"10 Reasons to Partner in Planting Now" by Ed Stetzer

Ed Stetzer is a nationally recognized expert on church planting and church growth. His latest blog on partnering in planting churches is right on target with what we are launching out to do. Check it out at the following link:

"10 Reasons to Partner in Planting Now"

A New Church in Nashville?

By now, most of you have heard that Judy and I are planning to start a new church next year in Nashville's central city. (You can hear our announcement to our church and why we feel called to this ministry by clicking here and then on "Our Call to Plant a Church." I'm not going to repeat all of that message in this blog, so I hope you'll listen.) This past summer, Judy and I were presented with an opportunity to plant a missional church in Nashville. We've spent the past several months working through this decision. The most difficult part has been knowing the impact it will have on so many of our brothers and sisters at the Donelson Church of Christ who have been so supportive of our ministry here and to whom we have become so close. The fact that we will be in Nashville and that the Donelson Church will help support us, though, means that these relationships won't change in the way they would have if we were moving to another city.

This announcement naturally has raised lots of questions. I'll try and answer some of those here.

Does Nashville really need another church?

That's a great question. There are certainly a lot of churches in this city. Unfortunately, as in the rest of America, few churches are having much success at reaching people who don't believe in Jesus Christ. Most churches aren't growing. Of those that are growing, most are just moving members from other churches or reactivating people who used to go to church (an important ministry, but not quite the same as converting unbelievers into believers).

This summer Judy and I read a book on planting missional churches called The Tangible Kingdom: Creating Incarnational Community by Hugh Halter and Matt Smay. It had a powerful impact on us as we were considering this work. They cited several studies that showed that the church is not only not growing in America, we are actually losing ground…fast. About 100 million Americans have not been to any kind of church service in the past 6 months. In the 1990s, the number of adults who do not attend church nearly doubled. And the problem is getting much worse with young adults (aged 18-30), who are over three times more likely to have no religious affiliation than those over 65.

What we are doing in our churches (and in our personal lives) is not reaching unbelievers. They cited another study from 2001 showing that "half of all churches in America did not add one new person through conversion growth last year." The study also reported that "it takes the combined effort of eighty-five Christians working over an entire year to produce one convert."

And Judy and I had to be honest and say that we're part of the problem. I have been doing ministry for almost 30 years, but nearly all of that has been among the saved. I often lament that "my job is the church, my church is the church, and my friends are the church." I have little or no meaningful contact with unbelievers. Rarely do I have the joy of sharing Jesus with someone unless a church member introduces me to a friend who has questions—and that doesn't happen very often. We know we have to learn to live and serve in a different way.

And so do most churches. As Halter and Smay observe:

"Without blaming church leaders, the church at large, or denominations, we can at least acknowledge that something must change to reverse these trends. We need to start by doing some things we haven't been doing, and we must stop doing some things we have been doing."

We know that planting new churches is the most successful means of reaching new people in our culture. Our hope is that our ministry in this new church will find ways to reach people we have not been reaching. And perhaps we will learn some things that we can share with Donelson to help us all do more to reach those who live in our community.

What do we mean by a "missional" church?

The term "missional" refers to a church that is focused on God's mission to reconcile people to himself and to help those who are poor and suffering. This is the mission that brought Jesus into the world and shaped his ministry. God has a mission and created the church to accomplish that mission. So it is often said that "the church doesn't have a mission, the mission has a church." The term "missionary" implies that we are sending others out on the mission. "Missional" suggests that we should all be on God's mission in this world.

Our hope is to plant a church made up of people from various socio-economic, racial, and ethnic groups. We want to reach people who are moving back into the city and draw them into a fellowship of believers who are serving the needs of the poor who live just blocks away. Our focus will be much less on a Sunday worship service. Rather than try to attract people to a church building, we hope to partner with ministries in the city to serve children, unwed mothers, the homeless, and more. “Membership” will have less to do with attending a service and more to do with joining followers of Jesus in serving those in need.

Who are the church planting ministries working with us?

We are working with two church planting ministries who will help train us, coach us, and support us as we get started. As part of trying to determine whether we were being called to this work, Judy and I went through two assessments this summer, one with each of these church planting ministries. Those assessments were designed to evaluate whether we were gifted and ready to plant a church. Both assessments recommended us as church planters.

One of these, Mission Alive, is a ministry from Churches of Christ that helps plant missional churches. (Randy Harris helps provide theological training for church planters working with this ministry. I just attended their Theology Lab in Dallas.) The other is Stadia, a ministry from the independent Christian Churches. Partnering with such ministries helps church planters be more effective and successful, and also provides some accountability to assure supporters that the work is being carried out responsibly and faithfully.

Although the details are still being worked out, here's how the general process will work. A management or partnership team will be formed to help oversee the first 2 or 3 years of the work. This team will be composed of representatives from Mission Alive and Stadia, as well as from the churches who become partners in a network to support the work, and of course the church planter (me). This team provides advice, accountability, and assistance in making important decisions until the new church has it's own leadership and is self-supporting. An experienced church planting coach will also be assigned to work closely with us. And financial accounting will be provided as well. We won't be on our own!

You can learn more about Mission Alive at missionalive.org and more about Stadia at stadia.cc. A helpful article about church planting is "Encouraging Trends in Church Planting" by Dr. Philip Claycomb, the director of another church planting ministry called Nexus.

What are the networks of churches involved?

We hope to be supported by two networks of churches. A network is a group of churches committed to church planting, who partner with a church planting ministry to start new churches. The network churches provide financial support and may also provide volunteers for certain projects, or even a few members to help form a core to start the new church. The new church plants become part of such networks and continue to support the planting of more new churches.

We are working to form a network of Churches of Christ to partner with Mission Alive in this church planting. The elders of the Donelson Church of Christ have said they want to be part of this effort. In the weeks ahead, we will be talking with a number of other churches in the area to ask them to help us form a network of congregations committed not only to plant this church, but to continue planting other churches, that will plant more churches, and so on.

The other network is made up of several independent Christian Churches in Middle Tennessee. They have already been partnering with Stadia to plant churches in Murfreesboro, Mt. Juliet, and other towns. They have hoped that some Churches of Christ might join them in planting a church in Nashville. Christian Churches come from the same heritage as Churches of Christ, the American Restoration Movement begun by Barton Stone and Alexander Campbell (in fact, they call themselves, "Christian Churches and Churches of Christ"). They are virtually identical to Churches of Christ in every respect, except that they use instrumental music in their worship assemblies. In recent decades they have been more evangelistic and more committed to planting new churches.

An important part of this new ministry is the way it will unite our churches in the common mission of reaching the lost and serving the poor.

Where will the new church be located?

We don't know that yet. That decision will be based on some demographic research that we are just beginning and some strategic planning. We want to find a place that is not already targeted by other new church plants. An area like Germantown, just north of downtown is one possibility. People are moving into that neighborhood and refurbishing old homes or building new ones, while just a few blocks away are much poorer neighborhoods.

Our plan is to begin by forming a house church, and then more house churches. Eventually, we'll begin some kind of regular meeting together, probably in a rented facility. We don't plan to purchase a building, at least not any time soon.

What is next?

We are currently working out the details of the partnership between Mission Alive and Stadia. We're also beginning to meet with other churches to ask them to be part of the network. The church planting ministries tell us we'll need to raise about $300,000 to fund the effort for the first three years, so we'll continue to work to raise support from churches and individuals. We also have to choose the neighborhood where we will begin the work, and find a home there. As we meet with churches, we will also be looking for individuals and couples who may want to join us in this new work. At some point next year, we'd like to find another couple to actually work with us as church planters. In January, we'll attend a week-long training session with Mission Alive and another week-long session with Stadia.

There is much to learn, and much more to do. We are excited by the possibilities and the dreams of how God may use this new church to reach more people for Jesus and to serve the least of these his brothers and sisters.

We hope that you will pray for us, that you will consider supporting us, and even more importantly, that you will consider how God might use you to accomplish his mission where you are.

Has the World Lost Its Mind???

Someone recently pointed me to a post by Brent Singer on parentdish.com about reports of a new pole-dancing doll . . . yes, you read that right—a little girl's doll that dances around a pole!!
Here are his opening lines:

Gizmodo has an item about a new doll. Does it burp? Does it breastfeed? Nope. It dances. On a pole.

If anyone was wondering if the world was doomed, here is your confirmation.

The scoop on this new plaything came from Gizmodo's Jesus Diaz, and features a somewhat grainy photo of a doll in a shiny dress hanging on a pole. A giant heart emblazoned with the word "Pole Dance" is at the top. The box promises "Style." "Interesting." "Music." "Flash." "Up and Down." "Go Round and Round." It might've said "Ewww," "Gross," "Criminal"," but in all likelihood the upstanding manufacturers ran out of room. (http://www.parentdish.com/2009/08/31/next-up-a-pole-dancing-doll/)

Singer goes on to express hope that the reports are false (I hope so, too!), but also identifies the disturbing trend of stripping becoming mainstream. And not just mainstream among adults—stripper poles are showing up in marketing and media targeted at teens and younger children.
It's enough to terrify parents, worry child psychologists, turn optimists into pessimists, fascinate doom-sayers, and probably put the final nail in the coffin of the once popular notion that human civilization was evolving to higher and higher levels (if that coffin hasn't been buried already).
Selling stripper-pole dolls to little girls! Has the world completely lost its mind??
It seems that St. Paul thought so:

So I tell you this, and insist on it in the Lord, that you must no longer live as the Gentiles do, in the futility of their thinking. They are darkened in their understanding and separated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them due to the hardening of their hearts. Having lost all sensitivity, they have given themselves over to sensuality so as to indulge in every kind of impurity, and they are full of greed. (Ephesians 4:17-19, Today's New International Version)

That was Paul's evaluation almost 2,000 years ago.
I don't think the level of sanity is improving.

Charleston “From Below”

A number of years ago my brother David introduced me to the idea of seeing the world "from below." I sometimes don't know whether to thank him or curse him for it.

The phrase comes from the writings of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a minister who opposed Hitler during World War II and died for it. The phrase refers to seeing the events of world history—and the world around us—from the perspective of the oppressed, the outcasts, the suffering, the mistreated, the powerless. History is almost always written from the perspective of the powerful and the victorious. It is most often the story of the rich, the educated, the successful, and the privileged. This is probably unavoidable, to some extent, since they are the ones who write it.

Not only do we see history from the perspective of the privileged, we generally see life from that perspective. The very fact that you are reading a blog on the internet is probably an indication that you belong to the American middle or upper class. You are, as am I, part of the privileged minority in this world. And our viewpoint on life cannot help but be shaped by that reality—we see the world "from above." The challenge is to learn to see the same events, the same realities, the same relationships, the same policies, and the same society from the viewpoint of those who experience them from below rather than from above.*

As my brother explained the concept to me, and as I later continued to reflect on it, I realized that I had already been learning to see the world from below—a little at a time to be sure, but nonetheless in life-changing ways. The first time I can remember seeing "from below" was at an event in high school, sitting with African-American friends when the band struck up Dixie—and everyone stood. The next time was when my American history teacher in college made us read Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee and forever changed the way I would think about cowboys and Indians. The journey has continued, and in recent years has changed the way I see the struggle between Israelis and Palestinians—again with my brother's insightful and disturbing help.

On our recent vacation, Judy and I visited the city of Charleston, SC—a city filled with beautiful homes and historic sites. We visited the home of Thomas Heyward, a signer of the Declaration of Independence. George Washington rented this house for a week on a presidential visit to Charleston. We also toured the antebellum home of William Aiken, governor of South Carolina in the 1840s. We saw lavish homes decorated with striking architecture, beautiful antique furniture, lovely gardens, and fine art. But as I strolled through the buildings, I really didn't see all that.

Everywhere I looked I saw luxury enjoyed at the expense of human suffering. What I saw were not beautiful mansions, but small slave quarters above the kitchen where slaves burned themselves preparing the sumptuous meals of their masters. I saw a huge dining room where slaves scurried to wait on the waiting wealthy. I saw the laundry where sweating slaves labored to clean the expensive fabrics worn by those who owned both the clothing and the cleaners. I saw the back stairs used by the slaves so they wouldn't "disturb the family."

I saw rows of beautiful homes just around the corner from the slave market. I saw canons and fortifications used to defend the right of the rich to own the enslaved. I saw churches built by slaves, who then had to worship in the balcony. I saw one church that slaves built for themselves, but which was then closed in 1834 when South Carolina outlawed all-black churches along with education for slaves.

From below, Charleston did not look so pretty.

I sometimes think I'd like not to see this way. But it seems as though some sort of surgery was done to correct my eyesight. And even if it were possible, who would want to have surgery done to take away your eyesight?

I think I am seeing a lot more clearly these days. You just may not want me as your tour guide in Charleston.

 

*For more on Bonhoeffer's "view from below," check out this blog from my friend, Larry James: http://larryjamesurbandaily.blogspot.com/2008/06/bonhoeffer-on-racism.html

Socrates and the Beach

The beach is not my favorite place to vacation. Sitting in the hot sun with sweat dripping in my eyes and sand in my shorts is not my idea of a great time. On our first day out, Zack sprayed me with sunscreen, but it apparently didn't go on smoothly. (I'm sure spray-on sunscreen was a great idea on paper; but in the real world of windy beaches, it doesn't seem so bright.) Now I have a funny-looking sunburn.

But Judy loves the beach, my kids love it, and Judy's family goes every year. So I have learned to enjoy it with them. And to be honest, when the kids were younger I really did enjoy playing in the sand and waves. (The waves are still fun. Sand in my shorts—not so much.)

As a younger man, I would have preferred to go places and do things. Now I enjoy a quiet, beautiful setting to relax, read, and think. So I prefer to retreat to the mountains. And there is no better place than the mountains to pray.

In recent years, Judy has graciously returned with me several times to the mountains above Gatlinburg for a time of rest and renewal. It seemed only fair that this time I would go with her to the beach. So after a week at St. Simon's Island with her family and our grown kids, Judy and I have now moved to Myrtle Beach for a quiet week to ourselves. It's not as secluded as the mountains; but we are enjoying time to ourselves, time to rest and reflect, and time together with God.

There are aspects of the beach that I do not find helpful. It's overcrowded this time of year. Too many people and umbrellas block my view of the ocean. The scantily clad sun-worshipers frequently strolling past are an uncomfortable distraction. And then there's the distraction of those scantily clad sun-worshipers who make you silently wonder, "What in the world did they see when they looked in the mirror and thought that was a good choice in beach attire!"

But there are other aspects of the beach that are a blessing, much as are the mountains. The vast expanse of the ocean…the relentless surge of the tides…the quiet roar of the waves drowning out almost all other noise…the mysteries of the deeps hidden beneath the white-capped waters—these all give testimony to the Great Creator.

I'm reminded of the biting words of God in response to the complaints of Job:

Where were you when I laid the earths' foundation?
Tell me if you understand.
Who marked off its dimensions?
Surely you know!

Who shut up the sea behind doors when it burst forth from the womb…
when I said, "This far you may come and no farther;
here is where your proud waves halt"?

Have you journeyed to the springs of the sea or walked in the recesses of the deep?
Have you comprehended the vast expanses of the earth?
Tell me, if you know all this!

My father used to tell me that the value of an education is not in what you know, but in what you know that you don't know. I have to admit, I'm getting quite an education this trip. Our visits to the relatively obscure Fort Frederica from the Colonial era and to Fort Jackson from the Civil War, to the oldest African-American church built by slaves in Savannah, and to the exclusive winter club on Jekyll Island for the captains of the Industrial Revolution taught me lessons in American history that I was embarrassed I had never heard. I'm reading a very challenging book (The Tangible Kingdom) that is reminding me how little we church leaders really know about the church and God's mission in this world. My son and I tried to swim from the sand bar to the shore against the outgoing tide and I discovered how uninformed I was about my physical condition. And looking out at the ocean, I shudder at how pathetic our confidence must seem to the One who made the seas and all that is in them.

I wore a T-shirt to the beach today that I bought last year in Greece. On the front is a quotation from Socrates: hen oida hoti ouden oida. It translates roughly as:

"I only know one thing, that I don't know anything."

Jesus and Old Glory

Last Saturday was the Fourth of July. Instead of having our usual cookout and excursion to see Nashville's impressive fireworks show, Judy and I were driving back from a week volunteering at Barefoot Republic Camp. By the time we got home, unpacked and showered, we were too pooped to do much but have a quiet dinner at my parents' and watch fireworks with them on TV (but I must admit, the fireworks looked pretty good in high definition!).

Each year on Independence Day I find myself somewhat uncomfortable. As an American I feel patriotic. I am certainly grateful for the freedoms and prosperity we enjoy in this country. And having travelled to many other countries, I am convinced we live in the greatest country on earth. (I wonder if French travelers say the same thing about their country . . . and if they do, is that patriotism or self-delusion!)

On the other hand, as a Christian, I struggle with what it means to live as "aliens and exiles" (1 Peter 2:11), a stranger in a foreign country longing for a better country (Hebrews 11:8-16), knowing that my true citizenship is in heaven (Philippians 2:11). What does it mean to be a Christian and to be an American? Can I have dual citizenship, like someone who is a citizen of two countries at the same time?

And what does it mean for an "alien and exile" to pledge allegiance to a flag? Is it enough to say "one nation under God" and by that to assert that my allegiance to my country can only go so far as is consistent with my higher commitment to God?

Sometimes it seems to me that our talk of "God and country" runs the risk of confusing the two. If I were a Christian in Brazil or South Korea or New Zealand, wouldn't I love my country and face these same questions? And then what would we all do if we found our countries at war with each other (like the British and German Christians facing each other in the trenches of World War I). If we are not careful, could unquestioned loyalty to our country and saluting the flag in church put us at risk of following the path of Christians in Nazi Germany who saluted the Nazi flag in their churches?

Now please don't misunderstand me. I am certainly not saying that America is Nazi Germany! But then, in 1930 Germany wasn't yet Nazi Germany. Yet within a few years, many Christians in Germany somehow found themselves saluting the flag hanging in their churches—a flag that stood for almost everything the cross stands against. Somewhere along the way they crossed a line—or maybe it was more a gray area—between loyalty to their country and faithfulness to the will of God.

I wonder where that gray area begins. I wonder at what point our patriotism could enter that gray area. I wonder if we would realize we were in it.

As we were driving home Saturday along a rural highway, we passed a little church with a row of dozens of flags out front. As an American, seeing the row of red, white, and blue stirred feelings of pride. As a Christian, I couldn't help but wonder if we were slipping into that gray area.

Last year I attended a Christmas parade in Texas. Amid the various floats and clowns and marching bands came a group of horses with riders dressed in red, white, and blue. Some were carrying a U.S. flag and a Texas state flag with crosses on top of the flag poles. That image troubled me. What were we to make of a cross on top of a flag pole? Did they mean that the flag is under the cross—that what the flag represents should always be seen as subordinate to what the cross represents? Or, was it possible that they actually had the cross and the flag confused—that patriotism and religion were becoming too intermingled?

My question was answered a moment later when two riders came by with a specially-made American flag spread between them. Across the middle of the flag, between the red and white stripes, in large blue letters . . . was the name, "Jesus."

More on Baptism Matters

I've been thinking a little more about how to explain what I mean by "baptism matters." Let me expand a little on the education analogy (acknowledging that no analogy is perfect).

To say that baptism doesn't matter unless it is a get-it-right-or-be-lost issue seems to me to say that the only things that matter are those that keep you out of heaven. To me that says that following Jesus is just a pass-fail class and nothing matters except what is required to pass the class. I'm reminded of those students in a college class (I've had some of these in my classes) who don't care about anything but the minimum required to pass. If you don't have to do it to pass, then it doesn't matter to them.

But better students want more than just to pass. They want to learn. They want to become competent in a field of study. They want to be good students. They want to be the best they can be. They want to grow. Other things matter to these students than just what it takes to pass. They want to know what it will take to make an A. They want to do more, read more, study more, discuss more, and attend class more than students who only care about passing.

Aren't there things in the Christian faith that matter even if failure to do them or understand them correctly doesn't keep you out of heaven? Do I really want to stand before God and say, "Nothing you said in the Bible mattered to me except what I thought was a requirement to get into heaven"?

Figuring out what is on the "heaven or hell" list is not always easy. But I think Jesus put his emphasis on something other than baptism.

Rob

Does Baptism Matter?

In the late 1970s, in a class on Restoration History at Abilene Christian University (a "Church of Christ" school), Dr. Bill Humble explained that the Churches of Christ had begun as a nondenominational movement. They saw themselves as "Christians only, not the only Christians." However, he further explained that we had been evolving into a denomination, and that the evolution was virtually complete. It was an eye-opening examination of our roots and of the current state of our fellowship.

In the early 1980s I had my first experience of true nondenominational Christianity when I attended graduate school at Wheaton College, a nondenominational evangelical school. Professors from a variety of Christian traditions deepened my understanding of the Scriptures, matured my faith in Christ, and challenged my walk with God. Students from a variety of denominations joined together in study, worship, and fellowship. Denominational identities were relatively unimportant and virtually ignored (at that time, every member of the Theology faculty was attending a different denomination than the one in which he had been raised). What mattered most was that we shared a common faith in Christ, a common trust in the inspiration and authority of the Scripture, and a common fellowship in the family of God. I had grown up in churches and schools that claimed to be nondenominational, but it wasn't until I reached Wheaton that I realized how misleading those claims had been.

In the years that followed I had more and more opportunities to enjoy fellowship across denominational lines. In Promise Keepers rallies, local ministerial associations, church leadership conferences, gatherings of Pro-Life clergy, a city-wide prayer movement in Houston, and more, I would find myself in worship and prayer and study side-by-side with Christians from across the entire spectrum of the Christian church. I sang with Pentecostals, planned city-wide prayer services with Baptists, prayed for the unborn with Catholics, and learned about church growth from Methodists.

And throughout that journey, one objection has continually been raised by sincerely troubled members of my own fellowship—good folk who, knowingly or not, have rejected the nondenominational roots of our churches. "If you accept all those other groups as Christians," some will say, "then you are saying that baptism doesn't matter." What they are saying is that one must be properly baptized, as we understand the New Testament to teach baptism, in order to be Christian and be saved. If you say that someone can be a Christian and be saved without being properly baptized, then you are saying that baptism doesn't matter.

But is that really true? Are the only options either to say that correct baptism is an absolute, essential, indispensable requirement for salvation and fellowship or to say that baptism doesn't matter? Is there nothing in between?

Can I say that Jesus and the apostles commanded baptism, and that they practiced it by immersion; that God intended for all believers to be baptized as part of becoming a Christian and receiving his forgiveness; and that I believe God intended baptism to be "believer's baptism" (i.e., baptism based on one's own faith and repentance) rather than infant baptism; but, also acknowledge that many believers in Jesus (most, in fact) have sincerely reached different conclusions? Can't I also say that God is judge, not me; and, it is not my place to decide which persons who claim to be Christians may, in fact, be weeds which God may someday separate from the wheat? Can't I also say that since salvation is by grace through faith, not by works, that someone who believes in Jesus and is mistaken about baptism will be saved by the same grace and mercy of Jesus that I trust will save me in my own errors of understanding? Can't I acknowledge that the New Testament never directly addresses the issue of when to baptize children raised in Christian homes, and therefore acknowledge that as convinced as I am of the correctness of believer's baptism, some will sincerely come to different conclusions?

Are the only things that "matter" the ones which will keep you out of heaven? Is the Christian life just a "pass-fail" class, and the only things that matter are the ones required for you to pass? Isn't it important to try and do more than the minimum? Doesn't obedience matter, even if perfect obedience isn't required for salvation? Doesn't it matter for us to continue to teach "New Testament baptism" (as we understand it) to those who would follow Jesus, even though we may acknowledge that many have come to follow Jesus without being taught about that baptism? Doesn't it matter to practice and teach what we understand the Scriptures to teach, even though we trust that God's mercy will save both us and others who do not perfectly understand what the Scriptures teach? Doesn't it matter for us to do what we sincerely believe God wants us to do, without condemning those who sincerely think differently?

Yes, baptism matters!

I just think Jesus matters more.

A Compliment I Don’t Like Hearing

"You're the coolest 'Church of Christ' preacher I've ever met."

When a lady said this to me, I had to remind myself that she was trying to express an enthusiastic compliment. But somehow it was hard to feel very grateful. I might have felt differently if she was impressed with my undeniably cool personality or my sharp fashion sense or my familiarity with the latest cultural trends. But that was not what she meant.

The comment was made at the end of a gathering of local church leaders and members to discuss how our churches could cooperate in meeting the needs of the poor in our community. Her point was that she had known other ministers from Churches of Christ who would not have participated in such gatherings and were not open to such fellowship with other Christians.

Several times recently I've received compliments like that. One kind person said, "Some of my relatives are 'Church of Christ'—but you're not anything like them!" Now mind you, I enjoy a compliment as much as anybody. And I certainly appreciate it when people like me. But that kind of compliment causes me as much pain as it does pleasure. Such statements are not merely affirmations of something about me, they are criticisms of my religious heritage. More than criticisms, they are in fact condemnations (though probably not intentionally so) of the sectarian arrogance that has too often characterized the interactions of Church of Christ ministers and members with other followers of Jesus.

The irony, of course, is that the sectarian reputation by which Churches of Christ are too often known is completely contrary to the original vision and attitude of our movement. We began with the call to be "Christians only, but not the only Christians." Somewhere along the way, many of our churches replaced that identity with "Christians only and the only Christians" (though few if any would have openly proclaimed those words). Sadly, a nondenominational movement zealously committed to Christian unity has become widely known as a narrowly sectarian denomination.

A few days ago I sat at a luncheon for our local ministerial association. At one point in the meal, a minister attending the association for the first time looked at me with a puzzled expression and said, "Now…I have to ask something…" (I looked over at a colleague from my church and said, "Here it comes." This has happened so many times over the years that I can almost see it coming before any words come out.) Searching for the right words, he continued, "You…uh…you are from the Church of Christ, right?" ("I told you.")

"Not that kind of 'Church of Christ,'" I replied.

Everyone at the table was laughing.

I wanted to cry.

O Barnabas, Where Art Thou?

A church I once served had "Encouragement Cards" in the pews for people to write notes to members—birthday and anniversary greetings, a comforting word to someone in grief, "get well" wishes to someone in the hospital, a thank you to a worship leader or Sunday School teacher. These cards were collected and volunteers mailed them to the intended recipients. It was a wonderful ministry led by one of the sweetest, most encouraging people I have ever known.

The only problem was that some members were using the "Encouragement Cards" to express their complaints and criticisms—sometimes in rather unkind words (that's right—rude complaints written on "Encouragement Cards"!). The practice became frequent enough that the staff privately nicknamed the notes "Discouragement Cards"! We finally had to address the problem from the pulpit, and thankfully it cleared up.

One of the passages we considered in our church during the week leading up to Good Friday and Easter was Philippians 2:1-11—"If there is any encouragement in Christ…" That passage prompted me to reflect a little on the meaning of encouragement.

We all recognize encouragement. It's a little league coach urging a youngster to shake off an error and "get the next one." It's an expression of thanks to a nurse for taking good care of a loved one. It's an offer to help someone who seems a little overwhelmed by the task at hand. It's a boss praising an employee for hard work on a busy week. It's a big hug for mom when we get up from the dinner table.

And we all recognize discouragement. It's a basketball coach whose players will all graduate, whose team won more than 2/3 of their games, and made it to the NCAA tournament for the 4^th year in a row; but all he hears is people harping that they didn't make to the "Sweet Sixteen." It's a nurse who's worked double shifts covering for others who call in sick, has more patients than she knows how to manage, hasn't had time to take a 15-minute lunch break in the last 7 hours, and then has to listen to an irate family member berate her because she didn't answer a call button fast enough. It's having a boss who swears at you constantly because you can't read his mind (I actually had one of those once). It's a wife who prepares a nice dinner, only to hear her husband unthinkingly say, "It's good, but my mom's meatloaf tasted a little better . . . Wonder what she put in hers?" (And no, I never, ever said anything that ridiculously stupid to my wife. Never. Really. Just ask her . . . on second thought, don't ask her—just take my word for it.)

In a world which makes such a habit of discouragement, I wonder how we could make the church a haven of encouragement.

But that's probably a completely unrealistic wish.

I Am Off the Wagon

Hello, My name is Rob. I am a chocoholic.

As many of you know, I have a long history of overindulgence in chocolate. In my college days I was known to consume one-pound bags of M&Ms in a single sitting, or dozens of chocolate chip cookies in a couple of days. I love extra thick chocolate milk shakes made with Marble Slab's double dark chocolate ice cream. I love double-stuff oreos—and the new ones with chocolate filling are a welcome improvement. Chocolate cake, chocolate pie, chocolate candy, chocolate milk, chocolate-covered raisins…well, you get the idea.

I gave up chocolate for Lent—something I have done before. I did this for two reasons. Fasting from something you love during the weeks before Easter causes you to think about Jesus and his suffering every time you think about the thing you have given up.

I thought about Jesus a lot!

I also gave it up to deal with my chocolate craving. To be honest, going without chocolate for six weeks wasn't as hard this time as it sometimes was in the past. Even as Easter approached and there was chocolate candy everywhere I turned, I managed to abstain without a great deal of difficulty. So I was pretty confident that I had the chocolate problem under control.

Then came Easter.

My wife baked me a chocolate cake with chocolate icing and Ghirardelli's chocolate in the mix. She put a big chocolate Easter bunny on the top. By Tuesday night I had eaten nearly all of it. Some friends gave me a bag of the best chocolate truffles I've ever put in my mouth—they're nearly gone too (but I did share them with family). And then there were the little chocolate eggs wrapped in pretty foil—I would have eaten more of them, but it takes too long to peel off all that little wrapping.

An interesting side-effect of eating all this chocolate has been that nearly every time I indulge, I am reminded of the six weeks without chocolate, which reminds me again why I gave it up. So eating lots of chocolate has made me think of Jesus—often!

Does that sanctify gluttony?

Amos: The Annoying Prophet

"Hear this word, you cows of Bashan on Mount Samaria,
you women who oppress the poor and crush the needy
and say to your husbands, "Bring us some drinks!" (Amos 4:1)

"Cows of Bashan"! Can you imagine any preacher in his right mind getting up and calling the ladies of the church, "cows of Bashan"?
No wonder Amos wasn't very popular.

In a recent sermon in our series on the Mighty Acts of God, we talked about Amos and other prophets who preached about the Exile. Since that lesson, I've been thinking now and then about what Amos would say today. And, to be honest, it makes me pretty uncomfortable. I doubt he'd be very popular today either.

For example, he castigates the Israelites because "they sell the poor for a pair of sandals" (2:6; 8:6). Those are harsh words, and at first glance I'm just glad that I would never do such thing. . . . Or would I?

We American consumers are noted for caring only about getting the lowest possible price for the things we want. The consequence of that market pressure is that companies are always looking for ways to provide products at a lower cost than their competitors. Inevitably, some companies will find they can do that by purchasing goods from foreign suppliers who pay pitifully low wages for extremely long hours, do little or nothing to provide for the safety and health of their employees, and even use child labor. Is it possible that my shopping choices contribute to the selling of the poor for a cheaper pair of sandals?

And then there is that annoying sermon in the first few verses of chapter 6. Our small group spent a little time one evening imagining how Amos' words might translate into our culture. It's easy to read words about "ivory beds" and "choice lambs" and "strumming harps" and distance myself from the message. Those don't sound like my life. But what if Amos preached this in contemporary images?
I wonder if he might have said something like this:

Woe to you who are complacent in America,
and to you who feel secure in your cities,
you successful citizens of the foremost nation!
You think the day of consequences is far off,
but bring near a reign of oppression.
You lie on your king-size beds with satin sheets,
and lounge on your couches and recliners.
You dine on fine steaks and grill your extra large burgers.
You watch your widescreen plasma TVs,
and listen to your surround sound home theater systems.
You fill your frig with all your favorite drinks.
You smooth your skin with luxurious lotions.

But you do not grieve over the ruin of your people.

Therefore you will be among the first to face
the coming calamity;
your feasting and lounging will end.

I don't know about you, but I don't think I'd want to go to Amos' church.

Everything Is Not Okay in the Holy Land (guest blog)

My brother, David McRay, M.D., is leading a small group of medical students on a month-long visit to Israel and Palestine as part of their medical education. With his permission, I am sharing this as a guest blog. David is a gifted writer with a unique perspective on the problems plaguing the Holy Land. I think you will be stirred, enlightened, intrigued, and troubled.

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“Everything okay?” No, everything was certainly not okay. My immediate reaction to his question was frustration, even anger, followed almost as quickly by a mixture of disbelief, subdued laughter, and then despair. My emotions seem to race across this spectrum many times a day when I travel in Israel and the Occupied Palestinian Territories.

We were stopped at a checkpoint somewhere in the middle of the West Bank, on the road from Nablus to Ramallah. It was one of the hundreds of such barriers – most
“permanent” (or fixed) and many temporary or mobile (or “on the fly” as people here call them) – scattered across the Palestinian territory that make life so incredibly difficult for the people who must line up and wait, sometimes for hours, to get to their jobs, farms, and family, if they are allowed to pass at all. Life at the checkpoints is challenging – on a good day – and, on a bad day, may end there.

The young Israeli soldier – certainly no more than 25 years old – stood at the window of our van, clearly marked in multiple ways as a mobile medical clinic van operated by the Palestinian Medical Relief Society (PMRS), asking our Palestinian driver where he was going and why. In the usual posture of a soldier in this situation, with his finger on the trigger guard of his semi-automatic weapon, he glanced inside and saw that the passengers of the van were five Americans (our traveling party) and one additional Palestinian (our assistant and translator) – who is also an American citizen. Pausing briefly, apparently to find the correct English words, the soldier then directed his question beyond the driver to the rest of us. He was implying that there might be some reason to be concerned about our safety – a group of Americans in the company of two Palestinian men. I would like to believe he had our best interests in mind and that, if questioned, he might be able to offer a reasonable explanation as to why he made such an inquiry. In light of the many similar experiences I have had in the past (including the day before when another soldier at another checkpoint asked us, “Where are you sleeping?” and then, in reply to our response of “Ramallah” said, with a sly grin, “Ramallah? Why Ramallah? Why not Jerusalem or Tel Aviv?”), I could not easily find any other explanation for the “Everything okay?” question than the prevalent racial/ethnic/religious profiling that is an accepted approach to security considerations, even a way of life, here.

“Everything okay?” No everything was certainly not okay. Actually, nothing besides our safety was “okay”. For the third consecutive day, we had been driving through the ancient, beautiful hills of the West Bank, covered with stone terraces holding rows of old, but still productive, olive trees, admiring their beauty but saddened by what has happened to them over the past 40 years, especially the last 20. I have traveled these same roads many times since my first visit to this land in 1969. Now, in every direction, one can see hilltops covered with “settlements” -communities, towns, even cities composed of Israelis who, with their government’s permission and support, have built permanent homes on Palestinian land - and valleys transformed by new roads built on Palestinian land but open only to the settlers. I spoke today with a friend who owns a travel agency on the east (Arab) side of Jerusalem. His family owns the land on which one of the “settlements” (“colonies” as they are called by some here) was built. The land was confiscated from his father, without compensation, in violation of international and even Israeli law. The Israeli courts ruled in his father’s favor in the lawsuit that followed, but the court’s verdict was never enforced. No, everything was not okay.

We had been to Hebron where the poverty and malnutrition are devastating and where the conflicts created by a small group of hostile settlers who have planted themselves in the middle of this large Arab city are frequent. No, everything was not okay.

We had visited Jiftlik, a small Arab village in the Jordan River valley, in an area of the West Bank still under complete Israeli control. This was my third trip to this community to follow the status of the community’s health care and the continuing efforts of PMRS to address their needs. They have a new clinic, built by funds from USAID, a good staff, and adequate equipment. Yet the effects of extreme poverty, inadequate and unclean water, and severe restrictions on housing repair and construction imposed by the Israeli military authorities present obstacles they cannot hope to overcome. No, everything was not okay.

We had listened to the stories told by our Palestinian traveling companion, assistant, and translator about his experiences since returning to his homeland. Born in the West Bank, he moved to the US a number of years ago and became a citizen. After deciding he preferred life in his native country among his friends and family, he returned, with his American passport. At the border crossing from Jordan, the soldiers ran his name through their computer and discovered that he had been born in the Palestinian territories, therefore, in their eyes, he was Palestinian and not American. His passport was not stamped with a visa like ours when we arrived. Instead, he received a stamp that included his Palestinian ID number. Now, he is treated like any other resident of Palestine and denied the privilege of entering Israel, even to visit Jerusalem, only a few miles down the road from Ramallah where he now lives and works. (We met with a 20 year old student of Palestinian heritage studying at Beir Zeit University, born in the States and carrying a US passport, who, along with her family, experience the same restrictions because they have chosen to live in Ramallah.) No, everything was not okay.

And, we were on our way to Qalqilya, to visit a city of some 40,000 people completely encircled by the separation barrier – in some places a massive, 30-foot high concrete wall and in others a complex, multilayered fence with razor wire. Suhad, my friend and our guide for our visit, told us about the many severe health care problems created by the restrictions on movement throughout the Qalqilya region, including the death of her mother following a stroke when they could not transport her to a tertiary care center in a timely manner and the death of a mother following childbirth at the checkpoint. No, everything was certainly not okay.

Regardless of what one believes about the necessity of such barriers, restrictions, and decisions to insure the safety and security of the citizens of Israel, one cannot but be overwhelmed with the implications for the health, welfare, security, and life of the Palestinian people. This is part of what we came here to see and experience, in addition to learning about the health care delivery system in the nation of Israel, with its excellent national health “insurance” program and universal access to state-of-the-art care for all its citizens – two drastically different health care systems, existing side-by-side separated by only a few kilometers and a Wall, with two strikingly different outcomes.

We have completed the first two weeks of our four-week journey. Our group is small, but still big enough to make squeezing into a little rental car cozy, and into a smaller taxi, quite cozy indeed! Jonathan (my oldest son and a veteran now of Middle Eastern travel, on his fourth trip here and his second extended stay in Ramallah), Dr. Justus Peters and Dr. Deepa Somcio (both third-year family medicine residents working with me in Fort Worth), and I flew from DFW to Frankfurt and met the fifth and final member of our group, Danielle Smith (a third-year medical student at Northwestern University in Chicago), at the gate for our flight to Tel Aviv. We only had one hour between our arrival from DFW and our departure for Tel Aviv, but we made it with a few minutes to spare. Our luggage did as well!

After a rain-soaked Saturday night and Sunday in Jerusalem (water was flowing down the streets of the Old City), we headed south to Beer Sheva, and to drier, warmer weather in the Negev desert. We received a wonderful reception there from the members of the department of family medicine at Ben Gurion University and from the students of the Medical School for International Health at BGU, operated in affiliation with Columbia University in New York. Our week in Israel was filled with visits to clinics, a cancer community support center, a staff meeting of the palliative care group, a meeting with a group of family medicine residents, a formal presentation on the Israeli health care system, and two lectures I gave (one to the Israeli faculty and residents and one to the MSIH students). Our only major disappointment of the week was the cancellation of our scheduled home visits to the Bedouin community due to the absence of the primary physician (he was in Africa on a global health elective with a group of medical students!) and the illness of the driver. We left Beer Sheva much better informed and satisfied with this brief introduction to a national system of health care that has yielded excellent health outcomes for the citizens of Israel.

Although our conversations with the doctors and students in Israel were mostly medical and only rarely political, we did learn something of their experience during the recent assault on Gaza. The rockets fired by Hamas that fell on Beer Sheva did little damage but they disrupted lives in significant ways and caused deep fear and anger. In a nation as small as Israel, where every citizen serves in the military for 2-3 years after high school graduation, everyone, I have often been told, knows someone injured or killed in one of the wars or bombings. And every Palestinian, I have also been frequently told, has a friend or relative who has been injured, killed, or imprisoned by the Israelis. No, it seems in every way, everything is not okay here in the “Holy Land”.

After a weekend of somewhat arduous but enjoyable travel to Jordan to visit the World Heritage site of Petra, we crossed the Qalandia checkpoint into Ramallah and met our hosts for the final three weeks of our trip. This week has afforded us a broad, and exhausting, overview of the work of PMRS, a 20+ year old non-government organization providing primary health care throughout the West Bank and Gaza via an extensive network of clinics, mobile units, and a host of other healthcare related activities. We also enjoyed a detailed tour of the primary government hospital in Hebron, the major referral center for the southern portion of the West Bank and the site of some 8400 births per year. On Monday we will hear presentations on the history of the PMRS and on the status of another public health project in the Palestinian territories and then, on Tuesday, begin seeing patients at the Ramallah Emergency and Trauma Center (both in the emergency department and the operating suite) and with the mobile clinics conducted by PMRS in the villages around Ramallah. We will continue these activities during our final week and add a visit to the Holy Family Hospital in Bethlehem, a private maternity hospital that provides excellent care to thousands of Palestinian women each year.

Everyone is well and safe. We have never felt threatened in any way. We have had many memorable travel experiences and enriching and challenging conversations about life, medicine, justice, security, and health care. I anticipate we will have many more in the days ahead.

David

A People with No Home

Judy and I recently visited a new restaurant whose sign advertised Mediterranean cuisine. The menu included an appetizing mix of Greek, Italian, and Arab dishes. As we were waiting for our food, I overheard the man who appeared to be the manager or owner as he was speaking with one of the staff. I couldn’t hear much, but I could tell he was speaking in Arabic. I speak almost no Arabic ("hi", "goodbye", "how are you?", "God is great", counting to ten, and, sadly, a couple of unprintable phrases I picked up on the soccer field in Jerusalem), but it sounded like he had an Egyptian accent.

The waitress let him know that we’d like to meet him, and pretty soon he had pulled up a chair for a friendly chat. We learned he is a Coptic Christian. The Coptic church is sort of the official Christian denomination of Egypt. It is one of the oldest Christian traditions in the world—part of the broad Eastern Orthodox tradition, though somewhat unique. In recent years, Coptics have been facing increasing persecution from fundamentalist Muslims in Egypt. Many have left their homeland in search of religious freedom.

Our host was the second Coptic person I had met in Nashville (the first was a student in one of my Bible classes at Lipscomb). He told us that there are four Coptic churches in Nashville, with a total of some eight or nine hundred families. I knew Nashville had a growing Arab population, but I had no idea that there were so many Egyptian Christians here.

We also chatted a little about what it has been like in America since 9/11. I doubt I’ll ever forget his reply.

“In Egypt they hate us because we are Christian. In America they hate us because we are Arab.”

The first sentence is an indictment of the world, and a fulfillment of Jesus’ warning to his followers that this world would hate them. (Makes me wonder why I haven’t felt hated by my own country.) The second sentence is a stinging indictment of an America continually plagued by prejudice and racism.

Arab Christians increasingly feel like a people with no home in this world. They often face hostility from fundamentalist Muslims in their own countries, and find they are unwelcome among Americans who often see Arabs as the enemy. They are truly strangers and exiles in this world.

As a post-Christian America becomes increasingly secular and increasingly unfriendly to Christian faith and virtues, we may find that the plight of Coptic Christians will one day be our own. Considering the success of early Christianity under Roman persecution, maybe that won’t be such a bad thing.

In the meantime, perhaps we could all just be a little more sensitive to the very real possibility that the Arab person we meet in town just might be a fellow disciple of Jesus.

Why I Didn't Care for the Oscars

I remember years ago hearing a speaker talking to youth about their entertainment choices. He told a story about his little boy not wanting to eat raisins. So he decided to try a little experiment. He gave him a bowl of cereal with one raisin in it. He watched his son pick out the raisin and go ahead and eat the cereal. The next day he put a couple of raisins in the bowl, and again the little boy removed them before eating the cereal. The next morning he put in a handful, and then watched as his son carefully picked out every raisin. Finally, he placed a bowl of cereal in front of his son with raisins mixed all through the cereal. The boy started to remove them one at a time, and then just gave up and pushed the bowl away.

The point of the story was to ask teenagers how much offensive material has to be in a movie before you decide it's just not worth trying to pick your away around it. Good question. I'm finding that as I get older, instead of becoming more tolerant of what I see in movies, I'm actually becoming less and less happy trying to ignore offensive material in my entertainment.

My wife and I fast-forwarded our way through the Oscars last night just to see which movies that we have not seen would get awards this year. I wondered why each year it seems like I've seen fewer and fewer of the nominated movies. This year we've only seen one of the films up for Best Picture.

And then it struck me--of the 15 movies up for one of the top awards (Picture, Director, Best & Supporting Actor/Actress), 10 were rated R and 5 were rated PG-13. Not one movie out of the 15 was rated PG or G. According to Kids-in-Mind.com (a very helpful resource for parents about the mature content of films--actually, Judy and I frequently use it to decide what we will see), these 15 movies included a total of over 150 "F" words. That's an average of more than 10 a film! (Granted, two of the films accounted for nearly 100 of that total, but most of the films had at least 2 or 3, if not more.) The only nominee for Best Picture which did not find "F" words necessary to produce quality dialogue was "The Reader"--and it got a 9 out of 10 for the amount of sex!

Some will say that such films are realistic and serious and true-to-life. Maybe. But I can remember when Hollywood was able to make Acadamy Award winning movies without vulgarity, nudity, simulated sex acts, or realistic visual effects of someone's head being cut off.

So when I look at the movie listings on a Friday night, I find myself wondering, "How many raisins can I keep picking out of my cereal?"

The answer seems to be "less than I used to" . . . but even at that, I'm pretty sure I'm putting up with more than Jesus would.

Gracious Speech and Partisan Politics

Have you noticed how partisan politics has become? I heard an NBC reporter this morning discussing the way the current stimulus package debate has drawn President Obama into partisan politics, despite his pledged desire to bring new bipartisanship to Washington. The reporter pointed out how the same thing happened to Bush, who had pledged to be a "uniter" rather than a divider. He said it just seemed to be part of the fabric of Washington.

I'm concerned with the way partisan loyalties seem to be destroying our ability to treat each other fairly and respectfully. Some conservatives accused Democrats of wanting Bush to fail because of partisan loyalties, and said that was un-American. Now some conservatives say they want Obama to fail. Why was it bad for one and not the other?

Party loyalties often appear to overwhelm objective analysis of issues and positions. For example, when a Republican president led a war against Iraq, some Democrats charged that we had no clear national interest at stake and that we had no clearly defined measure of victory and no exit strategy. When a Democratic president sent troops into Bosnia and Somalia, some Republicans said the exact same thing. To the independent observer, it looked like the real issue may not have been national interest or military strategy; the real issue may have been whether or not the President belonged to your party.

Even worse, it seems that the growing political divide in our country is leading us to demonize our opponents, much the way we demonize our enemies in war. It seems we want to believe the worst about our political opponents. They are the enemy. Since we believe in the truth, they must be enemies of the truth. Since they are enemies of the truth, they must be ignorant of the truth or, worse, liars.

So right-wing pundit, Ann Coulter, writes a book entitled, If Democrats Had Any Brains They'd Be Republicans; and left-wing pundit (now senator), Al Franken, writes one entitled, Lies: And the Lying Liars Who Tell Them: A Fair and Balanced Look at the Right. And each side is thoroughly entertained by one and deeply offended by the other.

Too often when I talk with people about political and social issues, I hear them paint their opponents in harsh, insulting, and combative ways. Friends have called Cheney and Rumsfeld "warmongers." Clinton was a "whoremonger." Bush is "an idiot." Obama "pals around with terrorists." It's rare that I can sit at a table with someone and find they can treat their opponents fairly and respectfully. Can't we question whether the Bush administration's policies were too hawkish without labeling them as inhumane warmongers? Can't we question some of Obama's political associations without making it sound like he plays racquetball with Bin Laden?

I confess that I once engaged in the same sort of rhetoric. And I admit that I still struggle at times to treat my political opponents with respect. But I'm doing much better. I now consider it something of a personal challenge to enter a controversial discussion and find ways to speak politely of opposing positions—and an even greater challenge to describe someone else's positions with the fairness with which I would want them to represent my own views.

Somehow we Christians must learn to speak "with grace" (Col. 4:6), using speech that "gives grace" to those who hear (Eph. 4:29).

You know, the way we do when we discuss our differences in the church . . .

Who’s Next?

I have just learned that the standard directory of the Churches of Christ (meaning the a cappella branch of the Restoration Movement founded 200 years ago by Barton Stone and Thomas and Alexander Campbell; not the "Christian Churches/Churches of Christ," another branch of the same movement which uses instrumental music in worship; nor the International Churches of Christ, formerly known as the Crossroads/Boston/Discipling Movement, a splinter group that broke off the from Churches of Christ; nor the United Church of Christ, an entirely separate denomination with ties only in the distant past) has removed 21 churches from the 2009 edition of the directory.

Note I said "removed," not "labeled." The directory has long included a wide variety of Churches of Christ in its listings. Past editors have indicated the diversity with labels designating congregations that are one-cup, or non-class, or non-institutional, or predominately African-American, and so on. At one time they had an "ecumenical" label for those congregations that were less sectarian and less traditional than other Churches of Christ (I don't know if that designation is still used). But in this case they chose not to label these congregations. They completely removed them.

Some of those 21 churches have reportedly broken ties with the rest of the a cappella fellowship. In that case, their removal seems justified for a directory that intends to serve that fellowship. But for others, the decision is very disturbing, including the Richland Hills Church of Christ in Fort Worth (the largest Church of Christ in America) and the Farmers Branch Church of Christ in Dallas (where my son has been attending) and the Redwood Church in Redwood City, CA (where a good friend of mine now preaches, who used to serve with me as our youth minister in Houston).

And why have they been removed? Because of their use of instrumental music in one of their worship services on Sunday morning. Those three churches each have an a cappella worship service on Sunday morning, but they have also added an instrumental service (that's right—the largest a cappella Church of Christ in America also has an instrumental service on Sunday morning). And for that they are no longer listed in our directory.

These churches have not broken ties with our fellowship. Their ministers and their members still attend events and go to schools sponsored by Churches of Christ. They still baptize by immersion; keep weekly communion; believe in the authority of Scripture; and proclaim Jesus as Lord (of course, not in that order of importance). And they still value our a cappella heritage and continue to have a cappella services.

But they have decided to be both/and churches rather than either/or churches. They have decided they don't have to choose to be either exclusively a cappella or exclusively instrumental. They can offer both a cappella and instrumental services and give their members and visitors the freedom to choose. For this the editors of the directory, published by 21st Century Christian here in Nashville, have decided they are no longer one of us. (Click here for the story in The
Christian Chronicle.).

So what does this mean? Am I supposed to withdraw fellowship from the preachers at these churches, all of whom are friends of mine? Are the other Churches of Christ in their area supposed to stop inviting them to 5th Sunday Singings and area-wide Bible Bowls? (Do we still do those things?) Do we not tell members moving to those cities that these churches exist?

And who's next? If these churches are out because of Sunday morning services, what about the many Churches of Christ all over the country that have instrumental music in events at other times? That probably includes most of the largest Churches of Christ in the Nashville area. Hey, that includes my church! Are we going to be cut out of the next edition?

And what will get you cut out? Does it have to be a live instrument? What if you show a music video in the worship service? Will that get you kicked out? Or what if you show a clip from a movie during the sermon, and the movie has a sound track that includes a musical instrument? What if your Sunday School uses a CD of songs for children? What if your teens are listening to their ipods during church? (Ok, ok. Now I'm being sarcastic. But I just want to know what the rules are.)

And who gets to decide? Do the editors of this directory (apparently they think they do). Maybe we need to appoint a denominational board to rule on who is in and who is out. But wait, that won't work—we aren't a denomination . . . Right?

Conflicted Feelings over the Inauguration

What an incredible day for our nation! I did not vote for President Obama, but I still found myself stirred by watching the son of an African immigrant take the oath of office to become the first African-American president in our history.

Earlier this morning I watched an interview with Congressman John Lewis, a noted civil rights leader who had worked alongside Dr. King. Congressman Lewis recalled that not 50 years ago he was beaten while struggling for the right to vote, and now he had lived to see an African-American become president. His emotion was not only understandable, it was contagious.

When I was student body president of my high school in Murfreesboro, TN in 1975-76, we had a "White Vice-President" and a "Black Vice-President" (that's what they were actually called). It was the only way a black student could be elected to an executive office. I helped elect a black student to succeed me as the first African-American student body president at a predominately white high school in state history (at least, that's what we were told at the time). That led to the end of the office of a Black Vice-President. But we were still decades away from seeing the same thing happen in national politics.

How could anyone, white or black, Democrat or Republican, who had lived through any of the history of our nation's struggle with racism, not be profoundly moved to witness this event? (And Aretha singing "My Country 'Tis of Thee" was pretty cool, too!)

But I must also confess that I found myself troubled at the same time. I truly wanted to rejoice without reservation. But my deep misgivings over some of President Obama's positions kept me from sharing the elation that so many understandably felt over this event.

Just over the last week I learned of new questions raised by conservative groups over two issues of importance to me. One report said that while Mr. Obama was running for the Illinois senate, he had pledged support for homosexual marriage. (http://www.onenewsnow.com/Politics/Default.aspx?id=387986) Even more troubling to me are the reports that the new congress is preparing to pass the Freedom of Choice Act and that last year Mr. Obama already promised to sign it. (http://www.fightfoca.com/) According to pro-life groups, this legislation will eliminate all restrictions on abortion nationwide, overturning any state laws on parental notification or partial birth abortion, and would even force faith-based hospitals to provide abortions. I don't know if these reports are true; but if they are, they are deeply disturbing.

During the campaign, I remember President Obama expressing support for marriage between a man and a woman and I remember him saying we need to find common ground on abortion and work to reduce the number of abortions. My deep skepticism of all politicians (which is a big part of why I am an independent) makes me wonder whether he was completely honest in those remarks, or whether the other statements may have been politically motivated, or both. I don't know if his positions have honestly changed, or whether these conservative groups are quoting him out of context. All I can say is that I am not optimistic.

And so I find myself in the conflicted position of celebrating the election of an African-American President and glad to have lived to see this day, and on the other hand, wishing the first African-American President had been someone who would not lead us in the radical direction I fear this President will want to go.

So I will pray for him and treat him with respect, as the Scriptures call us to do. And I will pray for my country, because, truthfully, whether President Obama had been elected or not, I believe we were headed down this path any way.

I'm Abandoning Sports Forever!

Football season is over! Well, maybe not for everybody, but I think it is for me. The biggest game of the year is still a couple of weeks away, but I don't think I care.

Since I was a boy I have been a huge fan of the Minnesota Vikings (remember the Purple People Eaters and "Injun Joe Kapp" and the amazing Fran Tarkenton?), and almost as big a fan of the Oklahoma Sooners. Since returning to Tennessee five years ago, I've also joined the frenzy of home town fans cheering for the Titans. Last week promised great excitement as all three of my favorite teams were playing in postseason games. The Vikings were hosting a first round playoff game for the first time in several years. The Sooners were taking the highest scoring offense in college football history to the BCS championship game. And then the Titans, arguably the best team in the NFL, would host a second round playoff game they were sure to win.

On Sunday the Vikes fumbled the game away. On Thursday the Sooners did the same. And on Saturday the Titans joined the parade of disaster. All three! In one week!

And this is the second time this happened this year! I've been fortunate to live in three major league baseball towns. Over the years I've been a fan of the Cubs and White Sox in Chicago, the Brewers in Milwaukee, and the Astros in Houston. At the end of the baseball season, three of those teams made the playoffs. That meant I had a 3 in 8 chance of one of my teams making the World Series. How exciting!

In their opening series, the Cubs, Sox, and Brewers managed to win one game. Not one series . . . one game! Not one game a piece, one game period.

How do I describe the feelings? Heartbreak . . . disbelief . . . anger . . . frustration . . . depression . . . despair . . . A season of excitement and anticipation and hope crashing into the agony of defeat. Not once, but three times at the end of two seasons! Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!

Why do I subject myself to this? The odds are that no matter who you cheer for, your team will only occasionally make the playoffs and almost always lose their last big game (you know, in most sports only one team each year wins their last game). Sports brings lots of fun and excitement, but lots of disappointment too (at least I'm not a Detroit Lions fan!).

I wonder what it would be like if I regularly found myself as excited and passionate about worship, about the kingdom, about time with God as I get about sports. (Do even Pentecostals get that excited about worship?) I'm pretty sure God would not leave me as disappointed at the end of each season. I love the sign on a Wisconsin church that says, "Jesus will never leave you for the Jets!" (If you don't get that, you're probably not a sports fan. Try googling "Brett Favre.")

So I've decided to devote more time and energy to more fulfilling, life-enriching, spiritually enhancing pursuits. And to never again get this wrapped up in sports.

At least not till March Madness.

Christians, Americans, and “English-Only”

As an American citizen, I share the concern of many citizens over the issue of illegal immigration. The flood of undocumented people into our country presents a number of disturbing problems. How can our economy absorb all the people looking for work? How will our health care and education institutions meet the needs of these individuals and their children? Will our welfare system be able to manage the demands placed on it? How does the lack of border security affect safety and security in an age of terrorism? These are troubling questions and I claim to have no answers.

On the other hand, I am also increasingly concerned about the tensions, prejudices, and even hostility I see in our community over immigration issues. Sometimes the language used to discuss these problems sounds like racial prejudice in thin disguise. America has always been a nation that claimed to welcome immigrants (“give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free”). But in reality, immigrants quite often have faced much prejudice and hatred—whether the Chinese working on the railroads, the Polish in Chicago, the Vietnamese boat people in Texas, and on and on.

The city of Nashville is about to vote on an “English-Only” amendment. The law would prohibit the city government from publishing official documents in any other language or from hiring translators to communicate with citizens, except to protect public health or safety. The proponents have some good points to make about the importance of immigrants in any country learning the official language so they can function and prosper (http://www.nashvilleenglishfirst.com/). But the opposition raises some very troubling points about the impact this legislation will have on the poor, on recent immigrants who have not yet had time to learn the language, and on the image of our city in a global economy (http://www.nashvilleforallofus.org/).

Sorting out all the social, political, and economic implications of this amendment is beyond my pay grade. For me, though, there is one question that seems pretty clear: What would Jesus do?

Jesus seems to have been little concerned with the politics of his day. For example, he swept aside the debate over Roman taxation with the simple exhortation to “give Caesar what is Caesar’s, and God what is God’s”—which didn’t answer the questions about whether the Romans had any right to be there or whether their tax system was just. Throughout his ministry Jesus made it abundantly clear that he was more concerned about the kingdom of God than worldly kingdoms—and that meant he was very concerned about the poor, the outcast, and the foreigners, even the hated Samaritans. I think Jesus would be less concerned about the cost to the city of providing translations than he would be about the impact on poor immigrants of refusing to do so.

Jesus said one of the two greatest commands is to “love your neighbor as yourself,” quoting Leviticus 19:18. Just a few verses later, God commanded the same thing regarding foreigners:

“‘When foreigners reside among you in your land, do not mistreat them. The foreigners residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God.” (Leviticus 19:33-34)

According to Moses, God loves the foreigners residing among his people, and they must do the same (Deuteronomy 10:18-19).

If I were an immigrant in another country, I would want to learn the language as quickly as I could. But I wonder how welcome I would feel if the citizens said their city would offer me no help until I could master their language well enough to navigate my way through the system. (Well, actually I don’t wonder that at all. I think I know exactly how I would feel.)

And I wonder what Jesus would say to us as we head for the polls. I can’t say for sure, but I think it might be something like: “Treat others the way you would want to be treated.”