The year of ... what?

With my mind in neutral this morning it is hard to be analytical. Yet this is the time to reflect on the past year — and, in this case, the closing decade.

Having watched more TV and read more news than usual during the holidays, it seems that about all one could say about 2009 or the first decade of the new millennium has been said. Well, almost.

I would declare Christmas 2009 to the Year of Snuggie. My daughters — with Zebra print for one and Buzz, the Georgia Tech mascot, for the other — and most of their friends are wrapped up in their sleeved blankets now.


Assuming adults got in on the crave, we can expect to see more monk-like fans in football stands next fall.

Speaking of football, the end of this year and decade could also be known as the time when college coaches went crazy.

One announced a life-changing career decision that was reversed the next day after a "spirited practice." Another winning coach is canned just shy of a big payout — charged with putting a well-connected player in isolation and being insubordinate.


Obviously the collegiate game has become quite the pressure cooker. But I miss the old days when scores from other games actually moved across the bottom of the screen during bowl season rather than constantly revised coaching sagas.

Considering the bigger picture, as I've said, there has been plenty of analysis as the year and decade come to an end. However, the insight I'll take with me came from Jon Meacham, the Chattanooga native who serves as editor of Newsweek.

In a discussion on MSNBC about the failure of partisan politics (on both sides) to serve our nation well, Meacham called for a new approach to leadership that balances "necessary humility and necessary confidence."


As one who values and embraces the cherished ground between extremes, I like this analysis and consider it applicable to leadership beyond the political realm.

Concerning humility, Meacham said, leaders "can't act like we have all the answers." Yet he noted the important difference between humility and timidity. That's where confidence comes in.

A brighter future in national politics, the church and many other segments of society may well rest in emerging leadership that is humble enough to know they do not possess all the answers and confidence enough to believe that charting a better course is possible.

A decade of Macon friends

Ten years ago today my family moved to Macon, Ga. from the North Atlanta suburbs. It was an event I once swore would never take place.

In the summer of ‘77 I drove a van load of teens from Thomaston, Ga., on a July night to feast at the former Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlour in Macon Mall. Walking through the dense humidity and heat coming off the parking lot, I muttered: “I don’t know why anybody would live in this town.”

Beyond the warm and sometimes sticky summers of Central Georgia, however, are warm friends we have grown to appreciate. They have shared this leg of life’s journey with kindness and care.

It is easy to pinpoint the exact time of our move to Macon. The truck was loaded with furniture on Dec. 29, 1999, and we drove on down to spend the night in a hotel. Then the furniture was delivered to our new house the next day.

The second day of unpacking was New Year’s Eve 1999, when many feared the strike of midnight would bring massive chaos.

Y2K turned out to be a bust. But if the world had come to an end that night, I may have been too tired and too deep into moving boxes to notice.

A lot of life has passed during our time of calling Macon home. Our daughters have grown up here — arriving at ages 1 and 6.

We found a church home at Highland Hills Baptist Church and have been warmly embraced by two other congregations, Mt. Zion and Vineville, where I enjoyed serving as interim pastor.

The proximity to Atlanta has given the dual benefit of easy access to the city without the daily commute. But before one thinks I work for the local convention and visitors’ bureau, not everything about living in Macon has been positive.

Historic Luther Williams Field was home to the Atlanta Braves single-A baseball team when we arrived. But the mayor and other city leaders let them slip away to Rome, Ga.

Another promise I once made was to never live in a town without professional baseball. Yet now I do. It’s just a good thing that the big ballpark in Atlanta is only an hour and 15 minutes away.

So much for Christmas cheer

A terrorist suspect tries to blow up an airplane headed for Detroit. A woman tackles the Pope during Christmas Eve Mass. A Salvation Army officer is shot dead in Little Rock, Ark.

So much for Christmas cheer. Violence is everywhere.

Such was the world into which the Christ Child came long ago. His frightened family took him to Egypt to avoid the violence of King Herod. Some three decades later this same Jesus suffered a most violent execution.

The Prince of Peace, who called his followers to be peaceful and to be peacemakers, knew the ugliness of violence firsthand. Those experiences make his calls to love enemies, turn cheeks and walk extra miles more remarkable.

Only the naïve would believe that peace comes easily. Yet only those who leave Jesus in the manger until next Christmas would believe that sowing seeds of peace is impossible, irrelevant or the task of someone else.

Vulnerability and Christmas Eve

Americans feel much more vulnerable at the end of this decade than they did at the beginning. That was the assessment of a panel on an early morning TV news show today.

Examples were numerous and convincing with the terror attacks of 2001 at the top. But there were others like the inability to accomplish military goals with sheer might, the quagmire of American politics, and the economic realities that interrupted our borrow-and-buy days of euphoria.

Vulnerability was also at play in the event we celebrate on Christmas Eve. A young mother, away from home and with few resources, gives birth to a baby whose very presence is a threat to power.

This unlikely entrance of the Divine into the world is met with confusion, uncertainty, and hostility as well as the heralds of angels and the shouts of joy.

A sense of vulnerability may not be as comforting as one of power, confidence and control. But it may allow us to better understand the message of the great occurrence that: "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth." (John 1:14 NIV)

Something to ponder

Pondering is one of my favorite activities. Something I have heard or read gets lodged in my mind and doesn't go away for awhile.

One of the most thought-provoking episodes to come my way this year was sparked by a statement from Christian ethicist Bill Tillman in an Oct. 19 news story from Associated Baptist Press. The article was about how many evangelical Christians — who supposedly have a commitment to truth-telling — are in the forefront of spreading rumors such as the never-ending one about the late atheist Madalyn Murray O’Hair trying to kill religious television.

Although the legend is blatantly false (and O'Hair has been dead for about 15 years), the rumor mill is still rolling. But the comment that caught my attention has far greater application than the sole issue of truth-telling.

Tillman, a professor at Hardin-Simmons University’s Logsdon Seminary in Abilene, Texas, said: “I suggest to my students, ‘Tell me something about your fears, and I will tell you something of your theology.'"

That idea seems so ripe for picking. How is our theology shaped by our fears?

Fear is a particularly strong lens through which we see life and define truth: Fear of losing our cultural dominance, fear of scientific discovery altering our belief system, fear of persons whose values and lifestyles vary from our own, and fear that we may find truth in an unfamiliar place. Or more frightening, fear that something we have long held to be true, may not be so.

Although one of the messages of this season is "Fear not!," there is no doubt that we do fear. And what we fear may say more about how we interpret God and God's world than about anything else.

Nothing is more foolish than to suggest that we see through anything other than dark glass. Recognizing those distorting lens through which we view life can go a long way in clearing our vision and casting aside some of the fear.

Fundamentalist fence building is a never-ending task

Parents whose sons and daughters go to Truett-McConnell College in Cleveland, Ga., can rest assured that soon every faculty member will have expressed allegiance to the narrow doctrinal confines of the 2000 Baptist Faith and Message statement.

According to an article in Georgia Baptist Convention-controlled newspaper, The Christian Index, the trustees and president at the Georgia Baptist Convention-controlled small college in the North Georgia mountains are eager for their campus to "be the first Southern Baptist college to require a signature to affirm the Baptist Faith and Message in a public forum."

Wow! How comforting to know that even the person teaching mathematics or the chemistry professor handling those explosive components will adhere to fundamentalist teachings such as women being excluded from certain church leadership positions and the need for a wife to "submit herself graciously" to her husband's authority.

Can you imagine the recruiting of even semi-competent faculty? Imagine a gifted and experienced foreign language professor moving into the North Georgia mountains due to a spouse's job transfer but not being offered a teaching position at Truett-McConnell because of this policy that the majority of Christians and a whole bunch of Baptists would find objectionable.

Revised in 2000, the confession (first adopted in 1925) went from being an umbrella of widely held beliefs to being a theological sledgehammer used to enforce uniform fundamentalist thought. Proponents swore that the new statement would not be used as a creed, yet its required affirmation soon resulted in about 60 loyal Southern Baptist missionaries being forced off the field.

The fact that this ever-narrowing stranglehold of Southern Baptist fundamentalism is playing out at Truett-McConnell is no surprise. Just look at the cast of players.



Evangelist and former SBC president Bailey Smith — famous for convincing church members of their need to be rebaptized and for his assertion that God doesn't hear the prayers of Jews — is the trustee who made the motion. And TMC's new president, Emir Craner (above), a former Muslim turned Baptist fundamentalist, is the protege of SBC powerbroker Paige Patterson.

Fundamentalist fence builders never stop digging holes, setting posted and nailing stringers. Creating a smaller pasture open to only those who think just like them is always the goal.

For some parents, this will be exactly the kind of place where they will want their kids to go to school — safely away from any thought that might challenge them. It is their choice.

Southern Baptist education (at all six SBC seminaries and a growing number of state convention colleges) has greatly changed over the past couple of decades. Today they resemble an independent fundamentalist approach to isolation and indoctrination.

Churches that continue to send so-called "mission money" (out of habit or ignorance) to the Southern Baptist and Georgia Baptist conventions should be aware that this is the kind of fundamentalism they are helping to advance. Churches have choices too.

'Just call what's his (or her) name'

The death of Oral Roberts, a pioneer of television evangelism, takes me back to the days when he, Rex Humbard, Bob Harrington, “Reverend Ike” and an assortment of local and regional preachers took to the airwaves of my youth. And then there was Ernest Angley, of course, who healed multitudes but never removed that awful toupee and touched the top of his own head.

While some may argue for the positive impact of television preachers, my opinion in general is quite low.

Roberts is widely credited — or, more correctly, rightly blamed — for creating the “prosperity gospel.” His “seed faith” concept called for people to send money to him in order to receive special “blessings” for themselves.

This give-to-get perspective turned the message of Jesus — about serving others sacrificially and unselfishly — on its head. But this manipulative approach has become a good fund-raising technique replicated over the years by many televangelists (e.g., Paula White).

The merits-versus-misbehavior of television preachers can be an ongoing debate. And lumping them into one slick bunch is surely unfair to those few who avoid some of the familiar traps that have snared others.

Yet the negative aspects of their presence on the airwaves are plentiful. Some proprietors of the electronic church are proven swindlers — like Jim Bakker and Robert Tilton — while the financial practices of many others have led to much-deserved suspicion.

And, sadly, the financial support that has permitted most televangelists to not only stay on the air, but to live like royalty, has come from the shallow pockets of poor, gullible, undereducated people. It’s the religiously inclined version of the primary lottery audience.

One of the worst results is that often church members will unfairly compare their local pastors — who carry out multiple ministry tasks with often-difficult people outside the spotlight of fame — to these silver-tongued showmen.

Back in the ’70s, there was a little book on the electronic church with a chapter titled something like, “If Rex won’t do your funeral, call what’s his name.”

It made the good point that the famous TV preachers are glad to receive your money, send mail to you requesting more money, and even offer a religious souvenir now and then. But it is the local pastor who shows up at the hospital when you’re sick and will even cut a family vacation short to meet a family in grief.

That is a good thought to have in mind before writing a "seed faith" check or criticizing your pastor for lacking the flash of the one you tune in on TV.

Mile markers to Christmas

Advent was not a part of my Baptist upbringing. But growing expectation was certainly present in the annual Christmas journey.

Both the church and popular culture provided mile markers to be anticipated and passed on the way to Christmas Day.

The hanging of the greens was unceremoniously called decorating the church — and carried out by a committee apart from worship. And our countdown to Christmas did not involve lighting purple and pink candles.

However, many other markers would indicate that we were indeed headed toward Bethlehem.

Advent traditions, that now benefit my journey to the manger, are as familiar to my daughters as watching the bulbs on a jigsawed plywood tree light up for each $100 given to the Lottie Moon Christmas Offering was to me.

A wide variety of signs assured us that the celebration of the birth of Christ was approaching. The Christmas pageant (with a heavy use of children in bathrobes) and the choir’s annual Christmas cantata (with the pastor serving as narrator and no tickets required for admission) had to come and go.

At home, Mom's thumbprint cookies, fruitcake and nuts-and-bolts (modernists call them Chex mix) paved the way. And we had to scout out a cedar tree with at least one good side to decorate.

Of course, watching the once-a-year televised showings of “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” “A Charlie Brown Christmas” and “Frosty the Snowman” was not optional.

Then there were those Christmas specials featuring singers like Andy Williams, Perry Como and Bing Crosby — where dysfunctional families were pulled together in a California studio in August, dressed in sweaters and scarves, and filmed singing Christmas songs as fake snow fell on their coiffured heads.

Technology — with massive channel choices and various recording devices — has removed that one element of building anticipation.

Yet all good trips require three things: growing anticipation, mile markers — individualized by faith, families and cultures — that assure us we are moving in right direction, and fellow travelers whose company we value and enjoy. May God grant all three this season.

Give me that Facebook religion

Religious faith fascinates me. Maybe that's why for so much of my life I have studied it, reported on it and tried to practice (with ongoing adjustments) a version that seems right and good to me.

Even before entering a second career some 16 years ago, in which observing and interpreting religious faith and practice became a job description, I paid close attention to such matters.

So I couldn't help but notice that the social-networking site Facebook provides an opportunity for one to identify his or her "religious views" along with other personal details. Some of my "friends" and I simply skipped over that one — which in itself raises the good question of "why?"

There are several possible responses, but I doubt any of my friends did so because they are not religious. Maybe, like me, they fear any label would be too limiting or lead to assumptions we would rather not have assumed about us.

But I do enjoy seeing how people self-identify religiously. For many, it's very simple and straightforward, like: "Christian." Others add a denominational tradition like Presbyterian, United Methodist or Catholic. And I've noticed the more conservative Episcopalians are using Anglican now.

Like any Georgia town in 1960, my cyberspace community of friends is dominated by Baptists. And like any gathering of Baptists, there is variety.

Several friends, in response to the Facebook inquiry about "religious views," use the hyphenated "Christian-Baptist". Others get more specific and note a connection with a particular denominational group such as Southern Baptists. (I was one of those for a long time.)

One pastor friend listed his religious views as "CBF - the fun Baptists." (He was referring to the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship that emerged nearly 20 years ago when the SBC took a hard turn to the right.)

A theology professor friend identifies himself as "Baptist of the ecumenical sort." A campus minister friend in the Midwest says she is a "Baptist-flavored Christian, more like Jimmy Carter than Jerry Falwell."

Some friends pass up listing a faith tradition and get philosophical with responses like: "Always seeking, always learning, always growing" or "Find a path that feeds the soul."

Some say they are: "Spiritual, not religious." That response always makes me want to dig under the surface and see exactly where and when the pain inflicted by a church or other form of institutional religion occurred.

Among my favorite responses from Facebook friends to "religious views" are: "I have them," "evolving" and "I'm full of it." All three of those apply to most of us.

Often I encounter people who have never taken a serious look at the religious faith they inherited and continue to practice. It is simply accepted — like having mom's complexion or dad's nose.

At other times, however, nothing is more enjoyable than to engage in conversation with someone digging into an understanding of ultimate truth and the way one's belief and faith practices have been shaped through the years.

On one level, religious faith is very individualistic and private. On another level, faith has its public expressions. For some reason, all of that fascinates me whether I'm reading about it in a book, overhearing a conversation about doctrinal beliefs in a restaurant or seeing how my online friends express their religious viewpoints.

A good question for this time of year

One Advent tradition in many churches is having a Nativity set in which the cast of characters grows each week until baby Jesus is placed in the empty manger on Christmas Eve.

Another is to have a family within the congregation light the appropriate Advent candle, read Scripture and offer a prayer.

My friend and former student leader Lynda Freeman Lovingood and her family were given that assignment last Sunday at Ball Camp Baptist Church in Knoxville, Tenn. Lynda shared with me that everything didn't go as planned.

Her 2-year-old son, Andrew, noticed early on in the service that the Nativity was incomplete. He began to seek the whereabouts of baby Jesus. His concerns grew deeper and his inquiries louder: "Where is baby Jesus? Where is baby Jesus?"

When time came for the family to approach the Advent wreath, Lynda and her daughter, Hayley, 7, discovered the lighter was not working. After several efforts, dad James, decided to give it a try.

When he put Andrew down to free his hands, the 2-year-old began running up the aisle, looking under every pew and shouting: "Where is baby Jesus? Where is baby Jesus?"

After retrieving Andrew, securing a new lighter and finally fulfilling their worship leadership duties, the Lovingood family returned to their pew — and young Andrew was delivered to the nursery.

While I am sure Pastor Ed Sunday-Winters had a fine sermon last Sunday, the Advent message offered by Andrew Lovingood is hard to beat. It is the right question for this time of year.

We remember and we reenact the coming of the Christ child year after year because there are so many places where Jesus is missing — mostly in our thoughts, our speech and our actions throughout the year.

Thanks, Andrew. We need to ask that question with your same intensity every day.

'Bobby first' seems out of order

The Florida State Seminoles will play in the Gator Bowl on New Year’s Day. With a record of six wins and six losses, they don’t deserve to be there.

But longtime coach Bobby Bowden announced recently that he would be tossing in the towel at the end of this season — and requested that his last sideline experience be at a bowl in the Sunshine State.

The Gator Bowl obliged and even matched up Bowden’s team of 34 years with the one he previously coached, West Virginia. Tickets for all 77,474 seats in Jacksonville Stadium sold within two hours. Selling tickets is what bowl sponsors are about.

There is some irony in this event, however. Bowden, the fine Baptist layman and exemplary gentleman, has long preached to his players about proper priorities. Yet, in this case, he has put himself first.

Coaches and players from teams that have outperformed Bowden and the Seminoles this season are relegated to lesser bowls in order for his swan song. This is true for Clemson, Boston College and Miami.

Just so you’ll know, none of these is a favorite of mine. My favored team will be in the prestigious Orange Bowl on Jan. 5.

But I would like to have seen good ol’ Bobby and the Seminoles go to a bowl more appropriate for a .500 team — and then attend a big retirement party in Doak Campbell Stadium in Tallahassee.

Coach Bowden certainly deserves a fine farewell. It just doesn’t seem like him to plan his own party — especially at the expense of others. But then we all can get blinded by the spotlight at times, dadgumit.

A season for not believing

There is a lot of competition for consumer dollars this time of year. It seems that many companies — especially those who hawk their goods on TV - are relying on buyer’s gullibility.

Have you ever watched a commercial or infomercial and wondered, “Do people really fall for this stuff?”

The answer is: apparently so, or the ads would be off the air.

Sales hype just grows and grows. Somebody must be buying the hype and therefore buying these products.

Do you really believe that Amish craftsmen are tucked away in their Pennsylvania barns carefully carving out mantles to wrap around a “free” Heat Surge — with all the firepower of a space heater?

And do people really fall for such lines as "A strict limit of two per family” or "No dealers please"?

Then there are old reliable lines like “For a limited time only” (I sure hope so!) and “Not available in stores” (except those all along the interstate).

Creating a sense of scarcity and urgency, I guess, helps motivate customers to pull out their credit cards and pick up their phones.

Surely Jesus had something more significant in mind when he called followers to be "as wise as serpents." But in all areas of life, discernment has its value.

But my guess is that gullibility still wins out much of the time. I can image some dear souls right now sitting by their Amish heaters while writing checks to Robert Tilton and Jim Bakker.

Christmas is a season of hype and hope. I’ll take the latter only, please.

In the giving spirit, all year long

So many people brought so much stuff to Odell and Johnnie Riddle's home that their garage kept overflowing. Now they gather, sort and share clothes, furniture and other items out of a warehouse in downtown Dalton, Ga.

Their destination is Appalachia — and the warm reception they receive upon arrival at the Bland Ministry Center in Bland, Va., keeps them gathering more and returning again and again.

"We've taken about eight loads this year," Johnnie told me yesterday. "For three years, we would do a load every month."

The Riddles started a used car business in Dalton in 1953 and retired nearly 40 years later. But they didn't slow down.

With bright smiles and hearts of love, they find great joy in meeting the needs of both those who have something to share and those on the receiving end.



"I'm like the grave yard," said Odell, 84. "I'll take anything."



As a result, in addition to clothing, furniture and appliances, they received some 50-lb packages of muffin mix as a donation recently. Other volunteers are helping to divide the mix into smaller bags.

In a sense, the Riddles have become a clearinghouse for getting goods into the hands of those in needs. About 60-70 boxes of sorted clothes will fit into the First Baptist Church of Dalton trailer for the familiar trip to Virginia. When space allows, furniture and other items go along.

But the Riddles are also meeting local needs. When a family's home in nearby Cohutta, Ga., burned, the Riddles had bedding, furniture and clothes to share. When a school gave them 19 computers, they were shared with two area Boys Clubs.

The Riddles' compassion has drawn other volunteers who help them clean, sort, box and deliver.

Children at the church once gathered 500 grocery bags of food to send along. A team that often builds wheelchair ramps installed shelving in the warehouse and the youth have gone to Appalachia to assist as well.

The Riddles got into this gather-and-share lifestyle by taking used Bible study literature to Berea, Ky., where students would sort and distribute it to small churches in the region. Bill Barker, director of Appalachian Regional Ministries, asked if the Riddles might gather some clothes as well.

Their church friends responded well, Johnnie said,with more than 60 persons dropping clothes by their house immediately. After the first load was taken to Bland, Va., and the Riddles saw the needs and gratitude, they were hooked.

"It's a good place for us to help out," she said.

"Everything is given to us and everything we take up there is given away," Odell added. "They don't charge anything."

Often, the world is classified into givers and takers. In a sense, the Riddles are both — and they have it in the right order.

What's in a name?

In an address to the Tennessee Cooperative Baptist Fellowship a few years ago, I noted that hometown obituaries often include the phrase that he or she was "of the Baptist faith."

Typically, the obit will say something like: "He enjoyed fishing, hunting and NASCAR, and was of the Baptist faith." It took me awhile to decipher, but I believe that phrase means his momma went to church but he didn't.

But to say one is a "Baptist" tells you something, but not everything. These photos from recent travels give an idea of the diversity within the faith tradition.

Church historians generally trace the Baptist movement back to Holland in 1609 — which, of course, is 400 years ago this year. There are a few Baptists still holding to the idea that their church has a direct link to the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan by John the Baptist.

That journey requires riding a historical roller coaster that leaves one dizzy. You have to believe in the destination strongly to believe the route that gets you there.

Today, few church signs are as blatant as the one in Charlotte (above) that self-identifies the congregation as liberal. Other signs give clues, however, with words like "fundamentalist," "Bible-believing" (as if others aren't), or "KJV-only."



"Independent" Baptists are typically more conservative, but the term could and should apply to all. One rare common characteristic of Baptist churches is autonomy. Decision making — including whom a church calls as minister — rests within each congregation.

Other aspects of "freedom with responsibility" have been upheld by Baptists traditionally. That is, individuals are free to interpret Scripture for him/herself and responsible for one's own response to God. Likewise, since faith cannot be coerced, religious liberty for every human being must be granted.

However, some Baptists — especially the fundamentalists who now run the Southern Baptist Convention — have weakened those historic positions. They are ever too eager to impose their ever-narrowing doctrine on congregations and to seek government favoritism for their particular brand of faith.

But, despite some anomalies, most Baptists worldwide (evident when the richly diverse 200+ member bodies of the Baptist World Alliance gather) continue to embrace the historic marks of freedom and responsibility that brought the first Baptist congregation led by John Smyth and Thomas Helwys into being.

Yet, Baptists today come in a wide variety.



My old campus minister colleagues often recall hanging out at a hotel pool in the early '80s when a traveling sales representative inquired about our work.

We spoke vaguely about being from Georgia and working on different college campus. But she was persistent in her questioning until we were forced to use the "B-word."

"Baptists?" she said with disgust. "You mean, like Jimmy Falwell?"

I responded: "It's Jerry Falwell — and no."

Then we left our kind colleague Bobby Evans to finish the conversation.

It is important to remember that then you see "Baptist" on the sign, it tells you something. But it doesn't tell you everything about those who gather inside.