When two institution which mean so very much to me are embroiled in future-defining, crises, checking Twitter always comes with the nagging anxiety of, “Oh no, what now?” I’m grateful for the ability to learn critical information at a speed unimaginable to previous generations and react accordingly, but I also understand and identify with a certain Captain Picard meme far too well.
It’s no secret that this has been a troubling time to be an alumnus of Baylor University. My soul aches for anyone subjected to the kind of violence faced by God’s image bearers here at Baylor, even more so when they then face rampant and indefensible institutional failure. And for it to be Baylor, the world’s largest Baptist institution of higher learning and whose Latin motto includes “For the church,” assures that this is a tragic abomination which threatens the very witness and thus future of Baylor. A long shadow by extension is also cast across the church itself.
Speaking of, I believe the church residing in America is in the midst of a crisis and sifting not seen in generations. The eyes of the world are on us to see how we will handle unprecedented upheaval in the marble halls of politics and the forsaken streets of human suffering. In an age of social media and 24-hour news cycles, we cannot hide from scrutiny. Our actions here and now will echo across the physical and spiritual realms for a long time to come.
It’s going to take a lot of work and discernment to choose the right actions for Baylor and for the church, but I know what kind of decision should guide our actions. Jack Castellaw, Sam Dillow, Merle Dudley, Ivey Foster, Robert Hannah, Robert Hailey, Willis Murray, James L. Walker, William Winchester, and Clyde “Abe” Kelley lost their lives on January 22, 1927 when a bus carrying the Baylor basketball team, yell leaders, and managers was hit by a train in Round Rock, Texas. Ninety years later, we at Baylor still take time to remember the Immortal Ten. I’ve long known about this tragedy, but I missed some of the details by not attending BU for undergraduate studies. In the final moments before the train struck, Abe Kelley saw the train through the storm and pushed his roommate, Weir Washman, out the window. Washman was saved, but Kelley lost his life.
I believe both Baylor and the church in America are each facing an Immortal Ten moment, a time in which we can choose self-preservation or self-sacrifice, idolatry of safety or Christlike giving. We will all face that decision in our lives, privately and corporately, over and over. There is nothing greater to be done than sacrifice for others. If we lose our lives, we’ll gain what our lives are meant to be. But if we cling desperately, we’ll lose everything. We aren’t all administrators or coaches for Baylor, but every employee, alumnus, student, and fan has a role to play through sacrificial love. We aren’t all professional ministers, but every single believer has a role to play as God’s people, a royal priesthood, portraying to the world a God who emptied Himself on behalf of us. Perhaps the hardest part of self-sacrifice is that the things we have to give up often are good things. Power, wealth, and renown are enticing and can be leveraged for others. Longevity is desirable. We all like to be comfortable, enjoying a happy life rather than working through painful topics and conversations. But the storm is here, and the train is coming. We can cling to such things, or follow after Christ and those who portray Him like Abe Kelley. Whatever we decide, the world is watching.