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In these latter days of the twentieth century, the denominational problem of identity is a genuine one for many groups besides Baptists. Baptists, however, appear to have more problems than most as we endeavor to locate that distillation, that essence, that defining difference which constitutes being Baptist.

For example, many groups can locate their identity geographically. If one is a Presbyterian, then the direction in which one should travel to locate the essence of that tradition is immediately clear: to Geneva or, perhaps even better, Scotland. If one stands in St. Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh, one feels the pride of origins, if not of ownership. Or if one visits a country church on the Isle of Mull or experiences a totally Presbyterian sabbath in the rural Highlands, a comforting assurance envelopes the pilgrim who knows that indeed John Knox is in his heaven and all’s right with the world. Or the Episcopalian can make his or her way like a homing pigeon to Westminster Abbey or Canterbury or Coventry; sitting in St. Paul’s on an Easter Sunday morning one instinctively knows why one is of the Anglican persuasion and why one is never tempted to depart from it.

The Lutheran may undertake the journey to Marburg, or Copenhagen, or anywhere in Scandinavia for that matter. When visiting the magnificent cathedrals one’s spirit can rise with the arches to the vaulted ceilings and beyond. With satisfaction and a sense of belonging, the Lutheran walks all through the cathedral, back and forth, up and down. It is easy to do this because, of course, no one else is there, even on a Sunday. Nonetheless, one has the feeling that somebody very important once was there!

If one wishes to reaffirm his Dutch Reformed identity, where better to go than to … Grand Rapids? Well, yes, but perhaps one is made even more firmly secure by a visit to Amsterdam or Rotterdam or Leyden.

But if you are a Baptist, it’s a problem not only of identity but also of direction. Where to go? I do not recommend a trip to Zurich where in the 16th century Felix Manz was drowned for administering believers’ baptism. Nor to England where Baptists were exiled or jailed or burned, all such activity leaving little leisure for erecting noble monuments to the memory of Smyth or Helwys or Murton. But surely in America, where Baptists have flourished far beyond the dreams of early founders, there will be monuments and statues of impressive dimension. No doubt. A few years ago, while doing a book on a forgotten Baptist hero, I spent some weeks in Newport, Rhode Island. Here at last I was on home ground, if not actually sacred Baptist soil. I looked forward to being surrounded by and ever-reminded of the likes of John Clarke, Obadiah Holmes, Mark Lucar, Joseph Torrey, John Crandall, the Peckhams, the Weedens, the Hiscoxes and others.

I walked down to the handsomely restored brick market along the edges of the Narragansett Bay where the Chamber of Commerce distributed brochures and maps for Newport’s large tourist population. One brochure treated religion in Newport. Excellent! Here at last I would see Baptist history come into its own, in this colonial town where Baptists (Calvinist, Arminian, Seventh-Day) set the pace for Baptists in all of North America. And so I read the brochure, coming first to the Quakers. Well, yes, the Quakers (thanks to Roger Williams’ stand on religious liberty) did in the second half of the 17th century become a major presence in Newport. I read on: Jews in Newport. To be sure, the oldest synagogue building in all North America stands next to the Newport Historical Society. Then the brochure told of the Congregationalists; after all, the presence of Ezra Stiles (later president of Yale) in Newport gave this persecuting church a certain panache. Then, Episcopalians, trying desperately to adjust to their unaccustomed role of being just another sect: disestablished, unfavored, unprotected, competing for members in the open market.

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