From Baptist Roots to Methodist Fire (Part One)

Trading Symbols, Finding Grace:

Why Am I Even Writing This?

A question I get from time to time is, Wait, how did you become a United Methodist when you were a Baptist pastor? It’s a good question and one that is more complicated than a quick explanation. I will break my story up over a few posts.

I have no assumption that this will be meaningful for anyone. It will be meaningful for me; I find writing cathartic. I am very aware that my story is one of many, yet it is mine. I am not exactly sure why I am writing these next few posts. Maybe it is for me to look back on, or for my children to look back and read?

Maybe some of the questions they do not have now but may have in the future can be answered here. I certainly hope so. I don’t know, but perhaps in the commonality of my story, you too can find some comfort.

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Not All Baptists Are the Same

My winding road from being a Southern Baptist to a United Methodist is filled with starts and stops, twists and turns, and a lot of pain. I did not leave the denomination that nurtured me and helped pay for my education lightly. As a matter of fact, I tried to stay. I attempted to shift and navigate my way through the complexity of Baptist life in the ’90s and early 2000s.

I guess I should first say that the word Baptist doesn’t define one group or denomination. All Baptists are not the same, nor do they have the same denominational structures.

You have Independent Baptists, Free Will Baptists, American Baptists, Southern Baptists, Cooperative Baptists, Alliance of Baptists, and the list goes on. When I use the word Baptist for my story, it is about the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) and the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship (CBF). I will try to distinguish by using those abbreviations.

I attended an SBC church from the time I was born. Sundays were filled with church, both morning and evening. My Wednesdays consisted of RA’s (Royal Ambassadors), which were kind of like Boy Scouts for Baptist boys. We even had our own pledge!

The Baptist church of my childhood was attended by my mother as a child and was also attended by my grandfather as a child. Our history there went back for many years. My grandmother, grandfather, great-grandparents, along with aunts and uncles, were buried in the cemetery at the church.

I say all that to say my heritage was deeply invested in this SBC church.

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When Grace Was Denied

The most unthinkable thing happened when I was 12—my mother and father decided to leave the church that we had so much history in and move to another church. The new one was not far from my home.

What I am about to say may seem odd, for the new church was also an SBC church, yet this was the first shift away from the Baptist church for me. It was not a literal shift, for the new church was just as Southern Baptist as the one before, but it was the first time that I saw the pain that could be caused by the church.

The painful exit from the local church of my childhood was hard. I saw my mother, who had so much history there, devastated by the actions of some in leadership at the church.

Looking back, it seems so ridiculous—the way that some of the church leadership acted was filled with so much judgment and no grace.

The situation was centered around my cousin. She was a wonderful person; she has since left this world. My cousin was in a very committed relationship with a wonderful man. Their relationship was deep and lovely. She became pregnant with his child. They decided to get married, which most likely was happening regardless of the pregnancy.

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A Beautiful Wedding and a Final Goodbye

This is where the story takes a turn. They requested the minister of our church to marry them. He agreed and was looking forward to blessing their union.

The leadership of the church caught wind of the situation and forbade the wedding to take place inside the church building. From there, many painful meetings took place. My father served as a deacon at this church.

To no avail, the consensus was that the wedding could not take place inside the church building. The minister was embarrassed and devastated. My parents were heartbroken and felt betrayed by those they had lived life with for many years.

The wedding took place at my sister’s home. It was beautiful. The minister came and conducted the wedding. The couple were married until my cousin’s death many years later.

What did not last, though, was my family’s relationship with that church. Come to think of it, the minister’s relationship with that church came to an end shortly after this ordeal as well.

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The First Fracture in My Faith Tradition

This was the first time I had to face the fact that the place that nurtured my faith, the place that cared for me, the place where I had entered the baptismal waters at the ripe old age of 8 years old (this is, of course, tongue-in-cheek—I will get to that story another time)—this was also the place that could cause harm.

And the governmental structure of this denominational church was problematic. It was problematic not solely because my family was hurt; it was problematic because its decisions did not match the message of grace that it preached.

It would be the first step away, even if just in my heart, from the Baptist church.

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Up Next…

In the next segment, I will get into how ingrained into the system I became and how I became an ordained Southern Baptist minister.

Riveting, I know. Sit tight on the edge of your seats. While you wait enjoy the RA pledge, there was a time I had this memorized! 😳

So, I dont publish frequently enough to have compensation but I have decided to add this option, Buy Me a Coffee. This is a small way to contribute to some creative projects I have in mind. Feel free to contribute or ignore, you are loved either way :)

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