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.
How we read it determines what we see, no? Part one of a four part series This article arose originally from a writing assignment from the Women’s Missionary Union of the Southern Baptist Convention. It is more than an irony for me that this assignment came even as Baptists were still reconciling their own painful history with slavery in the 19th century. As an ardent mission-sending organization, it is nonetheless a continuous wonder that the SBC was birthed out of a split in American Baptists of the Triennial Convention when a slaveholding Southerner was put forward to become a missionary … Continue reading Reading the Bible Amid the Culture Wars
I made the mistake of getting interested in my ancestors several years ago. Genealogical research is when you set off in the most hopeful of frames, just knowing we will discover Dukes, Earls, celebrities, inventors, Queens and famous artists in our personal tree. More likely you will find ordinary people who farmed, had children and never moved. Or worse, horse thieves and other people running from debtors prison or an ex-wife and children. It’s like a fellow who was looking into his heritage, but he wasn’t very encouraged by what he found. He wrote a friend and said, “It’s not … Continue reading Ancestors
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
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?”
In the late 1920s. my mother told me, my grandfather, her daddy, Henry Price took his oldest daughter, Katherine, to the hospital. The doctor said that she had diphtheria and if he didn’t take her to the hospital she would die. Having no health insurance, Grandpa had to sell every chicken, cow and piece of equipment he had, as well as his his land and his house to pay the hospital bill. With few other options, he moved his young family down to Charlotte and got a job with a local dairy farmer delivering milk. He would go out to … Continue reading The Heart of Billy Graham
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 