NASHVILLE, Tenn. — Four months ago, two African-American pastors stood in a hallway of the Southern Baptist Convention‘s Nashville headquarters looking at a row of white faces.
The portraits of the 56 convention presidents since the denomination’s 1845 founding are in large picture frames holding several portraits each. The final frame holds empty slots.
“They got a space for Fred, right there,” one of the men said. “Got a space picked out for him.”
“Fred” is the Rev. Fred Luter Jr. (pictured), the man poised to become the first African-American president of the nation’s largest Protestant denomination when convention delegates vote next week in New Orleans.
It’s a big step for a denomination that was formed out of a pre-Civil War split with northern Baptists over slavery, and for much of the last century had a reputation for supporting segregation.
In recent years, faced with growing diversity in America and declining membership in its churches, the denomination has made a sincere effort to distance itself from that past. Many Southern Baptists believe the charming and charismatic Luter is the man who can lead them forward.
Luter’s rise through the Southern Baptist ranks has been a slow and steady process, the result of the hard work, leadership, and creativity that allowed him to turn a struggling inner-city church of 50 members into the largest Southern Baptist church in Louisiana by weekly attendance.
The 55-year-old grew up in New Orleans’ Lower 9th Ward, the middle of five children raised by a divorced Mother who worked as a seamstress “not to make ends meet, but just to make them kind of wave at each other,” he said.
The family walked to a local Baptist church every Sunday and Luter’s mother made sure all the children attended.
Luter drifted away from religion after leaving home for college, but at age 21, he found himself making a promise to God that he has kept to this day.
After a near-fatal motorcycle accident landed him in the hospital, “I said, `God, if you save my life, I’ll serve you for the rest of my life,” Luter said.
He survived and soon began preaching on street corners every Saturday with a group of friends from church.
“We had no training,” he said. “We were just really excited about what God was doing in our lives and we wanted to share it with others. We got ridiculed a lot.”
Luter kept it up for nine years before someone suggested he apply to become the pastor at Franklin Avenue Baptist Church. Formerly a white church, the membership had changed to African-American with changing demographics of the neighborhood.
“When I came to Franklin Avenue it was a bunch of women and kids,” Luter said. “You could count the number of men on one hand.”
So Luter bought a pay-per-view TV boxing match between Sugar Ray Leonard and Thomas Hearns and told the women in his church to invite every man they knew.
About 25 men showed up, some of whom didn’t realize they were coming to the pastor’s house, Luter said. Nonetheless, they happily dumped their beer to go in and see the match. Afterward, Luter invited them to come to church.
“The boxing match was on a Friday night and the following Sunday five of those guys were at church,” Luter said. He recognized them during the service and all the women started applauding. After church, they lavished attention on the men.
“The next Sunday there were more men,” Luter said. “Once we started the men’s program we found that men draw not only other men, but men draw women. Word started spreading.”