For decades, there was a historic wisdom in the connectionalism and autonomy of local churches within Southern Baptist life. That wisdom is evident in the way local churches have related to one another — fostering friendships, camaraderie and mutual support. Local associations, which pastors and churches could voluntarily join, offered resources and ways to access support from a broader community.
Over my years in ministry, I enjoyed participating in these local associations across four different church fields in Texas. During the “big tent years” of Baptists, our fellowship transcended doctrinal differences and was rooted in the shared experiences of life and ministry. It was a vital source of support for me and many other pastors.
Michael Chancellor
In these settings, I met leaders from the state convention who came to teach and train us. I served on the Executive Board of the Baptist General Convention of Texas and later on the board of trustees at my alma mater for 12 years. These were rich experiences that gave me valuable insights into the state convention’s operations and the legacy of Texas Baptists. At the time, this legacy included a robust network of 27 institutions, including universities, hospitals and children’s homes.
These experiences gave me a glimpse into what our state convention was capable of doing.
This brings me to the core issue: The breakdown of accountability that led to the sexual abuse scandal. A significant part of Southern Baptist leadership — from local associations to the state convention — once knew most of the pastors in a given region. We knew about one another’s ministries and often met at state conventions or other gatherings. It was rare for a significant event to happen in a church without someone at the Baptist Building being aware of it.
Given this level of connection, I was not surprised by the scope of the abuse scandal or by how many people had escaped consequences. I knew associations hadn’t done their due diligence and our state convention had looked away. This abdication of responsibility, I believe, was due to a paralyzing fear of lawsuits — a fear I never fully understood.
The Baptist Building had a law firm on retainer, and we had access to those lawyers. I even recall an instance in my own church where we sought legal advice on a simple matter, trusting in a combination of legal knowledge and faith to make a good-faith decision.
“State conventions have abandoned their influence and knowledge in the fight against predatory pastors and ministers.”
Something tragic has happened to the chain of connection in Southern Baptist life. State conventions have abandoned their influence and knowledge in the fight against predatory pastors and ministers.
The response of our leaders has been profoundly inadequate. When asked about the abuse, “We have done what we can” is an unacceptable answer. Associations and state conventions are full of knowledge about who serves in their regions, and this knowledge has not been used to protect congregations.
Likewise, “Ministry Safe” is not a complete solution. While it focuses on protecting children and teens, it isn’t designed to protect congregations from predatory pastors and staff.
Now, it seems this responsibility has been handed to the Southern Baptist Convention — the same body that initially resisted an investigation into sexual abuse and was slow to implement a solution. They eventually created a hotline, but a state convention official whose job is dedicated to Abuse Prevention and Response wasn’t even aware it was operational.
Southern Baptists not only were dragged to the stark reality of a problem they already knew about but were also slow to address it and offer solutions. The response from local and regional associations has been a comical “Not my monkey, not my circus,” mirroring the woefully inadequate response of the Catholic Church.
To the leaders of the Southern Baptist Convention, I ask: Tell me to my face that you care about the souls God has entrusted to your care.
Michael Chancellor served 33 years as pastor of four Baptist churches in Texas, six years as a mental health manager in a maximum-security Texas prison before becoming a therapist in private practice in Round Rock, Texas. He now lives in Taylor, Texas.