African American Baptist and Our Theology of Culture

I stood to speak to an aging delegation, they were people that I have known all of my life – it seems. I had worried that I may not rhetorically connect with them, since it had been so long that I stood before them. I am different; I am older and more seasoned and sure of my theological and rhetorical claims, some may not approve. I have come to praise not to blame. What is more, this was no ordinary occasion. It was a memorial service for my pastor who happened to be a leading figure in West Virginia Baptist’s circles for more than five decades.

Warren S. Lewis was a dominate figure with charismatic character and a clarion John the Baptist’s voice. He towered above his peers though he stood barely above five and half feet. It was his passion about his vocation that added to his height. In my view, he would have been the same, whether he were a minister or not. Often I saw him as an educator, perhaps a dean or president of a historically black college or university. At other times, I could see him as a litigator or maybe, a politician. He was gifted to do any and all of these things, but he chose ministry or as he often would say, “ministry chose him.”

In the early years, the crowds at the state’s convention were large and luminous. The convention had many heroes and heroines. I saw them as a boy; I was in awe of many of the ministers of our local churches. I met missionaries on furlough, and I would hear them speak of strange occurrences in strange lands, and often how they would battle unclean spirits with the Word of God! I would hear Warren Lewis give his executive secretary’s address to standing room only; sometimes the people would be in the class rooms listening, the petitions were withdrawn for them; others would stand just outside beneath a roofed in porch to hear the master of perspicuity deliver an address filled with figures, figures of speech, and challenges toward the future and how the people figured into them.

As I stood to speak, still after all of these years, under the spell of romantic memory, I was looking for heroes and heroines as a boy, I did. They were there but few in numbers. The people’s energy was far less; some appeared indifferent and others ambivalent about the future of the convention. The young did not replace the ranks; and in the next few days, I want to address some of the reasons why I think that is true….