Many years ago, I served as an adjunct professor of worship and preaching at a Baptist seminary. One day, as I prepared for an upcoming class, I went to a photocopy shop and begin copying large numbers of worship bulletins and sermons to give to my students.
An employee at the shop noticed the photocopied materials and asked me, “Are you a minister?”
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
He said, “Are you a Southern Baptist minister?”
Martin Thielen
“No,” I said, “but I used to be. I’ve recently joined the United Methodist Church.”
He looked at me for a moment with suspicious eyes and asked, “Are you divorced or are you gay?”
“Neither one,” I replied.
He said, “Then why did you change denominations?”
I’ve been asked that question many times over the years. The short answer is that I lost faith in the evangelical church. To that subject I’ll now turn.
Early doubts
In preparation for writing the book from which this column is extracted, I read all my old journals from high school to the present. The journals reminded me I harbored doubts about the evangelical church from the very beginning. For example, even as a 16-year-old, I found it impossible to believe in biblical literalism. I also had early doubts about other evangelical beliefs, including the doctrine of hell. These high school doubts only compounded at college and seminary.
During my college years, I served as president of the Baptist Student Union. I also served as the university sponsored “Contact Team” student speaker. In those two roles, I visited large numbers of Baptist churches. As I went from one congregation to another, I felt a growing discomfort with many aspects of evangelical life, including endless revival meetings, emotional altar calls, a lack of female clergy, an obsession with “soul winning,” a dearth of social consciousness, inordinate speculation on end times, an anti-academic bias, a judgmental spirit, and hard-core fundamentalist theology.
During my junior year in college I wrote in my journal, “The hard truth is that the Baptist church may not be a good match for me.”
These concerns about denominational affiliation intensified during my studies at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, although not because of my studies. At the time, Southern was a highly respected, top-drawer, theologically centrist institution. I received an excellent education there, for which I am still grateful.
However, during my seminary tenure in the early 1980s, the fundamentalist takeover of the Southern Baptist Convention was in full swing. The resulting angst on campus was palpable. Professors felt anxious and vulnerable. And progressive students like me worried about our futures. Near the end of my studies I wrote in my journal, “If the fundamentalists win this war, I will have no future in the SBC.”
Sadly, that proved prophetic.
Feeling out of place
Upon graduation from seminary, I landed an excellent pastoral position at a good-sized county seat church in Arkansas. In spite of my youth and inexperience, the congregation generously loved and supported me. I thrived in that setting, both personally and professionally, along with the church, which experienced significant growth during my tenure. However, in spite of the many positives, I continued to wonder if I was a good fit for the Baptist church.
“In my youthful idealism, I believed churches should serve as the social conscience of their community.”
For example, in my youthful idealism, I believed churches should serve as the social conscience of their community. I had high (although naïve) hopes that my church and denomination would enthusiastically embrace the spirit of the Social Gospel. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered the vast majority of evangelicals did not share that enthusiasm.
When I led a Sunday night session on the subject of “War and the Christian,” including an overview of pacifism and Just War Theory, one of our members complained I wasn’t preaching the Bible. He called me “a liberal in conservative clothing.”
A few months later, I spoke at a denominational meeting about the church’s responsibility to care for God’s creation. It wasn’t well received. After the session concluded, numerous clergymen accosted me and told me in no uncertain terms that “God doesn’t care about saving trees. God only cares about saving souls.”
That evening, I wrote in my journal: “I’m not like the other pastors around here. I don’t speak the same language they do. Sometimes I feel like an alien from another planet. I wonder if I can survive in this environment over the long haul.”
At my next denominational gathering, a national leader of the Moral Majority spoke. His extreme ideology and rabid partisanship deeply troubled me. I wrote in my journal: “Jerry Falwell and the Moral Majority have adopted a far-right conservative platform and baptized it as the Christian stance. Ironically, their vision of the church violates virtually all the teachings of Jesus. If this dangerous movement takes hold in the Southern Baptist Convention, I’m dead meat.”
Unfortunately, within a few years, that concern became a reality.
Other warning signs about my viability in the Baptist church continued to surface. For example, when I attempted to hire a female associate pastor, one of our most conservative members (a former Baptist preacher) went ballistic. He told the deacons, “It’s obvious Pastor Martin doesn’t believe in biblical inerrancy because he rejects the clear teachings of Scripture against female ministers.”
He also accused me of practicing “open communion,” which violated the rules of the Arkansas Baptist Convention. And he was correct. I did welcome all to Christ’s Table, in spite of the misguided rule against it. He also complained that I “didn’t give enough altar calls, never preached on hell, didn’t schedule enough revivals meetings, wasn’t a soul winner, and was too liberal to be a Baptist preacher.”
Thankfully, these kinds of criticisms rarely occurred during my first pastorate. And even when they did, they didn’t seem to make much of a dent in my strong support among the congregation. However, these early experiences raised growing doubts in my mind about my place in the evangelical world.
Those doubts grew exponentially during my second pastorate. For example, when my church hosted a community-wide Thanksgiving service, I invited Black churches along with the white ones. Several leaders of my congregation vehemently protested. A group of them came to my office and demanded that I disinvite the Black churches.
“Although racism among churchgoers isn’t unique to Southern conservatives, the history and culture of evangelicalism provides a fertile breeding ground for it.”
Although I refused to do so, I paid a steep price for the decision. That troubling interaction, along with many others, opened my eyes to the deep wells of racial prejudice that exist in many Southern evangelical churches. Although racism among churchgoers isn’t unique to Southern conservatives, the history and culture of evangelicalism provides a fertile breeding ground for it.
Given these kinds of disconcerting experiences, I increasingly felt out of place in the Baptist church and in the larger evangelical community. As my doctor of ministry adviser wrote in his final evaluation of my doctoral work, “Martin is out of step with mainstream Baptist life.”
He wasn’t wrong. And the worst was yet to come.
Former headquarters of the Baptist Sunday School Board in Nashville.
The Baptist Vatican
In spite of my denominational doubts, I grew more and more embedded within the Baptist ecosystem. I served large-steeple churches, earned a doctoral degree at a Baptist seminary, served on the boards of numerous Baptist institutions, published large numbers of articles and books at the Baptist publishing house, and was a regular speaker in Baptist circles. All of which landed me a job at a young age at denominational headquarters in Nashville, Tenn., at what my friends called “The Baptist Vatican.”
For four years, I served the SBC as a national worship and preaching editor, author, consultant, conference leader and teacher. I absolutely loved the job and hoped to stay long term. But the drumbeat of fundamentalism was impossible to ignore. As I wrote in my journal, “I finally got my dream job and the fundamentalists are threatening it.”
It’s difficult to adequately describe my experience in denominational work. On the one hand, I consistently felt overwhelming vocational joy. I produced helpful magazines and books for clergy and lay leaders, traveled all over the country leading workshops, wrote extensively and enjoyed meaningful friendships with colleagues. About one year into the work I wrote in my journal: “This is the best job I’ve ever had in my life. I absolutely love it, am well suited for it, and am told that I excel at it.”
On the other hand, I had a front-row seat to the ruthless fundamentalist movement that seemed hell bent on destroying the SBC, all in the name of defending the Bible from liberalism. Every institution was under attack.
“I had a front-row seat to the ruthless fundamentalist movement that seemed hell bent on destroying the SBC.”
For example, large numbers of seminary professors were either forced out, directly fired or resigned in protest, including a mass faculty resignation at the seminary I had attended. According to my journal, this represented “the last flush of the toilet at a once great seminary.”
The editors at Baptist Press were canned for reporting accurate news the fundamentalists didn’t want published. The president of the Foreign Mission Board also went down, along with several seminary presidents. The fundamentalist purge of so called “liberals” became a major bloodbath. And the architects of the movement were just getting started. As one major denominational player told me, “The SBC as we knew it is irretrievably gone.”
The institution I worked for (the Baptist Sunday School Board) was not spared. Rumors surfaced that trustees planned to get rid of our president, making everyone nervous. Editors, including me, were pressured to use fundamentalist writers. The director of my department informed me that several trustees complained to him that my magazine was “not conservative enough.” We learned from a reliable inside source that the fundamentalists had a “hit list” of editors they planned to fire, and I wondered if I was on it.
When the trustees gathered to terminate our president on trumped up charges of being liberal, I, along with many other employees, attended the meeting. Fundamentalist board members launched vicious and untrue accusations against this kind and capable man who had given his life to faithful denominational service. After forcing him to take early retirement, the trustee chair had the gall to say, “God’s will has been done tonight.”
A collective groan from employees filled the room. He then invited everyone to kneel in prayer. Many employees in attendance, including me, walked out in disgust.
Later that year, a right-wing extremist was installed as the new president. Key leaders of the fundamentalist movement spoke at the event. The choir from a hardcore religious right church sang. During the service, the newly installed president said, “Biblical inerrancy is the track we are now on.”
After the ceremony concluded, my best friend looked at me, tears of grief rolling down his face. He said, “We better prepare our resumes.”
The next morning, I told my supervisor I saw no future in denominational work. I informed him I would begin looking for a good pastorate right away. Then, in an extremely emotional moment I said, “I absolutely hate leaving a job that I love so much.” He said, “The job is gone, Martin. The fundamentalists took it away.”
The final goodbye
Several months later, I resigned from “The Baptist Vatican” and accepted a large Baptist pastorate in Honolulu. However, my days as an evangelical were numbered. For example, when I preached a sermon on environmental stewardship called “Tending God’s Garden,” about half a dozen members angrily walked out. The next week, I received several scathing letters accusing me of “preaching on social issues rather than preaching the gospel.”
One Sunday, after preaching on the subject of religious doubt, our drummer quit on the spot, telling me, “You are a liberal and you don’t preach the word.” A few months later, during vacation Bible school, the director asked me why I hadn’t scheduled an evangelistic service for the children, as the denominational curriculum recommended. I told her, “Because I don’t think young children need to be saved.” She wasn’t happy with that response.
After our mostly moderate congregation ordained a female minister, several Baptist pastors in the state began treating me like the anti-Christ. And when news broke that one of our staff members (who was pastor of our satellite congregation) was gay, I had to immediately fire him. Under no circumstance could a Southern Baptist church, even a moderate one, retain an openly homosexual pastor.
“Several Baptist pastors in the state began treating me like the anti-Christ.”
The experience broke my heart. Although my position on homosexuality was still evolving at that time, I knew the hardline Baptist position against gay people was unjust, and I didn’t want to be part of that discrimination anymore.
Near the end of my tenure in Hawaii, I received an offer to serve as a preaching and worship consultant at a Baptist state convention. I also received a job offer to be the editor of the Baptist newspaper at another state convention. In the pre-fundamentalist takeover of the SBC, I would have jumped at either opportunity. But given the new realities, those options no longer were viable. As I wrote in my journal, “The fundamentalist takeover murdered my career.”
Although I still enjoyed surfing the waves at Waikiki Beach, back on the mainland, the fundamentalist demolition of the SBC continued unabated. A cruel, arrogant, partisan and toxic distortion of Christianity now controlled the denomination. There would be no going back.
A few weeks before resigning my Honolulu pastorate, my wife said to me: “I’m sorry for all the pain you are going through. But I’m ready to put this SBC drama behind us and move forward with our lives.”
After 24 years as a Baptist, including 12 years as a full-time ordained minister, it was time for me to say goodbye to the Southern Baptist Convention.
No second thoughts
Although leaving the evangelical church proved extraordinarily painful and costly, I’ve never regretted doing so. As my good friend (a former SBC music minister) likes to say, always with a mischievous smile and in a playful spirit of hyperbole, “I’d rather eat glass than return to the Baptist church.”
Although my friend appreciates many things about her evangelical heritage, she’s glad to be out. I concur with her assessment. Since departing the SBC in the mid-1990s, my decision to leave has been reconfirmed over and over again. Sadly, as bad as things were back then, they have gotten exponentially worse.
For example, several years after I left the SBC, they changed their statement of faith. They now insist that women must “graciously submit” to their husbands. Last year (2023), they kicked out several churches, including one of their largest ones, for having female ministers on staff. And in recent years we learned that the Executive Committee of the SBC ignored and then covered up large numbers of clergy sexual abuse cases.
The SBC also has doubled down on biblical inerrancy. During a debate about women in ministry, a key Baptist leader claimed, “God cannot call a woman to preach because God is bound by Scripture, which forbids woman preachers.”
“Increasingly, the evangelical world shares anti-science conspiracy theories from its pulpits.”
This extreme position that the eternal Spirit of the universe is “bound by Scripture” (written by imperfect mortals thousands of years ago with archaic world views) is a vivid case of “bibliolatry,” where one worships the Bible rather than God.
Since my departure, the SBC has become even more partisan than it was before. For example, one Baptist leader recently said, “It’s virtually impossible to be both a Democrat and a Christian. I don’t think it can be done.” As a Christian and a Democrat, I find that statement highly offensive.
Of course, these sorts of problems don’t just exist in the SBC. We see the same dynamics playing out in the larger evangelical world. For example, in recent years, evangelicals have aggressively stepped up their hostility against the LGBTQ community. At a recent evangelical anti-LBGTQ rally, a hateful and angry participant held up a large sign that said “LGBT = Let God Burn Them.”
During the pandemic, large numbers of evangelicals refused to pause in-person worship services, and many of them challenged the safety and effectiveness of vaccines. Increasingly, the evangelical world shares anti-science conspiracy theories from its pulpits and social media posts, making the world a more dangerous place.
The worst failure of the evangelical church in recent years is their overwhelming and unyielding support of Donald Trump, who violates every value they claim to hold —including character, decency, marital fidelity, truth-telling, family values, Christian piety, dedication to Christ, and the preservation of democracy. For some frightening reason, evangelicals love his hate.
For me, this almost cultlike adulation of the most anti-Jesus president in American history became the final straw in the collapse of evangelical credibility.
For example, many of the same evangelical leaders who ferociously condemned Bill Clinton for his sexual indiscretions fiercely defended Donald Trump for far worse sexual behavior, including bragging about grabbing women by their genitals, paying off a porn star for her silence, and being found civilly liable by a jury of his peers for committing sexual assault. The hypocrisy is staggering. Not only have evangelicals trashed their own brand, they have done irreparable damage to the entire Christian witness, including turning away millions of people, especially young ones, from the Christian faith.
“Evangelical support of Donald Trump will go down as one of the worst failures in American church history.”
I believe evangelical support of Donald Trump will go down as one of the worst failures in American church history. And lest you think these comments are political, I can assure you they have nothing to do with partisan politics and everything to do with Christian ethics.
Unfortunately, many more examples of evangelical failures could be mentioned, including demonization of immigrants, prejudice against Muslims, the fostering of white Christian nationalism, support for authoritarianism leadership, a willful disregard of Jesus’ example and teachings, and an overall spirit of anger, fear, negativity and self-righteous judgmentalism.
In short, evangelicalism has become a highly negative force, doing great damage to the Christian faith, the American church and the common good of humanity. In the words of Obery Hendricks Jr., evangelical faith in America has devolved into “Christians against Christianity.”
However, that doesn’t mean I think all evangelicals are bad. I don’t. And it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate my evangelical heritage. I do. But that doesn’t change the fact that the evangelical church in America lost its way a long time ago.
Which is why, in the summer of 1994, I sold my surfboards, resigned my Southern Baptist pastorate in Honolulu, and left the evangelical world forever.
Martin Thielen is the founder and author of DoubtersParish.com. This column is an excerpt from his (free) book, My Long Farewell to Traditional Religion and What Remains in the books section of www.DoubtersParish.com. The site also includes posts, articles, stories, a novel and clergy resources, all at no cost.
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