The Famous Texas Feud of First Baptist Preachers
March 30, 2013 2 Comments
[As historic First Baptist Church in Dallas, Texas, dedicates its new 130 million dollar home this weekend, here is a look back at a time of rivalry between First Baptist, Dallas–and First Baptist in Fort Worth, Texas]
W.A. Criswell, who for decades led historic First Baptist Church in Dallas, Texas, was the driving force in the decision to keep the congregation in its downtown location, while most other American city churches were fleeing to the suburbs.
When he was a young boy growing up in the northwest corner of the Texas panhandle, he began to feel stirrings in his soul about the call to the ministry. His parents were conflicted, with mother concerned about the boy’s prospects for material success, and father determined that if his boy became a preacher, he’d be the “right” kind.
The elder Criswell was a big fan of a preacher often referred to as the “Texas Tornado”—J. Frank Norris, pastor of the First Baptist Church in Fort Worth. The Mrs., well, her pulpit cup of tea was George W. Truett of Dallas’ First Baptist Church. He was devotional, where Norris was dogmatic. Truett was a unifier, where Norris was a divider. Both preachers were predominately evangelistic, but their methods and mannerisms were as different as night and day.
And they had a famous feud that lasted more than two decades.
Today, Dr. Truett is the better remembered of the duo, but this was certainly not the case when the two First Baptist Churches towered over the variants of Baptist life during the first half of the 20th century. And, although Truett’s legacy is secure, complete with the ongoing success of the Dallas church (a new 130 million dollar facility), as well the association of his name with his alma mater, Baylor University—at times the ghost of J. Frank Norris has haunted the Southern Baptist Convention.
For much of the 1920s and 1930s, the Fort Worth church was the larger of the two. In fact, it was in many ways America’s first megachurch. And Norris’ name was better known than Truett’s outside of Baptist circles, due largely to his penchant for sensationalism and controversy. After all, a preacher indicted four times by county grand juries during his ministry, once for perjury, twice for arson, and once for first-degree murder, with high-profile trials accompanying, would tend to get ample media coverage.
Even inside the denominational walls of the Southern Baptist world, Norris’ name was as well known as Truett’s, though not out of affection. Initially noticed favorably by George W. Truett and other leaders as a young and upcoming minister, even being given a plum job as editor of the Baptist Standard at the tender age of 30, leaders soon soured on J. Frank. They began to notice the young preacher’s apparently unbridled ambition, not to mention his “Haydenite” tendencies.
This was a reference to a schismatic group of Southern Baptists in the latter part of the 19th century, led by one Samuel Hayden, and given over to the kind of “watch dog-ism” and divisiveness that would later characterize the emergence of Baptist Fundamentalism in the 1920s.
The growth of Fundamentalism in its early days following the end of World War I played out as a veritable tale of two preachers in the Southern Baptist world. Norris became an early champion of the movement, while Truett shied away from its more tenacious tendencies. It was this reluctance by Truett to engage perceived error that provoked J. Frank Norris’ wrath. And when Norris took on the great school where he and Truett had trained for the ministry (though more than 10 years apart), Baylor in Waco, Texas, the gloves were off.
J. Frank Norris conducted a celebrated witch-hunt, investigating the faculty of the Baptist school and looking for doctrinal anemia, especially when it came to the hot-button-issue-of-the-day: evolution. This all occurred against that backdrop of the Roaring Twenties, where the issues aired out at the Scopes Trial in Dayton, Tenn., were being debated around the country. Norris was the chief inquisitor, a man who was responsible for many notable faculty resignations at Baylor and elsewhere around the country.
And along the way, some of the brethren came up with a little poem, one that would be whispered and laughed at when preachers got together to chew the ecclesiastical fat:
“And what to do with Norris, was a question broad and deep.
He was too big to banish, and he smelled too bad to keep.”
But it was not at all funny to George W. Truett. It was personal, because Norris had made it so. By this time, the Fort Worth preacher had become what has been described as “Truett’s chief rival for the soul of Texas Baptistdom.” In 1924, the Baptist General Convention of Texas, with the full backing of Dr. Truett, ousted Norris and his church. Norris was waging all-out war against what he sarcastically called “The Baptist Machine.” His personal tabloid, called the Searchlight, had a circulation of more than 50,000 by this time, and it was commonplace to see Truett and other Baptist leaders described as “infidels” and worse in its headlines and pages.
Also around this time, it became part of the job description of deacons at Truett’s church to be watchful every Sunday morning, on the look out for anyone bearing anything resembling a telegram. Norris would regularly try to insert an agent provocateur into the Dallas church crowd, someone who, with the skill of an experienced process server, would get a choicely worded note into Dr. Truett’s hand—one designed to rattle the preacher with words such as: “How can a man like you presume to occupy a Baptist pulpit?”
Norris and Truett were not only different outside the pulpit; they were a study in contrast in it, as well. Norris tended to use outrageous and aggressive body language to aid his voice, complete with flailing arms, kicking feet, and even tossing the occasional coat to the floor. Truett, on the other hand, let his voice do all the work, one that could, it was said: “leap from a whisper to a shout in the utterance of a syllable.”
Norris’ ways caught up to him, at least temporarily, in 1926, when he shot an unarmed critic to death. The story became national news as Norris faced the Texas electric chair, in the biggest and most sensational trial of that decade in a Texas court. This is the story I tell in my book, THE SHOOTING SALVATIONIST: J. Frank Norris and the Murder Trial that Captivated America.
Norris was acquitted and resumed his ministry, one that would lead him to pastor two churches, First Baptist in Fort Worth and Temple Baptist in Detroit, Mich., simultaneously for 16 years (1934-1950), boasting a combined church membership of 25,000. But the murder trial rendered him a virtual pariah among Southern Baptists, leading Norris to eventually start his own “independent Baptist” movement, one that flourished long after his death in 1952. Ironically, elements of the independent movement and the SBC interact with increased regularity these days, with the late Jerry Falwell’s Liberty University being the most enduring legacy of Norris’ independent Baptist vision.
George W. Truett died in July of 1944 after a yearlong illness. The search for a new pastor for First Baptist in Dallas, led them to 34-year old, W.A. Criswell. The new pastor—though this was likely not noticed at the time—was in some ways a composite of Truett and Norris, though certainly without the latter’s darker qualities.
And one day, after Criswell had been filling George W. Truett’s shoes for nearly eight years, W.A. glanced out the window of his office a saw an old man sitting there. He buzzed his secretary and asked how long the man had been waiting, “Well, he’s been there for quite a while, Dr. Criswell. He looked like a bum to me, and I wasn’t sure you’d want to be disturbed,” she said.
But Criswell recognized the old man, and he was no bum—it was J. Frank Norris.
Dr. Criswell received his visitor, embraced him, and they chatted about life and ministry. Norris died a few days latter.
[This article is a revised version of one written by the author for Preaching Magazine]