Siloes of Like-Gospeled People

Pecan Orchard at Koinonia Farm (photo from Emerging Communities - Ancient Roots)

A Fellowship of Brokenness

Bill Leonard
(Baptist News Global photo)

Dr. Bill Leonard, of Wake Forest University School of Divinity, has written an editorial about things that are happening with the CBF (Cooperative Baptist Fellowship). The CBF was formed as a place where more moderate Southern Baptists could find refuge in the wake of the fundamentalist takeover of the Southern Baptist Convention. Leonard describes a “fellowship of brokenness” among the Baptist faithful.  His essay indicates that perhaps even the CBF cannot hold together that community that was hurt by the intolerance of the conservative/fundamentalist wing that wrested control of the Southern Baptist Convention some 35 years ago.

Dr. Leonard's essay, “Baptist Brokenness: Reconciliation and revolution,” is a heart-felt and realistic assessment of a movement that is still in process. Anyone who has a connection with Southern Baptists or Cooperative Baptists, or who is a student of recent church history will find his assessment to be of interest. He describes his fellow CBF Baptists who are finding themselves torn yet again over matters of sexual orientation and equality for the LGBTQ community as creating for themselves “siloes of like-gospeled people.”  You can read his essay here.

An Intentional Community

As a former Baptist who found refuge outside of the SBC in what I saw as a more historic expression of Christianity (yet still a “silo of like-gospeled people” for me), Leonard's essay took me back to 1983 when I was trying to see my way through what was happening in the SBC. I visited Koinonia Farm in Georgia and found there a vibrant intentional community which I liken to Leonard's term, “silo of like-gospeled people.”

Clarence Jordan looking at his
peanut crop (photo from
Koinonia Farm website)

Koinonia Farm was founded by Clarence Jordan, author of The Cotton Patch Gospel. Jordan was a Baptist minister with a degree from Southern Baptist Seminary in Louisville Kentucky. He also had a degree in agriculture. In 1942 he began to live out his calling by combining his agricultural and ministerial training to establish Koinonia Farm in rural Georgia. Koinonia was founded as an intentional Christian community where the people set out to follow Christ along the principals they found in the New Testament. They pooled their resources and shared everything in common.

They affirmed racial equality, taking a cue from the New Testament proclamation that “there is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” (Galations 3:27) They also advocated pacifism and non-violence (again based upon New Testament principles). Needless to say, their actions did no sit well in the Jim Crow South, yet they persevered in spite of the opposition and threats from the KKK as well as from the Southern establishment. (For a timeline and brief history of Koinonia Farm, go to the World Religions and Spirituality website here)

Visiting the Cotton Patch (and pecan orchard) 

As a young man in 1983, I had a degree from a Baptist seminary and had spent two years on the mission field but was becoming more and more disheartened by the conflicts within my denomination. While I was “in between jobs,”  I decided to visit Koinonia Farm to see what was happening in that radical faith community.

I had read Dallas Lee's book, The Cotton Patch Evidence which told the story of Clarence Jordan and Koinonia Farm, so I had a pretty good understanding of the farm's history and mission. I was eager to see what their life of faith was like first-hand.

Koinonia offers visitors the opportunity to enter into their life of work and faith. Visitors participate in some of the work of the farm during the day and share a communal lunch in their large meeting room. At night, visitors are hosted for dinner in one of the member's homes there on the farm (the host house rotates each day). At least that was the way it worked when I was there in 1983.

Florence Jordan in 1976 (photo
from Koinonia Farm website)

On my second night there, it was my good fortune to have dinner with none other than Clarence Jordan's widow, Florence. It happened to be her turn to host the guests. That evening was a remarkable time as I sat and talked with her about the history of Koinonia and the trials they endured in the early years as the farm developed.

Florence Jordan told me that a few years earlier a new young pastor of Rehobeth Baptist Church, the church that had disfellowshipped the Jordan family back in the 1950s, came to talk with her. He had learned of how badly his church had treated them for their living a gospel of racial equality.* He came to her to say that his church owed her an apology. He even invited her to come back.

Ms. Jordan told me that, of course, she did not go back and had no intention of ever going back. As I sat at her dinner table, I realized that I was witnessing the life of someone who had endured much opposition and misunderstanding from the Southern cultural Baptists who could not get beyond their racism and nationalism long enough to hear the gospel that they claimed to preach. The people at Koinonia stood fast to their understanding of the gospel of Jesus in the face of bitter opposition from those who should have been their brothers and sisters in the faith.

The story and the witness of Koinonia Farm brought an important question to my mind: How many of us, as we go about our lives, can see beyond our own cultural limitations to know the gospel of peace and justice without the example of those who hear a higher calling? 

Ms. Jordan also spoke that evening of her children. None of them were living at Koinonia Farm, and she understood that that was their reasonable choice. The way she put it, she and her husband, Clarence, had made their choice, along with the others there at Koinonia to be in an intentional community. She understood that her children had to be free to make their own choices about how to live their lives.

In talking about her children, she told me that her eldest daughter, Eleanor, moved to Indiana and became the first female mayor of Elkhart. “She only served one term,” Ms Jordan told me, “but she spent that term making sure that permanent improvements were put in place – and she knew how to get the federal grants to make those things happen. She spent her time wisely while she was in public office to make changes that helped everyone.”

Finding those Like-Gospeled People

The people at Koinonia Farm had created their own silo of like-gospeled people. As I read Dr. Leonard's assessment of Baptist life today, I see that such may be the way of many from here on out – finding that silo where they can live out the gospel as they are called to do. The monastics and desert fathers did that as well way back before the Baptists began their mission. Those early monastics understood that to be true to their understanding of the faith, they had to form an intentional community that was apart from the dominant cultural droning of their day.

Looking back, so many of those intentional communities – siloes, if you will – have served as road markers for the rest of us down through the years. Those communities, then and now, have often served as pathfinders for other seekers (at that point, the “silo” becomes a “beacon”). I would not tell you which silo to take, which community to gravitate toward,  or even whether that is your calling. I would simply say, take notice that there are action groups and spiritual communities scattered throughout society. We are not all called to the same task, but if you find a happy band traveling in the same direction as you are, you may have found your silo.


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* It was not simply a matter of being shunned by the local Baptist church that the Jordans had faced. Koinonia Farm faced local economic boycotts of their products and persecution from the community in an attempt to drive them out. When Clarence died of a heart attack in 1969, no county official would agree to come out to the farm to examine the body to declare him dead. Friends there on the farm had to put his body in the back of a station wagon and drive it into Americus for the coroner write out the death certificate.  

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Monday Music: A Change Is Gonna Come (Sam Cooke)

Sometimes hope for change comes to us from those who ache the most for change

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Saturday Haiku: Evening Rain

steady bridge

secures safe passage

sudden rain

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Image: Evening Rain at Atake on the Great Bridge (Ōhashi Atake no yūdachi), no. 52
            from the series One Hundred Views of Famous Places in Edo (Meisho Edo hyakkei)

Artist: Utagawa Hiroshige
Date: Ninth month of 1857 (series published 1856-1858)
Media: Color Woodcut With Mica

Location: Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco

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Remembering a Remarkable Life

The Rev. Canon William Maurice Branscomb, Jr., at his 90th birthday celebration with longtime parishioner Frances Hinckell, also 90, at Grace Church Woodlawn, Birmingham, Alabama, where he was rector for many years. A parishioner writes, “Grace is what it is because of his leadership.” 

(From The Daily Office, Asia-Pacific, New Zealand, photo by Elizabeth Anderson)

My Memories of Maurice Branscomb

The life of the Reverend Canon Maurice Branscomb, or as most of us called him, “Father B,” was celebrated at Grace Episcopal Church where his funeral Mass took place on January 20. “A most remarkable man,” “one who stood with dignity,” “a priest whose concern for the poor arose from his prayer life,” were some of the comments heard during the service. At 92 years of age, his had been a life of joyful service that had touched many. He was an anomaly to some: a strong advocate for high Anglo-Catholic liturgy, he also had an undying motivation to reach out to the poor and the outcast. As I told one of my friends, “Even now, just remembering Father B inspires me to keep trying.”

That First Encounter

I will never forget my first encounter with Maurice Branscomb back in 1984. I was at a pivotal point in my life. At 29 years of age, I was a Baptist seminary graduate having spent two years on the mission field and involved in hospital chaplaincy, yet I found myself inwardly driven to break away from my Baptist moorings. Even in seminary, my church history studies had peaked my interest in the Catholic Church, and while serving overseas one of my friends was an Anglican priest who had converted from the Baptist faith.

I was considering a move toward what I was seeing as a more historic expression of the Christian faith and had spoken with a few people about my search. One Baptist pastor suggested I go find Maurice Branscomb and see what he was doing on Birmingham’s Southside. An Episcopal chaplain on another occasion had suggested the same thing, “Go see what Father Branscomb is doing at St. Andrew’s and see what you think.”

I had called ahead to arrange a visit. Father Branscomb welcomed me into St. Joseph's House, the parish house that is adjacent to St. Andrew’s Church. Dressed simply in a blue work shirt and slacks, his open countenance was warm and inviting. I had told him that I was interested in exploring the Episcopal Church. He was interested in hearing about my own journey. As I sat with him telling him my story, I could not recall a time when I had been listened to so deeply and fully.

A Rich Expression of Faith

Father B then told me a few things about his church. He picked up a 1979 Book of Common Prayer and showed me how to navigate it. He pointed out some of the founding documents included therein. “These documents show you our history and how we got to where we are now. They are not necessarily things that everyone has to believe to be part of our church, but they give you an idea of who we are.” He pointed out that I was coming at an opportune time – it was the beginning of Lent. “You will be able to witness the church’s preparation for Easter, our most defining season!”

During that conversation, he told me about the ministries that were happening there at St. Andrew's. There was the soup kitchen (Community Kitchens) that served lunch Monday-Friday to anyone who walked in. Southside Ministries operated from there to provide food, clothing and other types of emergency relief. St. Andrew's Foundation, founded by Fr. Francis Walter, provided independent living training for adults with developmental disabilities.

He then showed me around the sanctuary at St. Andrew’s, explaining every arrangement of that physical space and invited me to join them on Sunday. My goal was to enter in to the life of the church, to observe it long enough to find out if it was a place for me. He was more than happy to have me sojourn among them for as long as I saw fit.

St. Andrew's Church (photo from Church's website)

A New Paradigm

Thus began what would be for me not just a pivotal moment, but rather a complete paradigm shift and the opening to a new approach to life. I don’t think I had any other formal one-on-one meetings with Father B, but for the next three months I “sat at his feet” at Saturday morning Eucharist, Sunday worship, Stations of the Cross, etc. It was a small congregation, so anyone involved in the life of the parish had close contact with one another. Sometimes I would stop Father B to ask him questions about “why do we do this in the service?” or “what does this or that mean in the liturgy?” I even sat in on the confirmation class he led that spring.

Then he was gone. After 12 years as rector at St. Andrew’s he accepted a call to Holy Communion Parish in Charleston, S.C. I was sad to see him go, but he had ushered me into a happy communion. I would continue to explore the life of faith at St. Andrew’s Church for a few months before officially being confirmed in November of that year. 

I became involved in the life of the church, serving as acolyte at the altar and later singing in the choir. I found gainful and meaningful employment in social services with the St. Andrew’s Foundation, working with adults with developmental disabilities in group homes and supervised apartments. On a daily basis, I witnessed the work of the soup kitchen that Father B had started years before (and which continues to this day). In the meantime, I met the woman who would become my wife right there at St. Andrew’s (at the coffee hour – I remember it like it was yesterday when Vicki and I met). It was a most fulfilling time of life for me.

To my delight, a few years after Maurice Branscomb moved to Charleston, he decided to come back to Birmingham, this time to Grace Church in Woodlawn where he would continue his work of High Anglo-Catholic Liturgy and ministry to the people on the streets. I was deeply involved at St. Andrew’s and felt no urge to go to Grace (though I did visit on occasion to witness Father B in his element). I wrote him upon his return and told him that that it was a joy for me just to know that he was here in town.

Grace Episcopal Church in Woodlawn where Father B continued
his "altar and street" ministries (photo from Church's website)

Final Visits

In 1997, I got word that Father B would be retiring and moving to south Alabama. They had a big celebration for him at Grace. I composed a poem for him on that occasion and presented it to him at the retirement event. It would be another 16 years before I would see him when he returned to St. Andrew’s Church for their 100^th anniversary celebration. Three of their former rectors were present to celebrate the occasion. (I told people it was better than when the five Doctors came together on Doctor Who).

I was no longer at St. Andrew’s Church. I had been working in healthcare for a number of years and my family and I were members at St. Francis Xavier Catholic Church. I would not have missed the occasion to see Father B again – he would have been in his late eighties by then. I was glad to be there for the centennial service. As I walked out of the church where the three former rectors were greeting the people, I took Father B’s hand. The ageing priest smiled, looked into my eyes and reached out to touch my face, as if to say, “Is that really you?” All I could say was, “After all these years!”

I would not see Father B again. He was in fact living in an assisted living center in south Alabama at the time, though he still took part in priestly duties when he could. When word came in January that he had died, I went back to my files to find the poem I had written 20 years before. Re-reading it, I saw that I could change the first lines and it would be a suitable writing in memorium. I shared it on my blog and with friends who knew Father B. I was glad to have the poem to bring his life to mind, but I was so grateful that I had been able to share those words with Father B himself, while he was still a young 72 year old retiree.

In Remembrance

The Rev. Kent Belmore was the celebrant and homilist at Maurice Branscomb’s funeral. Belmore had been a curate under Father Branscomb at the Church of the Holy Communion in Charleston, S.C. In his homily, he mentioned that Maurice did not talk much about Heaven or dwell on it because living faithfully in the here-and-now was what was important to him. Father Belmore told us that instead talking about Heaven, he wanted to look at the biblical term, resurrection. “The word for resurrection in the Koine Greek literally means ‘to stand with dignity’,” he told us. “Maurice Branscomb was definitely one who stood with dignity in all that he did.” He then asked the congregation to stand for a moment to affirm the reality of standing with dignity as we remembered Maurice Branscomb.

Remembering Maurice Branscomb will continue to inspire me to keep trying. Now I have that sure image of the Christian hope and proclamation that we can and will stand with dignity in the presence of God – and that God’s presence is most surely found in the poor and the outcast as well as at the altar.

Here is the poem I wrote for Father Branscomb upon his retirement and then revised as a memorial to his life:

     In Remembrance of Father Branscomb

All good graces

And light eternal

To the one who has shown great compassion

     in all things.

Your boundless energy

With your endless capacity for caring

     has been a blessing from God.

Many have seen how your compassion

     made the liturgy come alive,

     brought sustenance to the needy,

     created a space for those who would rest

         and a ministry for those who would serve.

A true priest,

     a wellspring of joy

        and a midwife to the soul –

To name but a few traits

Of a servant with no regrets,

Whose magnanimity

Welcomed so many

     (and such a variety)

To the Lord’s Table.

Rest in Peace, Father Maurice Branscomb

~ Charles Kinnaird

And you don't have to take my word for it. You can read a wonderful and insightful article from the local newspaper here.     



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Monday Music: Miike Snow--"Sans Soleil" (live)

I discovered this track when it when it was posted by Rob Grano on Mac Horton's blog, Light on Dark Water. According to Rob, this song was featured on an episode of the TV series Justified on the FX Network. The group, Miike Snow is a Swedish group consisting of two Swedish instrumentalists, Bloodshy & Avant, and American vocalist Andrew Wyatt.

Like all songs featured on Monday Music, this sounds much better when you use headphones.

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Saturday Haiku: Early Spring

crocus comes quickly

to herald spring’s bright turning

and looks to the sky

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Photo: Purple Crocus growing in the early spring through snow

Credit:Ekspansio (Getty Images)



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The Fires of Moloch Are (Still) Burning

Yesterday we witnessed yet another school shooting in which children died at the hands of a shooter armed with an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle. It was yet another indication that in this country, we are too willing to let our children be killed for the sake of preserving our freedom of gun ownership. Mass shootings are entirely too common in the U.S. For that reason, I am re-posting my essay about the "fires of Moloch," which we seem hell-bent on stoking.

Sadly, this is the fourth time this essay has been published. Twice before on my blog, then another time at AMERICABlog. Each time it was following another unfortunate incident of gun violence. There have been several other posts as well on this blog regarding gun violence. In 2013 I posted an open letter to Senator Harry Reid in which I took the senator to task for not bringing a bill to the senate floor which would have included a ban on assault rifles. That failure to act was in spite of the fact that a majority of American favor gun control.

I stated in that open letter that "We need a government that works and a congress that can take action. We do not need elected officials held captive by a gun lobby that speaks for the gun-making industry rather than for gun owners (No one believes that the NRA got all those millions of dollars to lobby from membership fees)."

Yet again we must ask why we as a society are so willing to let so many citizens die in mass shootings, and why we continue to offer up our children to our own modern day fires of Moloch.

Gun Violence in America

Moreover he burnt incense in the valley of Ben Hinnom, and burnt his children in the fire, after the abominations of the heathen whom the Lord had cast out before the children of Israel.

                                                                                                                  2 Chronicles 28:3

And they built the high places of Baal, which are in the valley of Ben Hinnom, to cause their sons and their daughters to pass through the fire unto Molech; which I commanded them not, neither came it into my mind, that they should do this abomination

                                                                                                                  Jeremiah 32:35

Illustration from Foster Bible Pictures
Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons 

Moloch was the ancient Phoenician and Canaanite god known in the Old Testament Book of Deuteronomy for the practice of propitiatory child sacrifice.  There are few images more horrifying than that of fearful people offering up their own children to be burned on the altar of a domineering death-making god. Yet in our helplessness in confronting our devotion to guns, we are seeing the fires of Moloch burning in 21^st century America.

We have seen this week yet another disturbing incident of promising lives brought to a sudden end by gun violence. Once again there is talk of stronger gun control laws. Will we be once again impotent when it comes to making any real changes? Our failure to act even in the wake of the Sandy Hook massacre  in which 20 young children were killed, all of them 6 and 7 years old, demonstrated that we would rather sacrifice our beautiful preschoolers than do anything that might be perceived as a desecration of the Bill of Rights. Our words say that we honor American freedom, while our actions say that we live in fear and have so little regard for our children that we will willingly feed them to our modern day fires of Moloch. [To see a map of all the mass shooting since Sandy Hook, go here]

In a country whose politicians love to shout “God Bless America!” at the end of their speeches, and whose people speak of faith in the public square and argue about putting the Ten Commandments on display, it is the ancient and brutal god Moloch who holds sway over so much of our public discourse. Indeed the fires of Moloch continue to consume our children while nothing is done to extinguish those flames.

Why Do We Tolerate Death and Glorify Violence?

According to The Brady Center, “Over 18,000 American children and teens are injured or killed each year due to gun violence. This means nearly 48 youth are shot every day, including 7 fatalities.” 

And here are some more statistics from The Brady Center:

America has a problem with gun violence

·         One in three people in the U.S. know someone who has been shot.

·         On average, 31 Americans are murdered with guns every day and 151 are treated for a gun assault in an emergency room.

·         Every day on average, 55 people kill themselves with a firearm, and 46 people are shot or killed in an accident with a gun.

·         The U.S. firearm homicide rate is 20 times higher than the combined rates of 22 countries that are our peers in wealth and population.

·         A gun in the home is 22 times more likely to be used to kill or injure in a domestic homicide, suicide, or unintentional shooting than to be used in self-defense.

Gun Violence Takes a Massive Toll on American Children

·         More than one in five U.S. teenagers (ages 14 to 17) report having witnessed a shooting.

·         An average of seven children and teens under the age of 20 are killed by guns every day.

·         American children die by guns 11 times as often as children in other high-income countries.

·         Youth (ages 0 to 19) in the most rural U.S. counties are as likely to die from a gunshot as those living in the most urban counties. Rural children die of more gun suicides and unintentional shooting deaths. Urban children die more often of gun homicides.

·         Firearm homicide is the second-leading cause of death (after motor vehicle crashes) for young people ages 1-19 in the U.S.

·         In 2007, more pre-school-aged children (85) were killed by guns than police officers were killed in the line of duty.

Gun Violence is a Drain on U.S. Taxpayers

·         Medical treatment, criminal justice proceedings, new security precautions, and reductions in quality of life are estimated to cost U.S. citizens $100 billion annually.

·         The lifetime medical cost for all gun violence victims in the United States is estimated at $2.3 billion, with almost half the costs borne by taxpayers.

Americans Support Universal Background Checks

·         Nine out of 10 Americans agree that we should have universal background checks, including three out of four NRA members.

·         Since the Brady Law was initially passed, about 2 million attempts to purchase firearms have been blocked due to a background check. About half of these blocked attempts were by felons.

·         Unfortunately, our current background check system only applies to about 60% of gun sales, leaving 40% (online sales, purchases at gun shows, etc.) without a background check.

One question we must answer is why does our society so quickly come to the defense of guns after every deadly incident of gun violence? There are those who call for change, but such calls are always met with a push back from people who cannot tolerate any change in our gun laws. Lawmakers are forever paralyzed by the gun lobbyists and the fear-mongers.

Freedom or Fear?

Why are our citizens and our politicians are unable to put a stop to gun violence? If there were the political will, assault rifles and semi-automatic weapons could be banned tomorrow. The sad fact is, however, that our people seem to be too fearful to consider a peaceful society. We say that we are honoring the Second Amendment to the Constitution – that we hold the Bill of Rights to ensure our freedom – but the truth is, we live in fear. Why else would we be so powerless to stop our current practice of sacrificing children to the fires of gun violence?

Poster from The Brady Campaign to Prevent Gun Violence

Picture depicting worship of Moloch from The Jewish Encyclopedia

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A Day for Celebrating Love

On this day set aside 
For celebrating love, 

May you breathe in the beauty of your beloved
And then speak her soul back to her.

May you know the warmth
Of having been loved by another.

On this day set aside
For celebrating love,

May the song that turned you head in your youth
Herald a new joy in your heart.

May you remember that Love embraced your being

On the day you came into consciousness.  

                                                                            ~ CK 

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In the video below, Coleman Barks reads his translation 
of a poem by Rumi, "What Was Said to the Rose" 

You can read the poem by Rumi at Poets.org

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Photo of white rose courtesy of Creative Commons at Pixabay


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Monday Music: The Sound of Silence

Paul Simon announced this past week in a letter that he will be retiring this year. I offer today's Monday Music feature in celebration of a long, wonderful, and fascinating career.

Several years ago I took great delight in watching the DVD of Simon & Garfunkel's "Old Friends Tour" in 2004. Such a wonderful concert! This feature of the duo singing their first big hit, "The Sounds of Silence," came many years later. It looks to be from their 2015 reunion tour. Like all of us (if we are lucky) they are getting old, but the amazing thing is how they can still bring this song to life (and Artie can still hit those high notes!). The song is just as beautiful after all these years.

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Saturday Haiku: Dismal Day

on a dismal day

before the springtime breezes

comes winter’s last breath

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Photo: Blue tit in winter sitting on ivy branch that is covered with hoarfrost

Credit:Oksana Schmid (Getty Images)

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