As a church historian, I got to do something really cool today. I got to visit First Baptist Church … in America. You read that right. It’s not First Baptist Providence. It’s not First Baptist County Seat. It’s First Baptist Church in America.

In 1638, dissenter Roger Williams was banished from the Massachusetts Bay Colony. He made his way to the nether regions of New England, to an unpopulated area south of the Mass Bay. He came to what we now know as Rhode Island. There, as a fledgling Baptist himself, Williams founded the city of Providence, a theological nod to man’s dependence on God, and he founded the first Baptist church in the New World.

The church building that I visited today was not built by Roger Williams. He didn’t stay Baptist long enough to build any kind of church, figuratively or literally. He remained a Baptist for just several months before deciding no church was truly true to Scripture and chose to wait it out, ecclesiastically speaking, until the coming of Christ.

The church Williams started did grow. A few years later another Baptist congregation would show up in Newport founded by John Clark. But it’s the story of Williams’ church that is fascinating and instructive.

Founded in 1638, FBCA puttered along, making the case for religious freedom in the colonies. That freedom was largely granted in the Rhode Island colony years before it took hold anywhere else. Unhappy with the freedom that they founded, FBCA would, in the early 1700s, make a number of moves towards respectability. They built a building along the lines of the model presented by the Congregationalists in New England (no, still not the building I visited). They sought an educated clergy, the built walls and doors around their pews (really) and charged rent to the occupants to pay the salary of the pastor. They wanted to be and became more like their neighbors.

With the quest for respectability came other challenges. When you seek to please those outside of the church, you run the risk of displeasing the ideals of the founders of the church. Over time, FBCA moved slowly away from Williams’ and the early Baptists’ roots and theology. They compromised on small issues and then larger. Today, FBCA is theologically a shell of what it once was. Yes, they have a beautiful building (built in 1775). Yes, they have an amazing legacy. Yes, they’ve left the theological fold. The church is, for all intents and purposes, moderate theologically at best, liberal at worst. The photo directory that I saw betrays a small but graying population who wouldn’t fill but a couple dozen of the pew boxes. What Williams launched and walked away from has, seemingly, joined him in his quest to find true Christian identity somewhere else. With that move, his founding vision has died with him and the founding members.

I’m afraid the same thing may happen one day to the Southern Baptist Convention. Like FBCA, we have a long history. We’ve had notable leaders. We’ve made valuable contributions to Christianity in America. And, like FBCA, we’re growing older. We have an up and coming generation that knows not Williams or the ideals of earlier generations. Like FBCA, we have many churches that look beautiful on the outside but are hollow on the inside.

We must do something before we end up like FBCA. If we don’t act soon to promote true Baptist identity and propogate Baptist theology that is based on the Bible, the SBC will one day be but an attraction for curiousity seekers and history buffs. “Remember when,” they will ask, “the Southern Baptist Convention meant something?” May that never be. To prevent that version of history, we must return to God, return to the Bible, and return to what it means to be a Baptist. If we don’t, the SBC will prove to be headed … nowhere.

Army Ranger, and former pro football player, Pat Tillman died in Afghanistan in 2004. This post was written as a reflection on his death and, ultimately, all who’ve served and died for our freedom.

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I’d never heard of Pat Tillman before he joined the Army in 2002.

Not being a big football fan, I had no idea that he played for the Arizona Cardinals. But the minute the story broke about his enlisting and volunteering to be a Ranger, I knew Pat Tillman because I was, at one time, just like Pat Tillman. I, too, was an Army Ranger.

Like so many others, I felt a certain amount of shock when his death was announced last week. I read with a great deal of personal interest all of the stories that appeared. I knew Pat Tillman because I knew guys just like him. Guys with that certain esprit de corps, that do-anything, go-anywhere attitude. You could see it in their eyes. It wasn’t pride and it wasn’t arrogance. But it wasn’t far from it. It’s that look that comes when you know that you’re ready to take what the world throws at you. Pat Tillman had that look.

Tillman was, in the football arena, the little engine that could, the little guy that somehow made it big. When he walked away from it all for the life of an Army Ranger, the media couldn’t understand why a young man in his professional prime would give up millions of dollars. Some thought him an idealist, a go-getter with a never-say-die attitude. Others heard him say that he wanted to do something for his country but they really didn’t understand. They never will. Not until they walk a mile in his shoes.

The same response came [in recent years] when Southern Baptist personnel were slain in Iraq. And before that in Yemen and in the Philippines. The media questioned the missionaries’ right to be in these foreign lands. They questioned their dedication to a cause that insists that it offers the only correct answer to life’s ultimate questions. While some acknowledged the great sacrifice of these soldiers of the cross, the media for the most part didn’t understand. They never will. Not until they take up a cross and follow Jesus.

Pat Tillman can teach us a thing or two about being an American. He was a hero. Not because he once played football for millions of dollars. Not because he jumped out of airplanes for thousands. Not even because he died in the line of duty, making the ultimate sacrifice. He was a hero because he was willing to do what so many can’t. He was a hero because he knew the Ranger creed and lived it:

– Recognizing that I volunteered as a Ranger, fully knowing the hazards of my chosen profession, I will always endeavor to uphold the prestige, honor and high esprit de corps of the Rangers.

– Acknowledging the fact that a Ranger is a more elite soldier who arrives at the cutting edge of battle by land, sea or air, I accept the fact that as a Ranger my country expects me to move further, faster and fight harder than any other soldier.

– Never shall I fail my comrades. I will always keep myself mentally alert, physically strong and morally straight and I will shoulder more than my share of the task whatever it may be, 100 percent and then some.

– Gallantly will I show the world that I am a specially selected and well-trained soldier. My courtesy to superior officers, neatness of dress and care of equipment shall set the example for others to follow.

– Energetically will I meet the enemies of my country. I shall defeat them on the field of battle for I am better trained and will fight with all my might. Surrender is not a Ranger word. I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my country.

– Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger objective and complete the mission, though I be the lone survivor.

Pat Tillman was a hero because he heard the call to duty and answered.

In the end, Pat Tillman died for his country, going where millions of others couldn’t go.

So, too, will many of us die in the name of Christ. We have been given our marching orders: “Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations” (Matthew 28:19). We know the cost: “He who has found his life will lose it, and he who has lost his life for My sake will find it” (Matt 10:39).

Pat Tillman proudly wore the beret of an Army Ranger, carrying his nation’s colors into battle, willing to die for the cause. Are you carrying the cross of Christ and the sword of truth? Or have we learned nothing from those who’ve gone before us?

If the statistics hold true, my life is more than half over.

I’m 43 years old and the older I get, the better I was. It’s not that I feel old; it’s just that everyone else is starting to look younger and younger. I have become, contrary to my youthful wishes, my parents. I’m a little grayer, a little heavier, but hopefully a little wiser, too.

I’ve also come to realize the importance of my legacy. Webster’s dictionary defines “legacy” as an “inheritance,” something left behind for others. Some of us leave money for our loved ones. Others leave property. All leave memories. We all have a legacy.

The great Puritan preacher Jonathan Edwards left a lasting legacy — greater than his famous sermon, “Sinners in the Hands of An Angry God.” Born 305 years ago Oct. 5, Edwards has become a spiritual hero, influencing not only his immediate generation, but also those that followed. Fittingly, Edwards expressed great concern about his legacy even as a young man. Not yet 30 years old, he wrote, “I frequently hear persons in old age say how they would live if they were to live their lives over again. Resolved, that I will live just so as I can think I shall wish I had done, supposing I live to old age.”

Edwards died 35 years later but has been speaking to us ever since. Later in the 18th century, English Baptists looked to Edwards to provide the theological rationale that launched the “modern missionary movement.” Without it, William Carey would have never left for India. Early Southern Baptists like Furman, Manly and Johnson echoed the writings of Edwards in their sermons and their theology as well.

Today another generation has “discovered” Jonathan Edwards. While most Baptists could not agree with everything he said, nor should they, there is a treasure trove waiting to be mined in his sermons and theological writings, a calling to greater godliness. Edwards lays before us a challenge to live a Christian life worth remembering.

Eavesdrop as Edwards counsels a young believer: “In all your course, walk with God and follow Christ as a little, poor, helpless child, taking hold of Christ’s hand, keeping your eye on the mark of the wounds on his hands and side. From these wounds came the blood that cleanses you from sin and hides your nakedness under the shirt of the white shining robe of his righteousness.”

Does your faith exhibit that kind of trust?

Listen as he speaks about our loving God: “The more a true saint loves God with a gracious love, the more he desires to love him and the more uneasy is he at his want of love to him … the more he thirsts and longs after God and holiness, the more he longs to long, and breathe out his very soul in longings after God …”

Does that describe your love of God?

Read as he describes our relationship with God: “There are many reasons to think that what God has in view, in an increasing communication of himself through eternity, is an increasing knowledge of God, love to him, and joy in him. And it is to be considered that the more those divine communications increase in the creature, the more it becomes one with God; for so much the more is it united to God in love, the heart is drawn nearer and nearer to God, and the union with him becomes more firm and close, and at the same time, the creature becomes more and more conformed to God.”

Does your Christian walk reflect that closeness?

Jonathan Edwards was supremely concerned about the nature and content of the Christian faith. His works were not theological musings but biblical discipling. Ultimately, for himself, his legacy, and his spiritual progeny, Edwards had one great desire: the glory of God. The apostle Paul shared that same concern. “Whether, then, you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31).

Is that your greatest concern as well? Is that the legacy that you seek to leave? If so, put yourself under the authority of Scripture, in communion with other faithful believers in the local church and under the tutelage of a wise teacher like Jonathan Edwards.

“Seeing therefore you stand in such continual need of the help of God, how reasonable is it that you should continually seek it of him, and perseveringly acknowledge your dependence upon him, by resorting to him, to spread your needs before him, and to offer up your requests to him in prayer. . . .

“Consider the great benefit of a constant, diligent, and persevering attendance on this duty. It is one of the greatest and most excellent means of nourishing the new nature, and of causing the soul to flourish and prosper. It is an excellent means of keeping up an acquaintance with God, and of growing in the knowledge of God. It is the way to a life of communion with God. It is an excellent means of taking off the heart from the vanities of the world and of causing the mind to be conversant in heaven. It is an excellent antidote against the poison of the old serpent. It is a duty whereby strength is derived from God against the lusts and corruptions of the heart, and the snares of the world.

“It hath a great tendency to keep the soul in a wakeful frame, and to lead us to a strict walk with God, and to a life that shall be fruitful in such good works, as tend to adorn the doctrine of Christ, and to cause our light to shine before others, that they, seeing our good works, shall glorify our Father who is in heaven. And if the duty be constantly and diligently attended, it will be a very pleasant duty. . . .”

Jonathan Edwards, from the sermon, “Hypocrites Deficient in the Duty of Prayer”

No one wants to be humiliated. Most of us are willing to do whatever it takes to keep from being humiliated.

Sometimes we try to lose those extra pounds before we go to the beach on vacation (more of us should be worried about this one). Sometimes, we’ll exercise a little more before the big church picnic. Sometimes, we’ll try to joke our way out of a potentially humiliating situation. In other words, our pride’s self-defense mechanisms kick in just to avoid being humiliated.

It is that pride that makes humiliation a good thing. I’m not talking about the kind of humiliation that comes with realizing your zipper has been down all day long. With the Puritans, I’m talking about the kind of humiliation that comes when you realize that your every sin has been made public before a holy God. We’re talking about the kind of humiliation that goes beyond embarassment to anguish. The Puritans called this “evangelical humiliation.”

Evangelical humiliation is something we all must go through, not for growth, but for salvation. You see, if you’re not embarassed by your sins, you’ll never seek the protective covering of Christ’s sacrifice. If you’re not humbled by the realization that God knows every deed you’ve ever done and every thought you’ve ever thought, you’ll never realize the eternal situation you’re in.

Without evangelical humiliation, you will one day stand before Christ on the judgment seat and talk with great pride of all the wonderful things you’ve ever done. And, after listening patiently to your pathetic vita (that’s Latin for “life”), Christ will raise a hand to stop your me-centered monologue in its tracks. With the wave of that hand, he’ll utter those devestating words, “Depart from me for I never knew you.” Talk about being caught with your zipper down.

Evangelical humiliation is a good thing. Evangelical humiliation is a necessary thing. There’s no salvation without it. Remember, in the Beattitudes, Jesus talks about the humble, the lowly, those who mourn. Only those who’ve been humiliated in this greatest of senses knows anything about those emotions for which Jesus calls.

Evangelical humiliation also calls for something else. Evangelical humiliation calls for evangelistic preaching.

I’m not talking about those feel-good pep talks that pass for preaching in many circles. I’m not talking about sermons that tell you everything you ever wanted to know about being a good husband or a great employee. I’m talking about sermons that point out the vileness of the human soul, sermons that highlight the lowlights of sins, sermons that call our wickedness what it really is, an offense against the perfect holiness of a God who is a consuming fire. What we need is preaching that deals with sin as honestly as God will wrathfully (I don’t apologize if that excludes your favorite television preacher).

Without preaching that confronts our sinfulness, we will never be forced to confront our sinfulness. Without an awareness of and humiliation for our sinfulness, we can never stand before God with a confidence that will never embarass, a confidence in the Christ of our redemption. 

A little humiliation may be good for your ego. A lot of evangelical humiliation is good for your soul.