Marriage

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Life in a fishbowl: Southern Baptist pastors' wives get a chance to tell their stories

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Life in a fishbowl: Southern Baptist pastors' wives get a chance to tell their stories

The Orange County Convention Center in Orlando will be buzzing when 20,000 Southern Baptists gather for their annual national meeting, rushing between forums, worship, reunions, business sessions and politicking about their elections and resolutions.

But there will be an upstairs room set aside June 8-9, divided into spaces for one-on-one encounters while a white-noise machine creates as much privacy as possible. For the second time, leaders connected to a network of Southern Baptist women will meet with pastors' wives who applied, in advance, for counseling.

One 2025 participant offered confidential feedback: "On top of church ministry concerns, I was broken over my relationship with our prodigal daughter and burdened by the time-consuming caregiving responsibilities with my aging mother. Though I had never gone to counseling, I knew its value. … I was given the freedom to be completely honest, without fear of damaging our family or my testimony."

Counselors later discussed the most common concerns, said Cheryl Bell, a former nurse who has a doctorate in biblical counseling. She teaches at Southwestern Baptist Seminary in Fort Worth, Texas, and also helps women who are pursuing doctoral degrees.

Many pastors' wives say they "live in fishbowls." Others describe being on the "front lines" of ministry, striving to help husbands who seem to have targets on their backs. In these sessions, participants often expressed anxiety, anger, loneliness and discouragement.

"They are always being observed," said Bell, reached by Zoom. "It's a critical gaze. … I think church members expect their pastors and their wives to be unique -- spiritually. … When they show that they have a sin nature they feel like they are immediately under judgement."

Can families hide in a fishbowl? Bell laughed and added: "That would take a lot of energy. Period."

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Commencement to remember: Country singer Eric Church on faith, family and more

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Commencement to remember: Country singer Eric Church on faith, family and more

When addressing the 2026 graduates at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, country-music star Eric Church used words rarely heard in secular-campus rites, such as "faith," "family," "grace" and "soul."

Using an acoustic guitar, Church explained how its strings, when in tune, represent essential elements of life. The May 9 speech went viral on YouTube, Facebook, TikTok and other platforms, with an estimated 4 million views so far.

The bass string is "faith," he said. "Your belief about what this life is for … what holds the universe together when science reaches the edge of its own explanation, and shrugs.

"The people who tend to their faith in ordinary seasons do not come undone in extraordinary ones. They still hurt. They still sit in hospital waiting rooms asking unanswerable questions at three in the morning. But they have a foundation to return to. … Tend to your faith. Not just when you're broken, but when you're whole."

Church, who grew up Baptist, didn't label his own faith in this speech. His eight-album career began with "Sinner Like Me" in 2006, with a title song that ended with this verse: "On the day I die / I know where I'm gonna go / Me and Jesus got that part worked out / I'll wait at the gates 'til his face I see / And stand in a long line of sinners like me."

The singer's address was not explicitly Christian and included zero material about politics. However, it was an example of a major campus welcoming an unconventional voice popular with middle America.

Elite-campus leaders need to show that they are committed to cultural diversity, noted Robert P. George, an outspoken Catholic and distinguished professor of jurisprudence at Princeton University. A 2022 survey of commencement rites at America's top 25 research universities and top 25 liberal-arts colleges failed to find a "single conservative among a sea of liberal and progressive speakers. A harmless coincidence? No," he wrote, in a recent Washington Post essay.

This "commencement conformity" may be caused by "inattentiveness or a lack of careful thinking on the part of administrators. George argued that these choices matter since, to quote Harvard University President Alan Garber, "truth is rarely found in echo chambers." Thus, it's important to challenge "ideological bubbles," even if that will cause on-campus tensions.

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Gov. Bill Lee of Tennessee offers a testimony on grief and renewal (with no politics)

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Gov. Bill Lee of Tennessee offers a testimony on grief and renewal (with no politics)

There was nothing unusual about Tennessee Gov. Bill Lee meeting with Jelly Roll before pardoning him for the felony robbery and drug-related crimes in his past.

What the governor didn't realize was that they had met years earlier, when Lee offered a prison testimony about the impact of grief on his family. That audience included the future country-music superstar.

At the recent National Prayer Breakfast, Lee said the man previously known as Jason DeFord told him: "You don't remember me, but we met in 2008. …You were not the governor, and I was not Jelly Roll. And here we are, 17 years later."

Lee said his Jelly Roll reunion reminded him of truths he learned after his wife's fatal horse-riding accident in 2000.

"There are very few things in life that matter and we should be about them," he said. "I have a belief that within every human being, there's this innate sense that we all need a pardon. And there is only one who can grant that pardon, and He has to be asked. … His name is Jesus."

The governor was asked to be the keynoter on one day's notice. His testimony contrasted sharply with the politically charged atmosphere in recent prayer breakfasts. In fact, there are now two competing events, with many lawmakers attending a smaller U.S. Capitol event.

News after the larger Washington Hilton rite focused on President Donald Trump's claim that, "I've done more for religion than any other president," referring to his actions on religious-freedom issues at home and abroad.

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Philip Yancey is, once again, counting on the mercy and grace of God

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Philip Yancey is, once again, counting on the mercy and grace of God

Asked to judge a woman "caught in the act of adultery," the Gospel of John says Jesus stooped, wrote something in the dust, then told her accusers: "Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her."

Then he wrote again. The silent religious leaders drifted away. What happened next sums up Christian teachings on sin, grace and forgiveness, according to Philip Yancey, long one of America's most popular evangelical writers.

Jesus asked the woman: "Didn't even one of them condemn you?" She said, "No, Lord," to which he replied, "Neither do I. Go and sin no more."

Fundamentalist preachers often portray God as a "cosmic policeman, someone who was just waiting to smash somebody who does something wrong," said Yancey, during a podcast with the Rev. Russell Moore, editor-at-large of Christianity Today.

That's wrong, said Yancey. Instead, church leaders should, "Start with Jesus and end with Jesus. … Jesus wasn't a pushover, by any means, but he was always full of compassion. … He never turned someone away who had an attitude of repentance."

Yancey has repeatedly delivered this message during a half century of addressing Christian denominations, colleges and myriad other gatherings. His books, such as "The Scandal of Forgiveness," have sold 20 million copies in 49 languages.

But the Moore podcast, on "The Problem of Pain and Suffering," was posted only four months before Yancey, 76, announced his retirement -- due to an eight-year sexual relationship with a married woman.

"My conduct defied everything that I believe about marriage. It was also totally inconsistent with my faith and my writings and caused deep pain for her husband and both of our families," wrote Yancey, to Christianity Today, where he was a columnist for decades.

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Erika Kirk and the message behind the St. Michael's cross she gave to her husband

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Erika Kirk and the message behind the St. Michael's cross she gave to her husband

Soon after she began dating Charlie Kirk, Erika Frantzve -- a devout Catholic -- asked him: "Why don't you wear a cross?"

Kirk's response: "I'm not a jewelry guy." She gave him a St. Michael's Cross, which he started wearing as "he felt the weight of the world on him," Turning Point USA spokesman Andrew Kolvet told Fox News. "He never took it off again, until he was assassinated and the people caring for him ripped it off as they tried to save his life."

The St. Michael's prayer, written in 1898 by Pope Leo XIII, describes fierce warfare between good and evil: "St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. … By the power of God, thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls."

Erika Kirk wore that blood-stained pendant during the September 21 memorial service in State Farm Stadium in Glendale, Arizona -- with an estimated 100,000 people inside and thousands gathered nearby. At least 20 million watched on Fox, X and YouTube, with many more using other simulcasts.

In her 30-minute testimony, she said her husband knew his life was in danger, but he stressed the biblical message in a verse from Isaiah: "Here I am, Lord. Send me."

Kirk said she once told him: "Charlie, baby, please talk to me next time before you say that. … When you say, 'Here I am, Lord. Use me,' God will take you up on that.' … God accepted that total surrender from my husband and then called him to His side."

Erika Kirk's address dominated an event that featured President Donald Trump and multiple cabinet members. While praising what Kirk achieved in his 31-year life, several shared how his death has pushed them to ponder their own beliefs.

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Will Leanne Morgan's faith make the cut in her new sitcom on Netflix?

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Will Leanne Morgan's faith make the cut in her new sitcom on Netflix?

It's hard to take Jello salad to the after-church brunch a few hours after your husband of 33 years runs off with a younger woman.

But the old-fashioned church Leanne Morgan attends in her summer Netflix sitcom does have a Philippians 4:13 poster in the fellowship hall proclaiming: "I can do all things through Him who gives me strength."

Alas, the faithful are walking stereotypes. Asked how she's doing, a widow offers a pasted-on smile and says she is "basking in the sunshine of our Savior." Leanne remains silent about her marriage disaster, until she cracks and dashes, shouting, out the door.

"You've been a good Christian your whole life," her twice-divorced sister quips. "You're intitled to a small psychotic break in fellowship."

The writers' room for "Leanne" did some Southern-church research, but the faith content is nowhere near as smart and on-target as Morgan's stand-up comedy, said Randall King, who teaches classes in video storytelling at North Greenville (S.C.) University.

"It's not anti-Christian. … But some of the people behind this show are totally tone-deaf when it comes to the Christian faith. And we know that isn't the case with Leanne," he said, reached by telephone. "You can be smart and funny and moral. Leanne Morgan is all of that. … That's what we want, if you're going to take her comedy up a level" into a sitcom.

After binging "Leanne," King said "it's obvious that the character Leanne is playing is a believer. But it's like she's all alone, surrounded by hypocrites making jokes. … Is it realistic that no one close to her shares her faith and can help?"

King admits that his interest in the Netflix series is linked to his "darling fanboy" appreciation of Morgan's stand-up skills. Plus, the comedienne, and her real-life husband, live in the booming "new south" city of Knoxville, Tennessee. She has a University of Tennessee degree in child and family studies. King earned his communications doctorate there, while continuing his work as a reporter, producer and anchor in broadcast journalism.

Truth is, YouTube clips turned Morgan into an "overnight sensation" after two decades of stand-up comedy, mostly in women's groups, church events and small comedy clubs.

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The golf world is still dissecting Scottie Scheffler's heart, mind and soul

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The golf world is still dissecting Scottie Scheffler's heart, mind and soul

When Scottie Scheffler celebrated his recent victory at the British Open, it was hard to tell who drew the loudest cheers -- the world's No. 1 golfer or his toddler son.

Nike captured the family vibe with a viral advertisement showing Scheffler and Bennett, with the caption, "You've already won," before adding, "But another major never hurt."

After the win, Scheffler added fire to the week's hot story, which was his candid remarks about why he isn't obsessed with winning trophies week after week.

"My faith and my family is what's most important to me," he told reporters. "Those come first for me. … Golf is third in that order."

The key words were "in that order," noted Daniel Darling, director of the Land Center for Cultural Engagement at Southwestern Baptist Seminary. "Scottie Scheffler doesn't see golf as a god. He's thankful that God has given him the abilities that he has." However, he also "knows the challenge in life is to keep things in the right order, to focus on what really matters."

The firestorm began earlier that week, when the 29-year-old superstar drew nervous laughter by stressing: "I'm not here to inspire somebody else to be the best player in the world, because what's the point? … This is not a fulfilling life. It's fulfilling from a sense of accomplishment, but it's not fulfilling from a sense of the deepest places of your heart.

"There's a lot of people that make it to what they thought was going to fulfill them in life. And then you get there, then all of a sudden you get to No. 1 in the world, and they're like, what's the point? … That's something that I wrestle with on a daily basis."

Scheffler's remarks revealed a "human side we too often don't get to see," noted Shane Ryan, writing for Golf Digest. "For those with ears to hear it, there was a deep message at play, and an almost unbearably honest one." Perhaps, Ryan added, if "someone like Scheffler, who has been to the mountaintop of his world, finds spiritual emptiness on that summit, what hope do the rest of us have?"

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Living Good Friday -- An Orthodox mother's meditation on autism

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Living Good Friday -- An Orthodox mother's meditation on autism

On many Sundays, Corey Hatfield sent her family ahead into church, while she lingered outside with her autistic son Grayson -- trying to decide if he would scream or run the second they entered the sanctuary.

Approaching the chalice during Holy Communion was another challenge.

"Some Sundays, I drew near with Grayson in a headlock, my hand clamped tightly over his mouth to silence his steady stream of cuss words," she wrote, in "The Light from a Thousand Wounds," her spiritual memoir about the impact of profound autism on her family.

Getting to St. Spyridon Orthodox Church, in Loveland, Colorado, often left her "late, tousled and out-of-breath, adorned in bite marks instead of jewelry. Often, I never even made it to church. … I lamely offered God my unproductive exasperation."

Some congregations may have the resources and space to offer ministries to help families dealing with neurodiversity, said Hatfield, reached by telephone. But everyone needs to know that no one-size-fits-all strategy exists. One professional told her, "If you've seen one autistic kid, you've seen … one autistic kid."

What clergy and their people cannot do is look away, said Metropolitan Nathanael of Chicago, during the "Gathered as One Body: Disability, Accessibility and Inclusion in the Orthodox Church" conference this past spring in Boston.

"Isolation, not disability, is the greatest wound," he said. "Today, many people living with disabilities and their caregivers and families experience the same isolation. They feel invisible in their parishes, they feel they have no one to help them draw near to the healing waters of the church's life. …This is a tragedy, and it is also a sin."

Hatfield, in an interview focusing on issues in her memoir, noted specific responses that congregations could carefully consider.