Thank God for the "giants" in our lives

When my two kids left home for college - the first in 2000, the second in 2004 - I gave each of them the same final word of advice, which was some variation of the following: "Be sensitive to the presence of 'giants' in your life - those people who care enough to invest themselves in you - and welcome their contribution, the difference they can make in your life."

I hope they've taken that advice. From the growth that I've seen in both of them over the years since, I believe they did - intentionally or not.

I gave that advice to them because I'm very much aware that I would not be the person I am today if it were not for the presence of such "giants" - or whatever you want to call them - in my life over the years.

Of course, my family has given to me much more than I could ever give back to them, especially my Dad, to whom I wrote a tribute in this space last year. And I can't imagine my life without my wife, Joanna. The love, encouragement, and companionship she has given me for over 35 years now - what a gift from God! Our wonderful children, Alison and Travis, their spouses Adam and Christy, and our grandchildren. My sister, Patsy, and her husband, Palmer, and their kids and grandkids. God has blessed me beyond measure.

Beyond my family, there have been many, too many to name in the time and space allotted to me here. But, since my advice to my kids was given as they prepared to enter college, I'll just name a few who were instrumental during my college years. After all, my college years were where my journey of faith - on which I'm still traveling today - really began, where the faith that I experience today really took root.

When I was a student at OBU and underwent a severe faith crisis - one which wound up lasting beyond my college years - a friend in the next room, Ron Russey, shared with me that he understood my doubting and questioning, because he had experienced the same thing. Through many late-night "bull sessions" in Brotherhood Dorm, Ron and my roommate, Cary Wood, helped me to begin the process of confronting - and thinking through - my questions and doubts . . . the process of struggling with the great questions of faith and searching for something I could accept as truth.

Ron pointed me to another who became a "giant" in my life, Jerry Barnes. Jerry had been Ron's pastor when Ron was growing up in Hobart, Oklahoma. When I lost my faith, Ron knew where I needed to go. By this time (November 1970, my sophomore year), Jerry was pastoring right across the street from the OBU campus, at University Baptist Church, Shawnee. Ron told me I needed to go see Jerry.

I was very honest with Jerry, telling him that I had completely lost my faith in God or any belief that Jesus was God's son. Jerry asked me to join University Baptist Church. Some pastors . . . probably most pastors . . . even if they had been willing to counsel me, would have surely barred me from joining the church. But Jerry wanted me in church, where I could be challenged to keep digging for the truth, and I'm sure Jerry knew that I would be a lot more likely to be in church regularly if I were a member.

So I joined, and I met with Jerry in his office about once a semester for my remaining years at OBU. I would share with Jerry where I was in my "search" or "struggle," and Jerry would listen patiently and then try to help me take the next steps I needed to take on the journey. And that's not to mention his sermons that challenged me to dig more deeply into Scripture than I had ever dug before.

One of the most gracious things that God does for us is to put "giants" like Jerry Barnes in our path right when we need them . . . and "giants" like Ron Russey in our path to point us to the Jerry Barneses.

I would be remiss if I didn't back up for just a moment and name two "giants" that preceded my college years. Two people who believed in me and invested in me when I had a hard time believing in myself. When I was growing up, music was my great love, and I planned to go into the music ministry before my faith crisis short-circuited that dream. Both my decision to go into the music ministry and my decision to attend OBU were inspired by my respect for my minister of music when I was in Youth Choir at Bethany Baptist Church in Kansas City, MO, in the 1960s.

Joe Dell Rust invested in me, both as my music minister and as my friend. When I was not quite 14, he put me in a boys' quartet he was forming. Even at 14, I was already singing bass. By the time I was 16, Joe had me singing solos in Sunday School classes and even in worship services. The summer before I left for OBU, Joe and I would sit in his backyard on Saturday mornings, where he gave me something of a "preparatory course" in music theory. Music Theory, which so many students found intimidating, wound up being my best subject at OBU. Though I didn't wind up with a career in the music ministry, I spent many years singing in church choirs, and even 9 years directing - and singing in - a mixed choral ensemble. The musical training I received from Joe - and OBU - didn't go to waste.

Joyce Stuermer was the music teacher at Oak Park High School in Kansas City. She learned early on that I could read music and could sing. She encouraged me to try out for A Cappella Choir - the premier vocal group of the school, but I was scared to death to audition in front of that 70- to 80-voice choir. I just didn't have much confidence. During my sophomore and junior years, she began bugging me whenever she saw me in the hallway - "Bill Jones, you'd better come try out, because I'm not giving up on you!" I finally auditioned and became a member of A Cappella Choir at the beginning of my senior year.

In the spring, we began rehearsals for The Music Man. She had given me a one-line solo in the song, Wells Fargo Wagon. But shy Bill was singing it too timidly for her taste. She wanted me to push my way through the crowd and "let 'er rip"; so one night, in the middle of rehearsal, she stopped everything, proclaimed it "Bill Jones Night," and showed me - in front of the entire company (well over 100 students) - exactly how she wanted it done, and demanded that I practice it until I had done it to her satisfaction. In the years to come, at those moments when I struggled to believe in myself, I found myself remembering one person - Joyce Stuermer - who refused to give up on Bill Jones.

But back to post-OBU. There have been many "giants" in my life in the ensuing years . . . too many to name. Just in the past 10 years, as my involvement in denominational life has grown, I've had countless (literally, countless) friends and encouragers - "giants," if you will - who have helped me take the next steps in denominational life, and in my faith journey, just as Jerry Barnes did 40 years ago.

We paid tribute to one of them last August. As I told the crowd gathered for dinner that night, David Currie has been responsible - either directly or indirectly (directly, in most cases) - for every opportunity I've had to serve in Baptist life over the past decade, from the BGCT Executive Board to the Baptist Laity Institute to the TBC Board to the TBMaston Foundation Board to my current position as TBC associate executive director. But then, hundreds of Texas Baptist laypersons could make similar statements about David's contribution to their lives. Truly a "giant" who has invested himself in the lives of many people.

My advice works both ways. Yes, be sensitive to the presence of "giants" in your life, be open to their influence and contribution to your life, and celebrate them with your life. But also be sensitive to the opportunity to invest in the lives of others. Give as you've been given. You can't fully know - and you might never know - the impact you will have in and through their lives. One day, some of them might look back on you as one of the "giants" in their lives.

Love, theology, Komen, and LifeWay

One sentence gave me pause.

"LifeWay canceled the project last year amid reports that some Komen affiliates gave money to Planned Parenthood."

It appeared in an Associated Baptist Press article about criticism leveled by Thom Rainer, head of LifeWay Christian Resources - the publishing arm of the Southern Baptist Convention - at Susan G. Komen for the Cure's announcement that it was reversing its days-old decision to "disassociate from Planned Parenthood."

The "project" to which the sentence referred involved "plans to sell copies of the Here's Hope Breast Cancer Awareness Bible with a portion of proceeds benefitting Komen."

Lifeway had originally scuttled the project last year "amid reports that some Komen affiliates gave money to Planned Parenthood." The article went on to explain that "Despite assurance that none of [Komen's grants to Planned Parenthood] were used to fund abortions, LifeWay officials said they did not want to be identified with Planned Parenthood even indirectly."

Let me say right here, upfront, that I respect LifeWay's concerns about abortion.

But what did Jesus say should come first? Our theology . . . or people?

When asked for the "greatest commandment," Jesus gave two, and both had to do with love, not theological purity. The first? "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind." The second, which Jesus said is part-and-parcel of the first one, is to "love your neighbor as yourself." (Matthew 22:37; 39, NIV)

I'm concerned when we express a theological rigidity that refuses even "to be identified with" those with whom we disagree or even those whom we identify as violating the precepts of Scripture.

Most of all, I'm concerned about Bibles gathering dust in a warehouse. LifeWay decided to let those Bibles sit in a warehouse rather than put them in the hands of someone who needs God's good news. That decision was momentarily under review after Komen's initial decision to deny grants to Planned Parenthood. But Bob Allen reports, in the ABP article, that Komen's reversal of that decision means that those Bibles "likely won't be going anywhere soon."

I'll grant you that Komen has had a rough month - first announcing, under pressure from one side, that it would cut funding to Planned Parenthood; then reversing field, by now under pressure from the other side, by restoring a portion (but not all) of that funding. It makes it hard to make a case for either of these decisions being made as a matter of conviction rather than expediency.

But all of this shouldn't obscure the remarkable good that has been done for so many by Susan G. Komen for the Cure over the years. By ministering to those in need of hope or in need of prevention or simply in need of care, it is ministering to Jesus:

"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. . . . whatever you did for one of the least of these . . . you did for me." (Matthew 25:35-36; 40, NIV)

Can we accept that the Jesus who ate with sinners, who met people where they were and loved them, would want the Good News - which so many desperately need - held hostage to our theology? Whether the printed word, or the word of God's Spirit written on our hearts and clothed in our love, shouldn't it be out there where people need it?

On the nose!

I'm taking a momentary (only momentary, as you'll see) break from writing about things Baptist, because there was a monumental occurrence last night that has prompted me to come clean about a secret known heretofore only to my very closest friends and family members.

Yes, the truth can finally be told, and I'm relieved to get this "burden" out into the open. I . . . am . . . a . . . prognosticator. My descent into this life of prognostication began when I was only 12. At least I've brought it under control in recent years . . . from over 50 times every fall weekend when I started to only 11 times a year for the past few years. As for the On the nose! title of this blog post, just stick with me a little bit, and I'll get to that.

Anyway, I began predicting (prognosticating) football games as a 12-year-old growing up in Kansas City, MO, in the fall of 1963. I had just gotten my first subscription to Sports Illustrated. Back in those days, SI listed every major (and some not so major) college football game scheduled the coming weekend, and I fell in love with predicting the games. So I picked them all . . . no matter how little (or, in most cases, nothing) I knew about the schools or their football teams. I picked them all, from OU-Nebraska to Bucknell-Lehigh. Every Saturday afternoon, I would be sprawled on the bed in my parents' room (that's where the phone was), calling the local radio football scoreboard call-in show, asking for the scores I hadn't yet heard them call out on the air: "How did USC-Oregon come out? How about Slippery Rock versus Susquehanna Tech?"

I picked all of the pro games, too, which meant both the NFL and the AFL (where the Chiefs, my then-favorite team, were playing their first season after moving to KC from Dallas).

I kept meticulous records of all my predictions and my "winning" percentage from week to week. In 1966, I wound up going .650 (65%) on my predictions - can't remember whether that was college or pro, but I was pretty proud of myself. I wrote a letter to the sports editor of The Kansas City Star, Joe McGuff, telling him of my success. He replied, promising me "a plug in the paper" if I could repeat that .650 percentage the following season. So I sent him my predictions weekly the next year, and I wound up at (drum roll, please) .647! No plug in the paper, sonny boy! Nevertheless, Mr. McGuff and I continued corresponding even into and beyond my college years. He always responded with a friendly and encouraging word.

In 1974, I met Bob Morris, who quickly became my best friend. Bob was Best Man in my wedding 2 years later, and we are still best friends after almost 38 years. It wasn't long after we met that I pulled Bob into my life of prognostication. Bob and I have been predicting football games against each other all these years. We've predicted the NFL playoffs against each other for, I guess, just about every year for these 38 years. I have no idea what our overall record is, because those records are probably in scraps of paper scattered in file drawers and closets . . . maybe his are better organized than mine, but I doubt it. But we've had a lot of fun competing all these years.

A few years ago, we began including my family, and this year I brought another friend into the fray. This year was probably the closest "race" we've ever had. As the last minute of the Super Bowl ticked down, three people still had a chance for this year's "championship": my son Travis, my son-in-law Adam, and Bob. Adam wound up on top for the second year in a row, barely edging out Travis by 4 points on a tiebreaker (they both went 8-3 in the 11 playoff games). If the Patriots had won last night, Bob would have won the "title."

But even though I wound up 7-4, in 3rd place (Bob, who came so close to winning it all, wound up 4th), and had already been eliminated before the Super Bowl, I came up with a singular achievement. After having predicted 46 Super Bowls, I finally predicted the final score "on the nose" (there it is) for the first time: Giants 21, Patriots 17. I've come a long way from that first Super Bowl, where I predicted my Chiefs to beat Lombardi's Packers, 20-16. (Some of you may recall that the Packers whipped the Chiefs, 35-10.)

But last night's 21-17 score certainly wasn't arrived at in a traditional manner. When you see 21-17, you figure it's three touchdowns beating two touchdowns and a field goal. The Patriots got to their 17 in the usual way, but the Giants? Instead of three touchdowns and three extra points, it was a safety, a touchdown & extra point, two field goals, followed by a touchdown and a failed two-point conversion attempt.

But it didn't matter to the Giants how they got to 21 (I will keep my Baptist moorings in mind here and avoid any blackjack analogies), and it didn't matter to me, either - just as long as they got there.

Much the same with our Baptist life. (You knew I'd find a way to bring it back to that, didn't you?) Sometimes we're so enamored of our own experience with God that we start trying to make sure that others have the very same experience in the very same way. But, just as the Giants found their own way to 21 and to victory, people need to find God where THEY are, not where WE are. We can be thankful that God looks for us where we are and meets us there. If that's good enough for God, it should be good enough for us. That's why we're Baptist . . . we believe in the freedom that God gives through Christ, and we resist the urge to pour others into our mold.

That's one thing I'll never be able to predict - how God will relate to another person. But I can ask God to love others through me . . . where THEY are. That's a godly relationship that's "on the nose."

What does it mean to be a Baptist?

A few minutes ago, I was writing a post for Weighty Matters, the TBMaston Foundation blog, about the Ethics Lecture that took place earlier this week at Truett Seminary on the Baylor campus. As I wrote about the role of the prophet in challenging Christians to reexamine our beliefs and principles, an old song popped into my head. Funny how that happens! I hadn't thought of it in a long time, but there it was. Those of you who grew up in Southern Baptist youth choirs of the late 1960s, as I did, might recognize it. It's from Purpose, one of several Christian musicals written for Southern Baptist youth choirs in the late 1960s and early 1970s.

For me, the most memorable song from that musical (which, regrettably, came out only after I had left for college, so I never got to sing in it) is the beautiful arrangement of "Just As I Am." But the song that came to my mind while writing that post was one that appears immediately following "Just As I Am." It's a song that asks the question, "What does it mean to be a Christian? What does it really mean?"

As I wrote about Tuesday's lecturer asking hard questions and challenging our own closely-held beliefs and principles, that question came to me: What does it mean to be a Christian? Well, one thing it means is looking to Jesus and choosing the narrow way. Robert Frost wrote that taking The Road Not Taken had "made all the difference." What does it mean to be a Christian? Taking up our cross daily, following Christ into ways that are unfamiliar and unpopular and uncomfortable. Taking the road not taken.

Then what does it mean to be a Baptist? Same thing! I've said it many times: the reason I'm a Baptist is that I believe that our historic Baptist principles - such as the priesthood of every believer, the competency of every soul before God, the autonomy of every local church, and the separation of church and state - are biblical principles that are faithful to Christ's life and teachings. Being a Baptist means faithfully upholding Baptist principles that help to make our worship and our service to God authentic and faithful.

And it means taking a stand. It means that we shouldn't sit passively by when those Baptist principles are being violated. When a pastor dictates church decisions to his congregation, we Baptists should speak up. When a convention seeks to control a local congregation or a Baptist college faculty and students, we Baptists should speak up.

We would rather pretend everything is okay and look the other way. But that's not what Jesus did, and it's not what Jesus called us to do.

Being Baptist is about showing up and speaking up.