The Day I Said "Goodbye"
By: Charles P. McGathy,
LCDR, Chaplain Corps, USN

At last the time had come and I made the telephone call. "I no longer desire to be a chaplain endorsed by the SBC," I told my friend who works at the North American Mission Board. We said "good bye," both sorrowful that it had come to this, both desiring that one day the tent we had lived under for so long might again be broad enough to accommodate us all.

My anxiety was over. The phone call I had dreaded and mentally rehearsed countless times--complete. I had thought I would feel lighthearted, the painful task accomplished. Instead all I felt was sad.

For 14 years I have served as a U.S. Navy chaplain endorsed by the Home Mission Board (now NAMB) of the SBC. In those years I had been free to act as a free and faithful Baptist, protected from the ecclesiastical slaughterhouse the SBC had become. Military chaplains are not paid by the endorsing agency. Perhaps this is the main reason the warfare in the SBC had been distant.

For years I knew a war was raging, but I felt safe in a protected harbor. Only the distant thunder of guns and flashes on the horizon reminded me that the conflict was approaching.

Quietly I stared at my wall of memories. I was drawn to the mementoes of my SBC past: a seminary degree, an ordination certificate, and a framed magazine cover. All tell portions of my story.

The seminary where I learned what it meant to be a Baptist fell victim to a hostile takeover by fundamentalists. The president, a good and honorable man, was fired; locked out of his office as if he had been an embezzler. Some of my friends mailed their degrees back to the seminary. I kept mine. I don't want to forget what it feels like to have my alma mater stolen away.

In 1982 I was ordained by a local Baptist church. Now that church's state convention is solidly controlled by those who claim they have saved the SBC from folks like me. I can only wonder if the church which ordained me would do so today now that the crucial questions have changed to "Do you hold to the ordination of women?" or "Do you believe in biblical inerrancy?" or "Are you opposed to abortion, homosexuals, Masons, and the Disney Corporation?" Orthodoxy has been redefined. It is no longer what you stand for, but what you stand against.

Earlier in my naval career I was assigned to a forward deployed destroyer squadron. A representative from the Home Mission Board came and interviewed Southern Baptist chaplains who were on the front lines of the "cold war." Several months later while on patrol in the Indian Ocean, tracking the movements of Soviet submarines, mail call was sounded on the USS Cochrane, an aging destroyer of the US Seventh Fleet. I was the chaplain on that ship. You could not imagine my surprise to see that a photo of me standing on the ship's fan tail was the cover of Missions USA, the official magazine of the Home Mission Board. For a brief moment the Southern Baptist world saw me. There I was, one of their own, standing between the flags of the United States and the US Navy, bearing witness to sailors far from home of another kingdom which demanded their greatest allegiance.

That magazine is now gone. So is the Home Mission Board. I realize that change is unavoidable, but I always thought I'd have some little voice in it Instead I find that my words are not welcomed or wanted. In effect the message is clear: love it or lump it. So after all is said and done it is finally up to me. To do nothing is to swallow a bitter stew and hope for a better day. To say good bye is to risk ostracism and misunderstanding.

As I turn toward the CBF and request their endorsement of my chaplaincy in the Navy I am warned by a trusted counselor, "The CBF can't offer what the SBC can. Our resources are more limited."

My response: "One thing the CBF does offer, and to me it is worth everything: freedom." Freedom means I can speak and act like an authentic Baptist who affirms historic Baptist principles.

Today's sorrow will pass, but hope remains. The course ahead is uncharted, but I'm not alone. There are others besides me with their own stories to tell. We may be wounded and weary, but we are together. I see Jesus in you.

His love, his mercy, his eagerness to serve others is evidenced in you. When I hold your hand I gain his strength. You make me feel his freedom. I am alive again. I am excited about the future. I can see the dawn of a new and better day.

September 1998