Life Update & Transition: McAfee School of Theology

So, the blog is getting a bit of a facelift. Many of my upcoming posts are going to focus on what I’m doing in the kitchen and how that intersects with my idea of Communion, faith, and the neighbors I cook for and eat with. Look for the first of those in the days ahead, but before that, a small “life update” is in order.

Some of you might recall around this time last year I started my pursuit of my Doctor in Ministry (DMin) degree at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. You can read that post HERE if you want to see how that came to be. I was excited for PTS for multiple reasons; attending a theological school that was associated with Mister Fred Rogers was a huge plus and the distance was something that would allow Lauren and Violet to make the 2 week stays with me (it was only an 8 hour car ride which we saw as “doable” with a toddler). Pittsburgh’s location worked well too as a midpoint in our drives to Michigan. When we journeyed there last January I was nervous with anticipation to meet my fellow cohort members. These were people I had envisioned getting to know over the next 3 years as we journeyed together on our way to researching and completing projects towards our passions and particular ministry contexts. 

High hopes for sure.

And then, Covid.

The pandemic ushered in a change of how my DMin journey was going to be experienced. My cohort moved to “online only” for our summer session as PTS and staff were asked to adapt on the fly.  It was done as well as it could be. I can remember thinking as we completed assignments and long days on Zoom, “Wow. I really wish we were in a classroom to unpack this.” Again, I commend PTS and its leaders for suspending any sort of in person gathering. It was the right decision to make and I was relieved to know that I didn’t need to worry about traveling during the pandemic. 

As we finished up our final session there was talk of what 2021 might hold. Like many in my cohort, there was hope we’d get to meet later in 2021 if the number of Covid cases dropped. However as record numbers began to climb as winter drew near I personally saw this as being very unlikely. It was during the season of Advent where I began to take an “inventory” of where I was in the program. Obviously things were not going the way I expected. The learning environment was one thing, there were other factors too. The cohort model of learning at PTS had a strong emphasis on community and relationships. I was in need of those components as I didn’t attend and wasn’t connected to PTS prior, I didn’t live in Pittsburgh or the surrounding area, and I wasn’t Presbyterian (or raised Presbyterian). While I enjoy being different, even on the fringe of spaces/bubbles at times, all these factors really left me feeling extra isolated. Was I really going to go through a program, one I hoped would be relational, with the possibility of not building community with my cohort for another year? By that time, I would be on my way out of the program and while my work would be meaningful I wasn’t so sure about the connections I would take away with me.

All of this was coupled with PTS doing an inventory of its own too. Structural changes were taking place that would (will) impact the schools future. 

I weighed it all and...

I started reaching out to other theological schools with DMin programs. 

It was during Christmas break after many talks with their admissions team, talks with mentors, and especially Lauren, I decided to transfer to Mercer University and complete my studies at the James and Carolyn McAfee School of Theology.

While McAfee is taking the same precautions as PTS, I felt the relational aspects it offered would benefit me immediately and later on down the road after my time there ended. McAfee has Baptist “roots,” Something I appreciate as my Baptist identity has grown in its understanding over the last several years. While I wanted to get away from my “Baptist bubble” by attending PTS, I actually missed being in a space where Baptists were present in some form (shocker I know). This was a move towards reconnecting and my determination to affirm the affiliation and identifier more fully; I’m Baptist dammit! For better or for worse, depending on the day of course. And while McAfee is a Baptist school in its heritage they boast a diverse denominational body of students. Plus this is a Georgia Baptist institution. If you think the difference between GA and NC (NC, where I attended two Baptist-heritage universities in Campbell and Wake Forest) isn’t significant enough just take a look at how the two states do BBQ. 

I rest my case. 

It’s familiar, but not the same. 

While I’m looking forward to seeing what opportunities await me at McAfee, especially professors I’ve admired from afar, I sincerely will miss those I had the privilege of meeting and studying alongside during my year at PTS.  When I approached them with my decision I received nothing but their fullest support and affirmation. Their presence and words to me diffused any awkwardness I thought might be there. They created a sacred space for me to speak freely, to listen, and to be heard. For that I can’t thank them enough. 

So here’s where we are and where we hope to be going.

Perhaps by late 2021 the family and I will be making our way South as “Georgia will be on our minds.”

Pray for us that V takes to liking her car seat better than she does now cause it’s a long haul from VT.

Cheers,

tBSB

Making More Biscuits: A Practice of Breaking Bread Daily

All of this started because of the pandemic.

No wait…

All of this started because I was rereading a book by historian and chef Michael Twitty.

No wait…

All of this started because I missed home. I missed the South. 

I missed tasting black eyed peas and pintos.

I missed grits. 

I missed collard greens flavored with salted pork with a heavy dose of Texas Pete hot sauce.

I missed cornbread.

I missed biscuits and I missed them with gravy.

All of these things led me into the kitchen one morning. It was there that I began to address the nostalgia pains of certain foods, where I found contemplation about myself and neighbors, and where my prayers began to form along with the shaping of biscuits.

Over the past several months, I’ve risen early EVERY morning. Cooking, baking, failing, learning. I’ve shared photos and short videos on social media, but I haven’t really gone “next level” with any of it. This is a hobby, but it's also becoming a passion. Viewing the kitchen as a sanctuary is given me life, it’s offering me consolation. And, I think it’s becoming one of the roots of my vocational “call.” 

I’m on a journey right now. Making my way through all sorts of cookbooks from Southern chefs and those who love the cuisine of the Low Country, Appalachia, the Delta, etc...I’m introducing my New England neighbors and parishioners to the foods that fed me and the tastes I love...and I’m letting them do the same for me (hint, there’s a lot of maple syrup on their end). 

In the coming weeks this section of blacksheepbaptist.com is going to be “living” and evolving into something that doesn’t have a “finished” design in mind just yet. 

The format might change. The look might change. And I’m okay with that and I’m asking you all to be too. My hope is to post twice a week of the things that are coming out of my oven and being developed on my stove top. Some will be recreations from old recipes. Others will be “frankenstein-ish experiments” since I’m starting to learn and develop certain know-hows, just enough mind you, to be both dangerous and courageous in attempting my own culinary creations. 

Mixed in with the butter and bacon drippings is a sacramental emphasis. Breaking bread with and for others has meaning to me on a spiritual level. My intention is to share what I make; always. In doing so, I’m really wanting to see how far I can make the “Communion Table” go. There’s a famous Southern restaurant chain called Waffle House. There open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. They never close, but are always “open.” I want to see if Communion can function in the same way.

“I want a Waffle House Theology;
always baking, always sharing, and always open.”

This is the introduction. I’ll be getting things in order for the remainder of January. Look for recipe write ups, recommendations, amateur food pics, and probably a video or two (with full blown early morning right out the bed hair complete with a union suit) in the first week of February. 

I’m looking forward to breaking bread with you, baking with you, and praying with you.

Here we go.

Cheers,

~tBSB

Lincoln pastor finds Christmas message of hope

LINCOLN — A few months ago, during the dawn hours he reserves for solitude, the Rev. Justin Cox was sitting upstairs in the United Church of Lincoln parsonage making his way through a book about Black culinary history in the South when he came to a passage about soup stock, and paused.

“It just made me want to go downstairs and cook,” said Cox, who grew up in North Carolina. “So I went and found these old turkey bones that were in the freezer that my mother-in-law had stored away for us, and I just made stock. It was so fulfilling. It was like this very contemplative and embodied prayer that I felt like I’d been missing.”

Cox and his spouse, Lauren, and their young daughter, Violet, moved to Lincoln in May 2019 so he could take the job as senior pastor at the church.

“When I first got here it was really just trying to learn and to sit and listen,” he said. “Like I would go and just spend two or three hours with someone. I wanted to know the people. I wanted them to know me. And that was kind of starting to happen.”

And then COVID-19 struck.

“That really shook me because I really hedged my bets on being this present, centered pastor where I’m like hanging out on porches with people, and I don’t get to be that right now,” he said.

Cox went through a stretch of “really bad days” this year coming to terms with that.

“When you can’t meet people face to face, it’s so distant to me,” he said. “It’s like you’re watching ‘Stranger Things’ and you’re in the Upside Down. That’s what it feels like.”

He has felt, too, the heart-sickness of a congregation that yearns to gather but cannot.

“For a lot of people this is a very sacred space and to not be in it is extremely difficult.”

As he and his parishioners and neighbors struggled to make sense of difficult times, cooking has provided Cox with new ways to connect with his community — and reconnect with his Southern roots.

“I literally cook every morning now,” he said. “And then I show up at people’s doors and I’m like, ‘Hey, here’s some biscuits I made. Here’s some cornbread. Here’s all the things that I love that give meaning to me, and I want to share them with you.’ It has been a way for me to love on people when I can’t love on them in the way that I know how.”

In line with how he tends to interpret scriptural stories, Cox sees this new way of connecting as something he stumbled into, or that was presented for him to find, as he made his way through the darkness.

“Jesus kind of goes out into this wilderness, these dark places, these desert places. That is where the divine is very present, and I think we are called to go out into it,” he said. “So if there’s any consolation to the pandemic it has been this ability to look at things a bit differently, to go out into the wilderness and try to reexamine how we look at the divine and how we experience it.”

It’s hard to think of a more important time for this lesson than Christmas Eve this year, when millions of worshippers around the world, separated from one another in pandemic-ravaged places, must trust they are not alone when they raise their voices to Heaven.

“This year things are going to be different,” Cox said.

On Christmas Eve the warmly lit sanctuary of the United Church of Lincoln will remain mostly empty. Children will not saunter down to the front pews to hear a special rendering of the Christmas story. There will be no quiet communal rustling and coughing accompanying the lighting of hundreds of candles, and the light from those candles, dispersed across the homes of these hills, may feel lonely and thus less powerful.

But there will be light nonetheless.

Cox will conduct a service at 6:30 p.m. and it will be streamed live over the internet. The church has created and distributed worship bags with cookies, cocoa and candles so people tuning in will have a few small items in common with their neighbors a couple of houses down, or up on the mountain.

“We tend to whitewash Jesus a lot,” Cox said. “The kingdom work that Jesus talked about — taking care of each other, being there for the widow, calling out those who are being oppressed, being there for the orphans — that’s radical. And the message of compassion — this whole idea of loving our enemies — that’s radical. And sometimes this message comes in the voices of the delicate and the fragile and the oppressed, voices that just shake things up. There is something scandalous about the gospel. It calls us to action.

“I think the message of Christmas is ‘God has come near.’ Maybe that’s the kind of thing we found out during the pandemic. We were reminded that God is always near. We need to be looking, we need to be searching, but it’s something you can hope for. If that’s not the message of Christmas, if it’s not a message of hope, then you need to pack it up and call it a day.”

Contemplative pandemic cooking: Feeding souls and neighbors

In rural New England, winter comes not only with a down pouring of snow but with a heavy dose of loneliness and isolation. While the wondrous “white stuff” is a nuance that my spouse and I still get excited about, that’s certainly not the case for most of my neighbors.

A recent conversation with one proved as much, as she told me that because of her remote location on the mountain “loneliness is a struggle.” Like any good pastor, I listened and acknowledged her concern.

Yet my pre-pastor default setting when encountering authentic conversation is to slide in a bit of humor. I told her how I actively seek out loneliness — because that’s what you have to do when you have a toddler.

Just to be clear, I love my “spirited” daughter, but if I want to string coherent thoughts together, I have to be creative in my approaches to do so. For me, this means rising around 4 a.m. in order to embrace three to four hours of self-imposed loneliness while the rest of the house sleeps.

When I first started making this alone time a regular occurrence, it felt a lot like my years in seminary. I’d rise early to finish a paper or complete a reading assignment. With slippers shuffling and robe trailing, I’d stumble into the kitchen, grind coffee beans, and boil water for the French press. It was the practice of stringing together the actions needed to produce liquid caffeine that offered me my first glimpse of embodied prayer. Up until then, my habit was to give a small “thanks” to the Creator when I took my first sip, but I discovered my thanks and praise had the potential to start much earlier if I wanted to truly embody it.

That illumination of embodied prayer was a small seed and one that’s still growing.

I’m blessed to be afflicted with the curse of needing to read multiple books at a time. In my rotation now, I’ve found myself going back through Michael Twitty’s The Cooking Gene. Twitty’s work is less cookbook than an anthropological-infused offering of both his own genealogy, spiritual journey and his call to make the food he prepares as his “flag” for others to see and experience.

Food is a means of engagement for Twitty. He uses it often in tension-filled spaces where he interprets by reenacting the role of Black cooks during slavery in plantation settings like Stagville, N.C., as well as locations ranging from Colonial Williamsburg to James Madison’s  Montpelier.

While reading a chapter one morning, I gleaned from Twitty a story of African folklore involving cooking pots. In his telling, cooking pots were “alive,” and if not treated properly, would sprout legs and scatter away from the hearths that didn’t appreciate them. Later Twitty writes of the kitchen table as a place where truthful conversations were possible and describes some in heartfelt detail. In between his descriptive storytelling, he mentions the food present in those settings — greens, cornbread, black-eyed peas — the same food that was present at many meals in my own Southern upbringing.

Twitty’s words moved me one morning, and what I mean is they physically moved me. I found myself reaching for a bookmark after a particular paragraph and rising from the comforts of the well-worn floral chair that sits in the library of the parsonage. My spirit, with two cups of coffee fueling it, started down the narrow steps. My mind was buzzing, but my body still needed the balance of hands to grasp and lean upon the railing during my descent into the kitchen below.

I made a beeline for the low freezer where, after moving several pints of Ben & Jerry’s Netflix and Chill out of the way, I finally saw what I was looking for — a bag of frozen turkey bones. My mother-in-law had stored them safely away during pre-pandemic times.

Along with the bones, I grabbed several carrots for chopping, a generous amount of garlic cloves, an onion that was immediately quartered, and a couple of bay leaves.

But something else was missing. My spirit took me out into the wilderness of the backyard and the herb spiral that still supported batches of parsley. Kissed by the icy dew and washed in the sink, parsley and the rest of the needed ingredients made their way into a large stock pot. With water poured high, my simple creation was placed on one of the stove’s eyes.

My prayer that morning was to answer a prophetic question. Can these bones live again? These words were asked by the Lord to the prophet in the famous Valley of Dry Bones exchange in the 37th chapter of Ezekiel. When asked, the prophet replied, “Sovereign LORD, only you know.” As I stood above the stove watching the contents of my pot move and the ice fall off those frozen dead bones, I too received the same answer Ezekiel got — wait and see (especially when that water gets boiling).

Those bones came back to life as I was making stock from them. The frozen meat left for naught was being repurposed. Heated, cooked and breaking away with an accompanying aroma only flavorful fat can produce.

Right when the water began to boil, I felt the need to submerge myself in the intoxicating smell. I leaned over the pot, placing my head under the hood of the range. With eyes closed and head slightly bowed, I found myself in a state of prayer. I found myself in a place that felt ancient and old. A place that offered connection to others both living and dead.

“With eyes closed and head slightly bowed, I found myself in a state of prayer.”

I breathed in and picked up the smell of life wafting off those bones. I picked up hints of parsley and onion. I sensed the heat rising up to meet my face, leaving moisture on my cheeks. I stayed in this position only for a minute or two, and when I opened my eyes, my glasses were saturated with steam. This prevented me from seeing right away, resulting in what I imagine the Apostle Paul underwent when he encountered the divine, describing his view as being holy distorted by a glass darkly.

Slowly my vision returned, and as I stared at the pot I knew two things: I wanted to cook more even if it meant waking long before the crack of dawn, and I wanted to start seeing my undertaking of cooking and baking as a contemplative practice and a way to  address the nostalgia pains of my Southern roots.

Be it soup stock, vinegar pie or biscuits, my kitchen has become a place of experiment all for the purpose of preparing something I can share later with others. I have discovered the pouring of self into a dish of food, a loaf of bread or a cup holds meaning to me.

My spouse made an observation as we sat and enjoyed coffee one morning. I asked her if she could think of anyone who might enjoy the dinner rolls currently baking in the oven. She suggested a family in our village and then added, “It seems like you’re seeing more people now than before the pandemic.”

She was right.

Of course, visitation isn’t the same. My “seeing folks” is little more than a few minutes of conversations separated by several feet and glass doors, but I am visiting more people because I’m cooking and baking more.

I’ve lost count of the consecutive days I’ve dropped off biscuits to this neighbor or muffins to that one. It’s a habit now. Feeding those around me has become a rewarding habit. It’s rooted in a sacramental understanding. It’s a prayer of hope for the breaking of bread to be a continuation of breaking of hindering prejudices. It’s a prayer that the sharing of a cup is a continuation of the sharing of stories and experiences.

A rural church reimagines the Lord’s Supper as a farm stand

This article originally appeared on Baptist News Global and can be read HERE.

During my last semester at Wake Forest University’s School of Divinity, I walked the brick pathway of Hearnz Plaza with one of my professors. Our conversation’s focus was on my future plans to move away from my native North Carolina and head north to the state of Vermont to become the pastor of a village church (yeah you heard that right, an actual village).

As we talked of the move, I lamented my future loss of fried okra, Krispy Kreme doughnuts and the ability to order mac & cheese as a vegetable on restaurant menus. Yet, there was much excitement around welcoming such a big change. We talked of how I envisioned my role as being a community pastor who sat and walked, laughed and cried, prayed and probably even cussed a little with the folks I planned on doing life with for the foreseeable future.

As we were about to part ways, he told me he was thrilled to see what this call would mean for me, my family and the people I was going to serve as pastor. He then gave me a charge fit for an ordination service: “Just go there and find a new way to keep telling the Jesus story.”

The farm stand

The “Take It Or Leave It” farm stand that sits on the property of the United Church of Lincoln is one of those “new ways.”

Standing at a little more than 6 feet tall and close to 5 feet wide, the farm stand is a visible beacon that first popped up on the edge of the church property two years ago. The white paint that coats the majority of the structure was left over from a previous project (no sense in buying more paint when a neighbor probably has a gallon or two to spare). Lumber was provided by a local company to get the project going. A small green, red and white awning was donated and acts as a bit of shade for folks taking a peek. The “Take It or Leave It” sign is hand painted along with a couple of other designs displaying examples of possible produce that may be found there.

Traveling up and down the road, folks catch sight of it while in the middle of a slight curve that separates the village center from the steady waters of the New Haven River. If a driver were to stop for a better look in the late evening, they would find a small pull-off to accommodate them right in front of the stand. Moseying on up, they might be surprised to discover motion-sensor lights that make navigating the inside of the stand fairly easy. The lights are powered by solar panels which, like the paint and other supplies, were donated by neighbors who own a solar-based energy solution company.

Lights are not the only thing the solar panels help with. Fresh produce doesn’t last long here, but just in case, there’s a simple cool air system that distributes enough chill to keep the vegetables from wilting during the peak temperature weeks of Vermont summers. Rows of both covered and open containers house all sorts of produce — squash, carrots, cabbage, tomatoes, corn, several varieties of beans and more zucchini than any one community should be able to produce, let alone eat.

A bountiful harvest

Hanging baskets were installed in the ceiling to add more storage space, but vegetables are not the only things showing up there. The farm stand has developed into a place where those who see the benefit of it are inclined to utilize it in different ways.

One morning I stopped to scope the usual goods and found small bags of flavored seasoning. A community member had taken some of the chili peppers they had grown and mixed them with salt to create a delicious dry rub. On another occasion, a 5-gallon bucket was left beside the farm stand with freshly picked bouquets of local flowers. A day or two later, someone who had taken some of the flowers home left a touching thank you note of how that small act of thoughtfulness really changed their day for the better. Those with mature green thumbs have dropped off starter plants, mostly in the form of herbs, for people to take home and give home gardening a go for themselves.

The farm stand encourages community and neighborliness through invitation and participation. Several families in the church, especially those closer to the village center, leave and take produce several times a week during the summer and early fall. However, there are many people who have no connection to the church who stop by and make use of the farm stand.

The stand means something to this crowd. Something they find outside of Sunday morning services. This is true to some extent of the church building as well.

Church as village center

I learned of this broader appreciation when hearing how in the early 1980s the church building was destroyed by a fire. As the talk of rebuilding began, there was an outpouring of community concern to keep the church at its center. This decision expressed the collective desire for a place of prayer and worship to be accessible to all. The final result was moving the Methodist church that was farther up the mountain down to the village center and placing it atop the old Baptist church foundation.

Scott Hagley, author of Eat What Is Set before You: a Missiology of the Congregation in Context, describes the value of proximity found in close communities and neighborhoods: “Living within walking distance of one’s church community creates the possibility not only for neighborly connection with one another, but also for the shared rhythms of Christian practice throughout the week.”

“The farm stand has come to represent such a place, an access point that blurs the line of sacredness.”

The farm stand has come to represent such a place, an access point that blurs the line of sacredness by offering a space where those uncomfortable with problematic symbols, like those of church steeples and altar tables, can still come and feel they are fully included.

As a church, we are actively engaging in what our common concerns and hopes for our community are by asking the question of how we can live out the reconciling power of Christ with our neighbors. This question has led us to the table and, more directly, to food and the land yielding it.

Farm stand as Lord’s Supper table

While there is much variety to the Baptist faith, the importance of the Lord’s Supper is unanimously one of two sacred ordinances. Baptist historian Bill Leonard writes in The Challenge of Being Baptist: Owning a Scandalous Past and an Uncertain Future “Baptist churches could reexamine the meaning of believer’s baptism and the Lord’s Supper and the role of these sacraments, not simply within the congregation but within the entire church of Christ.” What is happening at the United Church of Lincoln is a community’s attempt at reexamining the Lord’s Supper, or rather yet, reimagining what an open-table theology could really look like when a church wishes to feed its neighbors.

The farm stand is radical, bold and a new vision of an extended altar table, the bread and wine now replaced with tomatoes and squash.

The “Take It or Leave It” sign hanging from the front is now a contemporary expression of the Psalm: “O, taste and see that the Lord is good.”

“We raised our coffee mugs, and we broke chocolate chip zucchini bread. We offered thanks to God for the company of each other.”

This new image is palpable to a larger community who may not be familiar with older images or language, and it offers the potential to reconcile elements that are thought to be exclusively available only for those holding authority within the church. Yet, like the infinite God experienced in the incarnate person-hood of Jesus, something previously thought unobtainable and lofty in essence, the kingdom of God or God’s new day, has now been made known. It has come near. It is obtainable in the here and now.

How do I know this? On a recent morning I visited a church member’s home. I sat with her and her spouse on their front porch (with a respectful amount of social distancing taking place) and talked of many things, some related specifically to faith and some things not so much. She served me coffee, and I offered them bread I had baked the night before made from an unknown neighbor’s zucchini I took from the farm stand.

We raised our coffee mugs, and we broke chocolate chip zucchini bread. We offered thanks to God for the company of each other. After we blessed those divinely odd elements, we recalled and shared stories worth telling — unaware while we did this of where the Communion table started or where and if it ended.

We practiced remembrance and proclamation. That morning, we found a new way to tell the Jesus story.

Cheers to the God who has asked for our participation.

Cheers to the God who beckons us to find unconventional altars.

Cheers to the iconoclasts who take God up on the offer.

Stepping Back: Modeling the Importance of Well Being During A Pandemic

For the better part of two months, clergy and those leaders representing faith communities have been in overdrive in trying to navigate the day to day demands of what it means to offer spiritual guidance to folks right now. Be it in a congregational setting, as a chaplain, or working at a non-profit these times are asking us to totally rethink our interaction with those we are called to serve. Phone calls, emails, and Zoom meeting after Zoom meeting has become the norm.

There has been a great response of rising to the occasion across the board.  Faith leaders from all over have formed online communities and support groups to help one another out. Want to figure out the best way to LiveStream your church’s Sunday service on YouTube while also utilizing Zoom and Facebook Live? There’s a group for that out there. 

And yet, in the need to adapt and to be accessible in creative and imaginative ways there has been a tendency to produce. The need to not only to “shelter in place” to stay ahead of the virus, but a feeling of staying ahead in how fast we could remodel our lifestyles.  Some changes to our lives have been hard and difficult, while others one might argue have been needed and offer us a better chance to see what’s important. No matter how you choose to look at it, it’s been a helluva transition that we need to just come out and own.

I had taken ownership of the stress and pressure I was feeling. I had mouthed those words in my head and my body was certainly feeling it. Weight and tension on my shoulders, my hours of rest were becoming compromised, my body that sat in front of a computer screen for several hours at a time felt like it had been through a demanding workout. 

Something had to give.

It started out by lay-leaders in my church commenting on what they saw; that it appeared I was working more than normal. They asked questions about how I was doing and how I was able to do “church work” from my home office/library when a 2 year old was running around elsewhere in the house. They asked me how I was able to “switch-off” at the end of the day. At first I laughed in response to my struggles. Playing it off as, “Well, I didn’t sign up for this but this is where we’re at.” These comments started to come more frequently, and then during an evening discussion with my spouse while I sat in our living room with a laptop in my lap she told me what she and my daughter were experiencing;

“You're here more, but we see you less.”

That was it. I reached out to those in my congregation that needed to know and requested several days off in order to disconnect. I don’t know why I had hesitated so long, maybe it was because there is a stigma that clergy are supposed to be in hyper-availability mode right now or maybe that voicing my need for help is a sign of weakness when folks right now are looking for signs of hope. I dunno, but I can tell you that when I did let those words finally fly I received more affirmation then I knew what to do with.

So, in trying to keep this short and sweet, hear these words fellow covid-crusaders…

You don’t have to push through this.

You don’t have to weather this storm with no rest.

You have permission to say, “that’s enough.”

You have permission to pay attention to what your body is telling you.

You don’t need to justify needing a mini-sabbatical, a few days off, a “stay-cation.” 

Talk to your people and tell them where you are physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I can almost guarantee you’ll be shown compassion and understanding by most. And for the few that “just don’t get,” well, they don’t have to “get it.” 

I’m thankful I serve a community that helped me name this, supported me in the decision, and are helping me stay “away” right now so that I can come back renewed for what’s next. I count myself fortunate. 

That’s it from me for the next several days. So for now, I’m closing this laptop and am heading into the kitchen to cut up some pickles for my daughter. My prayer for you is to find something as holy and meaningful as that in your time today. 

As you were,

~tBSB

Owning Reality: Seeking Gandalf While Being Frodo...

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

I love this quote by J.R.R. Tolkien from his masterpiece The Lord of the Rings. The exchange is between Frodo Baggins and Gandalf the grey wizard. Frodo has been chosen to bear the burden of carrying the ring of power to its destruction, but the journey is riddled with peril. In a dark moment of despair, Frodo let’s out his fear and frustration with his situation. The scene plays well in the film adaptation by Peter Jackson. Gandalf hears Frodo’s words, lets the grief hang in the air between them, and then offers encouragement. 

I’ve seen these words on social media the past few weeks. I believe the significance of it applies to all of us who’ve had our world and every day normalcy turned upside down through Covid-19. 

Pretty sure I uttered Frodo’s contribution to that conversation a few times already. “I wish this hadn’t happened in my time…” Who wouldn’t with the news we’ve heard coming out across the world? I’ve said some version of this from my position as a first year senior pastor of a community church in Vermont. While I know that congregational ministry can offer new challenges every day, nothing from my past 7 years of student ministry nor my time spent in higher education and seminary truly prepared me for what I’m experiencing now. I, and everybody else, are in uncharted territory.

There is an unspoken pressure within our society today to rename “challenges” as “opportunities”. I know I’ve used expressions with words like creative, re-imagine, and explore to talk with my congregation about how we are moving forward. Those words are authentic and I admit there is some real excitement behind them. But, there is also some anxiety and self imposed pressure behind them too. 

The pressure to translate worship to a completely online platform.

The pressure to experiment with alternative pastoral presence techniques.

The pressure to stay connected. 

The pressure to accept the practices that worked last week might need to be let go and re-thought the following week.

The pressure to become proficient in Zoom videoing. 

The pressure to generate digital content that is high quality and spiritually inspiring.

Let be clear, yes, part of doing some of this might be exciting at times. Part of addressing the mediums of connecting with folks through alternative means can open a lot of doors. One such story that I’ve seen was with one of my own parishioners family members who lives states away and has started joining us online the past few Sundays since their church didn’t have the means to Live-stream or record their Sunday services. It’s amazing that something like this could happen. It’s amazing my church has the ability to offer this. And it’s amazing we live in a time where this is possible. However,  I can hold this moment in awe and see the value it offers, while at the same time, authentically admit that while it’s amazing...It’s not what I envisioned I’d be doing. 

I didn’t want to be a “digitized” pastor. I just want to be a pastor in a community where I can sit with folks and walk with them on a shared journey. 

One of the tools I was gifted in seminary was language that granted me the ability to name those practices that offer me consolation and those that offer desolation. Moments of consolation for me during this time are having conversations with mentors who are helping me process constructively certain issues while laughing at the absurdity of it all over the phone. Moments of desolation see me stressing over audio and visual quality of videos I’ve tried to make 3 times already with different issues arising every time I hit the record button. The hope is that somehow the Spirit is granting me the ability to learn in both instances; to encourage me during those edifying conversations and to learn and accept that I don’t have to be on the cutting technological edge or cave to the pressure of being a wiz at making videos.

It’s at those times I need to remember Gandalf’s words to Frodo, “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” Moving forward, for me this means leaning into those moments that give me life, while reigning in those practices that threaten to suck the life out of me. We all have this choice, a choice to decide, and we have the opportune time to do it. 

Let’s make the most of it. And let’s not smash our computers in the process if we can help it.

As you were,

#tBSB

Deja Vu: Criticism of the New Conservative Baptist Network of Southern Baptists

Gonna keep in short and sweet this go around since I feel we’ve seen and heard this sort of rhetoric before.

But first, some context.

Years ago I worked in a chemical plating plant that manufactured all sorts of electronic accessories that made their way into cell phones, computers, and automobiles. These parts came off reels and entered into a large mechanized production line pulled along on gears and drums through chemical baths of nickel and gold. Reels would come in all different sizes, some needed to be changed frequently while others could be over an hour long. On those nights, if everything functioned properly, little was required in keeping the industrial beast moving along. It was easy money and those on the production line spent most of the night sitting and simply watching. This of course required pulling up a chair as to alleviate the standing on hard cement floors and metal grates. One chair was allowed on a line, but many a second found their way there too.  

This wasn’t much of an issue most of the time. However, on some occasions, during early morning walk-throughs by 1st shift supervisors, a comment might be made about that second chair. They would inquire about the nights work to be sure all ran as smoothly as it appeared and only then would they deliver an additional comment about that second chair being on the line. Didn’t matter if the run time met expectations. Didn’t matter if there was little to no downtime in production. Everything was fine, and yet...something had to be said. Something had to be supervised and somebody in their position had to do it. My father who worked there before me said, “You know son, when they say stuff like that, stuff about extra chairs, they really have nothing else to complain about but they gotta come up with something.”

People with authority. People who possess power and influence. People who are on edge. People who are actively searching for a place to exhibit their insecurity. People who are looking for that “second chair.” People intent on discovering a problem.

The “new” Conservative Baptist Network of Southern Baptists reminds me of my former supervisors.

A network proclaiming persecution in a denomination that expunged all the progressive and moderate voices 30+ years ago are now feeling the need to fabricate a new moral struggle within their own body using the same old tactics they have before. Just goes to show that if a movement or ideology is built on a foundation that desires division to sustain itself, we shouldn’t be surprised to see an enemy created in order to appease the need. Instead of their purpose statement being,

A partnership of Southern Baptists where all generations are encouraged, equipped, and empowered to bring positive, biblical solutions that strengthen the SBC in an effort to fulfill the Great Commission and influence culture.

Might I suggest going with,

If there is no enemy to fight then by God we’ll create one to fight” as their motto.

They have taken a look at the production line (the SBC) and sensing that all is running smoothly know that for a people whose identity rest in perceived victimization (a second chair) has to be located and called out. It’s the 1980’s Moral Movement all over again. Let the fracturing continue.

Woe to those institutions who claim to hold the Gospel as a possession to dish out to those they deem worthy.

Heading to Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood: Pursuing My Doctorate of Ministry At Pittsburgh Theological Seminary

It’s safe to say that’s it's been awhile since I’ve sat down and written for “blacksheepbaptist.” However my hiatus was intentional and planned. For those that read my last post, I decided to “go dark” for awhile after reading the writings of Paul Kingsnorth. His influence, coupled with my desire to be present with my new congregation, saw my removal from not only my personal site, but from much of social media. As I close out 2019, I have slightly started the process of reentering these spaces, but only doing so when I feel there is something worth saying.

To break the silence I hinted on Instagram a few weeks ago of a life event that will have a substantial impact not only on myself, but on my family and church for the next 3 years. Starting in January of next year I will attend Pittsburgh Theological Seminary where I will pursue my Doctorate in Ministry (DMin). This opportunity comes sooner than I expected, but because of the serendipitous circumstances that led to it, I had to give it serious consideration. 

Ever since I began my theological education, my thought was to one day take on the challenge of entering a PhD (Doctorate in Philosophy) program. However, the more time I spent in higher education I begin to suspect that perhaps a PhD program wasn’t the best fit for me, while at the same time, became aware of the focus of the DMin degree. To offer some perspective on the difference, PhD programs are steeped in research, they require from my understanding heavy residency requirements at the institutions where they are held, and typically last anywhere between 5-8 years. Let me also mention there are ancient and modern language requirements as well as the need to submit GRE scores (Graduate Record Examinations). It’s a process, and one that demands a strong desire and commitment for good reason. In the words of one of my past professors, “If you’re going to consider a PhD, you better be sure you know what you’re signing up for.” Here, here.

Taking all this into consideration forced me to do a fair amount of self-reflection and self-awareness. As I went through my mental rolodex, I used an expression to assess the situation. “Would a PhD give me life?” Would I be willing to ask my family to possible relocate, or at least be willing to support my traveling extensively several times a week for hours on end to pursue this? Could I ask of myself to revisit Greek or take up Hebrew prior to enrolling? Whether it be now or later, could I expect my congregation to understand the time commitment it would take? These were just the tip of iceberg questions that I visited and ran scenarios through. After a considerable amount of time I had my answer; No...a PhD isn’t for me.  

I had come to this conclusion for the most past by the end of my run at Wake Forest School of Divinity. I mention this because it was during my last semester there where I was required to take a travel course that I found myself in Alabama at the Samuel Dewitt Proctor Conference. While there, I had the chance to meet and talk with several different seminaries and divinity schools. Several offered PhD’s as well as the DMin. I had done my research on many DMin programs and knew that almost all were lucrative institutional programs, meaning there is little financial support outside of loans. The DMin is seen as benefiting the local church so the financial responsibility is placed back on the church if they wish to support their pastors pursuit of obtaining it. As I spoke with different representatives there, most confirmed what I already knew. Yet, when I spoke with the representative from Pittsburgh Theological Seminary (PTS) I found they did offer financial support. I took that bit of information and tucked it away. It was months later when I received a personal email from PTS with additional information about their programs that phone calls started happening, writing samples were sent, recommendation letters requested, and proper paperwork submitted. I’m a firm believer in taking something as far as it will go (I mean come on, I ended up in Vermont under similar circumstances)! A few weeks passed and I got the needed affirmation I was seeking. I was fortunate enough to receive a scholarship through PTS and was recipient of outside scholarships from both the American Baptist Churches USA and the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship. With this support, and the continuing education funds my church in Vermont had allotted me, my DMin from PTS became fully funded. 

Now the question changed slightly; just because I could go, should I actually go?

When discerning a commitment like this one doesn’t do it alone. Being married, my spouse’s input is vital. Without her support this wouldn’t be possible. With the addition of our daughter, I had to decide if school work would take me away from her in such a way that I would regret or even come to resent it. That was a big concern when I was thinking about the PhD, but the DMin is much more flexible with residency requirements being just two visits to campus a year from anywhere between 1-2 weeks stays at a time. My spouse and I had this conversation and we weighed the non-financial cost it would require of us. It was decided that all of us would make the necessary trips. My spouse happens to have a family member in Pittsburgh and so the opportunity to spend time with them became an added incentive. It’s a good halfway point as well for other family members to visit while we’re there. And, while this is no means a vacation, it does allow for the potential to be away from our current setting and offers us to explore a city and culture we have little knowledge of and connection to.

This decision was also given the blessing by those in leadership at my church. Not every church would let a new pastor do this early in their call, so I appreciate their support far more then words can convey. They simply “get” that classroom education is something that makes me tick and what I learn will find its way into sermons and the culture/identity of our church as we grow together. 

Coming to this conclusion of pursuing the DMin has been a long process, and yet I am confident I am making the right decision. In my research, I kept coming across the the labels used to describe both PhD and DMin, one being an “academic” and the other “professional” degree. Those words I see as both helpful and yet limiting. Someone can pursue a PhD in Practical Theology while someone can produce a heavily research project that is structured under the DMin praxis, and because of this, I see no value of one over the other, just a different course of action in the process of pursuit. To each their own. I only suggest to others weighing the option to ask the right questions and evaluate their life circumstances to determine their chances of success in either program. 

Look for more updates on this venture in coming post.

As you were,

~BSB

Going Dark

In my last semester at Wake Forest School of Divinity I enrolled in a class which dealt with finding alternative pulpits. This is to say the intent was to engage in those spaces where prophetic experiences were taking place outside of the traditional Sunday morning hour. For the course, most of the experimental space we explored dealt in the digital realm, i.e. social media. My time in that course forced me to evaluate how I used blacksheepbaptist.com and, in the end, I decided that some social media platforms were not conducive to how I wanted to engage people outside of certain circles. In April of this year I official logged off of Facebook, the platform that defined what social media could be to my generation. I had little regret in my decision.

However, circumstances changed due to my position as the senior pastor of a church in Vermont. Not so much my duty, but my input was desired so I, with some hesitation, logged back into my account in August. While lurking and performing the typical “Facebook stalkings” I’ve determined I haven’t missed much. This revelation, while present from the get go, became all to clear while I was browsing Paul Kingsnorth’s Confessions Of A Recovering Environmentalist. In a chapter entitled “Dark Ecology” Kingsnorth calls out the religion of technology and complexity that is rooted in the belief that advancements in the field are to be held as sacred and essentially the motives needed to obtain new technological breakthroughs are left unquestioned. Instead Kingsnorth offers what he sees as ‘appropriate advances’ that challenge the notion of tech for tech's sake. While humanity races forward to line up for the next iPhone along with the highest rated genetically modified tomato shipped from one coast to the next, Kingsnorth reminds us that, “In exchange for the flashing lights and throbbing engines, they (humanity/we) lost the thing that should be most valuable to a human individual: autonomy. Freedom. Control.” We don’t get to control much in this world, but the little we have is being freely given away by us.

Kingsnorth’s influence by philosopher and Catholic Priest Ivan Illich has been extended to and embraced by me as well. Illich saw what we as a society are now fully experiencing; the things we’ve created...we’ve become dependent upon and this dependency is not issued on the individual level but oversaw by institutions and exploitative organizations. 

Over the next several weeks, I am wanting to lay claim as to why I’m of the same mindset. I’m taking inventory of my life and seeing the areas where I can “go dark” and escape what he refers to as the “progress trap” and instead embrace a dark ecology. For me this means declaring with all the prophetic voice I can muster that an anthropocentric view of creation is not only problematic but destructive and that in order for me to move forward I need at first to withdraw. Thus the need to go dark. 

This process is just that; a process. Where to begin? Social media seems as good a place as any. For so long I embraced the thinking that I could control my content on Instagram and Twitter, while fully realizing I have no input as to how those platforms are used and distributed to other parties. And while I would enjoy removing myself from Facebook, for now, my voice and perspective is needed there as part of my church’s online presence. As for my personal site blacksheepbaptist.com...perhaps it’s time is nigh as well. 

I’m thinking letter writing and stamp licking has more value than post “likes” and status updates. 

I’m thinking the Facetime of the past was better than what we think of as Facetime now. 

“Going dark” doesn’t mean I’m throwing in the towel, it just means I removing my piece from a game that I don’t feel like playing anymore. This withdrawal is to gain perspective and in the words of Kingsnorth to withdraw “from the fray” of things.  Whatever the self perpetuating machine of advancement is pumping out I’m refusing to take part in it. 

This is not quitting, but reclaiming. 

See you in the real world.

"Our Church": It's bigger than a building

Well, we’ve officially been “flatlanders” right at two months now and are starting to form some type of new routine. Part of that process for me is personally discovering what it means to be present in the village (I’m still wrapping my mind around using that term; village. People often talk about the importance of being present with others. I watched a video not long ago with a speaker describing the signal it sends to others when we leave our cell phone on the table when we meet with them and it encouraged me to either leave mine behind or in my pocket when I sit across from someone. You’d be surprised at how hard it is at times to be present, but just like most things, it becomes rather easy when you’re intentional about it. Small steps are key to making any kind of change “stick”, and those have been helpful to me as I begin to form relationships with my new neighbors.

I was excited about one such relationship possibility forming the other week. I was invited to help take part in the Vermont READS 2019 state-wide reading program. This year, citizens of Vermont are encouraged to read the graphic novel March: Book One written by Congressman and Civil Rights Leader John Lewis. The book is co-authored by Andrew Aydin and illustrated by Nate Powell. The work focuses on John Lewis’ upbringing and introduction to non-violence practices in order to bring attention and change to a very segregated 1950-60’s United States. In reading this work, it becomes very apparent that Lewis’ actions were driven by his faith. Readers will also see the importance of the African American Church during that time as being not only a “house of prayer,” but a community meeting house for Civil Rights activists. I can’t help but think that this role is something the universal church needs to reclaim for our own time today.

My church was fortunate to have received a few copies which will be available for parishioners to borrow. My hope is that by engaging in this text some will feel moved to take part in a community discussion later in the year when students from the local Community School will be sharing their thoughts as well. This is an opportunity for a community to not only “know” what their children are reading, but a chance for them to participate as well.

This collaboration lends itself to a lot of chatter I’ve heard from those in the community that don’t hearken the church doors. For example, a church member was talking recently to an individual who doesn’t attend any church service and was explaining who I was. “Oh, he's our new pastor.” You see, this thing we’re part of is bigger then a building. I feel the same way, just because you don’t attend a church service doesn’t mean you aren’t part of my community.

Here’s to sitting across the table, without our phones, and having real community.

As you were,

~tBSB

Settling in the Green Mountain State: An Update On Our Move North.

For all paperwork purposes, today is the official start of my becoming the new senior pastor of a United Church in Vermont. For 5 months, Lauren and I have packed and prepared for this moment all the while with Violet at our feet. We left Winston-Salem in a whirlwind; our house on the market and hooding/graduation altered to fit our early departure. Even the act of actually leaving proved difficult as one of our cats became spooked and hid in a crawl space for several hours. So much for planning and smooth sails.

Wake Divinity helped make my intimate graduation ceremony truly special.

Vermont has welcomed us with colder temperatures, something we are appreciative for after coming from the land of perpetual humidity. We had meals awaiting us in the fridge with a few different jugs of maple syrup added for good measure. Our belongings showed up later in the week and several of my new parishioners showed up to lend a hand in getting the items off the trailer and into the parsonage. Getting unloaded was one thing, finding a home for them was another challenge. Fortunately, several folks volunteered to come over and “distract” Violet for a few hours each day so Lauren and I could get stuff put away.

Enjoying an evening bonfire, guitar strumming, and sampling of Vermont’s local brew with some of my new neighbors.

There has been so much generosity I could blush. I’ll save those stories for a more personal setting. Folks give pretty freely here. That was a draw fo us as a family. We saw a place that depending on one another for community...and dared go a bit further by embodying what it means to love thy neighbor. Lots of words have been used to describe this move North,

An adventure.

An experiment.

A journey.

I like to think I’m sensitive to language, and while all these descriptors fit, it’s hard not to see what we’ve done as accepting “a call” in the truest and most vulnerable sense. Lauren accepted this call as much as me and while we are certainly not a “two for one” package. Her role alongside me will be cardinal. I’ve often pushed back against the term “professional” and have even found myself at odds with “vocation.” Being “called” is about the only thing that I feel comfortable with claiming. Call leaves some opportunity and chance up in the air for God’s Spirit to move in and out of freely. I didn’t come to Vermont with an agenda or plan as to how to better do church. I came with my family to try and walk with people in life and on a spiritual level. The hope is that together with my neighbors we can find some new ways to tell the Jesus story and see what is possible when the Kingdom of God comes near us.

Sitting in my office this early morning...I’m excited about Sunday.

I’m also pretty excited about the rest of the week too.

As you were,

~tBSB

A Tradition of Dissent

The label of baptist carries with it many connotations. For my rearing in the rural south, the term was synonymous with red carpeted sanctuaries, red hot Vacation Bible School summers, and perhaps most prominently, red-faced delivered “hell and brimstone” filled sermons from the pulpit. Not until much later did I realize there were “other baptists”, and with them, other traditions that resonated with me more so than the aforementioned experiences of my adolescence. Part of one’s faith is remembrance and how one practices this both as an individual and as a community is essential to what is vital as passing on to one's spiritual descendants. While there are many respected fragile baptist beliefs worth mentioning, a rich tradition of dissent is often ignored. My hope is to engage and educate my future congregation about our heritage of opposition to unjust systems of “power and principalities” of this world.

Why is exploring a topic such as dissent beneficial to a faith community? Surely, baptists have participated and have no lack of disruptive church splits! While I want to acknowledge this occurrence within baptist life, I believe it is worth noting that in the spirit of baptist identity centered around the belief for the liberty of the individual conscience, disagreements and fractures are to be expected. For baptists, the issue of identity should not be determined by conformity, but instead, identity viewed as a call to be authentic and covenantal in meaning to one’s life.  For those like British baptist Paul Fiddes, “It is not that we share an already-existing identity through establishing a common list of agreed items, but we willing identify ourselves with others who want to make or keep covenant with us because we catch an echo of their story in us.” The call of baptist as a collective is then to be receptive to not only the call of God on the heart and conscience but also to those around us. Because this is a covenant rather than transactional interaction, dissension should not be seen as a weakening fracture or a “social disease” but instead, the opportunity to experience breaking away from “absurd confinements in manners and morals, against the fatuous kowtowing of body or of mind, against the circumscribing of vision or of aspiration, against the evil that men do in the name of good, against indifference, insensitivity, and inertia.” Embodying this position has many forms as dissent is as different in scale and scope as baptists communities, however, to adopt a spirit of dissent both culturally and spiritually is to pay homage to a Christian praxis which has historically scorned creeds and doctrines.

Historian Edwin Gaustad warns those wishing to practice dissent not to fall into the category of societal nay-sayer or whiner. He offers an alternative take on what dissent is, saying it should offer “a fine edge; sharp, severe, and unyielding...a powerful if unpredictable engine in the service of a cause. ” For baptists; who are those in our history exemplifying a spirit of dissent? One need only look at baptist beginnings and nonconformist founders John Smyth and Thomas Helwys. Smyth would administer a self-imposed believers baptism upon himself, seeing this as being essential to authentic conversion while Helwys, leaving Smyth in Holland to return to England, would pen a defiant letter to King James I reminding the King that he too was only a man and not God. From these two individuals comes a floodgate of what could be labeled as baptists “other.”

Writer Kathleen Norris in her work The Cloister Walk offers a name for those practicing dissent by labeling them as “necessary others,” linking them to the prophets of the Hebrew scripture. Dissenters and necessary others gift the masses with difficult messages and questions while often experiencing hostility and discrimination in the process. Baptists in history have been no different. “For being ‘other,’ Baptists were often branded as heretics. Ostracized and persecuted, they were frequently banished, jailed or beaten by order of Christian governments.”

For those like Smyth and Helwys; what would cause an individual and a faith community to act in such a way as to invite the negative attention of governing bodies upon them? In other words; why start trouble? I purpose that for Christian dissenters no other reason is as adequate as that of God’s Holy Spirit demanding such. The Spirit being an expression of God’s character accessible to humanity offering the purpose for one’s life on earth. In the words of James McClendon, Jr., “The Spirit is missionary; the Spirit provides for each disciple; the Spirit is gathered church.” It is with McClendon’s view of the Spirit and Christian mission which I see as rooted in dissent. The life and mission of Christ was to expose a way of life contrary to the rule and power of empire. Jesus was a missionary to everyone, both in and outside of his Jewish faith. He brought a message that preached practice over theology, often starting sentences with You’ve heard that it said...but I tell you… Jesus through his teachings shared with those he encountered that the Kingdom of God had come near them and this message ran in contrast to what people were currently being told. Instead, McClendon suggests that mission be experienced as a move toward ecstasy, and believes this mission of the Spirit draws all of humanity and creation to “not conformed one to another, but at one with another in the oneness of God.” To live a life of nonconformity is a direct call to dissent to any laws and norms which does not bring all of creation back to God. The Spirit’s mission can be viewed as a continuation of God’s missionary process for reconciliation.

While the history of the early baptists points to dissension as a marker of identity, dissenters, iconoclasts, and renegades are found in other spiritual flocks. McClendon again offers an aspect of the Spirit’s mission as accepting partners. Partners in dissent? Sound like a oxymoron, however, baptists holding tightly to their belief of the priesthood of all believers should see everyone called to God’s mission of dissent. This work then becomes a partnership of both neighbors and God. Again, the life of Jesus Christ is seen as the incarnational completion of God’s mission of disruption. A mission where dissenters are asked to participate fully in the life of the world. Dissenting baptist, like the late Will D. Campbell, understood the priesthood as extending to every believer. Once asked by an interviewer about the statement he made in his work Brother to a Dragonfly of his desire to only be a preacher and if he viewed that work as his vocation (Campbell became well known for his work during the Civil Rights Movement concerning racial reconciliation, he only ever occupied one traditional pulpit in his life), he answered, “Sure it still holds, but I get nervous about the word, ‘vocation.’ My vocation - if you mean ‘calling’ - is no different from that of any other baptized believer. My vocation is living out the drama. Dissenters in the likes of Campbell aren’t so much the cause of drama but are called to respond to the drama that they see in the world around them.

Lastly from McClendon, he reminds those who have gathered together that “God’s action is not confined to gathered congregations. “There is also history’s crashing judgment; there is also the prophet’s manic word; supremely, there is that one life who is Life itself.” Yet, something special happens when through God’s missional spirit acts are carried out through the revelation of God’s ekklesia or church. Accepting the Spirit’s mission of dissent inside “the gathered community, for all its frailty and fallibility, will become the Spirit’s agency for the world mission of the gospel” is to acknowledge like the ancient church of Jerusalem, Antioch, and Rome their and our shortcomings are supplemented by the active means of the Spirit to accomplish God’s mission in the world. The mission of God’s Spirit accompanying the gathering of rejected misfits, which is the Church at its best, then becomes not a place of harmony but one of healthy friction reflecting an image of God’s kingdom attainable now.

It has been preached from baptist pulpits that there is no “Baptist church only Baptist churches.” The autonomy of the local church is a cry of dissent to the idea of the state established church. With baptist churches being comprised and self-regulated by their congregations, one’s ability to strive for agreement and solidarity becomes the default for those living in community with one another. After some time the virtues and positions of a few become the virtues and positions of all. All this is disrupted by the Spirit in the presence of a dissenter. Gaustad uses the term “misfit” as a label for dissension. “Churchmen fear the schismatic and theologians abhor the heretic, but the misfit is repugnant to all.” He continues,

Awkward on both sides, to be sure. The misfit himself would find life much smoother if the melting pot really did homogenize all. Yet, to allow oneself to slide gently into the absorptive mass may be to forsake all sense of identity and integrity. Accommodation to the surrounding smothering culture may mean death, at least as far as corporate continuity is concerned. A treasured heritage, a religious thrust, a way of life - these may all be lost. A genuine counter-culture seeks not the preservation of individual eccentricity but the survival and renewal of common life. Assimilation could make life simpler; it could also make it pointless.

Until now, this writing has focused on the explicit need for dissension in baptist life. Moving forward, I will address in detail some of those whose actions caused them to be labeled as misfits by either their religion or society.

One cannot talk of dissent within a baptist context and not mention Puritan minister turned baptist Roger Williams (he would later embrace the faith of a “seeker”). Williams would strongly push for the separation of church and state by denouncing the   Church of England’s involvement with the American colonial churches. He would openly debate the prominent clergyman of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, John Cotton. The two would exchange barbs on a variety of interpretations, one being the concerning of women wearing veils inside the church. However, Williams did not only speak out on matters pertaining to the church. “Williams was especially troubled by the use of the Christian religion to do a very un-Christian deed: namely, depriving the Indians of their own property without due compensation or negotiation. For five years Williams acted as the defacto dissenter to those in power in Massachusetts Bay. Finally, his constant pestering saw him exiled from the colony in the Fall of 1635 for sharing his rebellious teachings and opinions. In 1636 Williams and those who followed him settled on a piece of land purchased from the local indigenous people in what is now Rhode Island. Williams designated it a destination distressed of conscience. This land would become a place that welcomed all religions and those who were dissenting misfits of the new world among them labeled Antinomian Anne Hutchinson. While Williams actions to some, certainly those like Cotton, seemed divisive, Williams push for the liberty of conscience and sought in his desire to make all peoples free and equal. In one of his writings,

Williams raised the question of how the English would respond if Jesus ‘were present here at London.’ If asked which religion Jesus would endorse, each citizen would shout for his own option to be chosen. But then if Christ should be asked about what weapons he would provide to that religion for which Parliament ultimately voted, all England would learn that no weapons of steel would be provided, only the instruments of persuasion (not coercion) and love.

Williams would continue to be the voice of the necessary other for the rest of his life, condemning slavery in the early 1650s and holding varying positions of influence in his newly chartered Providence Plantation.

One of the most famous letters of dissent every written is one of the most revered pieces of Civil Rights history. Martin Luther King Jr.’s Letter from Birmingham Jail was a national call to the attention of the systematic oppression being experienced by African Americans of his day (and long before). While many associate King’s works with his activism in the 1960s, King’s motivation to action, expressed poignantly in his Birmingham letter, came from his black baptist heritage. King was considered to be part of black church royalty with his father being the pastor of the prominent Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta. He was in both public and private schools growing up before receiving admittance into Morehouse College. From there he would attend both Crozer Seminary and Boston University in his pursuit of theological education. Although King was assured to follow in his father’s footsteps as the next pastor of his family’s church, King would only ever hold an associate pastorate there as his engagement around Civil Rights became his life’s work. King’s dissent would take him to the public square. After receiving the Nobel Peace Prize in 1964 the following year, “in 1965, almost alone among Black civil rights leaders, he made public his opposition to the Vietnam War (this was two years before Muhammad Ali would refuse to serve in the armed forces). King would speak out against other forms of injustice taking place, famously drawing attention to the Montgomery bus struggle in the late 1950s. While King’s voice was at home in black churches, his work around social issue gained attention. King had read the writings of another baptist dissenter, Walter Rauschenbusch, and come to embrace similar thinking around the concept of the social gospel movement. The timing and brilliance of King saw a convergence between two worlds take place.

Although the social gospel churches had sometimes become centers of social amelioration, providing counseling, fellowship, clothing and work for the down-and-out, their direct attack upon oppressive institutions had been made by way of pulpit and press. By shifting from preachers’ talk to nonviolent mass action, King’s group introduced a new dimension into American social Christianity.

King’s call for dissension in his Birmingham letter comes directly for those he accuses of being the “Negros great stumbling block.” King say’s “it is not the White Citizen Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice; who prefers negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice.” King makes clear that those seeking peace and harmony often do so at the expense of those who have no means within a society to voice their mistreatment and disapproval.

And then there was Will Davis Campbell. A Mississippi baptist born into a sharecropper family in 1924, Campbell would first dissent against his southern upbringing by attending divinity school at the northern Yale University. Campbell would come back to the south after graduation and from his small Louisiana pulpit preach on civil rights and the need for racial reconciliation. Campbell was a preacher without a steeple and his curmudgeon demeanor and dry humor went often unappreciated in more pious religious circles. Leaving both a pastorate and director of religious life at Ole Miss University, Campbell would strike out as a voice and face behind the scenes during the Civil Rights Movement. He would attend demonstrations in an advisory role for the National Councils of Churches. This exposure would see Campbell be the only white man at the MLK’s Southern Christian Leadership Conference and later elected to the position of director of the Committee of Southern Churchmen. Yet, Campbell would experience a change after the death of his friend and activist Jonathan Daniels. Because of Daniels death, he would begin to minister to those he saw as part of the group he thought Jesus would call the least of these; poor southern whites, or as Campbell often said, his fellow rednecks. Campbell would draw criticism from both conservative and liberal camps, never letting either pigeon hole him. His writings are an expression of his vulnerability, a willingness he shows through his dissenting position to seemingly take the other side of any argument given to him. While his autobiographical work engages his activism, his fictional work gives another form of insight to his need for dissent. Often describing himself as a baptist who is southern and not a Southern Baptist, Campbell criticizes his own people, baptists, in The Convention. In what he describes as a parable, Campbell’s female protagonist, Dorcas Rose McBride attends his version of the Southern Baptist Conventions annual gathering and after interactions with those of the moral majority and the more moderate-minded, ends up getting nominated to be the next President of the convention. After the unthinkable happens, Dorcas makes her way down to what is expected to be her acceptance speech, instead, she reads to the shocked audience of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness by Satan and then “she closed the book, walked over to the recording secretary and handed him the gavel. ‘Mister Secretary, I hereby resign as president of the Federal Baptist Church.” Like his character Dorcas, Campbell represented baptists who have not conform to the expectations of others and extends the challenge for those with ears to hear to do the same.

Like communion and baptism, acts of dissent can be seen as sacramental to those who give it reverence and practice it in the Spirit. What baptists forbearers can offer those today who claim the same faith is through the example of their lives we are called to remember that while their intention might be taken as estranging, they are actually calling for a refined form of unity. Smyth’s call for authenticity first started with his own baptism and reminds us to be true to ourselves in order for us to be true to one another. King with his nonviolent work proved that love and compassion, a gospel message, was capable of confronting racism and forcing white America to wake up. By establishing Providence, Williams declared that if one person didn’t have the right to worship freely no one did. Campbell allowed us to see that even those who are our enemies are deserving of God’s love, and while difficult, us too. In this light dissenters are working to expose sin for what it is; not an act but anything that separates neighbor from neighbors and from God. A dissenter’s call then is to share the uncomfortable message of God’s grace, a grace which includes the misfits of our society and our faith.

Baptist Identity

To try and pinpoint baptist(1) distinctions down is a herculean task. The old saying comes to mind, “if you have 2 baptist in a room you’ll end up with three different opinions.” The freedom I have seen within the baptist faith tradition one such that is not so identifiable as other mainline Protestant denominations. Where Methodist, Presbyterians, and Episcopalians have their hierarchical systems consisting of bishops and so forth, baptists pushed ahead in their congregational understanding of church polity, some even referring to their ecclesiology as “sacramentalism” in nature. In this sense baptist churches, as I see it, must operate under a canopy of freedom in all they do.

I don’t believe you can get far in talking baptist identity without mentioning the Four Fragile Freedoms (there’s that word again). While these notions have been present in some form on another for much longer than I’m about to give them credit for, it was the writings of Walter Shurden where I begin to see these freedoms traced back to baptist roots over the centuries. I don’t want to spend too much time unpacking Bible, Soul, Church, and Religious freedom since much has been said and written concerning them. Since this is a reflection piece, I wish to simply point out and recognize their importance as some of my own understanding of what they represent will be fleshed out in the following writings.

Now to the task; what are five sources of baptist-ness? The first should be obvious as I have already named it. Freedom. Larry Gregg, who I served alongside at FBC-Statesville told me that you spelled baptist by spelling Freedom. James Dunn claimed, “the identifying mark of the breed called Baptist is that dogged determination to be free.”(2) Now freedom can get you in trouble, especially when you exercise that freedom in contrary actions towards others who claim to be cut from the same cloth, but that’s the dangerous beauty of it. Since claiming my own baptist faith I usually have to follow my statement of being baptist by saying, “I’m not that kind of baptist.” Freedom leaves room for interpretation on both an individual and collective scale and because there is freedom, baptist are required to give an explanation of their lens of faith as no two baptist, or baptist churches, will ever give the same exact answer on a proposed stance. This has resulted in baptist producing an eschatological buffet.

A second marker or trait I suggest would be of dissension.  To be baptist means to be on the margins or against the status quo. By this definition, a baptist person of faith would need to be engaged in “anti-establishment” practices goaded on by their social consciousness. This discernment has lent itself to baptist in their belief of separation of church and state matters. There is a tradition of this line of thinking, be it John Smyth, Anne Hutchinson, Roger Williams, Fannie Lou Hamer, Martin Luther King Jr and others who pushed back against ideologies and institutions of power and oppression. In this sense, baptist are on the forefront when it comes to cultural schisms and non-conformity as they display a knack for being all too willing to dispute popular perceptions.

Third, the understanding that everyone is called to participate in the Beloved Community, or the idea of the priesthood of all believers. To borrow from the Carlyle Marney, baptist  really must be “priest to each other.” While a congregation does have the leadership of both clergy and laypersons, baptist operations and responsibilities of community within the local church is to be shared by all.  To me, this is a very orthodox way of leadership as I think of the Ecumenical Patriarch of the Eastern Orthodox Church (another dissenting group) known as the primus inter pares. This same concept is to be in practice within baptist churches where while the preacher/pastor/minister offers leadership he/she/they are in a covenant relationship as an equal participant with the rest of the congregation of God’s kin-dom. From this understanding branches the belief that all persons have direct access to God.

The fourth trait deals with emerging identity. This emergence is fluid in the sense that it has the capability to move both forward in developing and backward in reclaiming baptist praxis. This marker has resulted in baptist identifying as non-creedal people, but instead people of a confessioning faith. If creeds were intended to capture the impression of the Christian faith at one time or another in history, baptists have offered the challenge that a creed cannot be imposed on a different group of Christians during another time in history. Lackadaisical theology is not allowed, meaning baptist must form and fashion what it means to be who they are as a people in the time they are in. “Every generation must refocus, deepen, expand, interpret, and understand any creedal or confessional statement. I do not believe such statements can be finalized for future generations” and “as Baptist we affirm that no theological statement is ever final or complete.”(3)

Lastly, I would add the elements of transformative conversion. From their Protestant dissension, baptist had to produce alternative additions to accompany sacramental acts like communion and baptisms. Thus, conversion became a personal affair that needed to be vocalized experience of profession. Phrases such as a “change of the heart” became common when discussing conversion and responding to God’s call on one’s life. Confirmation was replaced with dramatic conversion stories and resulted in congregations instituting watch-care programs over potential members offering affirming support at best and pious punishment at its worst. While baptist have often been known for their approach to the ordinance of full immersion baptism, baptists are able to practice others forms deemed fit such as affusion or “pouring” and are diverse in their approach to the Lord’s Supper. Transformative conversion deals more with response. James McClendon offers that conversion “must be a travel account, a journey - one with a beginning, continuance, and an end” and that this journey “must have an individual and corporate dimension.”(4)

1)  Thanks to brother James McClendon for suggesting baptist be spelled with a lowercase “b”

2) Deweese, Charles W., and James M. Dunn. Defining Baptist Convictions. Franklin, TN: (Providence House Publishers, 1996), 71

3) Tuck, William Powell. Our Baptist Tradition. Macon, GA: (Smyth & Helwys Pub. 2005), 17 & 19

4) Furr, Gary, Curtis W. Freeman, and James Wm McClendon, Jr. Ties That Bind: Life Together in the Baptist Vision. Macon, GA: (Smith & Helwys Pub. 1994), 26

Big Announcement: We're Heading North

For an announcement to be considered “big news” I believe it must have properties that generate both anxiety and excitement. The one I have to share this morning seems to fit this definition. Pending graduation in May (Lording willing!), this flock of black sheep will be setting off on an adventure that none of us saw coming.

We’re moving to Vermont.

I have accepted “the call” to become the senior pastor at United Church of Lincoln, an American Baptist Church with United Methodist heritage, in the Green Mountain State.  

I’ve always preferred “call” language or vocation to the term profession, and that is how I’ve been describing the event which led to my family heading to New England. You see when you deal with a “calling” you start dealing with the Divine Presence in such a way where you loosen the grip of your perceived control and start embracing chance and possibilities.

When the first few emails were sent between myself and the search committee at the church I had a conversation with Lauren early one morning over coffee. I had read their church profile and felt a strong connection of who they were and was sharing it with Lauren. During that talk I said such things as, “You know, neither of us have any connections there” and “This is such a long shot, do you think I should even pursue this?” I can remember Lauren’s comments to me that morning, she said something along the lines of “This will be a good experience for you. What’s it going to hurt? Let’s see how far it goes.”

For those listening for God’s call let my story be a fair warning to you. A “call” can go pretty far!

There is so much to this story that I plan to share over the next few months. And while I am excited with what is to be, I am trying to remain present. Assignments and papers are still due. A house is being purged and packed and place on the market within a month to be sold. And the grief I mentioned at the beginning is right there in the midst. I’m leaving my beloved South, my home of North Carolina (where Tarheel games were always on local channels) where my family lives. I grieve for the church families I’ve come to know and care for in Statesville over the past three years. The next several weeks just being with students and enjoying their company is my goal. So, as you see, it’s a mixed bag.

However I will share one experience that might lend itself to understanding what a call feels like. I arose early one morning while we were there visiting in December, it must have been around 4am. Lauren and Violet were still asleep and I tiptoed through the kitchen of the parsonage to make coffee. From the window I could see huge snowflakes falling, the first since we arrived. I walked through the sitting area and opened the door to the screened in porch located on the front of the house. From where I stood I could see the snowflakes, which seemed to be half the size of my hand falling at a rapid but silent pace. The only sound I could hear was the rushing waters of the New Haven River which is literally across the street. In that moment I felt a calming presence accompanying the cold, snow, and sound of the river. I remember responding out loud to God’s call,

“Oh hell, I guess we’re moving to Vermont.”

Maybe Abraham and Sarah said something similar.

As you were,

~tBSB

Over Processed: The Phenomena of Personal Branding

On my 35 minute drives to and from my church I usually listen to a few podcast during the week. I have several that I frequent, but have become quite fond of the dialogue I find on Drunk Ex-Pastors (there’s your shout out Jason and Christian) that consists of social commentary on a range of topics. One of their recent uploads made mention of a Netflix documentary entitled “The American Meme.” Their conversation around the project was enough to make me check it out for myself.

Fair Warning: We’re talking about social media influencers here...that means the videos/images on this doc might be a little sketchy to some. Just throwing that out there…

The doc focuses on several major social media heavy stars including Josh Ostrovsky (the Fat Jew), Brittany Furlan (of Vine fame), and Kirill Bichutsky (Instagram star). I’m choosing not to link to their respective platforms, I’ll leave that to you the reader. Paris Hilton also chimes in as perhaps the forerunner of how becoming a socialite in the modern era can produce fans, followers, and (financial) supporters/consumers of content and projects. Comedian/actor Dane Cook even makes a few appearances which hit me right in the nostalgic feels as he reflects on how MySpace helped launch his career.

There is soooo much to be unpacked from this doc as it offers a true but perhaps unofficial study into what social media has given the world. Phones and live feeds have now replaced the need for celebrity agents and our cultures current state is one where anybody at anytime can become famous (the doc spends time on this as well, remember Chewbacca mom?). However one thing I noticed, which those on the doc speak of often, is the hustle it takes to keep it going. Kirill Bichutsky travels from club to club across the U.S. catching flights and looking exhausted and extremely hungover. Brittany Furlan talks of how after Vine she never really made it back into the social media spotlight and has agonized over what getting “loops, likes, retweets” has done to her. DJ Khaled (Instagrammer/DJ/Music producer) highlights not only his life, but the life of his son, Asahd (who at 2 years old has almost 2 million followers himself on Instagram). Khaled talks about “always hustling” and reciting the mantra “we’re the best” about his family. It was during his comments about his work ethic, and in some of the other subjects filmed, the term “branding” came up and that is where my interest peaked.

I remember the first time I heard the term branding. Rest assured I had already been exposed to what it was, but never heard it verbalized outside the corporate world and conference tables. Instead of a slick wall street type making a pitch for branding the next Mc-whatever at McDonald’s, I heard the term used by a 19 year old college basketball player, Harrison Barnes. In an article for the Atlantic , Barnes tells of his sophomore return to UNC-Chapel Hill was done so to help his “branding.” Over the course of the piece it becomes very clear that Barnes was not looking at basketball as just a game, but understood it to be a business (Barnes even used his college selection as a experiment on social media, Skyping in live with UNC coach Roy Williams to announce his choice).

I can’t help but think of the famous Godfather line, “It’s not personal, it’s just business.” However in the realm of internet celebrities and social media influencers, what happens when the personal becomes your business.

I often ask myself this question when I think about my blacksheepbaptist project. I say “project” because as of today that’s honestly how I see it. I often tell people the blog has become an outlet for me to “brain-dump” my thoughts and ideas concerning certain subjects while doing so with a platform in which I am comfortable working with/on. I post my writings/links to my personal social media accounts and am happy to engage with those who read, interact, and reshare my content. Yet, for me, when it comes to the idea of thinking about what I do as a brand...I feel a little icky inside. Now before you jump on about website hosting, domain name, and logo I admit I do have a line at which I judge myself. I’ve learned enough through my educational studies that all the drafts I write and sermons ideas I have need somewhere to go since they don’t always make their way into essays and pulpits. Blacksheepbaptist.com has become an “think tank” for me to hash out  some things I’m trying to process and I’m performing this act in the most open of all forums; the internet. Maybe what I’m saying is as much as I like interacting with people online this project really is more for me than it is for anyone else. Who knows, maybe DJ Khaled would say the same?

Perhaps the reason my urge to watch this doc was so strong had to do with my presence in a proclamation course I’m currently taking this semester. The course deals with “alternative pulpits” such as blogs, vlogs, and podcasts” and how they are used. Because of this my brain has been swirling around branding.

Should I switch my social media accounts over to professional accounts?

Should I l learn and start my own podcast?

Should I break down and create a Snapchat account?

Would I be better off to just shut down everything and exist off the grid?

While I have many questions I do know one thing for certain; if something is overly branded I intentionally stay away from it. I take the stance of pushing back on what is big and popular and that would include how I view myself. If I have to worry about when and how I post things and how what I say might impact my “brand” than I feel as if I’ve lost something valuable. For now, I’m comfortable being an off-brand in a very branded world.

#Hashtag that.

The Beginning of the End

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

~St. F. Bueller.

A three year stint in the academy is coming to an end for me, meaning, I stand on the verge of a life altering event.

I’ve had many of those type of events in the last few years, none more so then the birth of Violet. Yet this week was a reminder that my time at Wake Forest School of Divinity is drawing to a close. You see, third year students are asked/granted the privilege to preach in Davis Chapel. When I was notified of this opportunity last semester I marked down that I would be more interested  in the Spring and logged the future moment away in the recesses of my brain. A somewhat rattling email at the beginning of January reminded me of my proclamation duties, prompting me to craft a short 10 minute-ish sermon (10 minutes for a Baptist preacher?!?...the pressure was on for sure).

While relying on the lectionary text for that day in Nehemiah Ch. 8, I found myself remembering the words of a recently retired clergy I had the fortune to serve with at FBC-Statesville, Dr. Larry Gregg. When talking with me about my final semester he imparted the wisdom to brace for the inevitable; life after school. He recalled finishing his dissertation for his PhD, defending it, and then in his words “it was over.”

For some, graduation à la cap and gown or hood and stole signifies the completion of this journey, but I didn’t get that message from my conversation with Larry. What I sensed was a need to reflect on the ending of a particular kind of experience where you find yourself not surrounding by institutional learning, pedagogical peers, and letter grades attached for perceived worth of work for the first time in a while.

I understood what he was saying; something that has become such a large, demanding, personal part of your life is coming to an end and you better be ready to deal with that void.

Because of this, I’m starting to ask myself what this means to me, particularly around the notion of “ending well.” My first and probably only sermon at Wake Divinity as a student was my first chance in fleshing out this crucial practice. While my sermon, I hope, included historical, moral, and spiritual components my desire was to also express appreciation for the opportunity to be in that space at that time with both my family and peers. For me it was a chance to build material for reflection that can only be done by being intentionally present.

It’s the beginning of the end.

Cheers

Book Review: "Leatherbound Terrorism"

Leatherbound Terrorism by Chris Kratzer is a study of his personal journey from restrictive conservative Evangelical Christianity to a liberating understanding of God’s unconditional Grace.

Kratzer exposes the reader to an adolescence riddled with sickness, tension, and exploitation from those he trusted including his family. He desire to gain approval from his father leads him to create a distorted image of God.

A extended stay in the hospital as a child results in a spiritual experience where Kratzer’s feels a closeness to the Christian messiah Jesus. This encounter will later lead him to feel called into ministry, first in a mainline denomination. Kratzer’s first few years in this setting are described as difficult. After 5 years serving in congregational ministry under intense scrutiny Kratzer admits, “that the allures of conservative Evangelical Christianity were pimped in my direction.” (40) To him, there was a method to conservative evangelicalism which promised success. He read the right books and attended the right conferences, only to come back to the notion that he was essentially living a lie and faking his faith. Kratzer’s observation from other leaders in this camp was the same. “Everyone was faking it just like me - not because we wanted to, but because, truth be told, as I was discovering, that’ the best one can do while on the religious treadmill of conservative Evangelical Christianity.” (49)

This cycle would finally break Kratzer one evening at his bedside. Sitting beside his wife he told her to pack her things and take the kids and leave him. He was suffering emotionally, spiritually, and physically. His conservative Evangelical faith was telling him this was punishment from a god who was constantly disappointed. “I was a disappointment to myself, a perceived burden to others, and a barrier to the life my family deserved.” (55) In this crucial moment Kratzer describes seeing an image of Jesus. This image of Christ embraced him fully not for the works he believed were important and essential, but instead for who he already was; a beautiful creation made in the image of God. In this moment, Kratzer believes he came face to face with the God of grace. “It wasn’t a theology, philosophy, or a new way of thinking; it was a person - Jesus.” (55)

This moment spurs Kratzer to reflect back on the damage his conservative faith caused him, and others he ministered to, while a conservative Evangelical pastor. Now, being equipped with a Gospel of Grace, he moves forward in affirming those on the margins of society while challenging those who wish to perpetuate systems rooted in power and privilege.

I took Leatherbound Terrorism as both a confessional and redeeming work. Kratzer comes unabashedly hard with “bullet point” type paragraphs. His message seems urgent and I sometimes felt as if he was repetitive in some areas. Yet, the takeaway is worth these dragging moments. In the same spirit as Brennan Manning, Kratzer really does believe “all is grace.”

Women's Pants Don't Have Pockets, I Know Because I Wear Them: A Pastor's Confession

Back in January I began a lifestyle change that has seen me drop some serious weight. While the main objective was to get healthier, a byproduct of dropping 70lbs has been the ability to expand my wardrobe and fit back into pieces of clothing I haven’t seen in some time. During one of the rummages in my closet I found a pair of pants with a brown plaid design that reminded me of something I’d picture Daniel Day Lewis’ character Bill the Butcher wearing in Gangs of New York. While “skinny” jeans/pants might not be for everyone, these fit me perfectly. I slapped on a pair of suspenders and was giving myself a once over in the mirror when my hands slid down to the front pockets.

My hands kept sliding because there were no pockets. These were my wife’s pants.

This wasn’t the first time I’ve wore a pair of my wife pants. She had a pair of black skinny jeans I use to “borrow” along with a burgundy pair, which sadly, I can’t find anymore. While being super comfortable, there was something about them I always thought odd. The pockets. Or perhaps I should say, the lack thereof.

This isn’t new news to most women. For years I’ve heard women make mention of their appreciation for pants, dresses, and skirts where designers gave attention to adequate pocket size and depth. Wearing pants designed for women, I can see their frustration. Modern cell phones stick halfway out back pockets and the minimal front pockets do well to fit a peppermint or tube of chap-stick. Why is this? According to journalist and freelance writer Melanie Radzicki McManus,

Centuries ago, all clothing was created sans pockets. Men and women carried their belongings in small pouches tied around the waist. Then, some 400 years ago, pockets were sewn into men's clothing, but this same feature was omitted from female garments. In the early 1800s, slimmer silhouettes came into style, so women no longer could wear pockets under clothes but had to wear them over clothes — and their pockets got much smaller. Some say it was a way to keep women powerless. If they had no way to secretly carry items around, it would be harder for them to travel independently or conduct clandestine affairs.

While the 20th century saw steps to address this issue, most designers still disregard or choose not to take the issue seriously. In a time where gender equality is often claimed, me wearing my wife’s pants reminds me that it’s not.

There are several ways to approach this issue, and here is the one I’m personally finding most helpful; I want to bring attention to this problem, but also make it a point to not conform to preconceived gender normative concepts concerning clothing.

My wife and I are doing this with our daughter as well, when we go in Carters’, or any other store selling baby clothes, we don’t let the “girl and boy”sections determine what we buy for our daughter.

My daughter wearing a sweatshirt from the “boy’s section.”

As a faith leader I try and strive for opportunities to expose people to different ideas which often require some decentering/deconstructing of long held beliefs. Issues surrounding gender equality are part of, I believe, the “kingdom of God” work I keep trying to live out.

And I plan to do some of that living wearing my wife’s pocket-less pants.

As you were,

~tBSB

Words Of Gratitude to the Baptist Theological Seminary at Richmond

In the 1980s a cataclysmic buildup was finally coming to a head in the Southern Baptist Convention. Depending on who you ask, the “conservative resurgence” or “fundamentalist takeover” made its way from church pulpits and pews into each and every one of the seminaries associated with the denomination. For those who did not agree with the administration's new direction, their experiences were riddled with loss, sadness, anger, and uncertainty. For many years, Southern Baptists who felt a “calling” to ministry knew where their theological education would come from, yet now, those who did not adhere to biblical inerrancy and believed women were justified in seeking pastorate positions were turned away and asked to leave. During a time where denominational identity was strong, this separation left a generation of academics and clergy in exile.

In 1991 a dissenting group of Baptists helped establish a new institute of higher learning offering theological training and refuge for a people who had either been turned away or had never been given the chance. The Baptist Theological Seminary at Richmond was formed not as an antithesis to schools with dogmatic leanings, but instead as a space where Baptists, and others seeking spiritual formation, could explore their faith practising true “soul freedom.” While it was presented as one of the first alternatives, BTSR came to represent what SBC seminaries had let slip away; a place where diversity, not sameness, was cultivated in the hope of enriching all involved.

I am saddened to hear of the closing of BTSR at the end of the current academic year. While this disheartening news is attached to many different causes, the attention at this time should not be focused on the negative, but instead on the impact BTSR has provided to Baptist life by equipping servant leaders for the work of "kindom" building. Their contribution is unmeasurable and has led other institutions who claim Baptist heritage desiring to do the same. BTSR came to embody an ideal which lent itself to initiatives like the Baptist Commons here at Wake Forest School of Divinity. Their foundational work reminds us of the responsibility to meet the spiritual needs of our communities in the most authentic and meaningful ways possible.

(While not appearing in the original article submitted to WFU School of Divinity, I thought it appropriate to include this quote by Cecil Sherman which appeared in Carl Kell’s collection of essays, Exiled.)

When speaking of those who walked through the doors of BTSR, Cecil Sherman would say “I am an adjunct teacher at BTSR. They are great people. For six years I’ve watched them. They do good in the churches they serve. They do not diminish them. They are not liberal (with few exceptions). They love the Lord and go forth to serve churches. A dollar invested in this school is a dollar well spent. Dot (Sherman’s spouse) and I tithe our salary to BTSR. We believe in BTSR.”

Thank you BTSR for entrusting those identifying with the Baptist faith with your inspiring vision. Thank you for giving us something to believe in.