In Praise of Old Southern Seminary

In some ways, what I want to say here doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. The past is the past and the present is the present. We can’t go back to the way things used to be, and we shouldn’t want to. Put succinctly, it is what it is.

But it also was what it was. And that’s what I want to talk about.

I have two degrees from the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary (SBTS). I earned a Master of Divinity degree (a professional ministerial degree, similar to a lawyer’s law degree or a doctor’s medical degree) in 1982 and a Doctor of Philosophy degree (Old Testament major, New Testament minor) in 1986. Those degrees in hand, I’ve spent the last three decades as a pastor, a preacher, a professor, and now, an editor. 

Those of you who are Baptists of my generation and earlier don’t need me to rehearse what happened to the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) or to its seminaries, including Southern. For those of you who aren’t, I’ll just say that in 1979, right wing elements of the convention undertook a long game to gain control of the convention. By 1990, the fundamentalist takeover of the SBC was complete. During the intervening decade, the convention’s six seminaries in general, and its flagship seminary SBTS in particular, were repeatedly attacked. You are no doubt aware of how Donald Trump talks about the press as the enemy of the people. That’s how the people who orchestrated and led the takeover of the SBC talked about the seminaries. And they were as wrong about the seminaries as Trump is about the press. The seminaries fell with the convention. Those of us who attended them back in the day received a different kind of education than current students do. That’s why, when I tell someone that I graduated from Southern Seminary, I always specify that it was the pre-1990 version. 

This is all ancient history. It’s on my mind because I just read some things that some of my contemporaries recently said about their experience at SBTS. They spoke as if their experience at Southern Seminary was something they had to survive and overcome. I’m in no position to comment on their experience. We all brought our own lives to Louisville, and we all heard what we heard with our own ears, processed it with our own minds, and filtered it through our own experiences. 

I just want to testify that my experience at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary was excellent. It was not just less negative than these contemporaries of mine say it was for them. It was the opposite of negative and hurtful: it was positive and helpful. One of the reasons is that I had already figured out before arriving at SBTS that a person, and especially a preacher and teacher, could (and should) simultaneously possess a deep faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, a profound devotion to the Bible, and a critical (meaning a carefully analytical) approach to the biblical text. I had learned that as a seventeen-year-old freshman at Mercer University in an Introduction to the Old Testament class taught by Dr. Howard Giddens.

Please understand that I was not prepared to hear what I heard Dr. Giddens say. The beloved church and pastor of my childhood knew nothing of critical approaches to the Bible, so I didn’t either. So when Dr. Giddens told us about how the Pentateuch developed over an extended period of time, which meant that Moses didn’t write it (or at least not much of it), I was a tad confused. When I told my father what Dr. Giddens had said, he gave me one of the greatest gifts he ever gave me (and he gave me many). Before I tell that part of the story, let me say that my father, while a very smart man, had only a high school education and was a lifelong textile mill worker. What he knew about the Bible, he had learned on his own. When I told him that Dr. Giddens had said that Moses didn’t write everything in the Pentateuch, his eyes glimmered as he said, “You know, I’ve always wondered how Moses managed to write about his own death.”

And the light came on that has never gone out. My high school-educated, textile mill-working father loved the Lord and the Bible as much as anyone I’d ever known. Now he was setting me free to take seriously what Dr. Giddens and other scholars, who loved the Lord and the Bible as much as he did, and who knew a lot more about Scripture than he did, said.

That was the mindset with which I entered Southern Seminary. What I found there were teachers who gave their lives in service to the Lord. What I found there were professors who had a burning interest in understanding what the Bible actually says and means. Yes, they used the best that current scholarship had to offer, but that was part of the wonder of it all. My experience was that they used such methods in service to the Lord, to Scripture, and to the church. I am and always will be grateful for how they shared their faith and knowledge with me and inspired me to engage in a lifelong pursuit of a growing, honest, Christ-centered, biblically-guided life and ministry.

As I said earlier, maybe none of this matters now. But when you read or hear preachers say bad things about their experience at the old (pre-1990) Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, I want you to remember that I always have said, still say, and always will say good things about mine.

Faces and Heels

I used to watch professional wrestling.

There, I said it, and I feel better.

Most of my viewing occurred way back before pro wrestling became the huge entertainment business it is now and before its scripted nature was publicly acknowledged. We’re talking the late 1960s, when I was ten or eleven years old.

I’d watch wrestling on channel 11 out of Atlanta on Saturday nights at 11:30. But the really entertaining telecast was on Columbus’s channel 3 at 4:00 p.m. on Saturdays. Jim Carlisle was the announcer. Promoter Fred Ward joined him on air. Ward always sent a special greeting to “all our shut-ins” hoping they’d “be up and at ‘em real real soon!”

Live wrestling took place every Friday night at the Atlanta Civic Auditorium. I’d beg my father to take me, but he never would. Then, miracle of miracles, around 1970 they started having wrestling on Saturday nights at the Sports Palace, which was on the Barnesville side of Griffin. My father agreed to take me one time. He sat there and laughed through the entire card, so I decided he was an unsuitable companion with whom to watch wrestling.

Luckily, my Uncle Dock Knight (he wasn’t really my uncle; his wife was a cousin to my mother, and I was raised to call them Uncle Dock and Aunt Bernice) and his son, the legendary Rudy Knight, regularly attended the matches, so I’d occasionally hitch a ride with them.

Those were the days of grapplers such as Joe Scarpa, Paul DeMarco, the Assassins, Ray Gunkel and Buddy Fuller, El Mongol, Buddy Colt, Bobby Shane, and the Professional Doug Gilbert, most of whom I saw in Griffin.

In pro wrestling, as in cowboy movies, you have your good guys and your bad guys. Good guys are known as “faces” and bad guys as “heels.” Occasionally there would be a “heel turn” in which a good guy would become a bad guy, or a “face turn” in which a bad guy would become a good guy.

These turns offered an interesting lesson in crowd psychology. Even as a child, I was amazed at how easily and quickly a crowd could switch from hating someone to loving them, or vice-versa. It didn’t seem logical to me, even as I went along with it, to cease booing and start cheering someone just because he switched sides.

The wrestlers were just following the script. So were we. We just didn’t know it.

We should beware letting that happen in other, much more important areas of life. 

Take politics, for example. Maybe the same mentality that lets wrestling fans believe that—a long history that proves otherwise notwithstanding—a heel is really a face and is therefore someone they can and should support, also enables a large group of Americans to believe that someone who has never shown any sign of being on their side now is.

This might be a good time to remind ourselves that a political narrative can be, like a professional wrestling one, fiction.

The Last Blockbuster

I was a professor at Belmont University in Nashville, Tennessee in the 1990s. We had a university-wide faculty meeting just before the beginning of each new school year. The president of the university would address us.

One year—it was probably 1994 or 1995—he said something like this: “Blockbuster Video is one of the great success stories of our time. And it will be gone in ten years.” He said this would happen because people would get their movies by other means, such as through delivery to their computers. I don’t remember him using the word “streaming,” but that’s what he was talking about.

It took longer than he said it would, but he was right. In 1994, Blockbuster had about 4,500 stores in the United States. As of this writing, only one Blockbuster store remains. It’s in Bend, Oregon, and I suspect that if you want to see it, you’d better get out there as soon as possible. I hear Bend is a nice place to visit.

What happened? Lots of things. Netflix’s movies by mail happened. So did Redbox’s movies by kiosk. And most recently, movies by streaming services like Netflix and Amazon. In short, change happened. It wasn’t that long ago that it was hard to imagine a world without Blockbuster. We’re now living in it.

It’s not that watching movies at home has gone away. It’s just that methods of providing them for home viewing have evolved, and the evolution has left video stores in the graveyard of historical footnotes. It’s survival of the most convenient.

But they still make movies, don’t they? Hollywood keeps churning them out, and people keep going to theaters to see them. There’s still nothing like seeing a good film on a big screen. So the fact that we’re down to the last Blockbuster doesn’t mean that we’re down to the last movie.

Methods of home movie delivery come and go. But they still make movies and show them in theaters.

There are different ways of doing church too. Some of them have stood the test of time, and the jury is still out on some. But all churches still worship the same God, follow the same Jesus, and read the same Bible that they have for almost two millennia. We may struggle over meanings, quibble over details, and argue over methods, but we all keep going back to the same sources.

There are different ways of being American too. Different groups, movements, and individuals have different perspectives, approaches, and priorities that lead them to emphasize some ways other than or more than others. But we read the same Constitution we’ve been reading for well over two centuries now. We may struggle over meanings, quibble over details, and argue over methods, but we all keep going back to the same source.

Video stores offered a very helpful way of bringing movies into our homes, but that way has now become extinct because better ways have been developed. Maybe we sometimes develop better ways of practicing faith or of exercising citizenship.

But we keep going back to the movies. We keep going back to the Lord and to the Bible. We keep going back to the Constitution.

As we continue moving forward, we need to keep looking back.

As we go where we need to go, we need to remember where we come from.

The Star-Spangled Banner

As the sun arose on September 14, 1814, a man on a ship several miles away from Fort McHenry, which guarded the Baltimore harbor, saw that the American flag still waved over it after many hours of British bombardment. Inspired by the sight, that man, whose name was Francis Scott Key, wrote the first verse of a poem that he later expanded to four verses. And thus was born what we know as “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

You can see the flag that flew over Fort McHenry if you visit the Smithsonian’s Museum of American History in Washington D.C. It’s not as large as those humongous banners flying over car dealerships, but it’s still a big flag. If you go visit the flag, or if you look at a picture of it online, you’ll notice a couple of things about it.

For one thing, it has fifteen stars and fifteen stripes, as it had since 1795, not long after the fourteenth and fifteenth states—Vermont and Kentucky—were added to the Union. The nation has changed a lot since then, as has the American flag, which now has fifty stars for the fifty states and thirteen stripes for the thirteen original states.

For another thing, the flag that inspired “The Star-Spangled Banner” is damaged. Some of the damage occurred in battle, some from handling over the years, and some from people cutting pieces off as souvenirs. The first two kinds of damage are understandable, but not the last. It’s a shame that people damaged the flag out of selfish motives.

When we sing our national anthem, let’s give some thought to the fact that the song originally referred to a damaged flag. Let’s also think about how the pristine flags that fly over our government buildings, stadiums, and homes represent a damaged nation. That is always the case, no matter who is in the White House, in Congress, or on judicial benches.

Some damage to the nation is inevitable, given the imperfections of the humanity that comprise its citizenry and its leadership. Damaging actions are especially egregious, though, when they are carried out from self-serving motives. Our leaders should always strive to do what is best for all Americans rather than for one segment or for themselves. Leaders will always lead imperfectly, but they should at least lead with the interests of the entire nation uppermost in their minds.

Let’s also remember that the damaged flag that flew over Fort McHenry inspired Francis Scott Key to celebrate it in verse because it persevered and survived. Our democracy—indeed, our very nation—will also survive and persevere if we will commit ourselves to continually working to help it more fully live up to its ideals.

To love our country is to want it to be the best nation it can be. “My country, right or wrong,” people say, and indeed it is. When it is right, we should celebrate and try to make it even more right. When it is wrong—and sometimes it is—we should work to make it right.

“America the Beautiful” is another of our cherished songs. Every time we sing it, I reflect a lot on this line: “America! America! God mend thine ev’ry flaw.” That’s a good prayer. We should stay alert to how God would have us contribute to the mending process. What can we do to help make America better?

We deal with the fact that Americans have differing visions of what it means for America to be America, much less that it means for America to be damaged, to be whole, to be right, or to be wrong. But we need to find ways to work together to move toward ever greater equality and justice.

We sing about a damaged American flag. We love a damaged American nation. We need to build on what’s right and to correct what’s wrong. We need to keep moving toward “liberty and justice for all.”

Let's Stick to the Point

Latin terms name the two basic choices we have when discussing, debating, or arguing with someone.

We can use ad hominem arguments. Ad hominem literally means “to the man” (we would say “to the person”). Someone using an ad hominem argument attacks the other person rather than discuss the issue. 

Our other option is to use ad rem arguments. Ad rem literally means “to the point.” Someone using an ad rem argument focuses on discussing the issue at hand rather than on attacking the other person.

It seems to me that people too often use ad hominem arguments rather than ad rem ones. We are quick to attack each other rather than talk about the issues. We see this tendency especially when people discuss political, social, or religious issues.

I suspect it’s always been that way, but social media seems to bring this tendency out in extreme ways. I’ve seen many of my Facebook friends and fellow tweeters use derogatory terms to attack those with whom they disagree. They sometimes direct their insults at individuals, but they usually target groups, particularly in generalized, stereotyped, or caricatured forms.

Such attacks aren’t helpful for many reasons, but I’ll name just two. First, they reflect false and careless thinking. All Democrats are not the same in their attitudes, perspectives, and positions. Neither are all Republicans, conservatives, or liberals. Every group has its subgroups, and every group is made up of individuals.

A second reason that attacking people rather than addressing issues is unhelpful is that it makes it very difficult to come together to solve problems.

Some of us like to engage in a form of ad hominem argumentation that I’ll call “name and blame.” Political leaders often use this approach. They’ll say something like, “It started under the last administration” or “It’s the other party’s fault.” Normal people say the same kinds of things: “Why didn’t you complain about this when your party was in control?” “Well, after all, Warren G. Harding did it first.”

Such statements aren’t helpful even when they’re true. Rehashing who did what way back when doesn’t get us anywhere here and now, and here is where we are and now is when we are.

That’s not to say we shouldn’t look back at all. We should, because understanding how we got here can help us figure out what we need to do now that we’ve arrived. For example, we can’t arrive at valid solutions to our immigration situation if we don’t recall how countries like El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras got into the state they’re in, come to grips with the role we played in it, and make a strong commitment to work with them to help them become places where their citizens can be safe and secure.

But it does no good to blame those who came before. And it certainly does no good to blame those who voted for and supported those who came before.

We will be much better off if we’ll stick to ad rem arguments. We need to deal with the issues at hand in positive and constructive ways. This is difficult because different people have such different starting points. As for me, I make no apology for wanting always to begin with love, grace, compassion, and mercy. I realize this will never be a perfect world and we who live in it will always have mixed motives and limited perspectives.

But we need to come together to work on identifying the root causes of our problems, developing real solutions, and working to make things better.

I cling to the hope that we will.

American Children

As far as I can recall, no one has said to my literal or virtual face, “You care more about immigrant children than you care about American children.”

They may have thought it, though.

I have seen some of my Facebook friends say that about “liberals,” and since most of them probably put me in that category (and if my choice is between being liberal and what passes for “conservative” in the age of Trump, I’ll gladly accept the liberal tag), I reckon they include me in such statements.

I’ll admit to having difficulty in separating children according to their nationality. I tend to think that children are children, no matter where they’re from, what language they speak, or what color their skin is. I blame it on the Children’s Sunday School Assembly at Midway Baptist Church (located outside of Barnesville, Georgia on City Pond Road) in which, back in the 1960s, we sang “Jesus Loves the Little Children” every Sunday morning:

Jesus loves the little children,

all the children of the world.

Red and yellow, black and white,

they are precious in his sight.

Jesus loves the little children of the world.

All these years later, I still believe that Jesus loves all children the same. I have come to understand that, if I am a follower of Jesus, I must love them all the same too. 

The statements by some folks that liberals care more about immigrant children than they do American children have been made in the context of the current immigration crisis precipitated by Trump’s “zero tolerance” policy and the subsequent separation of children from their parents. (Some will nitpick at the way I put that, but I don’t have time to argue that point right now.)

I must challenge the assertion that people who think more or less like I do don’t care as much about American children as we should. Let me name a few of the ways I care about them. I’m speaking personally, but I can safely say that I’m speaking for most “liberals.”

      1.     I care enough to want every American child to have access to affordable quality healthcare.

      2.     I care enough to want every American child to attend a good school in a safe environment.

      3.     I care enough to want every American child to have clean water to drink and clean air to breathe.

      4.     I care enough to want every American child to live without fear of a nuclear, chemical, or biological holocaust or of having to fight in unnecessary wars.

      5.     I care enough to want every American child to have enough nutritious food to eat.

So yes, I care about migrant children. But I also care about American children.

Let me hasten to add that I know that most “conservatives” care about American children too. And recent events have shown that many of them don’t want migrant children separated from their parents. But I believe that more progressive or “liberal” policies reflect more care and concern for the children of America and of the world. Still, I hold out hope that people of different philosophical and political persuasions will join together out of concern for children (and for adults, for that matter) to work toward real solutions to our very real problems.

I'll confess that I'd like for all children everywhere to have the same benefits that I want American children to have. 

After all, Jesus loves all the children of the world.

So must I.

Two Important Years, A Decade Apart

My Good Wife and I had the very good fortune of visiting the Newseum in Washington D.C. a couple of weeks ago. The Newseum is exactly what its name indicates: a museum of news. According to its website, “The mission of the Newseum … is to increase public understanding of the importance of a free press and the First Amendment. Visitors experience the story of news, the role of a free press in major events in history, and how the core freedoms of the First Amendment — religion, speech, press, assembly and petition — apply to their lives.” I highly recommend that you visit it.

Two current exhibits in the Newseum invite us to reflect on the tumultuous and significant year 1968. One exhibit is called “The Marines and Tet: The Battle that Changed the Vietnam War.” It features photographs taken by Stars and Stripes photographer John Olson during the Battle of Hue. This battle took place as part of the Tet offensive, during which North Vietnamese and Viet Cong forces attacked over one hundred cities, villages, and bases in South Vietnam. American and South Vietnamese forces eventually beat back the assault, but the events of the Tet offensive helped change the attitudes of many Americans about the war. Those events seemed to show Americans that the war wasn’t going as well as our leaders had been telling us it was.

The other exhibit is called “1968:  Civil Rights at 50.” The Civil Rights movement had been underway for many years, but 1968 featured many momentous events. They included the sanitation workers’ strike in Memphis, the Poor People’s March on Washington, and the killing of three protestors and wounding of many others in Orangeburg, South Carolina. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was killed on April 4. His assassination triggered widespread unrest and violence.

These were significant, world-changing events. Such occurrences affect us all, whether we realize it or not. They are huge events with national and even global effects.

Two events that occurred ten years later were also very important. They both took place in June 1978. On June 4, I (and many others) graduated from Mercer University. On June 10, my Good Fiancée and I got married. There are no exhibits about either event, unless you count (as I do) the life we have built on those two ceremonies and on all the experiences that led up to them and followed them. I could scarcely scratch the surface in this limited space of what the last forty years have meant to me. I’ll just say that God’s grace and human love have given me more life than I could have possibly imagined during the week of those two ceremonies. I am and will always be grateful.

Momentous events are always happening on the national and international scenes as well as in our personal lives. We can usually comprehend how smaller scale events affect us better than we can how larger scale occurrences do. The truth is, though, that the big events usually do affect our lives sooner or later whether or not we can see how. The truth also is that all of our small events work together to help create a collective consciousness that contributes to how our local, national, and global communities are going to develop.

It behooves us to pay as much attention as we can to as much of what has happened and will happen as we can. It all somehow works together to bring meaning to our individual lives and to the life of the world. As we reflect, we’ll find much to celebrate; as we do, let’s commit to make good things better. As we reflect, we’ll also find much to be concerned about; as we do, let’s commit to bring good things out of bad.