Stories and tales from a guitar-picking writer, theologian, speaker, blogger and entertainer. From small town quirks to the bizarre realities of family, whacky church life and slightly damaged kinfolk, insights from a reluctant son of the South takes you along. Never know where it’ll end up but it’s sure to be worth the trip.
When I was a pastor in South Georgia, our congregation had a member by the name of Senator Jimmy Hodge Timmons. He went by “Hodge” around the church, and he was our state senator in the legislature and I think during his time he worked hard to be a friend of the community an effective representative. One year while I was there, Hodge came to me and invited me to be the Chaplain of the day for the Georgia Senate. This was an honorary event when you would come and offer a devotional and prayer for the elected representatives. It’s … Continue reading Chaplain of the Day
Religious freedom is either a principle or a convenient fiction. I once taught American church history at Samford University, and I at least know something about religion and American history. And on the matter of religious liberty, I am a fiery Baptist. It is a principle, not a convenience. If you are a real Baptist, you fight for EVERYBODY’S freedom. My friend Glenn Hinson once wrote, “For faith to be genuine, it must be free.” That means unsupported by government, and free from government power over our conscience and the practice of faith as long as we do not interfere … Continue reading Give Me Liberty and I’ll Give You Liberty, Too
Jackie Gleason used to play a character called the Poor Soul. He walked with a slump and every step he took said, “I don’t deserve to be here.” I’ve been trying to figure out how a man who has the office of President and a cowering party that never calls him out can walk around like everyone is so mean to him. We’re running out of teacups for President Trump’s tempests. He does love them. The poor man. People seem to be so mean to him. Most recently, of course, it was a gentle admonition at the National Cathedral, when … Continue reading Poor, Poor, Pitiful Me
I finally ventured out yesterday to buy some new tennis shoes. Wearing a mask, I went to a local store and followed the rules. I was waited on by a very sweet and helpful young woman, also in a mask. She happened to be African American. As I was trying on shoes, I asked, out of habit, “How are you doing?” “Oh, I’m fine, how are you?” A typical exchange of pleasantries.
Something moved me inside to say, “Actually, my heart is broken. That horrible killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis has left me heartsick.” And like that, our conversation changed. She opened up, not angry, but surprised that a masked stranger buying tennis shoes would venture the subject, I suppose, but she spoke more frankly that she shared my sadness and a trace of exhaustion. We have to hope and pray things can get better, she said.
It didn’t last long, but it reminded me that we can live on the surfaces and not know anything about what’s underneath with each other. Something has blown open this week in the soul of our country. It is not new. It’s painful, a wound that gets better for a time but never fully heals.
Racism is not only cruel; it is irrational and ultimately brings death and destruction. It is far past time to call it out wherever it is and require our corporate life to reflect who we hope to be at our best—fair for everyone in our society, just in treatment of one another,
and fierce to speak out for our neighbor, not just ourselves.
In 1996 Alabama experienced a string of church burnings. Our church made a gift to one of the churches and I drove down to meet with one of the church leaders. Our missions committee donated to them to help rebuild. I wrote these words then, twenty-four years ago. I wish they were not still relevant now. I wish I could say, “That was then, this is now.” I wrote this after standing among the ruins of that church in 1996:
“Racism” is a loaded word. When it is spoken, defenses are erected almost immediately. “Oh, no, some of my best friends are…” Some definitions are so sweeping that they cause despair. Often, African Americans and Anglo-Americans don’t even mean the same thing by the word. Continue reading “What Can We Say?”
Fifty years ago this week, Martin Luther King’s life was frozen in time for the whole world. His words keep living, his story keeps being told, and the events of his life are examined again and again. It is not that time any more. The pain is more diffuse, spread into new struggles for equality and justice. It is worth marking the remarkable changes that have happened in that fifty years. We can go to any restaurant and drink from the same fountains. A lot of things are better, much better. But the pain he saw is still in the … Continue reading Remembering Martin Luther King
George Floyd in Minneapolis has left me heartsick.” And like that, our conversation changed. She opened up, not angry, but surprised that a masked stranger buying tennis shoes would venture the subject, I suppose, but she spoke more frankly that she shared my sadness and a trace of exhaustion. We have to hope and pray things can get better, she said.
The Flatpickin' Pilgrim's Progress 