by Walker Moore
In this journey called life, I’ve had more than my fair share of unusual encounters. I don’t know why God has allowed these into my life. If they don’t come at every corner, they come at every other one.
Some of these encounters come in bits and pieces, much like a 1,000-piece puzzle. Almost all the pieces are the same color, size and shape, but eventually you get them put together and are amazed at the puzzle’s beauty. Continue reading
“Understanding our day demands understanding the day before. This means history.”
James Emery White
On the first day of June in 1660, Mary Dyer was hanged for her religious beliefs in Boston, Massachusetts. She left behind six children and a husband. Like many Quakers, Baptists, and Separatists in early America, Mary Dyer was willing to stand against religious persecution even if it meant torture, banishment, or death.
One year earlier she had escaped the jaws of death as she walked to the gallows with William Robinson and Marmaduke Stevenson. They were escorted to the Boston Common on October 27, 1659 by two hundred guards. The men were hanged first. Standing with a noose around her neck and facing the crowd, Mary learned that Governor John Endicott had stayed her execution and banished her once again from Massachusetts. The spiritually stubborn Mary Dyer would later return. Continue reading
By Walker Moore
I grew up in a small country church. When our family first started attending this church, it had one large room called the sanctuary. The seats were long wooden pews that bent like a horseshoe as they went from one side to the other.
Directly below the sanctuary was the basement. Most of our Sunday Schools, RAs, GAs, Training Union classes, Vacation Bible Schools and golden wedding anniversary celebrations took place in the basement. I don’t know why, but from my observations (which have been many), Baptists have some of the dampest, dankest-smelling basements of any denomination.
I should know. I went out with a girl who attended the Methodist Church. She took me to their basement, and it was a lot nicer than ours. When I shared that with my parents, they mumbled something about how Baptists gave our money to the Cooperative Program. Continue reading