Associated Baptist Press
March 10, 2009 · (09-35)
David Wilkinson, Executive Director
Robert Marus, Managing Editor/Washington Bureau Chief
Bob Allen, Senior Writer
In this issue
Bill to permit guns in churches revived in wake of pastor's shooting (570 words)
Baptist pastor accused of setting fire to church (298 words)
Therapeutic robot takes center stage for residents of retirement community (636 words)
Opinion: Leaving Alabama (960 words)
Bill to permit guns in churches revived in wake of pastor's shooting
By Bob Allen (570 words)
LITTLE ROCK, Ark. (ABP) -- An Arkansas lawmaker says she will reintroduce a bill to allow concealed weapons in churches after a deadly Illinois church shooting March 8.
State Rep. Beverly Pyle (R-Cedarville) originally introduced a measure Jan. 29 to remove "any church or other house of worship" from a list of places where people licensed to carry concealed weapons are prohibited from bringing their guns.
The bill passed the Arkansas House of Representatives on a 57-42 vote Feb. 11 but then died on a voice vote in the Senate Judiciary Committee Feb. 25.
After a gunman entered First Baptist Church in Maryville, Ill., and killed Pastor Fred Winters with a gunshot to the heart, Pyle told Little Rock CBS affiliate KTHV Channel 11 she was making changes to the bill and planned to take it back to the committee hoping for more votes.
"I have received numerous e-mails and phone calls concerning this wanting me to bring this back, none against it," Pyle told the TV station March 9.
The station talked to one Arkansas legislator -- Sen. Hank Wilkins (D-Pine Bluff) -- who indicated he might change his vote from "no" to "yes."
"In light of the shooting yesterday I think there will be a number of legislators who will want to reconsider this," said Wilkins, who is also a United Methodist pastor.
Police said the suspect in the shooting, 27-year-old Terry Joe Sedlacek, was armed with enough ammunition to kill as many as 30 people and had planned the attack to the point of writing "death day" on is planning calendar for March 8.
His weapon jammed after four shots, however, before he pulled a knife and wounded himself and two church members trying to subdue him.
Dave Travis, managing director of the Leadership Network, told the Associated Press that most megachurches have coordinated security plans and undercover guards, but smaller congregations are often more vulnerable.
Jeffrey Hawkins, executive director of the Christian Security Network, said 75 percent of churches have no security plan, making them a "soft target" for attack. He said security isn't only about preventing things from happening, but having a plan for dealing with catastrophic events after they occur.
First Baptist Church of Maryville said on its website that all activities at the church are canceled for the week following the attack, and that grief counselors are available if anyone needs to talk or have someone pray with them.
Visitation for Winters, 45, is scheduled from 2 p.m. to 8 p.m. March 12 at the church. The funeral service is scheduled for 10:30 a.m. March 13, also at the church. Graveside services are private.
The church is accepting gifts both to a Winters Family Memorial Fund and to the church building fund.
"In this day, where uncertainty seems to abound creating an environment in which people are vulnerable in doing things they might not do otherwise, one thing is certain, we, as human beings need a foundation upon which we can live our lives," said a statement on the website. "We at First Baptist Maryville, along with other Christian believers, share this conviction: that foundation is God's Word. In the pages of the Book we call the Bible, we find the pathway for peace, hope, and a quality of living life despite what circumstances we find ourselves in.
"To those who believe in the power of prayer, we covet your prayers right now."
Bob Allen is senior writer for Associated Baptist Press.
Baptist pastor accused of setting fire to church
By Bob Allen (298 words)
BELTON, S.C. (ABP) -- A Southern Baptist pastor in South Carolina is facing arson charges after allegedly setting fire to his own church building March 8.
The South Carolina Law Enforcement Division announced March 9 the arrest of Christopher Daniels, 41, of Belton, S.C., on a charge of second-degree arson. A press release said Daniels "willfully and maliciously" set fire to Blue Ridge Baptist Church in Belton.
On March 9 the Greenville News reported the church's pastor discovered a fire while unlocking the building for Sunday worship.
The next day the paper quoted Anderson County Fire Chief Billy Gibson as saying officials found evidence early on that the fire was intentionally set. After further investigation, they concluded that Daniels was the suspect.
Roger Orman, associate executive director of the South Carolina Baptist Convention, said the congregation -- until recently known as Triangle Baptist Church -- is on a roster of churches that cooperate with the state convention. A searchable database of Southern Baptist churches says the congregation was formed in 1900 and has 107 members.
The local newspaper said about half of the congregation's active membership -- about 25 members, mostly elderly women -- stopped attending after a series of attacks by vandals who spray-painted what appeared to be gang symbols on walls of the sanctuary.
In January the Anderson, S.C., Independent-Mail quoted Daniels as saying the church was vandalized about five times within a two-month period.
If convicted Daniels could receive up to 25 years in prison. He was held on $25,000 bond and is scheduled to appear in court April 24.
Daniels reportedly became a Southern Baptist pastor about a year ago, and Triangle Baptist Church was his first preaching job.
Bob Allen is senior writer for Associated Baptist Press.
Therapeutic robot takes center stage for residents of retirement community
By Holly Raidabaugh (636 words)
RICHMOND, Va. (ABP) - There's a new resident at Lakewood Manor, one of Virginia Baptist Homes' retirement communities. Paro is by far the furriest member of the Lakewood community and he takes his meals through a battery charger, not in the dining facility. Paro is an interactive robotic baby Harp seal, designed to provide therapeutic benefits to residents of retirement communities.
Also known as mental-commitment robots, therapeutic robots are developed to elicit emotional attachment from humans, according to the creator's website. Three types of effects are sought: psychological, such as relaxation and motivation; physiological, such as improvement in vital signs; and social, such as encouraging communication between residents and caregivers.
Lakewood is one of three retirement communities in the country to include Paro in its care team. The robot's inventor, Takanori Shibata, senior research scientist of Japan's National Institute of Advanced Industrial Science and Technology, has been working with health organizations in Europe and Japan since 2005, but is just now making his debut in the United States.
Paro's effects are closely related to pet therapy. "Many studies show that interaction with animals is useful for people to relax, relieve mental stress and exercise for physical rehabilitation," says the Paro website.
But why a baby Harp seal -- an animal native to the northernmost Atlantic Ocean and unfamiliar to most Virginians?
Paro's inventor explains that robots can be divided into four categories, according to the way they look: humanoid robots; robots designed to look like animals, such as dogs or cats, familiar to virtually all people; robots that approximate uncommon or non-familiar animals, such as seals, penguins or whales; or robots that are not designed to look particularly like any actual living creature.
Robots that look like humans or familiar animals raise expectations that the robot will function much like its real look-alike -- expectations that are invariably disappointed when the differences become clear. Users often lose interest in interacting with those robots. New characters or artificial animals will attract the interest of some people but not others -- and it's not easy to determine what kind of person will find interaction with that kind of robot appealing.
Robots that look like non-familiar animals, however, typically attract widespread and long-lasting interest. While most people have never owned a seal or penguin as a pet, they do know something about them.
"Pet-therapy programs help to increase relaxation, motivation, vital signs, socialization, and laughter and to decrease stress, depression, and loneliness in residents who participate in these programs," said Susan Weirich, Lakewood's certified therapeutic recreational specialist.
"It is very exciting for Lakewood to have the opportunity to enhance the quality of our residents' lives through the use of Paro. What a great tool for increased health in our residents' lives on a daily basis!"
Paro has five kinds of sensors -- tactile, light, audio, temperature and posture -- with which it can perceive people and its environment. With the light sensor, Paro can recognize light and dark. The robot "feels" when it is stroked or struck thanks to the tactile sensor, and the posture sensor determines when it is being held. With its audio sensor, Paro recognizes the direction of a voice, as well as words such as its name, greetings and praise. Paro can learn to behave in a way that the user prefers, and respond to its new name. For example, if it is stroked each time it is held, Paro will remember the previous action and try to repeat an action that will elicit stroking. If Paro is hit, it remembers the action that prompted the blow and tries not to repeat it.
By interaction with people, Paro responds as if it is alive, moving head and legs, making sounds, and reflecting the preferred behavior. Paro also imitates the voice of a real baby Harp seal.
Holly Raidabaugh is director of marketing for Lakewood Manor.
Opinion: Leaving Alabama
By Jim Somerville (960 words)
(ABP) -- I was born on March 14, 1959, in Selma, Alabama. My mother tells me I was the most difficult of all her babies to deliver, and that while she was waiting for me to make up my mind about being born she walked the hallways of that hospital, saying the 23rd Psalm over and over: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." My father was the new pastor of the Presbyterian church in Hayneville, Ala., 35 miles away, and recently he told me the story of his own labor there, and of his eventual delivery.
He said that when he was considering a call to that church he asked the committee chairman what the civil-rights situation was in Hayneville. Since the Supreme Court's 1954 Brown v. Board of Education decision that outlawed segregation in public schools, resistance to integration had been strong in the South, and sometimes violent. The chairman said, "Well, you're a good old South Carolina boy, aren't you? You know what it's like." And it's true. My father had grown up in South Carolina. He probably knew exactly what it was like. But he came anyway.
He hadn't been there very long when a member of the church invited him to say the opening prayer at the next meeting of the White Citizens' Council. "What is the White Citizens' Council for, exactly?" my father asked. "Could I look over a copy of the constitution and bylaws before I give you my answer?" And the man looked at my dad as if he were crazy, or maybe a communist, and said, "Well you know what it's for: it's to keep niggers in their place!"
Although I don't think their constitution and bylaws read that way, that is what the White Citizens' Council was for. According to one of my better sources, the WCC was a white-supremacist organization that flourished in the United States between the mid-'50s and the mid-'70s. "With about 15,000 members, mostly in the South, the group was well known for its opposition to racial integration," Wikipedia says. Its issues involved the so-called "protection" of "European-American" heritage from those of other ethnicities. If my dad had only had Wikipedia he would have known all that.
But, in answer to the man's reply, Dad said he didn't think that was his role in the community. He said he thought his role was to share the gospel with anyone who would receive it, black or white, and to make no distinction between the two. "And that," my father said, "was when he looked at me as if he really did have a rattlesnake loose in his house."
It was not long after I was born that the leaders of Dad's church sat down with him to discuss the policies of racial integration being promoted by the denomination. According to some Presbyterians, at least, black people ought to be welcome in the church just like white people. The elders of the church in Hayneville talked about that for a long time and finally decided that black people -- "negroes," as they called them in polite company -- were welcome to visit the church but not welcome to join it. And then they looked at my dad to see what he thought.
He must have been about 30 years old at the time -- a young man, sitting in that room with all his elders, trying to be respectful. But finally he said, "This church doesn't belong to us. It belongs to Jesus Christ. And I don't think he would keep anyone from joining because of their skin color." And the man who had chaired the search committee looked at my dad and said, "Son, I don't know what kind of religion they taught you in seminary, but we've only got one kind of religion here, and it's that good old Southern religion."
Soon word began to get around that the new pastor of the Presbyterian church in Hayneville was a "nigger-lovin'" preacher. Church attendance began to fall off. Women would stare at my mother in the grocery store. And then one morning while she was fixing breakfast, she noticed a string of cars passing by the house, slowing down at the front yard and then speeding up again. One of our neighbors called to ask if we were all right and Mom said, "Yes, why wouldn't we be?"
"Didn't you know?" said the woman. "Why, the Ku Klux Klan burned a cross in front of your house last night!"
Mom hung up the phone and got my father out of bed. He put on his bathrobe and slippers and walked across the front lawn to a patch of burned grass. My mother watched him poke a pile of ashes with the toe of one slipper, and when he came back in, she said, "Well?"
And he answered, almost disappointed: "Sure was a little one."
But, after that, the threats began to get more serious, until my father finally decided he needed to get his family out of there. So, he loaded up his wife and three little boys in a 1953 Ford Fairlane, strapped a dog house on top with our dog, Lady, and her five puppies inside, nailed a piece of plywood over the opening, and then, under cover of darkness, pulled out of the parsonage driveway and headed up the road toward southwestern Virginia, where he would try to continue his ministry under happier, friendlier circumstances.
Things were happier there, and friendlier, too. But -- even though I was just a toddler when we left Alabama -- those stories, and my father's courageous example, have shaped my views on race relations ever since. How about you? Who shaped your views on this issue?
-- James Green Somerville is pastor of the First Baptist Church of Richmond, Va. This column was adapted from a March 7 entry on his blog, Jimsblog.
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