating how Smith could inspire respect from even the most unlikely persons. He received a letter from “a well known theatrical manager, much given to popular buffoonery.” He asked the bishop to arrange for Amanda to speak at his theatre on a Sunday night. Thoburn was immediately suspicious, as were others when they heard.

        "Do not go, Sister Amanda," said several, "the man merely wishes to have a good opportunity of seeing you, so that he can take you off in his theatre. He has no good purpose in view. Do not trust yourself to him under any circumstances."

        After a moment's hesitation Mrs. Smith replied in language which I shall never forget:

        "I am forbidden," she said, "to judge any man. You would not wish me to judge you, and would think it wrong if any of us should judge a brother or sister in the church. What right have I to judge this man? I have no more right to judge him than if he were a Christian."

        She said she would pray over it and give her decision. 

    Smith decided to accept the invitation and when the evening came, the theatre was packed. 

        She spoke simply and pointedly, alluding to the kindness of the manager who had opened the doors of his theatre to her, in very courteous terms, and evidently made a deep and favorable impression upon the audience. There was no laughing, and no attempt was ever made subsequently to ridicule her. As she was walking off the stage the manager said to me; "If you want the theatre for her again do not fail to let me know. I would do anything for that inspired woman."   

    Bishop William Taylor (1821-1902),  Methodist bishop for Africa, sent a letter of introduction to James Payne, the former president of Liberia. (Liberia, a nation of the west coast of Africa, was created as a home for former slaves. Between 1820, nearly 20,000 freed slaves from the US and the Caribbean settled there. Since English was the official language, Smith could easily communicate when she spoke to assemblies and when she ministered to individuals.) In his letter, Taylor praised Smith’s ministry

        MY DEAR BROTHER: This will introduce to your acquaintance our beloved sister, Mrs. Amanda Smith. As you may know, Sister Amanda is one of the most remarkable evangelists of these eventful days in which we live. She is a member of our church, and well accredited, and everywhere owned of God in America, England and India, as a marvelous, soul-saving worker for the Lord Jesus.

        I heard you pleading for Liberia at our recent general Conference. Your prayer will be answered in a great revival of God's work in Liberia, through the agency of Sister Amanda, with the working concurrence of your churches.

        I am sure you will do all you can to open her way. God bless you all. Amen.

Your brother in Jesus,

WILLIAM TAYLOR. 

    Thoburn and Taylor were gifted and perceptive men who could recognize a gifted and perceptive woman. 

    Smith’s ministry in Liberia lasted several years and she became an astute observer (and, sometimes, critic) of the new nation. She hoped the nation would be a place of opportunity where black leaders could develop; yet she almost immediately recognized there was, among the former slaves, a caste system that divided rich and poor, contrary to what the American Colonization Society seemed to believe. She implies the Society did not properly prepare those planning to move to Liberia and that it did not adequately fund the nation’s schools. She worried that there was no hospital. She may have been guilty of bias in assessing the missionary situation. She wrote, “There is one thing that the Methodist Church in America is ahead on, and that is, there is more of a spirit of real consecration for missionary work among the Christian women in America than I found in England.”    Still she acknowledged the warm welcome she received from most in the country, though she admitted there were likely some who resented her presence—a dual reality most missionaries of every age have experienced.

    Smith never sought ordination from her denomination; such human recognition did not matter to her. She wrote that God “… knew that the thought of ordination had never once entered my mind, for I had received my ordination from Him.”   Soon after she had begun itinerating, Smith attended the AME conference in Nashville knowing some of the male pastors suspected she would attempt to be ordained. She heard some declare their intention to “fight” the ordination of women.   She comforted herself with the knowledge God had chosen her and had promised to make her ministry fruitful.

    Decades later, after seeing that promise fulfilled in nations she likely never imagined visiting, she remained satisfied with her ordination at God’s hand but noticed that the attitude of male ministers was changing.

    But how they have advanced since then [the Nashville meeting]. Most of them believe in the ordination of women, and I believe some [women] have been ordained. But I am satisfied with the ordination that the Lord has given me. Praise His name! 

    In reading how, at the end of her career, Amanda Smith remained satisfied with this “unofficial” ordination, some male opponents of women in ministry might ask, “Why aren’t women satisfied with that today?” Certainly, the proper response is, “Would you be?”

Note: Documentation may be found in The Place Accorded of Old.

Now That the Confetti is Gone

     Donald Trump lost the 2020 election. I say this upfront because I don’t want you to think I imagine millions of “Trump ballots” are hidden in the basement of the DNC. (Though, I suppose, Democrats being such keen environmentalists, the ballots would have been recycled by now.)

    Joe Biden won the 2020 election. Across the nation and around the world people celebrated. Frigid Duluth and humble Lewis Center had fireworks. The Texas county where I live went “blue” for the first time in decades—I don’t recall fireworks but I’m sure there were not a few quiet (and much safer) fist-pumps in the privacy of happy voters’ homes. Of course, the celebration wasn’t limited to the United States. A friend from Down Under sent a brief video/cartoon produced by a fellow Aussie; it depicted the Statue of Liberty boogieing, Lincoln jumping down from his chair at the memorial to do a jazz dance, and Martin Luther King’s statue break-dancing—all to celebrate Trump’s loss and Biden’s ascendency. 

    When Biden was inaugurated, many people hung on his words as if his speech was the Sermon on the Mount. No, wait, the Sermon probably had more critics.

    As I observed my small coterie of friends respond to Biden’s victory, one word kept coming to mind: Joy. 

    If my rejoicing friends noticed my reticence, they were too gracious to mention it. I didn’t jump onto the conga line, didn’t don a party hat and toss confetti.  No, I wasn’t being a sore loser. I didn’t vote for Trump. And I sincerely hope Biden is a better president.

     And no, my reticence wasn’t because too much hope was being placed in the new president—even though I think those celebrating his presidency are asking too much of him.

    I kept remembering one thing: Though he lost, Donald Trump received more votes in 2020 than he did in 2016. Surely, when the echoes of the fireworks fade and the confetti is swept away, some of those celebrating will notice how deeply divided our nation remains. 

    A friend who passed a few years ago used to say, “We’re headed toward a civil war.” I listened politely and inwardly thought he was overstating the case. Now, I’m not so sure.

    During the past couple years, I’ve been reading a lot about the late-antebellum period in American history 

    America was deeply divided. Each presidential election seemed more rancorous than the last. Armed citizens seized federal facilities, hoping to foment insurrection. Private groups covertly provided guns to those they hoped would join their cause. Elected official engaged in name-calling and occasional acts of violence against one another. Parts of the nation threatened to secede. The media spread rumors and falsehoods, increasing the hostility and suspicion. Evangelicals were divided over the most heated moral issue of the day: Abolition. (Incredibly, each side believed its position was the Biblical position.) 

    Then came Fort Sumter.

    Do I believe we are headed to another war on the scale of the American civil war? Not really. Do I believe we have seen the last attack on the government? No. 

    The Evangelical Left (yes, there is one) has spent four years shaming the Evangelical Right (doubtless, you’ve heard of them) for how they voted in 2016. The Evangelical Right has responded with “Nanny, Nanny, Boo, Boo, we beat you” and an occasional reasoned explanation why Trump was the only alternative to Clinton. In all of this, evangelicals at both ends of the political spectrum failed to mention one of the historic hallmarks of evangelicalism. Evangelicals have always been identified by their call for conversion. They believe people need to be born again, converted, fundamentally changed by the power of God.

    In the mid-nineteenth century, ardent abolitionist Charles Finney became concerned about how focused some of his fellow evangelicals had become on ending slavery. He wanted to see it end as well. He wrote and preached against the institution. Yet, he feared some evangelicals were dampening their ardor for evangelism, forgetting changed hearts lead to changed behavior, individually and socially.

    Nineteenth century evangelicals never completely forgot the importance of evangelism; nor, despite rumors to the contrary, did they completely forget the social aspects of the gospel.

    As I’ve followed today’s evangelicals debating about Trump, I’ve sometimes wondered if either the left or the right remembers the importance of changed hearts. Each side labors relentlessly for changed laws, changed policies, changed leadership. But maybe we need changed lives. Just a thought.

Mob of 1500 Attacks Evangelical Church (Revised)

     Chances are you missed this story, even though it took place in one of the nation’s largest cities, New York City.

    The Chatham Street Chapel was a well-known evangelical church in the city; well-known, in part, because its pastor was famous nationwide (or infamous, depending on your perspective). The church was known for its strong position on a moral issue. And that angered many people in the city.

    During a church-sponsored meeting to explore ways to better organize the fight for the church’s position, a mob of some 1500 protestors attacked the church. Fortunately, the church’s leaders escaped out the back door just as the mob was coming in the front door. The sanctuary was left a mess, but no one was injured. This was the first of two mob attacks on the church. On another occasion, protestors took over the church balcony during a meeting and threw hymnals down onto the congregation.

    When did this brazen assault on a house of worship take place? What stand did this band of evangelicals take that so inflamed their neighbors?

    The attacks took place during the spring and summer of 1833. And the mob was angered over the church’s support for the abolition of slavery. Fearing for their financial well-being, these Northern protestors were willing to allow millions to be enslaved.

    While Chatham Street Chapel’s pastor, Charles G. Finney, would wrestle with the question of how involved in causes like abolition a church should be, he never wavered in his opposition to slavery. Only his concern that a church might promote the cause of abolition to the detriment of its mission to save souls troubled him. Since Finney believed evidence for true conversion would include commitment to abolition, he made that cause second to the cause of evangelism. This stance and his discomfort with “amalgamation,” what we would call integration, troubled some of Finney’s wealthy supporters, like Arthur and Lewis Tappan. They believed commitment to anything less than abolition and integration was morally inadequate. Finney, like most men and women, was sometimes subject to the ethos of his society.

    But make no mistake, though he seemed personally uncomfortable with “amalgamation,” he believed slavery was clearly wrong. In his Lectures on Revivals, he called it “the sin of the church,” and castigated any church, north or south, which failed to denounce the institution. And, when he became part of the first faculty at Ohio’s Oberlin College, he endorsed the school’s intention to prepare ministers who were proponents both of revival and abolition. 

    While Finney and other evangelical leaders, like the school’s first President Asa Mahon, were at Oberlin, the school continued to be one of the most progressive in the nation. Finney, who became Oberlin’s president in 1851, continued to encourage equality for blacks and women students. (The number of black students was never large in these days, but that it existed at all is significant.) Only when Finney’s generation passed on and evangelicalism’s influence waned did Oberlin begin to practice segregation within its student body. 

    Opposition to slavery and support for emancipation are parts of American evangelicalism’s heritage that shouldn’t be forgotten.

Mixed Feelings About a Silenced Trump

    A man who attained national fame with just two words, “You’re fired,” knows the power of words. (Okay, to please the pedantic, two and a half words, and he was, I suppose, reattaining national fame.) Nonetheless, Donald Trump knows the power of words. I’ve never used Twitter because I believe I’d never have much to say. Trump who tweeted some 57,000 times while in the White House obviously believed he had a lot to say. Now his Twitter account has been permanently closed. And I have mixed feelings.

   His words have always been provocative; but, since losing the election, they have been dangerously provocative. That’s a good reason to stop his tweets.

   On the other hand, closing his account won’t shut him up. He will find other ways to incite his followers. Members of the MOD (Minions of Donald) Squad will happily relay his words to thousands. Can Twitter close the account of anyone who merely quotes the soon to be former president? Who decides which words are provocative and not simply flamboyant or hyperbolic? 

   Of course, it’s a tough call. When Henry II angrily tweeted, “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest,” the king could have claimed he was just letting off steam, never dreamed a handful of his followers would read the tweet as instructions to assassinate Becket. Plausible deniability and all that. In any case, I suspect that will be Trump’s claim should any of his tweets be said to have provoked anarchy and rebellion.

   While I’m a proponent of free speech, I think it may be proper for Twitter to say, “You have the right to say whatever you want, but not here.”

   If, as some experts suggest, Trump suffers from Narcissistic Personality Disorder (actually, we’re the ones suffering from his condition), no amount of reasoning with him or appealing to his conscience will dissuade him from voicing his divisive, destructive opinions. But if his access to various social platforms is limited, so may his capacity to do harm be limited. 

   But this gives rise to another facet of my mixed feelings. Closing Trump’s account may eliminate one source of sparks, it will not put the lid on the powder keg. A silenced Trump may simply make way for others to strike steel against flint.

   Trump’s characterization of the coronavirus as a phony issue may have influenced many people to put their health at risk. Yet, I do not recall a single instance in the months just past when the president was accused of ripping a mask off anyone. Nor did he, so far as I can recall, snatch men and women off the streets and force them to congregate mask-less, and shoulder to shoulder. In short, as reckless as Trump’s tweets concerning the virus may have been, each man and woman who ignored the CDC guidelines made the decision to do so on their own. 

   I live in a blue county in a red state, adjacent to what is likely the bluest county in Texas. Yet it is commonplace to see pro-Trump flags flying from pick-up trucks. Just last Sunday, protestors stood on the city square with sign declaring, “My Face, My Choice.” Like many of those who stormed Congress, these protestors were to be in their 30s and 40s, likely the beneficiaries of a tax-supported school system in a state where independent thinking is touted as a virtue. Yet, they have listened to the unscientific rantings of a narcissist only concerned with his poll numbers. Why? I’m not sure.

   Toward the middle of the last century (the 20th, if you’re keeping count) some began to embrace what is called “young earth creationism,” that is, they believe the earth is no more than about 10,000 years old. Most American evangelicals reject this notion. Believing the earth is only a few thousand years old may be bad science, not to mention deriving more from the Bible than can be legitimately derived, but it is a basically harmless belief. You can confidently tell your teenaged neighbor, “Sure, when your dad or grandfather declares his young-earth convictions while you and your friends are cramming for the biology exam, it’s embarrassing but you’ll get over it.” But if you ignore the corona-related science, your life could be forfeit. Maybe people don’t believe the warnings about COVID because they want to shake a fist at science, to say we know better.

   In an apparent effort to demonstrate his science acumen, Trump offered a rambling scenario to one of his science advisors—at a press briefing last April. The president wondered if the virus could be killed if shining ultraviolet light deep inside the body or if drinking or injecting a disinfectant like bleach or Lysol could kill the virus. Dr. Deborah Birx, White House coronavirus response coordinator, was sitting next to the president and quickly tried to defuse his musings, but it was too late. Across the nation people began trying the bleach cure. In North Texas alone, more than four-dozen people drank bleach to try to kill the virus. As late as August, people were still drinking bleach in an effort to counteract the virus. Fortunately, few were seriously injured by their self-medicating. 

   Again, the president did not recommend drinking disinfectant of any kind. But his words are so powerful, at least some of his followers drank or injected the fluid. No, it wasn’t cyanide-laced Kool-Aid, but the mindless response suggests a severe failure to think for themselves, to ask simple questions like, “What would my doctor say about this,” or “Does the Internet recommend this cure,” or “What does Mom think about it;” or even, “If this works, why don’t I inhale bleach when I have a sinus infection?”  

   Okay, maybe Trump was talking to hear his own voice—a sound he likes. Maybe he hated the scientists getting all the attention. Maybe he says whatever pops into his head, never bothering to filter it because knows he’s so smart. Who knows? Ultimately, the bleach-cure episode is emblematic of the entire Trump syndrome. It’s a syndrome explained in these words: Otherwise sane people (I assume they’re sane since most of them hold jobs and know how to tweet—something I can’t do) surrender critical thinking skills when Trump speaks or tweets.

   No, not everyone who voted for Trump is so afflicted; and we’re beginning to hear from those who experienced spontaneous remission last Wednesday. Moreover, at the risk of stating the obvious, something similar to this syndrome can be found on both ends of the political spectrum. Fortunately, the solution is the same.

   So, if any of you know how to get people to think for themselves, notify the proper authorities immediately.

Breaking the Rules

    Last night, at nearly midnight, Pat and I stood on our deck looking eastward. From this vantage point we can see for miles, almost to the edge of Austin some fifteen miles away. Across the darkened horizon we could see ten or more fireworks displays, some so close we could hear the rockets explode, some so distant only a colorful burst of light gave evidence of people celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of another. Quite likely, if we had stood on our roof, we would have had a 360-degree view of how people were welcoming 2021. It was exciting to watch what in many cases were declarations of hope, and in just as many cases acts of disobedience. Most, if not all, of those fireworks displays were in violation of local laws. 

    All in all, I’m a law-and-order kind of guy. Out in the Panhandle, when I was driving on one of those FM (Farm to Market) roads and came upon a four-way stop, I stopped, even if I could see no other cars in sight. Yet, I agree with Pat’s assessment of last night’s illegal activities. “This is good. People need this.” The past year, 2020, with its acrimonious election, seemingly endless investigations of the president, civil unrest, and pandemic-related crises, is a candidate for the worst year ever. (Historians and some older folks suggest a couple years from the 1930s are also contenders.) The hope that 2021 will be better is grasped tenaciously. 

   So, while no one will ever suggest I’ve entered my “outlaw years,” I’ll suggest we all resolve to break a few rules this year. Here are a few we should break:

   --Let’s all break the rule requiring us to see supporters of one Party as amoral, supporters of the other Party as idiots (the pejoratives are inter-changeable). Instead, let’s try to understand and respect one another. The infamous election of 2016 demonstrated that each political party is quite capable of demonizing the opposing party’s candidates and supporters. Historically, that might be an American way, but let’s not make it the American way. 

   --Let’s all break the rule saying you can judge a person by their skin-color and accent. I read an essay by a woman who opined that black children are confused when the symbol of Christmas, Santa Claus, is portrayed as a white man, an old white man, by the way. (Really, Santa is the symbol of Christmas? But I digress.) Instead, we should replace Santa with a penguin. Really, a bird that kidnaps other penguin’s chicks and abandons them to die, bird so ill-tempered that you risk injury if you get too close, should replace that “jolly old elf?” How about saying, “When you get older, you’ll understand that the Santa you see at the mall is an advertising ploy, so sometimes he will be white, sometimes black, sometimes Asian.”  Not a good approach to a five-year-old? Maybe, it would be a great opportunity to just say, “That Santa is a reminder there are good white men.” 

   Seriously, I know systemic racism feeds an expectation of whiteness when we imagine our heroes, but while blacks, Latinos, and Asians face the brunt of racism, whites do not have a monopoly on prejudice. Let’s all refuse to stereotype and make assumptions about others. 

   --Let’s all break any rule that insists the past inevitably limits our present and future. No one can deny our childhood experiences, the mistakes we made as young adults, or our failures can impact us. But need they rule us? Psychologists and counselors are asking if the long months of isolation during 2020 will permanently mar our capacity to interact and to enjoy life. Doubtless, we won’t quickly forget the past year, but need its pain always be with us like the ache of an unrepaired tooth?   I don’t think so. 

   Remember, Naomi, Ruth’s mother-in-law? She, her husband, and their two sons had moved to Moab to escape a famine. Both boys married, then Naomi’s husband and her sons all died. Returning to Israel, she told her friends, “Do not call me Naomi. Call me Mara, because the Almighty has made me very bitter.” She was so convinced her past would control her future she changed her name to reflect her profound sadness. But she would learn that trusting God could give a new hope. Naomi would become the great-grandmother of Israel’s most famous king.

   We don’t have to let the dark days of the past year, darken our new days. We can embrace hope. We don’t have to let the hurts of the past dominate our present. We can practice forgiveness. A Chinese Christian whose father had been persecuted under the Maoist regime refused to remain bitter, saying “we Christians forgive the sinner and move on to the future.” 

   Maybe you can think of some other "rules" you need to break.