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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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Sam Wolfe for NPR

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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Sam Wolfe for NPR

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.

Sam Wolfe for NPR


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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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OTB Takes Full Control of Viktor & Rolf

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OTB Takes Full Control of Viktor & Rolf
The Italian fashion group behind Diesel and Maison Margiela is taking full ownership of the avant-garde haute couture house, acquiring the remaining 30 percent it didn’t already own. Founders Viktor Horsting and Rolf Snoeren remain creative directors.
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How having zero points in tennis — or ‘love’ — came to sound so sweet

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How having zero points in tennis — or ‘love’ — came to sound so sweet

The scoreboard shows the results of the women’s singles final match between Iga Swiatek of Poland and Amanda Anisimova of the U.S. at the Wimbledon Tennis Championships in London, Saturday, July 12, 2025.

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Fifteen points in tennis? Nice. Thirty, 40 — even better. Advantage — that sounds good. “Love” — that also must be great, right? Well, not quite.

As the French Open rolls on and Serena Williams has announced her return to the sport, maybe you’ve been paying a little more attention to tennis. The sport’s scoring system is notably distinct, and can sometimes be hard to grasp for newcomers. But even tennis aficionados might not know why, or how, “love” became the unmistakable callout for zero points. For this installment of NPR’s Word of the Week, we’re exploring how a word that signifies trailing behind got such a sweet name.

“Love” comes from the heart — or an egg?

It’s hard to pinpoint when the first tennis ball went over the net. Tennis is a derivative of lots of other sports, such as “jeu de paume,” a handball game played in France, said JT Buzanga, the collections manager at the International Tennis Hall of Fame museum.

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But tennis became a patented, official sport in 1874, said Steve Flink, a journalist whose tennis coverage got him inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame. It has retained its unique, mysterious scoring system ever since.

“By and large, the original system has held up almost entirely,” Flink said.

The use of “love” goes back to the late 18th century, said Jesse Sheidlower, a lexicographer. But it was used earlier than that in card games such as whist and bridge. Before the term made its way to tennis, the sport favored plain old “nothing,” or “nil,” he said.

Why love in the first place, though? Historians don’t really know for sure, but there are a few theories.

The French could have something to do with it. Some historians believe “love” derives from “l’oeuf,” which means “the egg” in French. Because eggs are shaped like zeros, terms such as “goose egg” and “duck’s egg” have been used in other contexts to mean zero, Sheidlower said.

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It’s also possible English speakers mispronounced l’oeuf as “love.” But Sheidlower isn’t convinced that’s the answer.

“It’s the French equivalent of an English expression. But since that expression doesn’t appear in French, the French word wouldn’t have been used,” he said.

To be sure, France has had a lot of influence on tennis culture, Buzanga said. For example, “deuce” or a game tied at 40 points, comes from the French word for “two”: “deux.” But he prefers another prominent theory: that “love” comes from the idiom “for the love of the game.” Even if a player hasn’t scored, it doesn’t matter, because their heart is in it. It’s the theory Sheidlower said is the most plausible, because the idiom was used by the English before tennis was popularized.

Another variation of the “love of the game” theory is that the word could have come from the Dutch “lof,” or “honor” — or the Latin “amare,” meaning “to love,” Flink said.

But if tennis’ “love” doesn’t come from a French word, the theory at least has a French sensibility.

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“I think the ‘for the love of the game’ is kind of romantic,” Buzanga said.

“Love” probably isn’t going anywhere

Tennis used to be a sport of leisure. The style of play has changed a lot over the years; players are more athletic and competitive, for instance, Flink said. But the rules of the sport are more steadfast, he said.

“There’s this incredible, enduring respect for tradition in tennis,” he said. “Changes are not made easily.”

There has been one major change in modern history: the tie-break. Matches can go on and on because players have to score two consecutive points to break a deuce, or by two games to break a tied set. But the onset of television meant matches would have to get shorter if the sport wanted to capture a larger audience, Flink said.

Change even came for “love.” An alternative sprouted up in the 1970s, and is still used today: “bagel,” named for its zero shape, Sheidlower said. Novices may say “zero,” and insiders will understand what they mean, but they “will needle them about it,” Flink said.

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But “love” still prevails.

“People kind of like it,” Flink said. “It’s different. Why say zero when you can say love?”

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With Highway 1 open, Big Sur braces for its busiest summer in years

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With Highway 1 open, Big Sur braces for its busiest summer in years

On a 75-mile cliff-hugging stretch of highway in California, traffic is way up, despite soaring gas prices. And locals expect the busiest summer in years.

The road is Highway 1 in Big Sur, which reopened in January after three years of repair and reconstruction following a pair of landslides. Drivers can once again embark on the state’s most famous road trip, covering the 100 miles between Cambria to the south and Carmel to the north without leaving the two-lane coastal highway. And they’re heading out in big numbers.

Caltrans estimates that as of May, Big Sur restaurant and retailer guest counts are up 40% from last year, and that northbound traffic at Ragged Point, the southern gateway to Big Sur, has risen 900% year-over-year.

People pose for photos near Bixby Bridge. Monterey County’s Board of Supervisors voted to explore a 12-month ban on parking around the bridge.

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Safety cones prevent parking along Coast Road near the Bixby Bridge.

Safety cones prevent parking along Coast Road near the Bixby Bridge.

“Take your time,” said Kirk Gafill, co-owner of the popular Nepenthe restaurant and president of the Big Sur Chamber of Commerce, offering advice to travelers. “You’re going to be sharing the road with a number of people.”

As travelers rediscover the road, the cost of driving has been shooting skyward. California’s average gas price ($6.11 per gallon as of May 26) is up 26% from the year before. In early April, rates hit $9.99 at the isolated gas station in the Big Sur community of Gorda.

For spring and summer travelers, these numbers would seem to pose a stark question: Stay home and save money, or head for the coast because the road is finally open and it’s still cheaper than flying?

So far, the latter answer is winning big.

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Fog lingers off the coast of Highway 1.

Fog lingers off the coast of Highway 1.

“We are definitely seeing a huge uptick in our reservations,” said Megan Handy, assistant general manager at the upscale Treebones resort. She estimated that bookings are 30% or more ahead of last year, and rates are unchanged since then. But “it’s still not feeling super crowded, which is nice. Everything still feels kind of calm.”

But added traffic has raised some anxiety. On May 19, Monterey County’s Board of Supervisors voted to explore a 12-month ban on parking at Bixby Bridge, one of the region’s top photo spots.

Over the years, the number of cars parking near the bridge — often illegally, sometimes impeding emergency vehicles — has risen. The proposed parking moratorium won’t take effect until the supervisors discuss it further.

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Busy as things are, several business owners pointed out that many international travelers have not yet returned — perhaps because most make their plans more than six months ahead, perhaps because of global politics, perhaps a little of each.

The biggest challenge for businesses during this resurgence? “Restaffing and retaining,” said Handy at Treetops.

At Nepenthe, Gafill said his business has seen a 45% boost in guest volume since the road’s reopening. Gafill said he would have expected a 35% pickup, “simply by virtue of reopening the highway.” The additional 10%, he said, might be “all that pent-up demand,” aided by “a very beautiful and very dry winter,” followed by a mild spring.

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A lunch crowd dines at popular restaurant Nepenthe.

A lunch crowd dines at popular restaurant Nepenthe.

Another possible factor: Nobody can be sure how long the road will remain open.

To cope with the influx of people, Gafill said, “everybody is trying to recruit and retain their existing staff.”

At the Ragged Point Inn, where rates dropped as low as $149 nightly last fall, rates are back over $200 and staffers are suggesting that customers book at least six months ahead. The inn has reopened its snack bar for the first time since early 2023, and management is investing in capital upgrades and staging live music on weekends throughout the summer.

Business “is up over 100%,” said Diane Ramey, whose family owns the inn. “I know not all of our neighbors are having the same lift, but everybody is doing better.”

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Traffic approaching Bixby Bridge.

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A visitor poses in an oversized chair at Big Sur River Inn.

A visitor poses in an oversized chair at Big Sur River Inn.

Even at the New Camaldoli Hermitage, a Benedictine monastery above Lucia, the road’s reopening and coming summer season have made a difference. Bookings are up an estimated 30% at the hermitage, which rent rooms and cottages (for two nights or more) to visitors who agree to its requirement of silence.

Big Sur business owners advise visitors to travel on weekdays for less traffic and the best hotel rates, and to get on the road as early as possible.

Since its opening in 1937, the highway has been vulnerable to landslides and shifting ground, operating on a longstanding cycle of landslide, closure, repair, reopening and then another landslide, or sometimes a fire. The U.S. Geological Survey has identified the Big Sur coastline as one of the most landslide-prone areas in the western United States. The 2023-2026 closure was the longest in the highway’s history.

Over time, road crews have used increasingly sophisticated strategies. In the most recent efforts, Caltrans said, it used drones to help survey the slopes and remotely operated bulldozers and excavators to reduce risks to workers.

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During the closure, no traffic was allowed on 6.8-mile span from just north of Lucia until about a mile south of the Esalen Institute. Drivers detoured inland by way of U.S. 101.

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