In response to my criticism of the Southern Baptist Convention, and how its policies and practices play out in churches to the detriment of the cause of Christ, I often receive emails from people who tell me their Southern Baptist church does things differently than what I have experienced, such as allowing open communion.
When a church is operating differently–better–than the adverse things I mention–that I either experienced in 50 years of Southern Baptist church attendance or observe, as in the case with Immanuel Baptist of Little Rock–that church is setting a good example I hope others will follow.
Most readers are respectful in their emails even when they disagree with me, opening the door to dialogue I learn from and greatly enjoy when I can engage. Others seem to feel personally attacked when I share experiences from church that affected me in a negative way, or question institutional norms I find harmful. Their responses reveal a resentment, a simmering anger or bitterness that saddens me. I don’t think it is really about me. I am just a column writer they don’t even know. There has to be something else inside them, some woundedness that provokes this kind of response to a stranger. I have compassion for that and would like to assuage as much as I possibly can.
There is a misconception rampant in our culture that presupposes criticism correlates to or flows from hate. And if not hate, then at least misunderstanding, or a lack of good will. Maybe this is true in some cases. I have known people who are critical to be cruel. But I think it is true in far fewer cases than we imagine. It is certainly not true of me regarding Southern Baptists or anything else I critique.
I am a critical thinker. We bring a level of criticism, or scrutiny, to everything we see. My day job is to critique literature and writing and teach students how. That and the other things that are most important to me, like faith, family, education, Arkansas, and my country, are likely to get the most analysis. That’s not because of a lack of care or good will–it’s the opposite. It is because I care so much that I want to understand my own role and work to help those things be the absolute healthiest they can be.
When I write about problems with the Southern Baptists it is from a place of grief. The same kind of grief I feel when I see Arkansas or America not living up to our ideals. The Southern Baptist Church, as an extension of my home, is where I learned about Jesus, who is my best friend and the example I want to follow. It is where I learned that He is Immanuel, meaning God with us, and I embraced that, taking it deeply to heart. So deeply that no matter how much I doubt and question and roam, it remains the anchor for my soul. Jesus is with me. He never leaves. And that makes all the difference.
The Southern Baptist Church is where I learned reverence and awe. It is where I gained respect for the Bible, and where I studied and memorized its verses, falling in love with the language, the poetry, the magic of that interconnected 66 book library. It is where I internalized stories that guide me today and give me boldness and courage to stand up for what I think is right. Knowing Jesus loved little children, elevated them, and defended them motivates me to fight for free and equitable education for all. It is also why I find a church that calls itself by his name but covers up sexual abuse of children so abhorrent. His turning over tables of money changers in the temple fuels my disgust for politicians who sell Bibles and inaugural opportunities to attend church with them. Jesus’ concern as he fed the 5000 spurs me to envision no Arkansan, no American hungry.
The story of Joseph gives me hope that God works things together for our good–even hard things, terrible things, in His time. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego inspire me not to bow before power and corruption even if everyone else does. Daniel too. David slayed the giant with a slingshot; Esther by her cunning saved her people. I could go on and on. The music I learned, especially the beautiful old hymns, still echo in my heart today. And the people. So many wonderful people who loved God and loved me and helped me find my way.
It is precisely because of all the good that the Southern Baptist church has been to me that the bad is so hurtful. And because I know, by experience, the potential for good the church has in people’s lives that the potential for evil is so upsetting. When I write about the negative things I picked up or see going on now it is to be a witness–to speak my own truth and validate others so they know they are not alone–and it is not to hurt an institution I used to call home, but always with the hope that wrongs brought to light will be made right. Because that is possible, and will eventually come to pass, if the collective will of the people inside the institution is strong enough.