I was transfixed and smitten. Having grown up on the wrong side of the tracks in the Deep South, in the cocoon of a culture—formerly agricultural but now upwardly mobile blue-collar Southern Baptists—I knew that most of those who had worshipped at First Calvary were not “my people,” not “my kind of Baptists.” These had once been uptown Baptists, white-collar professionals, small-business owners, civic leaders, patrons of the arts. Some were bona fide movers and shakers in greater Kansas City.
