I consider myself very strongly pro-life. I believe abortion is the killing of an unborn child and should be illegal in most circumstances—the major exception being when the life of the mother is in danger. I worry, however, that we in the pro-life camp do not always discuss abortion responsibly. I would like to offer a few thoughts on how pro-life people can talk about abortion better.

This is about women.

I am biologically male. I cannot get pregnant unless God chooses to do something very unexpected. For this reason alone, the abortion debate impacts me differently than it does women.

I do not have to worry about being impregnated against my will. I do not have to worry about the impact of pregnancy on my body and health. I do not have to worry about giving birth.

Some people who are pro-choice take serious issue with men telling women what to do with their bodies. At one level, I do not think this is a persuasive argument. As a friend of mine has said, virtually all laws amount to a restriction on what people can do with their bodies. Moreover, plenty of women are pro-life. This is not simply men trying to control women.

Nevertheless, abortion is a distinctly gendered issue. Pro-choice people have some valid concerns about how this debate connects to the broader issues of sexism and women’s bodily autonomy.

Those of us who are pro-life would do well to listen and to let women—pro-life and pro-choice—lead the discussion.

Pro-choice people do not support “murdering babies.”

One very harsh way of describing people who are pro-choice is to say they support the murder of babies. This accusation carries considerable rhetorical and emotional force and is also unfair.

An important rule in debate is never to ascribe views to your opponents that they do not hold and to describe your opponents’ views as fairly as possible. I have never encountered a pro-choice person who would say she or he supports the murder of babies.

One of the areas in which pro-life and pro-choice people disagree most strongly is the discussion of what constitutes “human life” in a morally significant sense. If something is biologically human and technically alive, does it automatically have an inalienable right to life in the same way as someone like you or me?

This is a deep, difficult and serious question. Simply to accuse pro-choice people of supporting “baby murder” circumvents this important discussion for the sake of a rhetorical sucker-punch.

There are other important social issues tied up with abortion.

According to a study published in the American Journal of Public Health, poor women and women who are ethnic minorities have abortions at a much higher rate than women who are affluent and/or white. Put simply, racial injustice and economic inequality are just two examples of major public issues closely connected to abortion. Precisely how they are connected is complicated, but they are connected all the same.

We cannot talk about abortion without also talking about race, poverty and a slew of other topics. This makes questions of public policy and legislation even more difficult. If tonight we were to make abortion illegal in any and all circumstances, what would the impact be tomorrow morning?

Women do not get abortions on a whim. There are a variety of factors that play into a woman’s decision to terminate a pregnancy, and to ignore these will make the situation worse. Simply banning abortion will not stop the practice. If we really want to end abortion, we must get at the root cause(s).

Unfortunately, there are those who are against abortion who also deny the existence of systemic racism and suggest that poor people should just “try harder.” If we who are pro-life want to deal with abortion in a way that is effective and holistic, we must reckon with other social ills.

This is a real-life issue in our churches and families.

It is quite likely at least one woman you know has had an unplanned pregnancy or an abortion. It is quite likely at least one woman in your church has had an unplanned pregnancy or an abortion. It is even possible a woman you love deeply has had an unplanned pregnancy or an abortion. That woman might even be you.

What if a young girl in your youth group gets raped and becomes pregnant? What if a woman in your church confides to you that she terminated a pregnancy because she had no idea what else to do? What if you make a mistake and impregnate your girlfriend? I could go on.

These hypothetical scenarios all illustrate the various ways abortion can impact our lives and the lives of those we care about. This is not an abstract debate; this is real life. We can debate abortion until we are blue in the face, but what matters most is how we care for women who are considering or who have made this decision.

James 2:15-16 teaches that talk is worthless if it is not accompanied by action. How can we talk best about abortion? By showing compassion in both word and deed.

Joshua Sharp is a Master of Divinity student and graduate assistant in the Office of Ministry Connections at Truett Seminary in Waco, Texas.

I recently interviewed someone for research who said, “You know, there are scars that have healed, and then there are scars that are still open.” I have thought about those insightful words a lot.

Scars of the Civil Rights Movement

January gives us the opportunity to celebrate the life and ministry of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Through the celebration and remembrance of his life, we also remember the events that brought about the integration of our schools, workplaces, restaurants and countless other points of change. Such change indicated to America that we no longer were going to tolerate racism and the division resulting in a lack of equitable treatment of and opportunity for everyone. Instead, we were going to work for equitable treatment of and opportunity for everyone regardless of race, ethnicity and gender.

As these changes took place, countless people were treated inhumanely, all in the name of change. Many of our nation’s leaders were killed for the views and the values they held.

King was such a central leader in the Civil Rights Movement and, because of his desire for people to experience being treated with basic honor, dignity and respect, paid the ultimate price of his life being taken unexpectedly and violently.

I don’t know about you, but this is a painful history to recall. It is a history and context that God used to sensitize me to justice-centered ministry and relationships. It is this history that showed me how horrible people can be in their treatment of anyone who is considered different—regardless of the reason.

I am so grateful that my life is full and rich because it is full of individuals, families and communities that represent the inclusion of all people.

Scars from childhood experiences

When I was a kid, I wanted a bicycle so badly and knew I probably wouldn’t get one. I kept asking for a bicycle, though.

I wanted to have the kind of bicycle my mother had in England. It was a Raleigh bike, made in England and sold in the United States. The brakes were on the handlebars, and the bike was totally skinny and not thick like the Schwinn bikes my brother had. What possibly could be better for a little girl than to have an English racer bicycle?

Christmas came, and oh, I was so disappointed not to get that bicycle!

Saphonia was my best friend as a kid. She lived around the corner from me. We went to the same school—Lincoln Elementary—were in the same class, and always walked back and forth to school together. We played together whenever we could and did all the things kids do. After all, Saphonia was my best friend!

Was I ever surprised when my parents gave me that English racer bicycle … for my birthday!

I was so happy that—yes, you guessed it—I wanted to show my new bike to my best friend, Saphonia. I wanted her to be able to ride it and to enjoy it along with me.

My mother said as I left my house: “Remember you aren’t used to using the handbrakes yet. When you make the turn at the end of the street, remember you will leave our street made of concrete and that Saphonia lives on a street made of gravel. If you don’t remember that, you will fall and hurt yourself and your new bicycle.”

“I know mother,” I replied.

As usual, my mother’s caution to me was right on target. As I made the turn onto the gravel road—my mind totally on sharing with Saphonia my new bike and letting her ride it—I forgot about the handbrakes. I wasn’t on that brand new bike very long.

When Saphonia and her mother picked me up from that gravel street, my knee was full of gravel. I was hurt. On top of that, my beautiful new bike also was hurt.

My good friend, Saphonia, didn’t get to ride my new bike because it was all bent up.  Because I had gravel in my knee, I couldn’t walk easily. With all of these things together, I cried and cried.

It was one of those times I was reminded clearly to pay attention to what I was doing and not to get distracted.

Being people who help ‘the scars to heal’

“There are some scars that have healed. There are some scars that are still open.”

It took a while, but my knee finally was cleared of all the gravel lodged there. Talk about painful. To have my knee cleaned out on a daily basis for several months was quite an ordeal for a little girl.

You may be wondering if I have scars from that event. I do have three distinct scars on my right knee. They are healed and have been for quite some time, but they are a part of me and are not going away. “There are some scars that have healed.”

During January, we emphasize in various celebratory ways the changes in our lives and in our country showing “there are some scars that have healed.” We remember the deeply spiritual and insightful letters, sermons, speeches and words of a man who was given a vision from God about what a society would look like and be like that didn’t base actions toward others on the basis of skin color, age, gender and so much more.

What about those “scars that are still open?” We hear of them daily. They are brutal, and most show the worst side of humanity.

The “scars that are still open” give us countless opportunities to be the loving people God has created us to be.

My constant prayer is that we would be people who help “the scars to heal.”

Gaynor Yancey is a professor in Baylor University’s Diana R. Garland School of Social Work and Truett Seminary and director of the Center for Church and Community Impact. She is a member of First Woodway Baptist Church in Waco. The views expressed are solely those of the author.

“Nevertheless, many did believe in him even among the rulers, but because of the Pharisees they did not confess him, so they would not be banned from the synagogue. For they loved praise from men more than praise from God” (John 12:42-43).

In 1875, a two-mast wooden schooner—built just two years earlier—set sail on Lake Ontario. Its destination was Toronto; its cargo was 307 tons of coal.

After being blown about for two days and damaged in her rigging by a terrific gale and blizzard, the crew dropped anchor. The schooner dragged ashore and began to break up.

The skipper feared for the loss of his men. They could see lights on the shore, but they were three miles out, too far to swim for it. They needed help, and help was readily available. Any of the ships in the harbor could sail out safely and rescue them, but no one knew what trouble they were in or what danger they faced.

So the skipper tried to make it to shore for help. He went alone in a tiny yawl and was dashed upon the rocks and drowned.

While the rest of the crew spent a horrible night aboard the schooner, they were rescued in the morning. Had the skipper stayed on board, his life also would have been spared. But he chose to risk his life in an effort to save the others.

What are you willing to risk?

No one is asking you to give up your life. That’s been done already. You are safe in the boat because another gave his life for you 2000 years ago.

Are you willing to leave the relative safety of this tiny vessel you are in, which admittedly is breaking up? As this vessel is being pounded constantly by the storms that rage all around us in this world, are you willing to risk being ostracized by your unsaved friends, your lost coworkers, or those godless family members of yours you see only at weddings and funerals to tell them what trouble they are in?

We believers all have our circles of influence. We gather in familiar “ports o’ call” with mates and colleagues to exchange pleasantries and casual banter. Why not take the discussion deeper?

We’re on common vessels with lost souls: our workplaces, our social clubs, even our homes. God places us aboard the vessels he chooses; it’s not by chance we find ourselves with certain shipmates.

Many of those we come into contact with, perhaps most, are unaware of the trouble they are in. There is a storm raging about them—a spiritual storm—and their souls are in danger of being lost forever.

They think highly of you, these mates of yours. Your reputation is stellar. You are viewed as an honest, kind and caring person among them. Any one of them would gladly sing your praises. I’m certain of it.

But there is risk in sharing your faith, isn’t there? They may reject what you have to say. Their opinion of you may change. They may no longer praise you so highly.

Instinctively, you know this is true. That’s why you are afraid to speak up. You fear being dashed upon rocks of ridicule and scorn.

But do you value their opinion, do you cherish their praise of you so very much that you are unwilling to risk it to tell them about Jesus? After all, their souls are in danger of being lost forever.

Whose praise do you seek?

“For they loved praise from men more than praise from God.”

Rich Mussler is an author and a Bible teacher at First Baptist Church in Lewisville, Texas.

One of the resolutions many of us make as we begin a new year is to slow down. We are all far too busy.

I believe the constant noise of our lives is doing unfathomable damage to our souls. The constant connectedness of our lives through our phones, computers and televisions can keep us from paying attention to the work of God in our lives and the world around us.

If you don’t think we have a problem, look around the restaurant next time you go out to eat and count the number of people on their phones. We are missing God’s world and his kingdom at work.

I am as guilty of this as anyone. One of the ways I have tried to combat the distraction-filled pits of technology is by setting aside more time to read.

Reading a physical book helps me slow down. It helps me pay attention more to the world around me. Specifically, what has been so beneficial for my soul these last few months is a commitment to read more fiction.

Good books dwell on beauty, truth and goodness

When Paul calls us to dwell on “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable,” (Philippians 4:8) the underlying implication is God’s beauty, truth and goodness are everywhere.

If we only have eyes to see, ears to hear and hearts to receive, we could see the love and faithfulness of God at work in the world.

A good novel can help us open our eyes, ears and hearts to what is true and lovely in the world.

Good books help us see, hear and feel other people

We must understand one another and our experiences in this world. We are all created in the image of God. This truth gives every human value and worth. Novels open up the human heart and experience in a way nothing else quite can.

A good story slows us down and helps us pay attention to God at work in his world by helping us understand the depth and complicated nature of humanity.

In a good story, we learn about different cultures, different experiences and different points of view. Fiction takes us into someone else’s world, mind and heart and can help us grow in empathy for others made in the image of God.

Fiction not only can help us pay attention to the people around us and maybe help us understand one another a little more, but it also can form us to pay attention to the rest of the world around us.

Well-written fiction is filled with descriptive language that makes the world come alive. It helps us see the beauty of the world in places we often see and places we may never visit physically.

Read books that will challenge you to slow down and take a second look at the world.

What good books can do that other media can’t

Books expand our vision of the world. Books open the world up to us much more than our phones and the ever-shrinking community and influences we have on social media. Books can push us out of our comfort zone and help us think about this world in a new way.

Likewise, God can communicate to us through good narrative. He is a storytelling God, and his truth, goodness and beauty are everywhere—even in fiction.

Read good fiction this year

Visit your local library. Ask for recommendations. Turn off the television, put away your phone and open a book. Take a break from the constant noise cluttering your soul and spend some time paying attention to God at work in the world with the help of a good story. See God’s beauty, truth and goodness at work in those made in his image and in his good creation. Be challenged to see things in a new way.

Slow down and read. You may find yourself reading more than a book.

Zac Harrel is pastor of First Baptist Church in Gustine, Texas.

I grew up worshiping at Belle Meade United Methodist in Nashville. Every Sunday, we shared communion. After receiving the bread and grape juice, we had the option to kneel at the front altar and pray.

Every week, my dad—who stands at a solid 6 feet, 5 inches—bent down and kneeled, head bowed, hands open to receive from God. When I kneeled next to him, he pulled me close and prayed for me and for those around us. After I got up, he often lingered and prayed for what seemed to the 11-year-old me like a very long time.

As a kid, I saw my dad kneeling a lot. Then I heard him sing with all his might and watched as he stood and shared announcements. Some Sundays, an excited tone filled the prayers, like Dad could sense God’s grace and truth. At other times, a heaviness or an ordinariness dominated the prayers.

As an adult, I’ve pondered the profoundness of seeing my dad—my hero who physically towers over the world—bend down in front of God and our church community. His leadership didn’t end with kneeling; it seemed to begin with it.

Leading by taking a knee

What if we live 2019 with an intention to kneel?

Sometimes we kneel physically. At other times, we kneel with our heart, mind and will.

This physical or mental act of kneeling deepens our devotion to God and moves us to serve others. There is a calm humility associated with kneeling, and I wonder what we could learn, receive or do as a result of this heart posture.

I wonder what redemptive work we can join God in this year, whether on the border, in our schools, on our streets or in our homes.

In his poem, “Morning Reflections,” Enuma Okoro writes:

What is this breaking, this hopeful
re-making, shifting stones, addressing dry bones,
dizzying me with blessings,
intercepting my grieving
and raising the dead all around me?

What if, by God’s grace, kneeling stirs miracles in us and in the world?

Ali Corona is the Hunger & Care Ministries Specialist for the Texas Baptist Christian Life Commission and is a member of First Baptist Church in Marble Falls.

In 2015, a minor Internet uproar occurred when Starbucks altered the design of their holiday cups. The multinational corporation made this decision to be more inclusive of non-Christian faiths during observance of the holiday season. Some American Christians were deeply offended and aired their grievances on social media, perceiving Starbucks’ marketing strategy to be one more attack in a longstanding “War on Christmas.”

The ‘War on Christmas’

The decline of Christianity in the modern West, including the United States, is no secret. As the number of self-identified Christians drops, so does the cultural dominance of the Christian faith. Other religions and the irreligious are obtaining greater and greater prominence in American society.

It is understandable why this loss of power distresses many Christians in the United States. Even though our country is not—and never has been—an officially Christian nation, our faith long has been privileged in America. That is changing, however, and this sort of cultural shift naturally causes anxiety.

This anxiety manifests quite fiercely around the holidays. Federal, state and local governments are de-emphasizing Christmas—since it is technically a Christian holiday—to recognize the holidays in a more religiously inclusive manner. The same goes for many private corporations like Starbucks. Some American Christians consider this an attack on Christmas and on Christianity.

The ‘persecution’ of American Christians

I can only imagine what Christians in North Korea or Afghanistan would have to say about American Christians’ anxiety regarding Christmas. It is true that Christians in the United States are losing their privileged status, and a growing number of people in the nation dislike Christians. But that is not persecution, not by a long shot.

The only Christians who face real persecution in the U.S. are Christians of color, female Christians and LGBTQ+ Christians. They face this persecution not because of their faith, but for other reasons. And some of this persecution comes from other Christians.

There are genuinely persecuted religious minorities in the United States, however. Muslims and Jews are some of the most well-known, but Sikhs and other non-Christian faiths also face abuse and injustice. And this persecution is not only being perpetrated by individuals on the fringe of society; it is pervasive and getting worse.

Baptist history and religious liberty

Baptists started as radical proponents of religious liberty and did so in an age when such advocacy carried harsh legal penalties. In 1612, Thomas Helwys, one of the first Baptists, sent a manifesto on religious liberty to King James of England. This message earned him imprisonment and eventual death.

Helwys wrote: “For men’s religion to God is between God and themselves. The king shall not answer for it. Neither may the king be judge between God and man. Let them be heretics, Turks [Muslims], Jews or whatsoever it appertains not to the earthly power to punish them in the least measure. This is made evident by our lord the king by the scriptures.”

This historic Baptist principle is completely incompatible with the kind of discrimination and prejudice we see being directed against religious minorities in the United States today. Baptists should be leading the charge to protect the rights of Muslims, Jews and other non-Christians.

Being Baptist during the holidays

What does this have to do with the so-called “War on Christmas?”

First, all Christians in the United States should recognize that most people who say, “Happy holidays,” or remove nativity scenes from county courthouses are not part of a malicious conspiracy against Christianity. Starbucks is not attacking Christians when the company changes its holiday cup design. Most people are simply trying to treat non-Christian religions with respect and equality during a season when many faiths have important holy days.

Baptists, in particular, should be sensitive to people of other faiths at this time of year. Our branch of the Christian tradition started as a response against religious persecution. Respect, kindness and fair treatment of non-Christians ought to flow in our blood. We should care more about seeking justice for our non-Christian neighbors than we do about whether someone says, “Happy holidays,” or “Merry Christmas.”

Yes, we should celebrate Christmas in all its distinctiveness and with all our might. We should sing praises of how our incarnate Lord was born in a stable and laid in a manger. That is what Christmas is all about; that is why this season is so important to us.

But Baptists should also take this time to reach out to our non-Christian neighbors. We should seek meaningful, personal connection with them. We should appreciate the rich diversity of culture and faith that abounds at this time of year. We should seek to understand the religions of the non-Christians around us, and we should seek to love them the way Christ loved the world: by setting aside his power and privilege, humbling himself and taking on the form of an infant.

Joshua Sharp is a Master of Divinity student and graduate assistant in the Office of Ministry Connections at Truett Seminary in Waco, Texas.

In Christmas displays across the country, the meek and mild baby Jesus appears alongside his beleaguered parents with angels singing, shepherds adoring and cows lowing. The picture is clear, and the weather is cold but tolerable. All is calm. All is bright.

Off to the side, however, if we are to read the Gospels rightly, all is not calm.

Herod is amassing an imperial force to slaughter thousands of children. Astrologers from beyond Israel are approaching the manger to offer their adoration. Very soon, the young family will leave under threat of their life and flee to Egypt as mothers across Bethlehem wail in anguish as their children are murdered.

This is the full Christmas story.

This is the story of God’s coming into the world. There is a real violence to the Christmas story.

It is not a violence of families dredging up old grudges or of bitter losses felt more acutely at the holiday time. It is the violence that comes whenever the kingdom of God is made known and when that which is opposed to God’s presence feels threatened. It is the violence that rises up in indignation, for it knows—in the words of Mary—the day is coming when the rich will be sent away hungry. It is the violence that supports power, secures greed, hides vice and protects dark secrets.

For with the coming of Christ, the days of Herod are numbered, and the kingdom of God is at hand.

The kingdom of God is at hand.

This is the Christmas story. This is the story of God’s coming into the world: terrifying angels—harbingers of God—appear in the night sky announcing a new day; lowly shepherds attend the manger instead of kings; Mary’s speech—the Magnificat pronouncing the day of the Lord’s strong arm—is about to be fulfilled.

It is a story that rightly should trouble us: God is coming into the world.

If God were an article of clothing or a child’s toy, we could position God or hang God up until a more convenient time. But when God appears, when the reality of all things in Christ is disclosed, we find that much of how we wish the world to be cannot stand.

To be sure, Christmas is a time of peace, but of God’s peace. It is a time of love, but of God’s love. The descriptor makes all the difference—for the peace and love of God—manifest in Christ—are not peace and love without cost. Instead, God’s peace and love call into question our love of wealth, lust of the eyes and pride of life.

Christ’s coming announces a new world—breaking in now—that calls for disciples to proclaim and live out by the Spirit a way that will invite the violence of the old order.

This is a Christmas story far more befitting light coming into darkness, with all of the joy and danger appropriate to it.

So, begone with the sentimental Christmas carols of tranquility!

This is the beginning of the end, the opening of a drama that begins with a murder and ends with a resurrection, and we are invited to join in.

Myles Werntz is assistant professor of Christian ethics and practical theology and the T.B. Maston Chair of Christian Ethics at Hardin-Simmons University’s Logsdon Seminary in Abilene. Email him at [email protected].

A CNN headline posted to Facebook reads, “Tyler Perry paid off more than $430,000 in layaways ahead of Christmas.”

Curious, I went to the comments section, where soon after I read, “We aren’t able to have Christmas this year due to some financial struggles.”

This was an honest, simple and sad comment: Honest and simple because of its vulnerability and sad, not because they are having financial difficulties, but sad because of what Christmas means to them.

This Christmas, many will buy gifts, put up decorations, buy matching or ugly sweaters and take cute photos—among other things—not because they want to, but because if they do not, the competitive and ego-driven self will give no rest in an attempt to measure up to the illusion we have made of Christmas.

The societal pressure is real.

However, while Christmas is a time of great joy and excitement for some, for others Christmas is a time of great anxiety and a desire for all of it to be over.

Entering into the bondage of Christmas

Since coming to America, I have struggled to feel like a father who is able to provide for his kids. This feeling usually is heightened with the coming of each American celebration.

This past Thanksgiving, my family sat around our empty table with no smell of turkey or ham. I felt I failed my daughter, who now knows what other tables are filled with at such times.

While I was harboring my inability to provide my family with a decent meal at Thanksgiving, I already was dreading the thought of being unable to buy a Christmas tree.

Further adding to the misery of this African father even before Thanksgiving was over, I was bombarded constantly by debates on the radio about when the Christmas tree should be put up—before or after Thanksgiving.

With no lights and no sounds around our house to remind us of the Christmas season, my kids and wife again will not unwrap presents.

I told Netanya, our 4-year-old, “Sorry, Baby, we cannot afford to buy a violin for you at Christmas.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Santa will get it for me.”

The pressure in society is present in my household. If I could, I would do anything for my daughter to feel the joy of having her wishes met.

Entering into Christ’s liberation at Christmas

What if we have only $100 this Christmas? What will we feel, think and do?

If anything, rather than feeling that “for unto you [me] is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11), I feel a sense of being bound and enslaved by the pressure and expectation in society.

In the midst of this pressure, what if we pause and ask, “What does the weak, helpless and dependent baby have to do with the glamor and lights, the tree and the gifts, the spending and the waste?

The child was born to set us free, to save us, not so we will be enslaved to the tricks of greedy business cooperation’s, who—through their marketers—have created a messaging platform to appeal to our sense of pride, shame and desire for success.

We feel shame when we cannot afford to give things—even when they are not needed—and pride and a false sense of success when we can. We feel shame when our neighbor’s Christmas decorations seem more grandiose than ours and a false sense of pride and an illusion of success when we think our decorations are better.

When we think of the meaning of the Incarnation and embody the reality of it, we may approach Christmas differently.

We may come to ask, like Henri Nouwen in a journal entry he made on the eve of Christmas 1995, later published in Sabbatical Journey: The Diary of His Final Year: “Where is God? God is where we are weak, vulnerable, small and dependent. God is where the poor are, the hungry the handicapped, the mentally ill, the elderly, the powerless. How can we come to know God when our focus is elsewhere, on success, influence and power?”

Likewise, Thomas Merton wrote in his journal on Christmas Day 1962, “I am certain that where the Lord sees the small point of poverty and extenuation and helplessness to which the monk is reduced, the solitary and the man of tears, then he must come down and be born there in this anguish and make it constantly a point of infinite joy, a seed of peace in the world.”

Rather than giving into societal pressure this Christmas, what if—like Nouwen and Merton—we seek to be found where the helpless, poor and destitute are found? What if our gifts are to those who truly need a gift? What if we remember the refugees around the world and the malnourished kids dying in refugee camps in Nigeria and Yemen?

What if we seek to be “joy to the world” instead of just singing of it?

What if, instead of putting up the lights, we are the light?

“Unto us a child is born,” liberating us from bondage to a tradition promoting greed, covetousness and selfishness so that we can be the light.

Joseph Tobias is an international student pursuing a master of divinity at Logsdon Seminary. He also has a master of Christian ministry from Truett Seminary.

Pastors’ calendars and lives can be an emotional roller coaster, mixing moments of celebration with times of tears.

My family experienced several tearful times in 2016: friends who suffered severe injuries, a dear friend who died, and another who was murdered. Our oldest son got married, and if you’ve ever had a child marry, you understand the joy mixed with “s/he won’t ever live under our roof again.” We put down our sweet dog at the vet and then drove straight to visit a dear family greeting a precious baby girl.

“I’m so ready to turn the calendar to 2017,” I told my wife Heather many times.

But 2017 was more of the same … and then some.

The following sentence is still hard to type. In fact, though I’ve written it by hand, it’s the first time I’ve typed this sentence.

My brother Jody is dead.

The brother who taught me to swim

Jody Raye Smith was a wonderful soul of caring mixed with determination mixed with stubbornness. Jody possessed amazing artistic ability. He played the piano and practiced by teaching me to harmonize while he played. And he wouldn’t accept mediocre pitch, intonation or sloppy breath control.

He pushed me to stand in front of congregations at the age of six and 10, 13 and 16. I grew comfortable onstage at a young age because of my brother. He was the first person who placed me before people to lead them toward Christ.

Jody took me to New Orleans for a few days when I graduated high school and introduced me to a personal passion—Cajun food.

I had my first sip of alcohol as well.

“That’s terrible,” I said. “Does all alcohol taste that terrible?”

“Yes,” he replied.

And so my life “on the sauce” ended all in about two minutes.

We sat at a jazz club on the edge of Bourbon Street three nights in a row listening to jazz. And yes, I’ve been going to that same spot since 1990, enjoying the music and drinking a Coke.

When it came time to choose a place to work on my doctoral degree, there wasn’t any consideration other than New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. They serve killer red beans and rice, by the way.

When Jody lived on the West Coast, during late night drives home when my family would be asleep, I called Jody, who was two hours behind me, and we talked and laughed for hours.

During the summer of 2017, the worst news came: Pneumonia that wouldn’t go away and a spot on his lung they kept trying to drain but couldn’t.

Though we had been honest with each other about many things, Jody finally revealed he had been sick for some time. I started to fear the inevitable.

The inevitable that flooded me

Heather and I were looking forward to the longest vacation of our lives. About four days into our trip to Germany, I received the call.

It’s funny being a pastor and a family member. On most days, you are simply a family member. But every now and then, you throw your pastoral “hat” on for your family.

Jody was back in the hospital and wasn’t doing well. A few days later, even though he had been told he didn’t have cancer in his lung, the diagnosis was Stage 1 lung cancer.

Normally, Jody would ask me to pray for him. This time, he asked me to pray with him. And I did so gladly.

“Do you want me to call our family members?” I asked, pastoral hat firmly in place.

“No,” he replied, “I will call them tomorrow.”

A few hours passed. It was about 2 a.m. in Germany when I received the call.

“Well, it’s actually Stage 4 cancer,” his friend told me over the phone, “and he has it in multiple places in his body.”

I already knew. I’ve been at hospitals enough to know. He wouldn’t survive.

Jody made the request, and wearing half a pastoral hat and half a son hat, I called my parents and my brother to break the news. I shook as I called but not from the cold.

Am I pastor or son? Brother or counselor? I’ve had many difficult conversations in my career, but calling my parents and brother on behalf of their son and brother to tell them, “He is going to die,” was by far the most difficult.

When Heather and I arrived home, Jody was mostly incoherent. Our last meaningful conversations were two prayers.

The text message came in the middle of the night. Jody was gone. And a part of me left with him.

When the levee broke

“A tropical wave is entering the Gulf of Mexico,” I heard a few days later. “If named, it will be called Harvey.”

La Grange flooded, with a total of 351 homes lost in our small town. I dove into the busyness of ministry.

What I didn’t realize at the time was how Harvey swept away my grief. One day, in the middle of it all, I thought to myself, “Well, I guess my grief over my brother has already passed.” Being trained in grief counseling, I knew better.

The Harvey floodwaters subsided, and things got back to normal. And the tides of grief rolled in.

I rode the wave of the Astros World Series as long as I could to stave off the grief that would follow.

It arrived slowly with fits of anger and bouts of sadness, but it was the anxiety—a typical response to grief—that swept my soul downstream. Though I could fall asleep, I awoke at 11:54 p.m. or 2:19 a.m. and was awake for the rest of the night. The fear was gripping and all-consuming. I was afraid of things I’ve never feared before.

This continued for about six weeks.

On Sunday, Dec. 3, 2017, about 15 minutes before worship began, I felt faint and weak. I thought I was going to have to tell my people: “I can’t do this today. I can’t deliver the sermon.” Full on panic attack!

I prayed: “Lord, I’m weak. Make me strong.” Close friends prayed the same prayer over me. He did make me strong. I didn’t faint, but I did sit on my preaching stool most of the message. No one seemed to notice.

The next Sunday while Heather and I were home, the dam holding back all of my grief and anxiety exploded. I don’t think I’ve ever wept like that before.

Since that day and a visit with my doctor to get some temporary help with sleeping, God has been restoring my strength day by day. Some days are good, some are bad. All days are filled with a new sense of hope, even though I have reached for my phone to call my brother Jody more times than I can count.

God has heard my cry for help, and he is “restoring my soul.”

The restoring work of God during grief

As pastors, we are not immune to the sting of sorrow, even when we put on our best acting faces. I’ve had to speak joyful words of hope at a funeral, trying to help others smile about a life wonderfully lived, while stifling my own grief quietly and deep inside like a geyser wanting to explode.

In those times, these truths help me.

God is with you in grief. Though you are walking through a deep, dark shadow in a low valley (Psalm 23), don’t be afraid. God hasn’t left or forsaken you.

Grief is God’s beautiful way of making you well. Cry a lot. Embrace the darkness. Express the emotions. Even “Jesus wept.” Intentionally do things that cause you to grieve. You will find in your weakness—even if it’s time to deliver a sermon—God will be your strength.

You’re not crazy. You are grieving. Anger, fear, anxiety, depression, loneliness—all of these emotions actually are a process God uses to make you well eventually. “Cast your anxiety on the Lord, because He cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7).

Know there is beauty in your grief. Grief indicates you’ve loved someone well. Grieve and be thankful you loved and were loved.

Be patient with grief and those who are grieving

To those of you grieving, you are not alone. Others are grieving, too. What’s more, God is “near the brokenhearted” (Psalm 34:18).

To those of you who will watch grieving family members this Christmas open presents and be a little less excited than expected; to those of you who will wonder why your grieving loved one seems a bit off, gloomy or blue, be patient and “bear one another’s burdens” (Galatians 6:2).

Jonathan Smith is the connect minister at First Baptist Church in Friendswood, Texas.

I found myself at age 35 in a hospital hallway waiting my turn to visit my 92-year-old friend, Frauken, who was in the ICU with pneumonia. As I waited, my mind entered into the graveyard of forgotten memories.

The graveyard of forgotten memories

Two months earlier, I sat in my office at Samford University’s Beeson Divinity School in Birmingham, Alabama, across a desk from Greg Garrison, a reporter with AL.com there to interview me about my book, Now that I’m Called: A Guide for Women Discerning a Call to Ministry.

Poised and ready for my interview, I was caught off-guard by a simple question: “What does your dad believe about women in ministry?”

To Garrison, this was an obvious question to ask. My dad has been a Southern Baptist pastor for most of my life. Given my age, my calling, what Baptists generally believe about women in ministry and now my book, one could assume my dad and I have had this conversation. However, I’d never asked my dad or myself the question.

“I don’t know,” I responded immediately.

Entering the graveyard of forgotten memories, I wondered: “Have I buried a conversation with my dad about his view of women in ministry? What did he believe?”

A special kind of ministry practicum

The summer before my sophomore year of high school, during a summer camp called Super Summer, I surrendered to a call to vocational ministry. Upon returning home, I announced the call to my parents and then my church. Looking back, I realize I wrestled with a call to ministry for years.

If I was a boy, I would have announced my calling boldly and unreservedly much earlier, perhaps as early as age 10. By age 8, I cried to my parents, “Why didn’t God make me a boy so I could be a preacher?” I didn’t despise being a girl. I just felt called to something off limits to girls.

As I tiptoed through my forgotten memories, searching for a buried conversation with my dad or even one-off comments he made about women in ministry, I uncovered some memories I didn’t expect to find.

I was 5 years old when I first met Geraldine. She and her husband were members of the small, rural East Texas church my father pastored.

My first memory of Geraldine was in her home. My parents took my sister Kim and me one evening to visit Geraldine on the eve of her heart bypass surgery. While Kim and I were playing, I studied the way my dad spoke to Geraldine and placed his hand on her shoulder to pray.

This first memory faded as another emerged. Walking down a sterile hospital hallway with my mother and sister to meet my father, we passed Geraldine’s sobbing husband, barely able to walk, borne along by a nurse on each side. His sobs shook my little frame.

“Geraldine died during surgery,” my dad said. Wide-eyed, I watched as my father tried to comfort and minister to Geraldine’s bereaved husband.

That memory faded like smoke, and a new one took its place. We were in our small, country church for Geraldine’s funeral. Once again, I watched and observed my father minister to the family.

These memories about Geraldine were just as much memories about my father. Geraldine and her family happened to be the first family I remember watching my father minister to in a time of great need.

This memory propelled me down a lane I wasn’t expecting to travel. While searching for a dogmatic conversation about women in ministry, I found memories revealing a father who gave me a rich practicum for ministry.

My father’s gift

Much of my childhood was spent on ministry errands with my father in others’ homes, hospital rooms, funeral homes and the church. Year after year, I observed firsthand how to preach, to study Scripture, to pray and to minister in a thousand ways.

Many times, after picking me up from school, my father took me on a hospital visit. These visits were special because I could watch dad up close. I learned what to say to someone who is at death’s door.

I realized quickly as one memory dissipated into another that shadowing my dad all those years was like being enrolled in a special school for ministry, with him as my teacher and mentor.

As my mind came out of the graveyard of forgotten memories, a nurse came out and said, “She’s ready.”

It was a strange experience as I stepped up to Frauken’s door. All I could see was my father. Was I ready for this? What would I say?

I rounded the bed on her right side and smiled. Tears in her eyes, she whispered through labored breathing, “I’m glad you have come.” I reached for her hand, remembering my dad always touched his people—no matter what diseases or infirmities they carried.

As I visited with Frauken, words of Scripture and comfort I remember my father saying made their way to my tongue. The visit was rehearsed in the best sense. It wasn’t pretend or manufactured. Instead, I was prepared for this moment.

Two weeks later, I put on my black dress and black shoes and drove to the church where Frauken’s memorial service was held.

I didn’t conduct the service. I’m not ordained. But as a woman who is called to ministry—and who is trying to find a place in vocational ministry—I’m thankful for a father who prepared and taught me by example how to be a Christian minister.

I still don’t know what my dad believes about women in ministry. Perhaps we’ll have that conversation after this article. It is possible his purpose in bringing me along as he ministered to Geraldine and others wasn’t for the sake of my calling and training in future ministry. Still, what he did—perhaps more than what he said—is one of the greatest and most significant gifts for my formation as a Christian minister.

Dad, thank you for 30 years of faithful gospel ministry—preaching week in and week out and serving at the feet of others like our Lord Jesus. You’ve served mostly in small churches and in not-so-glamorous ministries. You’ve never pursued fame or recognition, but have served with the purpose of glorifying God and leading people to repent and be saved. Remember: God looks with favor on the lowly and exalts those who are humble. Thank you for the loving example you’ve set for your family and your people. Keep up the good fight. Run the race, for there is laid up for you a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge will award to you on that day (2 Timothy 4:7-8).

Kristen Padilla is the author of Now That I’m Called: A Guide for Women Discerning a Call to Ministry. She is a writer, Bible teacher, wife to a biblical scholar, mom of one, and on staff at Beeson Divinity School of Samford University in Birmingham, Alabama. She occasionally blogs at kristenrpadilla.com.

For the past week or so, I’ve been reading Philip Hallie’s excellent book, Lest Innocent Blood Be Shed, for one of my courses at Truett Seminary.

Hallie’s book is a biography of mid 20th-century French pastor André Trocmé, who led his congregation in the Nazi-occupied city of Le Chambon to provide shelter for as many as 5,000 Jewish refugees between 1938 and 1945.

What causes an entire congregation to risk their lives for complete strangers? What inspired the bravery of Trocmé and the people of Le Chambon, bravery that allowed for continuous resistance to the Nazi Party in spite of tremendous pressure and personal risk?

The answer, appropriately enough, turns out to be Christmas.

‘If Jesus really walked upon the Earth’

I say “Christmas” because Trocmé was impacted deeply by the idea of the Incarnation, that the Son of God became physically, tangibly and bodily manifest among us that night in Bethlehem.

“If Jesus really walked upon the earth,” wrote Trocmé, “why do we keep treating him as if he were a disembodied, impossibly idealistic ethical theory? If he was a real man, then the Sermon on the Mount was made for people on this earth; and if he existed, God has shown us what goodness is for flesh-and-blood people.”

This line, written by Trocmé in his journal during his seminary years, stood out to me.

Many seem to reduce Jesus to an abstract idea, to a kind of myth existing solely to support things believed by whatever segment of culture matters to them.

“What would Jesus do?” often means, at best, “What’s the nicest thing to do in this situation?” or, at worst, “What would I do in this situation?”

In other words, we often ask, “What would Jesus do?” when, as this season reminds us, we should be asking, “What did Jesus do?”

What did Jesus do?

For Trocmé, the question, “What did Jesus do?” had an immediate tangible, identifiable and even life-endangering answer. Jesus Christ, the Son of God, walked the earth as a real person with a real body.

If God himself walked the earth as a human person, how could Trocmé allow human persons to be destroyed?

The Incarnation, God’s becoming a human to save humans, inspired Trocmé and his congregation to risk their lives for strangers fleeing from a desperate situation.

I fear we forget too often how radically the Incarnation challenges our status quos and spurs us on to actions we wouldn’t otherwise take. We assume the answer to “What would Jesus do?” is the same as “what I would do,” elevating ourselves to god-likeness and refusing to be transformed like Trocmé and the people of Le Chambon were.

‘A violent man conquered by God’

Trocmé described himself as “a violent man conquered by God,” an ironic description for a man who would spend the latter part of his life touring the world lecturing on Christian non-violence.

In calling himself “a violent man conquered by God,” Trocmé meant that his nature was completely overturned and determined by his encounter with Christ.

The Christ Trocmé discovered was not a disembodied idea encouraging good behavior. The Christ Trocmé discovered was a flesh-and-blood person as real as anybody who has ever existed.

It was this realization about the weight of Christmas—that not only is God present, not only is Christ God, but God lived in our midst in real time—that caused Trocmé to realize no part of his life, no thought or action, could ever occur without taking this fact into consideration.

What Christmas means for us

The witness of Trocmé and the people of Le Chambon, France, makes me think about the areas of my own life that are not yet conquered by the God who took on flesh and dwelt among us.

We have a habit of finding barriers to protect us from being conquered by Christ, such as common sense, which tells us we cannot take Christ’s words about caring for our enemies seriously in our own lives.

Commitments to abstract ideas about what Christ stood for—Christ is loving, and loving means “x”—keep us from taking Christ’s harsh words about self-discipline and discipleship seriously.

In both cases, the reality of Christ is brushed aside for the sake of safety and convenience.

Christmas reminds us the reality of Christ is not an option—that Christ is not an idea for us to shape and form, but a person as real as you and me.

This season, as we think about God becoming human, let us think about what the sheer fact of Christ’s existence means for us.

Maybe it means something as dramatic as sheltering 5,000 people fleeing for their lives.

Maybe it means something more personal and less dramatic in our context.

Either way, thanks and obedience be to the God who walks among us.

Jake Raabe is a student at Baylor University’s George W. Truett Theological Seminary in Waco, Texas. He is also a co-founder of Patristica Press, a Waco-based publishing house.

All of us want peace. We search for this peace in everything under the sun. Just look at the advertisements our culture produces. Every commercial promises the product they are selling can meet our deepest needs, can save us from a life that doesn’t matter, and can give us peace from the chaos surrounding us. We are all searching for peace in this crazy world. So, where can we find this peace our souls need?

Paul’s closing words to the Philippian church show us where we can find “the peace which surpasses all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).

Rejoice in the Lord

Paul calls the church to rejoice in the Lord always. Peace is found in the joy of the gospel. Through every trial, we can rejoice because we know Jesus loves us. We know Jesus loves us because of the cruel cross and the empty tomb. Peace is found in rejoicing in the Lord and his love and grace.

Pray about everything

Paul tells the Philippians, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God” (Philippians 4:6).

Anxiety and fear can be the enemy of peace. Anxiety and fear internalize the chaos happening around us. One of the ways we fight anxiety is by bringing everything to God in prayer. Paul tells us to bring every feeling, every worry, and every situation to God in prayer with supplication.

Ask God to work. Ask God to show his faithfulness and love. Ask God to reveal his power and glory. Bring your requests to him. No request is too big or too small.

We can begin a fight against anxiety with prayer. Prayer is fruit of a heart that trusts God. The first step towards peace in Christ is prayer.

Have a thankful heart

Notice what Paul says about the life of prayer that leads to peace. “In everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God” (emphasis added). The key phrase in this sentence is “with thanksgiving.”

Bring every request, every situation, every worry and anxiety to God with thanksgiving.

Thankfulness leads us to joy and peace. This doesn’t mean saying “thank you” makes everything better, but it does mean joy is found in Jesus when our hearts are thankful.

Cultivate a heart that recognizes God’s goodness and faithfulness in every mountaintop and in every valley. Thankful hearts are formed to see God’s goodness, love, faithfulness and glory in every moment.

Even when we can’t thank God for the situation we face, we can thank God for his unfailing love and enduring presence. We can thank God for his sure promises. We can thank God for Jesus’ life, death and resurrection that assure us of God’s care for us no matter what we are going through.

Thankful hearts remind us of God’s faithfulness and help us endure the trials and suffering we all face.

How do we cultivate a thankful heart?

Learn to pay attention to God and his work all around us. Paul tells the church to focus their thoughts on things that are true, honorable, just, pure, lovely and commendable. “If there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things” (Philippians 4:8).

Think about truth, goodness and beauty wherever they are revealed. We are thankful when our eyes see God’s goodness everywhere, our ears hear God’s truth proclaimed everywhere, and our hearts behold God’s beauty everywhere.

God leads us to thankfulness and peace by calling us to pay attention, to be attentive to his glory and grace all around us. Thankfulness comes from knowing God, trusting God, and seeing him at work in the world around us.

We are all searching for peace. Peace is found in Jesus. It is found in trusting him with every situation and request with thankful hearts that pay attention to his work in the world.

Zac Harrel is pastor of First Baptist Church in Gustine, Texas.