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.

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.

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.

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 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.

We will be working with refugees from a variety of countries including: southern Sudan, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Democratic Republic of Congo and Uganda. I have never worked with such a diverse population of people in this type of setting before. Attempting to learn about appropriate cultural norms and language phrases for so many groups seems overwhelming. I am going to do my best to learn as much as I can while recognizing my limitations.

After orientation, we had the opportunity to hang out with four teenage girls from Southern Sudan (3) and Uganda (1). They are part of the larger Center of Hope dance club. After we met, they asked my teammate and I to teach them some American dances for the purpose of representing America at the party which will be held at the center on Saturday. One of the girls said she was “concerned that America was not represented at the last party the center had.” Her comment was so funny. After dance practice, we ate lunch together and the girls began to share with us a bit about their lives. One shared about losing her father last year. She was only fourteen at the time. Another girl shared about what it was like to live in southern Sudan and then a refugee camp in Uganda. She was exposed to violence at such a young age. Both of their stories were really tragic. As they shared, I was also really amazed to see how much joy and life they had. Although they had experience so much tragedy in their life, they sought to live, laugh and love to the best of their ability. All four girls are currently in high school and have dreams for the future. They also had so much life and laughter which they displayed beautifully in their dancing. I really appreciated my time with them this afternoon. I look forward to more dance practices in the upcoming months.

Missy Ward is in Kampala, Uganda, to work with refugees and internally displaced persons. She is serving with Student.Go and will be teaching English as a second language and leading an art therapy group for women refugees. Missy is a student at McAfee School of Theology in Atlanta, Georgia. Visit her blog at http://missyinuganda2010.blogspot.com/

During our respective trips we discovered from one of the Bahamian pastors that he had been told by an American pastor from another denomination to stay away from Cooperative Baptists because we let women serve as pastors of congregations. This Bahamian pastor’s response? He stepped into his pulpit and preached that Mary Magdalene, a woman by all biblical accounts, was the first person to preach the good news that Jesus had arisen.

Lately, I have had it impressed upon me that there is a lot of good news in CBF life for women (and, therefore, for men!). This past Sunday I was in New York with my wife and my daughter. Holly was finishing her last week as a Student.Go summer intern, and we wanted to visit her and her new family of faith, the Greater Restoration Baptist Church in Brooklyn. The preacher for the morning was Betty Bogan, and I’m here to say that God’s Spirit fell upon her. (By the way, Greater Restoration lost financial support from another Baptist congregation because the church let women preach.)

And there is a new book, titled This is What a Preacher Looks Like. It’s a collection of thirty-eight sermons by, gasp, women. You can get information about it on the Baptist Women in Ministry website. There is also a conference being sponsored by Global Women in in October. Looks like it will be an awesome event. I wish I could be there, but time and finances won’t permit it. Maybe, though, you can go.

Finally, I’m reminded that CBF Florida just called its first strategic church planter, Susan Rogers. And, with a name like Susan, you can guess that she’s a woman. The Tallahassee Fellowship is pastored by Candace McKibben. Leah Crowley has just left Open House Ministries to pursue an M.Div. at Gardner-Webb. Wanda Ashworth Valencia, the director of OHM, is an awesome speaker/preacher. (You ought to bring her to your church sometime to hear her.)  Right now, four of the nine CBF Florida academic scholarship recipients are women, all of whom are pursuing masters of divinity

The word of God is being fulfilled in our midst, “and your women will prophesy.”

Thanks be to God!

Ray Johnson is coordinator of the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship of Florida. This article is reprinted from the CBF of Florida e-newsletter.

Chen’s uneasiness with death first became clearly visible when, as a medical student, she encountered the dying and the dead on her earliest rotations on hospital wards. As she confesses,

But dying patients were a different matter. It seemed that to those about me . . . dying patients were clinical events. I tried desperately to be like the older residents—“Great! Another code! Another opportunity to learn!”—but seeing patients die bothered me.

I probably never would have admitted it to anyone back then, but I did not believe that death was merely clinical. In my mind dying had as much to do with fate as biology. I had even thought about my own death in these terms.

Try as I might, I could not act like my residents. That great passing of life was too sacred; it was nearly magical. Death was an immutable moment in time, locked up as much in our particular destiny as in the time and date of our birth (46-47).

Throughout two decades of medical training and clinical practice Chen finds herself entangled with medicine’s “essential paradox”: “a profession premised on caring for the ill also systematically depersonalizes dying” (xiv). As Chen straightforwardly declares, “we physicians have lost insight into our own dysfunctional anxiety and how that anxiety has in turn become immortalized within our medical system” (73).

In ministry the depersonalization of death occurs in both clinical experience and eschatological expectations. The outcomes for both medical and ministerial carers turn out to be strikingly similar. The initial self-protective strategy of self-distancing (ironically paralleling decathexis among terminally ill persons) results in the coldness of isolation, rather than the warmth of compassionate presence. It seems that the patient is not the only one who is “dying” emotionally here.

Among the many powerful stories Chen shares regarding her formation as a gifted and person-centered physician, the final years of her Aunt Grace vividly reveal the importance of relationships in any attempts—whether through medical or spiritual care—to relieve suffering. Chen had long realized that her Aunt Grace, beloved from childhood, was dying. As Chen was discussing with Grace a medical article Chen was writing that included her aunt’s story, Grace weakly gasps: “I only want one thing [in your article]. I want you to emphasize your uncle and cousin. . . . They have been here for me always; they have listened to me always” (138). Grace mediated through caring relationships of service is God’s gift to our human suffering of mortality.

Charles J. Scalise is professor of church history at Fuller Theological Seminary in Seattle, Washington.

Growing up we had both—only our den was called a family room. No one EVER went into the living room without permission. No one took food in there. There was no running, no loud voices, and definitely no fun unless the king of the castle [my dad] authorized it WHEN special guests arrived. The room was always kept spotless. The family room on the other hand was where we lived and played and ate and harassed each other. There we tickled and laughed and cried together. We didn’t need permission to have an “outburst” if an outburst was necessary, and special guests were invited into the life that was being lived in the room.regardless of the room’s order.

In her book, Sparks suggests that as evangelicals we have delegated worship to a living room gathering. In order to “protect” the reverence we define as proper worship behavior we enter worship spaces with hushed tones. There is no running, no laughter, no loud voices, and no food.  Our worship places are always spotless. Ironically, we worship the living God who created running, laughter, loud voices, food, and “outbursts” in a living room setting where these things are banned. Her question is: what would happen if we brought worship into the den/family room? How would the life of our churches change if we treated our worship spaces the same way we treat our den/family rooms?

Thought provoking questions.

Here’s my dilemma. I like aspects of both rooms. There are times when I want quiet and order. My spirit needs hushed tones in my worship. There are other times when laughter and chaos play and spontaneity order my worship. I don’t think I am alone here.

So here are my questions: is there a way to design a worship space that invites aspects from the den/family room and living room? Can we create worship entrance points that have hushed features and live out loud features?

Virginia Baptist Women in Ministry hosted their second annual FEAST event this Spring, and  Elizabeth Melton Bartley shared a powerful reflection on the need for more Home Makers in the world. There are quite a few of us minister mamas who are cobbling together work to supplement our primary job of home making. Making home. She spoke of the lessons learned of embracing that home making identity and carrying it with her in her pastoral work of making home in all places. When church gets broken, when church starts to look like corporation, when church loses its way, we need good Home Makers to lead in a different way.

But I still bristle when I find myself in conversations about vocation that leave little room for nuance and discussion. I heard myself speak out of anxiety last month as I ran into old friends and colleagues at Cooperative Baptist Fellowship’s General Assembly in Charlotte, North Carolina. The question I most dreaded was typically the first: So, what are you doing now? I tried to stop myself but heard the paragraph come flowing out of me almost every time: “Well, I’m home with the kids while they’re still little, but I’m also blogging and writing curriculum and doing a lot of supply preaching. Plus, the housing market’s awful, so we couldn’t sell our house, and there aren’t many great part-time jobs in my area.”

Good gracious, woman. Breathe!

Sure, there are still the folks who don’t get my life and feel the need to say, “Oh, so you’re not doing anything.” See, I need to fill that box in their annual survey, too.  But in my better moments, I know otherwise. I know that I am learning more about vocation than ever before. Some mothers describe the task of raising children as a calling. They felt called to jobs, called to motherhood, and then called back to jobs. That doesn’t really resonate with me, though. For me, the idea of vocation has shifted to an understanding of who I am continually called to become; my pastoral self and my mothering self are but two parts of the whole of my vocation. When I move into the center of who I am uniquely called to be (for my life, not anyone else’s life), only then am I able to move best in the world in all the myriad tasks of doing that are sure to come.

Is there a box to check for that?