Words from WW Blog

Jesus had a way with words. He was one of the first word masters. Words of wisdom he uttered on hillsides, in temple courts, and walks through the lands have been memorized by generations and generations, sometimes with a “thus saith”, “thou”, or “thine” in the good King James tradition.

I’ve wondered how our view of the grace and love of God would be altered if Jesus had said some of his sayings differently. What would be our belief system if He had altered just a few words?

What if He had reworded Matthew 5:43-44 that says “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’  But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” to say “Loving your enemies is overrated. Show them justice, because if you don’t they will persecute you.”

That would put a different spin on the idea of the love of Christ.

What if instead of Jesus saying “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.” (Luke 18:16), Jesus would have said, “My time is short and thus I don’t have time for short people.”

How might that affect the theological understanding of how to minister to children?

What if instead of Jesus telling the group of men who bring an adulterous woman to him that the man without sin could cast the first stone at her, He would have said with an absence of mercy, “Such as these do not deserve to enter the kingdom of God!”, and then he bent down and picked up a nice sized throwable stone, instead of drawing something in the dirt?

What if Jesus would have left the house where the paralyzed man had been lowered down through the roof? What if He was more concerned about the size of the crowd, instead of the condition of the man?

What if, instead of spitting in the dirt and putting mud on the eyes of the blind man, He would have said to him, “The sin of your parents has caused this. The effects of sin can not be wiped away.”

What if Jesus would have minimized the mite offering of the widow and applauded the extravagant size of the gifts of the rich?

With each of Jesus’s situations, He had options as to how He was going to respond. Our Christology comes out of what He DID say, as opposed to what He DIDN’T say. Our belief system, thankfully is based on what’s written in the red.

But I need to qualify that last sentence. Sometimes our belief system is trumpeted as coming from what Jesus said, but gets revised in the living out of our actions. I’m not referring to the Revised Standard Version of the Bible, but rather how we melt away the words of Jesus to make them sweeter for our lives. We re-say them to suit us and end up reflecting a Jesus who is judgmental, rigid, and wishy-washy.

As a result, we are vulnerable to creating a Christology that is based on the idea, “What Jesus meant to say was this, instead of how it’s written.”

I still have boxes of baseball cards in my closet that I collected back in the 60s, 70s, and 80s. The picture of the player would be on the front of the card, a different pictorial display each season. On the backside of the card, I could track the player’s career: biographical information, minor league teams, yearly stats, and usually one brief interesting piece of information. I was always intrigued by seeing how a player progressed from Single-A, to Double-A, to Triple-A, and then the majors.

It would be interesting to see sports cards come out for college athletes, especially in football and basketball, and to see how their college careers have resulted them changing from College-A, to College-B, to College-C. Instead of Daytona, to Dayton, to Chattanooga, to Louisville, to Cincinnati it might read Florida Atlantic, to Boston College, to LSU.

The transfer portal could be a new brand of sports trading cards. As I watched some of the CSU-Colorado football game Saturday night, the commentators, more often than not, would say the name of the tackler or receiver followed by the name of the school he transferred from. It seems that being a player who graduates from the same school he/she started at as a freshman (with the exception of junior college players), is no longer the norm.

During a recent game, the announcers mentioned two things that hit me. One was how the transfer portal was now the quickest way to turn a program around. New Colorado University football coach Deion Sanders had 51 transfers come to CU with him. He also informed a large number of CU players from the previous season’s team that their services were no longer needed. The Buffs have won their first three games and the fan base is happy; and that’s all that matters to most CU followers.

The second thing the announcers mentioned was how many FCS (Football Championship Series) players have transferred into BCS (Bowl Championship Series) schools. In other words, the FCS schools, which are either smaller in size or don’t have massive budgets, have become the minor leagues for the larger, TV-saturated, BCS colleges. Someone does well at North Dakota State, he can look to transfer to CU.

It’s not that there was ever a purity in college athletics, but it does seem that its place in the university environment has become distorted. Receiving an education doesn’t seem to be as high a priority as learning pass-rush techniques on defense and reading zone coverage.

Of course, I’m a dinosaur, still able to remember when freshmen weren’t even eligible to play on the college’s team and an Air Force Academy basketball season ticket-holder, a military academy that never gets transfers in, unless you regard the Air Force Academy Prep School as being a place to transfer in from…down the road.

Maybe it’s why I feel I’m in my place, coaching middle school kids for the past two-and-a-half decades, although there are hints that sometimes even it isn’t a place where the priorities are in proper order.

Maybe I should simply sort through my baseball cards and be fascinated by the journeys of some of the legends, like Johnny Bench. Did you know that he played for Peninsula of the Carolina League back in 1966?

Proverbs 3:5-6 “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.“

I dropped her.

In my last year of seminary at Northern Baptist Theological Seminary, we were practicing baptisms (You have to learn somewhere!). Before we were allowed to get in the water tank, we did dry-land baptisms, reciting the words of the special occasion we would say when we began our service as pastors. I was teamed with Bonnie Bell, and as I was beginning to lean her back she hesitated, afraid to bend her knees and fall backwards. I looked at her and said, “Bonnie, trust me!” She nodded her head and I began the process again…and promptly dropped her on the floor like a lead balloon.

She looked up at me and, with a chuckle, said, “Trust me! Trust me!” I would see Bonnie years later and she would always say, “Trust me! trust me!”

It’s a moment that I can still replay in my mind almost 45 years later. Although that time was a lighter experience of failed trust, it’s also symbolic of the failure of trust that most of us have experienced, and the death of trust in our day and age.

It doesn’t take much for a person to see that we live in a society that could be characterized more as “a people that mistrusts” instead of a land populated with trusted folk. Mistrust doesn’t involve risk. It doesn’t require belief in a person, idea, or institution. It won’t disappoint us, but it also won’t move us forward. It entrenches us in a mindset that is certain of the prevalence of dishonesty and suspicious of any claim of honesty.

Trust doesn’t make the headlines. It doesn’t fuel the flames of controversy. When we all get along it looks too much like the long lost days of “Leave It To Beaver”. The thing is Ward, June, and Wally have all passed away, and The Beaver is now 75. Things have changed and become cynical and complicated. “The Beaver” didn’t have to worry about spyware, losing his shirt to crypto-currency, or whacked-out elected officials.

Dare I say that people nowadays are more trusting of the athlete or actor who advertises the wonderland of placing an online gambling bet, than they are of a pastor or priest who urges them to trust in the One Who created them.

Perhaps that’s one reason for the downward slide in church attendance. Sexual scandals involving religious leaders have definitely not helped, that’s for sure. The mirroring of society instead of reflecting Christ has caused religious institutions to look compromised and ungrounded. More than that, however, it seems trusting in a Holy God and believing in Him is too much of a reach for people who reside in the valley of disappointment.

Just as Bonnie Bell was reluctant to chance another dip supported by me, people who have been let down are hesitant to give trust another chance in their lives. It’s easier to lean on their own understanding.

The ultimate downside to that is when I lean on my own understanding and am disappointed by my own personal failure, I have no one to point the finger at. In fact, four of my five fingers are pointing back at me.

When our trust has died, our souls enter into the land of paralysis.

Dear Mr. John’s Son,

Sense you are the prince-apple, I am sending you this litter. It is bout the sub teacher we had in ELA class yesterday. She should be fired and told to never come back into hour school. She was reel mean and unfair and stuff.

At the start of class, we was just talking bout stuff and she made us sit down in our seats…IN OUR ASSIGNED SEATS!!! When she asked Bobby if he’s in his assigned seat, she yelled at him. He weren’t that far away from where he’s suppose to sit, so what was the big deal anyway?

And then she said that all of sale phones should be packed away, and got reelly upset when some of us had our phones in our laps. She woodn’t listen when we told her it was just a suggestion, kinda like a speed limit. Nobody follows it. But she woodn’t listen and started yelling at us and making us feel stooped.

And then, even wurse, she got reelly upset bout some of us helping each other with the thing we was to do. It was answering some questions about a story we had read the day befour. She cused us of copying each other’s answers. Well, the answers to the questions were the same. It didn’t madder who wrote them down. We was just helping each other, kinda like a team.

She took down names of kids who hadn’t done nothing wrong. I, for one, is a great ELA student and she said something that barassed me in front of the hole class. She said I had made a mass on my desk cause of the Cheetos I’d eaten and that we weren’t suppose to eat anything in class. I hadn’t eaten any brakefest so I’d hungry. When she told me to put the rest of my Cheetos away, I told her it was my rite as an American to eat them. She said reelly mean like that it was her right as a sub teacher to send me to the office. That reelly hurt my feelings and everybody was staring at me. If I had fainted in class cause of beun under nurished, it’d been her fault. Mr. John’s Son, I think she reelly hated kids and wanted to make life miserble for us.

And then she made us sit in our seats the hole time and only let one kid at a time go to the restroom. That is unfare! She should be fired and you should call her and tell her that she is mean. If I see her in one of my classes again, I’m gonna puke and run away.

Your Friend,

Billy Bob Baker

P.S. Our school is the best school ever, except for this sub teacher.

I was talking to my sister on the phone last night and she said that my last few blog posts had been more serious, that I needed some humor. I thought to myself, “I’m a Baptist preacher who doesn’t use AI to produce his sermons, and only types using three fingers. Where’s the humor in that?”

And then I considered some of the things that have happened over the past four-and-a-half decades and a chuckle began in my mid-section and burped out on my face.

Like the Advent Season, when I had asked a seasoned saint to light the advent candle on one of the Sundays…and then gave her an empty box of matches! The bewilderment on her face still makes me grin.

Or the Sunday morning I made a pot of coffee for early-arrivers of our Sunday School hour, but forgot to put the coffee pot under the freshly-streaming brew. Oops!

Or the Sunday I had come up with the ingenious idea of doing two children’s messages during the course of the morning worship service. The second children’s message was like a scene of a cat-herder trying to keep the kittens all together, running this and way and that, crawling behind the communion table, knocking one another over.

Or the baptistry problems the last church I pastored seemed to have constantly. In other words, it leaked! For a Christmas Eve service where we had baptisms take place, we put an inflatable kiddie pool inside the baptistry that was shaped like a whale. People sitting in the first few rows on one side of the sanctuary could see the tale sticking up in the air. We joked about the people being baptized in the belly of a whale just like Jonah.

Or perhaps the dumbest thing I ever did as a pastor, when I was waiting in the church parking lot for parents to come and pick up their kids after a youth event. I decided to practice my softball batting swing by using my golf putter. After several powerful swings, the putter suddenly became lighter. Its head had flown off…and sailed right through one of the stained glass windows of the building. Oops!

Or the Sunday when the baptistry heater was broken (Back to that baptistry thing!) and I literally had to pull a boy into the water to get him wet. Hey! My toes were already blue and they weren’t getting any warmer the longer I stood there waiting for him.

Or the Sunday one of the above-eighty ladies kept having her new watch, a gift from her son, go off and play “Santa Claus is Coming To Town.” It’s hard to talk about a demon-possessed man who was known by the name Legion, when Santa Claus is coming to town.

Or the sermon where I erroneously kept referring to Lady Godiva chocolates, instead of Godiva chocolates. Oops!

Or the church potluck where the spoon for the potato salad was missing from the bowl. A young man, a bit lacking in social etiquette, wanted seconds so he simply dipped his hand into the bowl and took a scoop back to his plate. Nobody else felt the urge to get seconds after that.

Or the church custodian at one of the churches I ministered at who would bring in the church’s outdoor sign each Monday so the office staff could change the sermon title for the next week. He always left the same message for the secretary: “The Broad Is In!” The secretary kept looking for that “Broad” for years and could never find her.

And, finally, a bit of personal embarrassing humor. Our church was hosting the annual meeting for our area American Baptist Churches, an event on a Sunday afternoon and evening that drew about 150 people who had nothing better to do but spend most of their Sunday sitting in meetings and be grouchy. I stood at the front of the sanctuary and gave a welcome to the distinguished crowd of delegates…and then walked down the center aisle after I was done, only to discover that I had been unzipped the whole time. I left myself “wide open” for comments about that one.

So, there, Sis! There’s some humor that still makes me smile and blush at the same time…and check to see that I’m all…together!

A couple of months ago, Carol and I took a long road trip back to Michigan and Ohio to see family and friends. As we traveled through southern Illinois on the first Sunday we were on the road, she tapped into the streamed worship service of Colorado Springs First Baptist. The pastor, Dan Schumacher, is an excellent speaker, and I was looking forward to hearing his delivery of the morning message.

Unfortunately, Carol could receive the video of the service, but there was no audio. It was probably the area we were driving through, rural and sparse. Whatever the reason, the picture was clear, but the sound was missing. When Dan began the message, his mouth was moving but he wasn’t saying anything.

It occurred to me that the silence of the moment was a metaphor for the church. Not necessarily Pastor Dan, but there are a lot of times when the church is speaking, but it isn’t saying anything. I suppose I could say the same thing about our politicians, but the communities of Christ-followers were never meant to mirror the tendencies of society and the institutions that hold the power within it.

Sometimes it seems that churches across our country are more focused on selling their program than having the conviction to follow the One who went before them. It is drawn to trends and trinkets, instead of speaking truth and being proclaimers of grace.

And so there is a lot of speaking going on, a lot of words being strung together to create sweet-sounding rhyme, but nothing is being heard. There is a picture, but no message.

For me, I recognize that on too many occasions I was blowing smoke when there was no fire, speaking but not considering, preaching with no purpose.

And now, I recognize that in recent years I have been so saturated with a gospel that has been rolled in glitter that I need to go back and study the core. I’m digging through all of my old theology books from my seminary days (Moltmann, Brunner, Barth, Hans Kung) and beginning to take a self-guided refresher course on the reasons I believe what I believe. I need to blow the dust off the covers and hear the crackling of pages that have not seen the light of day in several decades.

In essence, I want to hear the wise and deep echoes from the past to help me re-understand what I once knew and what is at the core of my belief.