With all the denominational demons coursing through Music City Center this week, it is truly remarkable that any angels at all managed to fly as high as they did.
It was the annual meeting of the Southern Baptist Convention. More than 15,000 messengers from all over the country gathered to elect officers, pass motions, approve resolutions, and hear reports.
I was there: for the first time since 1990, when 45,000 messengers convened in New Orleans. That meeting 31 years ago was referred to regularly throughout this 2021 version, as the end of a successful campaign to eradicate “liberalism” and restore “biblical Christianity” to the Southern Baptist Convention.
That was also the year I gave up my SBC credentials and moved on.
That denominational decision three decades ago was designed to ensure the sustained flourishing of the good Baptist folk of the American South; but that is not what happened. Southern Baptists now report 14 straight years of statistical decline and a loss of 2.3 million members. Which helps explain the pandemic of baptist bitchiness that preceded this gathering: accusing, resigning, organizing, publishing, denouncing, posturing, and suppressing.
They had a plan to address all this bad news, of course. They presented it in classic corporate style: lots of numbers, no imagination, and an oh-so-predictable name: VISION 2025.It is a plea for more buildings, budgets, and baptisms packaged in twenty minutes of vocal whininess. I turned away and tied my shoes.
Then from the back of the room came an angel. His name was Ben Cole from Texas. He stood at the microphone and offered an amendment: “to eliminate all incidences of sexual abuse and racial discrimination among our churches.”
There was a wave of applause, then a strong vote of support, all of it sending a message from the floor that, at last, the real issues confronting Southern Baptists were being raised.
Later, other angels appeared, led by James Merritt, this time to quell the turbulent waters of the resolution process that threatened to pull Southern Baptists back into the swamp of self-righteousness where they have lived more often than not.
One thousand, two hundred, and ninety-nine (1,299) people sent proposed resolutions to the committee commissioned to report to the assembled messengers. Those that made it through the rigorous screening process included statements that thanked Nashville, grieved COVID deaths, and extolled Holy Scripture.
One called for “any person who has committed sexual abuse” to be “permanently disqualified from holding the office of pastor.”
Another one denounced abortion but affirmed the Christian calling to “love, care for, and minister to women” who come for help. They had to fight off a proposal from the floor to replace those acts of mercy with a demand that these pregnant women “repent of their sin.”
The resolution on race wisely quoted and reaffirmed a 1995 resolution that apologized for Southern Baptist complicity in “perpetuating individual and systemic racism.”
This acknowledgement of systemic racism was an angelic answer to the round red stickers worn by so many messengers: STOP CRT. That is a reference to Critical Race Theory and, according to its political and religious critics, the sure cause of the downfall of both the Southern Baptist Convention and the United States of America. In reality, this demonization of CRT is a sick and slick strategy to avoid addressing the racial problems that have plagued Southern Baptists since their founding in 1845, that continue to this very day.
Finally, the election.
It was fraught with fundamentalist possibilities. A Georgia pastor running for president leads a two-year-old organization insisting the whole Convention has slid, once again, into that god-awful liberalism. A Northwest administrator, also a candidate, accuses the Convention of a lack of cooperation and transparency. A seminary president in the election pool converted to Trumpism to win a few more votes.
But it was an angel from Mobile that came out on top, a pastor named Ed Litton, who preaches reconciliation, practices hospitality, and speaks kindly. Which is another way of saying he does justice, loves mercy, and walks humbly.
At his first press conference, he kept using his preferred name for the denomination, Great Commission Baptists; but, he explained, that Commission is worthless without the Great Commandment … to love God and also to love our neighbors. “I am committed to building bridges and helping people connect,” he said, echoing his campaign theme. He called for an independent investigation of the actions of the Executive Committee in their handling of sexual abuse allegations and he urged the denomination “to make sure our churches are safe places.”
I sat on the back row and listened; then walked to the podium, shook his hand, and said. “God bless you. You did a good job.” He smiled, asked my name, and took my card. We took a picture. Later, I’ll invite him to visit The Meetinghouse.
Yes, the meeting hall was full of denominational demons, but it was the better angels of their collective nature that carried the day. At least, for one day.
Dwight A. Moody
