There, but for the grace . . .

Last week, President Obama was in Colorado Springs trying to comfort those whose lives have been devastated by the atrocious fires which have imperiled that area, as well as other parts of Colorado. And in expressing his, and the concern of countless other Americans for those suffering from this natural disaster, he offered this cliche:

“There, but for the grace of God go I.”

A Book Review

Several months ago I read–care-fully, with respect, as well as an appropriate critical eye–Professor Herb Silverman’s Candidate Without a Prayer: An Autobiography of a Jewish Atheist in the Bible Belt (Pitchstone Publishing, 2012).

Habitat’s Grandfather

In recent days, our nation has celebrated, in particular, the life and legacy of the late Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.; and, in general, King’s vision in the ongoing struggle for civil rights on behalf of those dis-enfranchised, in whatever way, with respect to the “American dream” of dignity, freedom and justice for all.

Concerning the latter, if many these days likely know the story of the late Millard Fuller, the “father” of Habitat for Humanity, and may have even participated in this vital ministry which provides suitable housing for those who might not otherwise be afforded such, I’m also aware of how few seem to know the story of Habitat’s “grandfather.”

The late Reverend Clarence Jordan (pronounced Jerdan, in his south Georgia drawl) grew up in prominent, affluent family circumstances. Following his graduation, with a degree in agriculture, from the University of Georgia, Clarence attended the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky, where he graduated with a Ph. D. in the Bible’s Greek New Testament.

Along the way of his youthful journey, despite the culturally defined conformist appearance, Clarence was becoming notably radicalized with respect to the claims of Christian discipleship. “I tricked myself,” he once told me. “I memorized the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7), so I could show off as an aspiring young minister. Except, then I started paying attention to what Jesus is saying” in that seminal portion of scripture.

If “pacifism” were ever an acceptable ethical norm anywhere, it was hardly, here in America at least, during the height of our nation’s engagement in World War II. Yet Clarence had become a “pacifist.”

Nor was the nation, much less Jordan’s native Southland, prepared for his vision of “inter-racial community.”

Not to mention, the economic implications, expressed so formidably in the Sermon on the Mount, for the kind of Christian “community/fellowship/communion” the Greek New Testament calls koinonia.

“I knew no self-respecting Southern Baptist Church would ever call me as its pastor,” Dr. Jordan would later say. Thus it was in 1942 (a year before I was born) that Clarence and his wife, Florence, along with another young couple, the Martin Englands, who shared the Jordan’s vision of “radical Christian community”; with, in fact, the financial assistance of a wealthy Jewish businessman, from Louisville, the Jordans and Englands cobbled together enough money to finance the purchase of a modest parcel of land, near Americus, Georgia, on which they proceeded to farm peanuts and other southern specialties.

They called it Koinonia. Indeed, a “radical witness to Christian community” resting on those three moral principles: non-violence, racial equality and the economic justice of mutually and voluntarily shared material resources.

If Koinonia’s neighbors may have looked askance at the Jordans and Englands and others who joined them during those early years, still relations were cordial enough to avert open conflict.

By the 1950′s, however, as the larger civil rights movement became so threatening to so many, certainly in the South, along with the “Red Scare” of the “McCarthy Hearings” in that Cold War era, Koinonia became the object of overt violence, including death threats and failed assassination attempts aimed at Jordan, his family and followers. An economic boycott, perpetrated by the local business and financial establishment, represented even more grave consequences. But for the support of friends from across the country, Koinonia’s witness might have been destroyed.

Yet it was when the Jordans were expelled from the nearby Southern Baptist Church in and through which, as faithful members, they had served with sincere devotion; indeed, it was this, more than any other form of being violated, that broke Clarence’s heart. The “formal charge” was that of “befriending colored people,” including “inviting them to church.” This, in a congregation that supported the sending of missionaries to Africa. The Jordans had betrayed the local mores and manners of southern civility. Those good church folk found such Jordan kind of Christians too threatening to be around, and for Clarence, it was like being kicked out of his family.

In the face of such painful reality, Clarence Jordan’s sense of humor served him as well as his intelligence, character and courage. Or as he once put it, after having been investigated by the House Un-American Activities Committee: “I can’t imagine being a Christian and not being called a Communist. And to become defensive, that’s like running for your birth certificate anytime someone calls you an SOB!”

The late Ken Chafin, another distinguished Baptist minister, put it well, when he said: “Clarence Jordan loved his enemies. Clarence’s friends didn’t necessarily love his enemies, but he did.”

I met Dr. Jordan in 1968, not long after Millard Fuller had come into his life.

Tebowing

‘Tis the season for overdosing on football–college and the pros. And in the mix of such craziness–does any college team, hyperbolically speaking, not get to go to a bowl game?–is what is being called, these days, “Tebowing.” With high schoolers staging the posture, according to media accounts, as among the latest of teenaged fads. It could, I suppose, be worse.

The term refers, of course, to the sensational Tim Tebow, a left-handed quarterback with the size and strength of a tight end who, in his college career at the University of Florida, led the Gators to a national championship while also winning the Heisman Trophy as the best offensive player in college football.

Tebow was then drafted in the first round (involving, naturally, some big bucks) by the professional Denver Broncos, which scandalized the football purists who claim his throwing mechanics are flawed, rendering him incapable of being a successful NFL quarterback. Forgetting, at least, Bernie Kosar, another quarterback who had a successful college and NFL career, but threw side-arm. Or even the spectacular Drew Brees who’s supposed to be too short to throw over 6’7″ defensive linemen.

Except Tebow has had some unexpected success, upon being inserted into a season of accumulating losses, as the Bronco’s starting quarterback. Until the last two games, where the defenses of the New England Patriots and the Buffalo Bills appear to have discovered the talented Tebow’s possible Achilles heel. But then that’s what defenses in any professional sport are paid to do. Find a flaw somewhere, anywhere in whomever the him or them. Football being, of course, the ultimate “team sport.” Since Michael Jordan could dominate a basketball game and Sandy Koufax, a baseball game–almost by themselves–but not in football, where everyone, on every play, has a job to do.

That, however, is not what “Tebowing” refers to. It is, rather, the fundamentalist Christian posture of an athletically talented young man–who, by the way, appears to “walk the walk,” rather than merely just “talking the talk”–a posture captured when Tebow, contrary to Jesus’ admonition to “pray in secret” (Matthew 6), often kneels on one knee appearing to pray. Not that public praying in pro sports–since they involve private enterprise–isn’t protected by the First Amendment to our nation’s Constitution. Just as public praying in public institutions is a violation of that same amendment.

Even if anyone who ever played (or at least practiced) football has heard a coach bark, “Take a knee, men.” And when that “take a knee” command occurs during the August dog-day-heat of pre-season, two-a-day practices, whoever isn’t praying, “God, please deliver me from this hell,” surely deserves all the punishment a game like football is meant to provide. Or as someone has said, in military jargon, “There are no atheists in foxholes.”

What is lost, however, in all the “Tebowing” enthusiasm is how revealing sports, in general, and football, in particular, serve to package the shallowness of a fundamentalist kind of Christianity.

Or as we say, here in the South: “Football’s like NASCAR–it isn’t a sport–it’s a religion!”