My grandfather Stigall was a walking quote. A man who, by intention or by divine gift, could lay down a zinger with little effort.
His thoughts and expressions came out in eruptions. Held in for as long as he could, they’d escape pursed lips drawn on by a creator who found beauty in giving faces an extra line of living as proof of genuine character.
“Bun,” as he was known, was a farmer and had been all his life. Surrounded by livestock, gardens and tobacco fields, I wondered if he even felt there was a choice in the matter. Formal education was not his strong suit. He could do fractions in his head but suffered from dyslexia that went undiagnosed in the 1930s.
Justin Cox
In a one-room schoolhouse, he sat through what passed as standardized education in those days for as long as he could until the arrival of a new schoolteacher, Ms. Mausby. After a couple of weeks, the two sat down after the class had let out.
“You know,” she said, looking at him like teachers look at students who don’t fit a mold, “I think one of us won’t make it through the rest of the year.”
“That old lady was right,” he told me. “I walked out and never went back. I don’t think it hurt her feelings much.” He then looked at me and added, “Mine neither.”
He spat wisdom like he did the Red Man chaw he kept pressed against his cheek. His knowledge straightforwardly plain sailing, yet uncouth to the point of being hushed by those in more polite societies. The kind of comments one has to utter with a grin.
“He has been gone for more than 20 years, but time has not silenced his voice to me.”
He has been gone for more than 20 years, but time has not silenced his voice to me. It returns unprovoked with the force of a stretched rubber band.
“Jack,” he would say, never calling anyone by their given name, “Don’t ever let anybody walk all over you.”
I try to live as if such were true while attending church business meetings.
However, not all of his gems are so easily practiced.
“Never talk religion and politics. You’ll lose friends and family because of it. People have a lot of opinions and feel strongly theirs is the right one. Best to leave it alone.”
As a Baptist minister prone to agitate, I’ve done a piss poor job with that one.
That’s not to say I haven’t heard the same plea elsewhere. Since 2016, a soft murmur has grown into a full-on shout to keep politics out of the pulpit. Faith communities, many of whom have been in steady decline in attendance for decades, aren’t looking to rock their nearly empty boats in constantly stormy waters. These congregations are made up of donkeys and elephants, not quite red or blue, but something in the middle. Known as “purple churches,” those attending try to hold and toe the line as much as possible in the name of unity.
“Conformity for the sake of comfortableness frequently proves too great a temptation.”
I often have wondered aloud how such groups can make decisions and move forward on any issue without creating a raucous caucus, but conformity for the sake of comfortableness frequently proves too great a temptation. Not that the flip side is any better. Yes, to be of one mind and one accord is quite the feat. Yet, how often does this produce comfy echo chambers of head nodders?
I don’t have an answer, but I can see the problem. Pastors are constantly encouraged to steer away from anything resembling politics. I find it funny that professional politicians aren’t told the same when they stand behind their own sacred podiums.
What’s a minister to do?
Well, I’m told the solution is simple. Usually, I’m told this right before hearing:
Don’t make it so hard on yourself, preacher.
People got enough to worry about in this world.
We need a place to come and forget about what’s going on for just a bit.
I hear about those sorts of problems in the news, and I come to church to be uplifted.
I come to church to claim a bit of calm in all this mess for at least one hour a week.
That’s what’s wrong with the church nowadays, nobody comes because they don’t wanna hear about that stuff.
I listen to their words. Knowing their intentions aren’t empty. My grandmother would say, “They mean well.”
People are going through a lot when the news is constant and the propaganda unceasing. Folks find ways to disassociate. Streaming a Netflix series or doomscrolling on their phone. I suppose coming to church is just another way to tune out.
“Should I not touch the policies that hurt people? If not, what should I preach?”
What am I to say when the powerful attempt to manipulate the stock market? When those who get another opportunity to grab, while those who have worked 35 plus years watch as their 401(k)s plummet? Where is the good news for the poor?
What am I supposed to say when people like Kilmar Abrego Garcia aren’t given due process, when they are denied the rights of a justice system? When elected officials like Donald Trump and El Salvador President Nayib Bukele say there is no plan to return Garcia to the United States after being wrongfully deported? Where is the promise that the captives will be set free?
What words do I have for those experiencing the hardship of tariffs? And why now, that their eyes have been opened to the damage they are doing, can they not see the opportunity to make a corrective change?
Or, as states like Idaho, Michigan and the Dakotas introduce legislation that challenges the Supreme Court ruling of Obergefell v. Hodges, the case granting same-sex marriage rights nationwide, do I keep quiet and complian as equality diminishes for those so long oppressed?
Should I not touch the policies that hurt people? If not, what should I preach?
“Just preach Jesus,” they tell me.
The irony is not lost on me when I tell them, “I thought I already was.”
Justin Cox received his theological education from Campbell University and Wake Forest University School of Divinity and is currently enrolled in the doctor of ministry program at McAfee School of Theology. He is an ordained minister holding standing in the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship and American Baptist Churches USA. When not spending time with his spouse and daughters, he can be found writing and baking late into the night. His thoughts and reflections are his own.
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