Jury Service and Preaching the Gospel by Pam Durso

September 6th, 2010

A few weeks ago I served on a jury. The case only last about three hours, and the deliberation process lasted only minutes. My five fellow jurors and I agree in about four minutes that the defendant was guilty.

The case was amazingly forgettable as court cases go, but the experience has stuck with me . . . not because of any graphic details of a crime or any dramatic legal moments. It was a case about a simple traffic violation.

What keeps drawing me back to this case are the two young lawyers. Both the defense attorney and the prosecutor looked to be in their mid-to-late twenties, fresh out of law school. But I could tell that they both had worked other cases. They knew their way around a courtroom. And they were both prepared. They had notes and law books. They had talked with the witnesses. They brought photos and drawings of the crime scene. And they were knowledgeable. They made objections, asked the judge for rulings on legal points.

But both these young attorneys desperately needed a courtroom coach—someone to help them polish their performance. The defense attorney repeatedly brought rabbits to chase into his cross-examination, but then he never chased those rabbits down. He failed to follow-up on his own questions, and after a while I stopped paying as close attention to his questions because I sensed that he was talking in order to be heard—not because he had something to say.

At the end of the case, this young defense attorney offered his closing statement to those of us in the jury box. In a passionate plea for truth and justice, he charged us with the task of protecting the entire American constitutional system and ensuring our own freedom as Americans. And okay, I couldn’t help myself. I smiled. I was pretty sure that the United States government was not hanging in the balance, waiting on the verdict we six jurors would render about this defendant who had broken a fairly minor traffic law.

The young prosecutor, who was very organized and efficient in many ways, also needed a coach. She asked many good questions. She followed up with more questions, but she failed to ask THE question that would have put her case away. She never got to the central point of her case. I found myself scooting up in my chair, willing her to ask that ONE question that desperately needed to be asked. But she never did.

In her closing, she presented well, but she stood to the side of the podium, frequently gesturing back toward the defendant. And with each awkward hand gesture, she became more and more unsteady on her high heels, wobbling back and forth, trying hard to stay upright. And then I started worrying. Was she going to gesture again? What if her gesturing caused her to fall off her high heels? Was she going to land in the jury box with us? I stopped listening to her words because I was so worried about her wild hand gestures and those very high heels.

In the days since my jury service, I have wondered about those two young lawyers. Who will sit with them and encourage them? Who will offer them some pointers about how to be more comfortable and confident public speakers? Who will talk with them about finding the main point and sticking to it? Who will help them understand that being overly dramatic lessens the effect of their words?

I was reminded that young preachers are in some ways more fortunate than young lawyers. Young preachers have professors, mentors, and congregations who walk with them as they learn the art and craft of preaching.  And for those of us who sit in the pew and have the chance to listen to a young preacher, we have an opportunity, and even a responsibility, to provide affirmation, encouragement, thoughtful responses, and helpful suggestions.

But those young lawyers do have one thing that some young preachers lack—opportunity! Those young lawyers will be in the courtroom hundreds of times over the next few years. They will improve because they will have lots of practice. And so it should be with our young preachers too—get them in the pulpit. Give them time and space to preach!

And so, one final confession—I really like jury service.

Pam Durso is executive director of Baptist Women in Ministry, Atlanta, Georgia.

Friendship Over Fear by Jim Dant

August 31st, 2010

I’ve heard particular male colleagues express it more than once. They hold inherent fears with regard to the ordination of women to ministry. One fear is prompted by sheer numbers. There are more women than men in the United States (women make up 51 percent of the population), and there are more women than men active in the life of the church. By some estimates, 75 percent of the people in the pew are of the female persuasion. Women could take over the profession! The other dominate fear is more personal. Collegiality between males and females is fodder for innuendo. In a profession in which we closely guard our reputations, the closed circle of male ministers has seemed safe. Two male ministers can share a lunch, and little is ever said. Allow a woman to sit at the same table, and stories can be conjured.

A week ago I preached in the pulpit of Gwen Brown. Gwen is pastor of Cornerstone Baptist Church in Grayson, Georgia, and recent recipient of the Baptist Women in Ministry’s Addie Davis Award for Outstanding Pastoral Leadership. The next day I emailed my Sunday sermon outline to Joy Yee. Joy is pastor of Nineteenth Avenue Baptist Church in San Francisco, California, and former moderator of the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship. We exchange sermons each week to encourage and critique one another in the sermon prep process. Three days later I was sitting on our church platform with Ruth DuCharme, our minister of children. And that same evening I was sitting on a pew with Devita Parnell, listening to Julie Pennington-Russell, pastor of First Baptist Church, Decatur, preach just moments before participating in the ordination of Jessica Asbell.

I’m glad that neither my interpretation of scripture nor the cultural, often suspicious, concerns of others has kept me from enjoying a cherished collegiality with some of the most competent, compassionate and spirit-filled ministers I know. I choose friendship over fear. Amen.

Jim Dant is pastor of Highland Hills Baptist Church, Macon, Georgia. This article was published in the church’s August 1, 2010 bulletin.

Let the Children Lead Us by Katrina and Tony Brooks

August 23rd, 2010

Children are one of God’s most precious gifts. At the same time, they are one of God’s cruelest. Why is it the cherub in our midst loves more, gives more and forgives more . . . and what is it about a child’s spot-on question regarding our actions that halts us dead in our tracks? Or worse yet . . . why does their mimicking of us make our heart stop? It is because in their innocent words and actions we are condemned.

In spiritual things, it is the same. When a child says he loves God, it is complete. When a child prays, her prayers are genuine and real. When a child gives, he gives without regard to consequence. When a child asks a question, an answer is expected. When a child reads the sacred scriptures, she reads as if it is a letter from a beloved one is being read. And when they come to church, children expect something to happen.

One can play devil’s advocate here and suggest a child’s totally sold out approach to a relationship with God is possible because of innocence . . . and lack of awareness of evil in the world. Yet, I have never met a child who is unaware of evil in the world, maybe not full extent of the horrors of evil we know exists, but to a child evil is still evil [just ask any parent who has comforted their child from the monsters under the bed or the bully at school].

So, here’s my thought . . . if the questions and actions of children convict us, why don’t we change? If children are completely sold out in their relationship with God, loving God completely, praying with a real and genuine heart, giving without regard to consequence, asking questions, reading the sacred text as if it were from a beloved and coming to church expecting something to happen, should we not be following their lead? “Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it” (Luke 18: 17-NRSV)

Katrina and Tony Brooks are pastors of North Broad Baptist Church, Rome, Georgia.

The Underwoods by Danielle Nicole Smith

August 19th, 2010

One of my favorite people died on August 13. He was tenderhearted and generous and authentic. He had this great laugh. He was a reader. He loved the church. He loved his family. He loved God. His name was John. He was married to one of my other favorite people. She was kind and gentle and just as generous. When she talked to you she made you feel important. She was intelligent and classy, equally filled with love. She died a year ago, after being brave and courageous and joyful in the midst of countless cancer treatments. She was a beautiful woman. Her name was Liz. I usually ‘fake name’ the people I write about, but not this time. This time, I want you to know their names.

There was this woman long ago from a city called Shunem. She was a Shunammite, you could say. We don’t know her name. Someone simply wrote about her because of her kindness. Elisha, this prophet of the LORD God, would pass by her door every so often on his travels to and fro; and when he would, she would feed him . . . give him a place to stay for the night. That’s all. No biggie. Just some dinner and a pillow. Anybody could’ve done it . . . but did they? Funny how something so simple could make it into a history book so grand.

When I started as pastoral resident [fancy name for an amateur minister] at a church in Virginia, I had just come out of seminary and I was full of vision and passion and life. [I hope I still have most of that by the way.] I moved into an apartment of my own and realized very quickly that the nights are lonely without roommates. I got a dog and definitely imagined his voice in my head; but alas, our inside jokes and random late-night Taco Bell runs just weren’t the same. I had been in that small town a month when Liz and John called. “Just some dinner,” they said. That’s all. Nothing fancy. Salads with yummy cranberries and bleu cheese. Homemade brownies and some vanilla ice cream from the fridge. Sitting around a table, talking for hours about random world events, their grandkids, my dog, favorite books, favorite movies, and following God . . . always following God. I stayed in that city for two years . . . two years of salads with yummy cranberries. The dessert always changed. They knew I love dessert.

That’s all. Nothing fancy. I want you to know their names. John and Liz. I have added them to my history book because they were that grand.

We focus on junk that doesn’t matter. [And when I say we I’m mostly talking about followers of Jesus or ‘little Christs’ you could call us, though this statement probably applies to everyone.] This doctrine or that one. Church politics, who gets to be a deacon and what translation should the pew Bibles be. How should we vote and on what should we focus our next picket line? Lots of . . . junk . . . that doesn’t truly help or support or love anybody.

This cool guy [I assume. I actually don’t know him.] named Tony Campolo [which is just a cool name] once said, “I wish Jesus would ask, ‘Virgin Birth; strongly agree, agree, disagree, strongly disagree? Check one.’ But those aren’t the questions. The questions are, ‘I was hungry, did you feed me? I was a stranger, did you make room for me?’” John and Liz got it. They were some of the best ‘little Christs’ I have ever known, and it wasn’t because we voted the same or agreed on free will versus predestination. It wasn’t because they showed up every week in their ‘Sunday best’ or took a stand for/against healthcare reform and gay rights. They were some of the best Jesus-followers I have known because I truly believe they looked like Him . . . loving me, and everybody else, the same way He did when he walked on the earth 2,000 years ago.

To John and Liz, you don’t know what you did for me. You were just feeding this young, amateur minister, providing her a little human companionship from most of her nights spent alone. I told you that I loved you. I told you ‘thank you’ a thousand times; and yet, I am confident that you never realized what an eternal fingerprint you left on my heart. You were my Shunammite woman. You were Jesus to me.

To those who loved John and Liz, may we cry tears of sadness that they are no longer in our presence but may we more so cry tears of joy for having actually befriended two people who resemble that much love. There are truly angels walking among us, and now we know two of their names.

To all others, who are simply reading these words, may you recognize the Johns and the Lizs in your life. May your eyes be opened to the Shunammite women and men in your midst, for we may be entertaining angels in disguise. And may each of us take seriously the legacy, the fingerprints, we leave behind. Just some dinner. A dollar here and there. A hug. Some encouraging words. A conversation. Holy traces. Sacred moments in the mundane. May we resemble Him.

Danielle Nicole Smith is currently “pastor” at Red Robin Restaurant and Bar in Knoxville, Tennessee. Read her blog at http://www.ourdailyfries.blogspot.com/

Sophia’s Mite by Cindy Clark

August 16th, 2010

I think I know how much the widow’s mites were worth. It’s approximately $4.24.

Sophia has a piggy bank with 4 sections and she gets a dime every time she makes her bed. Her grandpa gave the small piggy bank so she could learn how to save, spend, invest and give. Sophia is only 4 1/2, so this is an impressive lesson to be learning at such a young age.

Last month we spoke at Sophia’s church and visited with her parents who are long time friends. In the weeks leading up to our visit, Sophia’s parents told her about us going to be missionaries and a little about the work we’ll be doing. While we were there, she emptied the 4th section of her piggy bank – the “give” section.

This is what the give section contained:
• 2 one dollar bills
• 4 quarters
• 10 dimes
• 2 nickels, and
• 14 pennies

Sophia presented her offering in a Ziploc bag with an index card that read “for sinde and ryan.” Easily the smallest gift from the smallest giver to date, we are reminded of a widow who gave her “mite”, two small copper coins which was all she had to live on (Mark 12).

I don’t really know how to adjust two copper coins for inflation, but I bet it’s about $4.24. Obviously these gifts teach about the importance of what the gift means to the giver.
Because what we’re doing is important to Sophia, every $4.24 we spend is important to us. The mite, then, becomes equally significant for us as we seek to be good stewards of every dollar and coin donated.

Cindy Clark and her husband, Ryan, were appointed as Cooperative Baptist Fellowship affiliates in June. They are soon on their way to the Philippines to teach pastoral care and music at the Philippines Baptist Theological Seminary, to increase awareness of human trafficking in Asia, and to partner with local churches in their efforts to rebuild after four consecutive typhoons. To read more about their new adventure, visit their website.