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Pastor pushed out after parishioners complain about focus on racial justice

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Pastor pushed out after parishioners complain about focus on racial justice

Pastor Benjamin Boswell, who was pushed out as the senior minister at Myers Park Baptist Church, is seen Sunday, Jan. 26, in Charlotte, N.C.

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CHARLOTTE, N.C. — The Sunday after Donald Trump won a second term, Pastor Ben Boswell took to the pulpit at Myers Park Baptist, a liberal church in Charlotte, and delivered the sort of blunt, provocative sermon for which he is well known.

Boswell likened the moment to what he called the “gathering dark of Hitler’s rule.” He added that Trump’s election would lead to the “crucifixion” of immigrant families as well as transgender and nonbinary people.

“But our faith also teaches us … that every crucifixion needs a witness,” Boswell said. “The fight is not over, it’s just beginning.”

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The congregation, including the board of deacons, the church’s governing body, gave Boswell a standing ovation.

Several weeks later, the board met on Zoom. They voted 17-3 to ask Boswell to step down. NPR obtained the audio.

It provides a rare window into the debate within an organization when the tone of its social or political messaging clashes with its business model.

Conversations we rarely hear

Marcy McClanahan, then head of the board, said the first reason Boswell needed to go was plunging attendance. Myers Park had gone from average weekly attendance of about 350 when Boswell arrived in 2016 to about 150 last year.

“Ben has been given every chance to change his words and actions to appeal to a broader audience,” McClanahan said, “but has not been successful in doing so.”

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Myers Park Baptist Church has a rich civil rights history and sits in one of Charlotte's wealthiest neighborhoods.

Myers Park Baptist Church has a rich civil rights history and sits in one of Charlotte’s wealthiest neighborhoods.

Sam Wolfe for NPR


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Fellow Deacon Robert Dulin was more direct.

“We have got to put more butts in the seats, butts in the seats,” he said.

In a statement later, Dulin said he personally loved what he called Boswell’s “powerful prophetic preaching.”

The problem, he said at the meeting, is that too many other parishioners didn’t. Dulin said many people who had left the church in recent years had complained about the 44-year-old pastor’s heavy focus on social and racial justice.

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“Indicted because I’m white”

Dulin paraphrased what he said he had heard over and over from those who had quit the parish: “I am tired of being indicted because I am white. I am tired of being banged over the head every week about immigrants and LGBTQ, and I just want to come to church and be encouraged.”

Carol Pearsall, who is 73 and a longtime church member, said she heard the same thing from outgoing parishioners and knew what they meant.I was ready for less guilt-trip and more love,” said Pearsall, who added that she remains a fan of Boswell’s and never considered leaving.

Asked if the pastor’s removal was an attempt to save Myers Park, she responded: “Absolutely.”

Boswell says the conflict at Myers Park is part of a much bigger national trend to roll back diversity, equity and inclusion programs. He thinks the country is in a pivotal moment, when “that work is coming with a cost, and people are getting tired and backing off.”

Nicholas Rhyne, who grew up in the church and is a Boswell supporter, says the divisions in Myers Park reflect those in the Democratic Party writ large. He’s 30 and says people in his generation came of age during the global financial crisis, climate anxiety and the polarized politics of the past decade, and were excited and inspired by Boswell to make change. Meanwhile, he says, some older members of the congregation prefer to take a slower, more measured approach.

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“There’s a group of us who are younger and more passionate and maybe a tad more progressive who are fed up with just being told to wait, don’t worry,” said Rhyne. “There’s definitely a generational divide.”

Nicholas Rhyne, who grew up in the church and is a Boswell supporter. He says the divisions in Myers Park reflect those in the Democratic Party writ large.

Nicholas Rhyne, 30, grew up in the church and says he supports former Pastor Ben Boswell. He says the divisions in Myers Park reflect those in the Democratic Party writ large.

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 “Sacred cows make the best hamburgers”

McClanahan, the former head of the board of deacons, told NPR that Boswell was not pushed out over politics or his preaching. Instead, she said, the church needed to focus more on other areas of its strategic plan, including faith development, the church community and sustainability.

“Ben’s an excellent preacher,” she told NPR, “but there’s more to leading a church than preaching.”

For instance, some say Boswell focused too much on social justice and not enough on tending the flock.

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Bob Thomason, a former chairman of the board of deacons, said most or all of the congregation supports social justice. “But for some people, being able to focus on social justice … would be a welcome luxury because they have alcoholic spouses,” he said. “They have children that are addicted. They have cancer. They have these personal needs.”

Thomason, who said he was speaking as a longtime church member, said Boswell wasn’t great at the pastoral part of the job.

“We were basically taking care of ourselves as best we could,” he said.

Boswell disagrees and says he supervised a staffer who was devoted to pastoral care full time.

During his nine years at Myers Park, Boswell says he pushed the church to confront what he called its whiteness. Several years ago at an anti-racism seminar, he said Myers Park needed to change its wedding policy, which had been described as “WASPy,” and decolonize its interior space as part of what he called a “whiteness audit.”

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Boswell says he ran into resistance from congregants who, for instance, told him to take down Black Lives Matter signs at the church. Boswell persisted.

“I like to joke [that] churches have sacred cows,” Boswell said during the anti-racism seminar. “Sacred cows make the best hamburgers.”

Myers Park Baptist Church is a mostly white congregation known for its focus on racial and social justice.

Myers Park Baptist Church is a mostly white congregation known for its focus on racial and social justice.

Sam Wolfe for NPR


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Declining attendance and giving

But as people left Myers Park, their contributions left with them. Since 2020, the church budget has shrunk by nearly a quarter, according to McClanahan.

Declining giving and church attendance are a national phenomenon, but some on the board of deacons saw it as an existential threat.

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Ben needs to leave in order for our church to take a different direction and grow because we are dying on the vine,” Dulin told his fellow deacons during the board meeting.

Myers Park is an overwhelmingly white church in a neighborhood where mansions can sell for up to $4 million. It has a proud civil rights history and wears its inclusivity on its red brick walls. One giant sign on the front of the church reads: “80 years of inclusivity, community, spirituality and justice.” Another reads: “Open to all, now and forevermore.”

In the board meeting, then-Deacon Allen Davis warned that getting rid of Boswell would make it difficult to sell that message.

“What will come out is that we’ve snatched the keys from the … minister who had been pushing us to confront whiteness to challenge racial justice in our community,” said Davis, one of three deacons who resigned in protest after the vote.

Allen Davis, who quit as a deacon at Myers Park, says the removal of Pastor Ben Boswell makes it much harder for the church to sell its  message of inclusivity. (Sam Wolfe/NPR)

Allen Davis, who quit as a deacon at Myers Park, says the removal of Pastor Ben Boswell makes it much harder for the church to sell its message of inclusivity.

Sam Wolfe for NPR

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McClanahan insisted to NPR that the church will continue to advance racial and social justice. “One person’s leaving does not change that path at all,” she said.

“The church betrayed me”

Some congregants are skeptical. Bruce Griffin is a warehouse worker in Charlotte who joined the church more than five years ago. He says Boswell created a wonderful, welcoming community. Now, he’s bitter.

“I feel the church betrayed me,” said Griffin, standing outside the church during a meeting called to address the turmoil over Boswell’s departure. He said the meeting was all business.

“There was no hugging,” he said. “There was no fellowship.”

When asked about the fact that some white congregants said they felt beaten down by Boswell’s continued emphasis on social and racial justice, Griffin responded that as a Black man he felt beaten down every day.

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Griffin said he planned to leave Myers Park.

Elizabeth Peterson, on the other hand, said she was attending for the first time in years. She said Boswell divided the church, which she said seemed more focused on people of color and LGBTQ+ folks than on white women in their 60s like her.

“I wished that he could have brought his energy for diversity and for change of the culture of the church and included us to come with him,” said Peterson, who said she might return to Myers Park.

Elizabeth Peterson, a parishioner at Myers Park who drifted away in recent years, says the church seemed more interested in people of color and LGBTQ folks than older, white women like her.

Elizabeth Peterson, a parishioner at Myers Park who drifted away in recent years, says the church seemed more interested in people of color and LGBTQ+ folks than older, white women like her.

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Boswell has heard this criticism before. He says when someone has been part of the dominant culture for so long, the focus and attention on anyone who’s been marginalized feels like a slight.

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He knows some people think he made a mistake by focusing so much on racial and social justice, but he said he’d do it again.

“My feeling is that as a progressive congregation, as a progressive pastor, our job right now is not to back away,” Boswell said, “but to double down.”

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‘Stranger Things’ is over, but did they get the ending right? : Pop Culture Happy Hour

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‘Stranger Things’ is over, but did they get the ending right? : Pop Culture Happy Hour

Millie Bobby Brown in the final season of Stranger Things.

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After five seasons and almost ten years, the saga of Netflix’s Stranger Things has reached its end. In a two-hour finale, we found out what happened to our heroes (including Millie Bobby Brown and Finn Wolfhard) when they set out to battle the forces of evil. The final season had new faces and new revelations, along with moments of friendship and conflict among the folks we’ve known and loved since the night Will Byers (Noah Schnapp) first disappeared. But did it stick the landing?

To access bonus episodes and sponsor-free listening for Pop Culture Happy Hour, subscribe to Pop Culture Happy Hour+ at plus.npr.org/happy.

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JasonMartin Says Adin Ross Disrespecting Doechii Stops in 2026

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JasonMartin Says Adin Ross Disrespecting Doechii Stops in 2026

JasonMartin
Adin Ross Disrespecting Doechii …
Will Not Be Tolerated!!!

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‘Everything I knew burned down around me’: A journalist looks back on LA’s fires

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‘Everything I knew burned down around me’: A journalist looks back on LA’s fires

A firefighter works as homes burn during the Eaton fire in the Altadena area of Los Angeles County, Calif., on Jan. 7, 2025.

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On New Year’s Eve 2024, journalist Jacob Soboroff was sitting around a campfire with a friend when he made an offhand comment that would come back to haunt him: The last thing he wanted to do in the new year, Soboroff said, was cover a story that would require donning a fire-safe yellow suit.

Just one week later, Soboroff was dressed in the yellow suit, reporting live from a street corner in Los Angeles as fire tore through the Pacific Palisades, the community where he was raised.

“This was a place that I could navigate with my eyes closed,” Soboroff says of the neighborhood. “Every hallmark of my childhood I was watching carbonize in front of me. … There were firefighters there and first responders and other journalists there, but it was an extremely lonely, isolating experience to be standing there as everything I knew burned down around me in real time.”

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In his new book, Firestorm: The Great Los Angeles Fires and America’s New Age of Disaster, Soboroff offers a minute-by-minute account of the catastrophe, told through the voices of firefighters, evacuees, scientists and political leaders. He says covering the wildfires was the most important assignment he’s ever undertaken.

“The experience of doing this is something that I don’t wish on anybody, but in a way I wish everybody could experience,” he says. “It’s given me insane reverence for our colleagues in the local news community here, who, I think, definitionally were exercising a public service in the street-level journalism that they were doing and are still doing. … It was actually beautiful to watch because they are as much a first responder on a frontline as anybody else.”

Interview highlights

Firestorm, by Ben Soboroff

On the experience of reporting from the fires

You’re choking with the smoke. And I almost feel guilty describing it from my vantage point because the firefighters would say things to me like: “My eyeballs were burning. We were laying flat on our stomach in the middle of the concrete street because it was so hot, it was the only way that we could open the hoses full bore and try to save anything that we could.” …

I could feel the heat on the back of my neck as we stood in front of these houses that I remember as the houses that cars and people would line up in front of for the annual Fourth of July parade or the road race that we would run through town. Trees were on fire behind us — we were at risk of structures falling at any given minute. It was pretty surreal because this is a place I had spent so much time as a child and going back to as an adult. … I had no choice but to just open my mouth and say what I saw to the millions of people that were watching us around the country.

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On undocumented immigrants being central to rebuilding the city

These types of massive both humanitarian and natural disasters give us X-ray vision for a time into sort of the fissures that are underneath the surface in our society. And Los Angeles, in addition to being one of the most unequal cities between the rich and the poor, has more undocumented people than virtually any other city in the United States of America. Governor Newsom knew that with the policies of the incoming administration, some of the very people that would be responsible for the cleanup and the rebuilding of Los Angeles may end up in the crosshairs of national immigration policy. And I think that that was an understatement. …

Pablo Alvarado in the National Day Laborer Organizing Network said to me that often the first people into a disaster — the second responders after the first — are the day laborers. They went to Florida after Hurricane Andrew, to New Orleans after Katrina, and they’d be ready to go in Los Angeles. And I went out and I cleaned up Altadena and Pasadena with some of them in real time.

And only months later did this wide-scale immigration enforcement campaign begin … on the streets of LA as sort of the Petri dish, the guinea pig for expanding this across the country. And it’s not an exaggeration to say that the parking lots of Home Depots, where workers [were] looking to get involved in the rebuilding of Los Angeles, has been ground zero for that enforcement campaign.

On efforts to rebuild

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The pace is slow and it’s sort of a hopscotch of development. And I think for people who do come back, for people who can afford to come back, it’s going to be a long road ahead. You’re going to have half the houses on your street under construction for years to come. And for people that do inhabit those homes, it’s going to an isolating experience. But there’s an effort underway to rebuild. …

There’s also a lot of for-sale signs. And that’s the sad reality of this, is that there are people who, whether it’s that they can’t afford to come back … or that they just can’t stomach it, I think, sadly, a lot people are not going to be returning to their homes.

On what the Palisades and Altadena look like today

They both look like very big construction sites in a way. There are still some facades, some ruins of the more historic buildings in the Palisades. … But mostly it’s just empty lots. And in Altadena, the same thing. If you drive by the hardware store, the outside is still there. But it’s a patchwork of empty lots. Homes now under construction. And lots and lots of workers. … There are still a handful of people who are living in both the Palisades and in Altadena, but for the most part, these are communities where you’ve got workers going in during the day and coming out at night. …

We have designed this community to be one that’s in the crosshairs of a fire just like the one we experienced and that we will certainly, certainly experience again, because nobody’s packing it up and leaving Los Angeles. People may not return to their communities after they’ve lost their homes, but the ship has sailed on living in the wildland urban interface in the second largest city in the country.

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On seeing this story, personally, as his “most important assignment”

Jacob Soboroff is a correspondent for MS NOW, formerly MSNBC.

Jacob Soboroff is a correspondent for MS NOW, formerly MSNBC.

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Jason Frank Rothenberg/HarperCollins

I don’t think I realized at the time how badly I needed the connections that I made in the wake of the fire, both with the people who have lost homes and the firefighters, first responders who were out there, but also honestly with my own family, my immediate family, my wife and my kids, my mom and my dad and my siblings and myself. I think that this was a really hard year in LA, and I think in the wake of the fire, I was experiencing some level of despair as well. Then the ICE raids happened here and sort of turned our city upside down. And this book for me was just this amazing cathartic blessing of an opportunity to find community with people I don’t think I ever would have otherwise spent time with, and to reconnect with people who I hadn’t seen or heard from in forever.

Anna Bauman and Nico Wisler produced and edited this interview for broadcast. Bridget Bentz, Molly Seavy-Nesper and Beth Novey adapted it for the web.

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