Not long before the SBC mtg in Dallas, some guys asked me if I’d be willing to present a motion urging greater financial transparency in the entities. They’d been pressing for this, and they knew I’d be sympathetic, so they ran it by me to see if a fresh (but old) voice might take up the cause. I was willing, but suggested several tweaks, to which they agreed. Here’s how I read it into the mic:

I move that on this 100th anniversary of the Cooperative Program, the messengers direct the newly elected president of this Convention to appoint a task force (to include supporters of this motion) to study the issue of financial transparency among our entities and how their financial practices impact our trust in and enthusiasm for the Cooperative Program, so important to our Convention’s unity and mission. The task force shall have the right to inquire of these entities (including the Executive Committee) concerning their financial policies and activities, including but not limited to, information pertaining to executive compensation, conflicts of interest, investments, outside funding sources, (whether private or governmental), and compliance with the Convention’s standing Business and Financial Plan. The task force shall bring back a report with recommendations to the 2026 Annual Meeting in Orlando Florida, as we look forward to a new century of Great Commission cooperation.

Turns out, the motion was declared out of order, but the chair gave me a chance to speak briefly to it. My impromptu comments weren’t impressive, but I got my three minutes at the mic. After the convention, I expressed my dismay in writing at the platform’s approach to my and others’ motions in this vein.  

Here’s a transcription of the exchange, beginning with the platform’s declaration. 

It was the unanimous opinion of the Convention’s legal counsel, the parliamentarians, and the Committee on Order of Business that this particular motion, Motion 21, offered by Dr. Coppenger, gave instructions to entities that would conflict with the Business and Financial Plan. It also violates Bylaw 26.b which says that the Convention entrusts the internal operations of entities to the trustees of those entities. So, it was the strong opinion of the professionals and the committee involved that this violated the governing documents. But Dr. Coppenger has appealed. The chair may recognize him for a few moments to explain why he believes that we are wrong and that the motion needs to be scheduled.

Dr. Coppenger, would you like to speak for your appeal?

Yes, Thank you.

First, it directs an inquiry, not particular behavior from an entity, and it instructs the president. And we’ve formed all sorts of task forces, so it strikes me this is in order of what we’ve done, and it doesn’t tell any entity what they have to do.

Just a brief word about this, where it came from. When I went to Midwestern, one of the press guys asked me how I became an inerrantist. And I had to think a minute. I said, “I guess I just never got over Sunday School.” And then I asked myself, “Why am I bringing this?” Well, not only did I not get over Sunday School; I didn’t get over RA camp, and being in the Bill Wallace chapter of the RAs—a surgeon who could have made a lot of money in America, but died in a Chinese prison, sacrificing himself for the Gospel. It just strikes me that we have gone too much into the “bidness” and political mindset.

You know, I was trying to think, when Paul was called to go into Macedonia, he didn’t say, “First, let’s consider. Have you got dental?” You know, when Demas left and when John Mark left, Paul didn’t say, “Would you sign a non-disclosure agreement? I’ll pay for your shipboard fare.” And like if the Zealots came to Paul and said, “Look, we’ll help fund what you’re doing, because it’s upsetting the Romans. Can you take a little money because I know you could use it?” It just strikes me that we’re getting too clever and too, I don’t know, worldly, in our thinking. 

You know, you think if you introduce the stuff about salary, it’ll undermine all this stuff. Look, I wasn’t much of a threat to our enemies, but I was in the reserves for 28 years, and they always published the pay scale of everybody up to four-star generals with twenty years in service. You knew what everybody made, and that didn’t destroy the military. You had people at the lowest pay scale throwing themselves on grenades to support their buddies. I’m just concerned that the simplicity and purity of the Early Church, with regard to everything from salaries and golden parachutes to non-disclosure agreements to negotiations to whatever. 

I just never got over Sunday School, and I never got over RAs, and what I see in the sharp practices, and like “You can’t ask that question” and “We’ve got that covered,” and “Our attorneys say this and that”—I think we’ve overreached and lost a bit of our soul. So, I’d like the president to appoint a committee, and say, “Are we overreaching in our coverage of things?”

We’re out of time Dr. Coppenger. Thank you.

Looking back at that day, I thought I’d pitch in a little more on the RA comment. I could write a book about my Royal Ambassador experience, which was wonderful and ran all the way up into high school. But I’ll keep it brief.

Back in the day, RAs were under the Brotherhood Commission, based in Memphis. (They’re now under the Women’s Missionary Union, since Brotherhood was closed down, along with other agencies, e.g., RTVC, Stewardship, in the SBC’s “Covenant for a New Century.” The Arkansas department worked under the leadership of C. H. Seaton and Nelson Tull, two names I remember vividly from the 1950s. They saw to it that we Arkansas Baptist Boys had plentiful opportunities for spiritual growth as we made our way through the requirements for the ranks of Page, Squire, Knight, and beyond. There were RA congresses in various cities, where we stayed in church members’ homes (and read the comic books left by their grown sons, including those featuring “Sgt. Rock of Easy Company” and “Superman”). 

And then there was the annual RA camp at Ferncliff, in the sticks southwest of Little Rock. We slept on cots in big tents, much the same at Fort Sill during my six weeks of ROTC “boot camp.” The ballfield was a big grassy expanse, filled with rocks, some of which we’d pick up on the way through to the swimming hole, which was fed by cold spring water. Our worship services were held in a metal-roofed, open-sided “tabernacle,” with rustic wooden benches and a sawdust floor. No PA system. No A/V. Just minimal wooden lectern, from which the missionary of the week spoke to us.

We gained points toward honor camper status by reading booklets on the life and work of missionaries, and we’d sing heartily, “Send the light, the blessed gospel light, let it shine from shore to shore . . .” And boy did they have a challenging RA song, keyed to 2 Corinthians 5:20. In the KJV, it reads, “Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God.” 

The song, “The King’s Business,” began (as well as my memory serves me) 

I am a stranger here, within a foreign land, my home is far away, upon a golden strand. Ambassadors to be, from realms beyond the sea, I’m here on business for my king. This is the message that I bring, a message angels fain would sing: “Oh be ye reconciled, thus saith my Lord and King, O be ye reconciled to God.” 

And the melody was a workout, soaring high on “my Lord and King.” But we managed, and it’s on my hard drive nearly 70 years later. 

And the message was consistently one of glad sacrifice for the calling, with accounts of the service of Bill Wallace, Lottie Moon, William Carey, Luther Rice, and contemporary missionaries in what was then called Southern Rhodesia or Ceylon on Bombay. And they weren’t whipping us young turkeys up into signing, in an emotional frenzy, blank checks on our lives. This was solid, exhilarating, consecrating Christianity, with anything less reminding me of the grumpy passengers boarding the bus at the beginning of C. S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce. 

To my amazement over the intervening years, I’ve seen religious professionals undermine this vision, and do so explicitly. Here are a few examples:

A Ouachita prof said he didn’t tithe because working at a church school meant he made less than those across the way at Henderson State, so his service at OBU was his tithe.

A candidate for a staff position at my grad-school-days church, Belmont Heights in Nashville, was stipulating limits to his work schedule and, as I recall, other items in his “package,” which was more generous than that of a beginning prof at Harvard. A SWBTS prof had told him he needed to nail those things down up front.

When I was a beginning pastor in the 1980s, another pastor told of an evangelist who agreed to preach a revival series at his church, but canceled when a more lucrative invitation came his way.

I’ve seen checklists of itinerant speakers who, like rock stars, insist upon minimum fees and amenities before they’ll show.

I’m not sure whether boards or executives or both have lost their minds in playing the corporate-CEO-recruitment game of providing “competitive” salaries and severance guarantees, as if they were talking to some high-speed, low-drag dude moving over from Cracker Barrel or Hertz. I’m picturing Adoniram Judson seated in the back of the room, marveling at the officious, transactional handling of the affair.

When I read the “Separation Agreement and Release” that SBTS required of squeaky wheels who were cut (conveniently) from the faculty due to COVID-related financial difficulties, I was surprised at the stipulation that they say nothing derogatory about the seminary and that, otherwise, they would forego even modest severance help. A conservative friend assured me that this was just pro forma behavior by scrupulous entities in the business world. Sad to hear that’s our template.

And speaking of baffling trustees, what kind of board would let the IMB head take on another, every-Sunday, preaching gig in a non-SBC church when he was supposed to be overseeing the world’s largest mission organization; or those at LifeWay, who countenanced side-hustles and nepotistic assignments by men already paid several hundreds of thousands in salary?

Years ago, I came across an Episcopal tract on tithing—“The 10% Solution.” (Who knew that was a thing with them?) It referenced scripture, but it added the notion that, like adding a solvent to water, this regular giving percentage could serve to wash away the sticky, faith-deficient, materialism that made life spiritually miserable. Analogously, I think we need financial transparency to help us, as a denomination, rinse off the sticky “cleverness” that’s robbing us of our Lottie Moon holiness and power. 

Look, I know that a lot of the folks who’ve gotten into this routine will be closer to the throne in heaven than I will. But I don’t think they’re doing us or themselves any favor by buying into these protocols. If they sense a calling to a godly task, then they rob themselves of testimony to the Lord’s blessing if they say something along the lines of, “Well, let’s discuss that. What do you offer?” It’s a joy to “go out on a limb” with initial disappointments beyond your low, pecuniary expectations, only to see channels of blessing of many sorts open up before you. You really can have George Müller stories of your own if you’ll not insist upon professional security.

Oh, but what about providing for your family. Well, God cares about that too, and I trust him more than myself to make it work out. I’m reminded of Chuck Fairbanks, coach of the New England Patriots 1979, when he broke his contract to travel West to coach the University of Colorado Buffaloes. In defending his decision, he said he had to think about his family (those poor folks having to survive on an NFL head-coach’s salary). It’s a popular card to play, but it’s a shame that ministers, and indeed, laymen, play it so readily when God’s leading and providence shout otherwise. (And yes, I believe in specific calling for individuals, but that’s a topic for another day.)

So yes, I never got over RAs. And no, I never made it to Knight, but maybe Squire. Still working on it.