Sobriety, Baptism, and the Call to Serve

For Jarrett Leeth, sobriety was not the end of a journey but the clearing of the fog. 

Leeth’s parents were pillars of Baptist Temple. Morgan and Lynn were deeply involved in teaching, music, and community ministry. But Jarrett was drifting in the opposite direction. “I was getting out of the church scene and going my own ways. Not good ways, doing bar scenes and such and going the wrong way,” he said. What began as casual drinking hardened into habit, and habit into dependence. He would later describe those years plainly: hurting other people, hurting himself, using friends and even his parents for money, and watching alcohol quietly dismantle both his work and his integrity.

He was a licensed journeyman plumber who learned his trade in the Navy as a Seabee. Plumbing was the one steady thing in his life. But even that began to erode. After a diabetes diagnosis, he refused to change his lifestyle. Medication came; the drinking continued. He let his plumbing license lapse and tried to begin again at Home Depot, imagining a steady career until retirement. Instead, he found himself working part-time at night stocking for modest wages, barely covering fuel costs.

He pivoted again, this time into sprinkler fitting. The work suited him. The drinking did not stop.

Then came the physical consequences. Diabetes advanced. Sores appeared on his feet and would not heal. A toe was amputated and still he drank. His nights blurred into mornings as he drank himself into brief unconsciousness only to begin again. Finally, it got so bad he was hospitalized for liver failure.

That was three years ago. “I don't even have the slightest thought of alcohol in my mind anymore,” he said. 

Leeth quit cold turkey. No gradual taper. No negotiated compromise. March 14 will mark three years without a drop of alcohol. The early weeks were difficult, but the cravings eventually fell silent. Sobriety did more than restore clarity; it restored memory. With painful vividness he began to see the damage he had done—to himself, to others, to the life he might have lived.

Then he began to pray. He began to feel the Holy Spirit working in his life; a quiet conversation between him and God. He had been thinking about baptism for months before he spoke it aloud. He even considered marking the occasion on the third anniversary of his sobriety. Yet his deeper questions were not about ceremony but about direction. About following the way of Jesus.

He was baptized on February ninth, not just as a testimony of what he left behind but, also, a declaration of where he hopes to go. At fifty-five, Leeth describes himself as “wide awake.” Plumbing was his identity, the one thing he stuck to. But now, sober and alert, he feels the weight of larger questions: Where am I headed? What is the purpose of the years that remain?

He reads Scripture and seeks deeper understanding. He searches the stories for answers about life and eternity. He is seeking a way to make a difference. “Serving others, that’s probably what I'm looking for right there,” he said.

And the questions that once haunted him—about death, about direction, about meaning—are gradually giving way to something quieter and more enduring: the desire to belong to Christ and to spend what remains of his life serving others.

Youth Ministry in a Season of Change

“My first week was trial by fire,” said Shad Purcell, Baptist Temple’s new Minister of Youth and Activities (1999—2001).

He hit the ground running. He took the youth to Centrifuge his first week. The following week featured a mission trip to the border town of Van Horn with VBS and construction work all day, followed by worship in the evening. He was surprised to find out at the first worship service for the Spanish-language church that he was to be the preacher. He gave them a fifteen-minute message (including translation) and, on his guitar, played the one song he knew in Spanish—twice. 

When Purcell arrived at Baptist Temple, he was young and still discerning the shape of his ministry. BT called him to be the full-time Youth and Activities Minister after Danny Johnson’s departure. He had been the part-time minister of youth at Dellview Baptist Church while completing his Master of Divinity at the San Antonio extension of Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. Purcell’s early years in ministry would be shaped under the leadership of Pastor Mark Newton. “He was a great mentor to me,” Purcell said.

Purcell quickly developed an affection for the church’s south-side location and long history of community presence as he entered a congregation already navigating complex transitions—demographic, theological, and cultural. The youth group reflected those tensions. Some students came from long-established BT families, commuting from neighborhoods north and east of the city. Kids from the neighborhood were drawn by open gym nights, the promise of food, and a place to belong. But integrating students from different social worlds proved uneven. While open conflict was rare, true unity was lacking. The church could gather young people into the same room more easily than it could draw them into a shared identity. “They were rough,” he said.

At twenty-five, Purcell found himself working with young people who faced challenges and influences beyond the church environment. In one case, he recalled sensing a struggle between competing claims on a young man’s soul—between the pull of gang affiliation and the faith-based community offered by the church.

The gym continued to be one of the church’s most effective outreach tools, particularly through volleyball leagues and recreational programming that kept the campus active throughout the week. Purcell credits Cathy Peeler and her daughter, Linzi, with keeping the gym full and the leagues organized.

As meaningful as the work was, Purcell increasingly sensed a separation between his own developing convictions and the church’s institutional culture. BT, responding to broader currents within Baptist life, placed consistent emphasis on denominational identity and distinction. While Purcell affirmed those commitments, he found himself longing for a ministry less about tradition and more about the joy of the gospel. Worship services were too formal and reinforced a model of church life that seemed distant from the community the church hoped to reach.

One incident stands out. It was in the wee small hours of the morning when Purcell finished replacing the chairs used for the Fiesta Saturday Night Parade fundraiser. He went home for a nap and showed up for worship without a suit and sat with his wife rather than on the platform with the rest of the staff. “I caught so much grief for that,” he remembers.

These dynamics seemed misaligned with the immediacy of the gospel work he was encountering among students and in the surrounding community—an expression of larger questions facing the congregation. Could BT function as a neighborhood church again? Encounters with students navigating gang pressure, economic instability, and broken family systems sharpened that question. 

Purcell’s time at BT was also marked by moments of deep affirmation. The Habitat for Humanity build stands out as a highlight. Working side by side with church members, sharing physical labor and common purpose, embodied the kind of communal faith he valued. The experience would shape his understanding of ministry long after he left.

In cooperation with his home church, Crossroads Baptist Church, Purcell was ordained at BT. It was an occasion made especially meaningful by his father’s public expression of pride and affection. “He's from the generation where you just don't say that out loud,” he said.

Shad Purcell remembers his time at Baptist Temple as formative rather than frustrating. The church tested his assumptions, refined his priorities, and shaped his calling. The lessons learned there, amid both affirmation and strain, would continue to shape his ministry for decades to come. Today he serves as Pastor of Discipleship and Assimilation at Alamo Community Church.

Baptist Temple was faithful to who it had been, even as younger ministers and emerging communities pressed toward what the church might yet become. 

From Obligation to Belonging

Sean Murphy’s connection to the church began unexpectedly. Assigned community service, Murphy asked to serve somewhere close to home. A decision that brought him to the Highland Park Community Assistance Network on the BT Campus. At first, he expected to do little more than complete the required hours by helping at the thrift store and food pantry. Instead, relationships began to form. “I just kept coming and it became a regular thing,” he said.

He began attending worship and Bible study with his wife, Nancy and daughter, Makayla. They felt welcome and the Holy Spirit began to work on their hearts. Nancy and Makayla made a public commitment to Christ and were baptized last year. Nancy sings and plays guitar with the church praise band.

Murphy describes himself as a handyman, a role shaped as much by necessity as by skill. “When something broke, nobody knew how to fix it and we ended up having to pay somebody,” he said. So, he learned to work with hands.

He worked in construction until a falling beam nearly crushed his leg. “I almost lost my leg. I was real lucky,” he said

Now retired, Murphy is present at the church most days. He helps where he can—fixing appliances, tending to the landscape, assembling meal packs for the homeless, whatever is needed. He is not only a handyman, but he plays the guitar and cooks. “It's giving me a sense of purpose, and I feel like I'm actually doing something,” he said.

Deacon Vernon Liverett said, “I have seen that when Sean gets involved with something, he becomes totally committed to it. He does research and will learn new skills to become more proficient at that activity.”

Murphy’s spiritual journey has had some twists and turns. He was raised Catholic but his grandmother, while Catholic, also practiced tarot reading during the Great Depression to support her family—a detail Murphy recounts with both irony and affection. As a young adult, he explored a wide range of religious traditions, including the Mormon Church and Wicca.

When Murphy began to read a Bible provided to him be the Gideons, he came full circle to Christianity. Opening it at random, he encountered the story of Job. The suffering was so overwhelming that he could not finish the account at the time, unaware that restoration followed loss. Still, the experience marked a turning point. “Now I find myself doing it more and more with Bible study and hearing the sermons in church and just kind of being more active than I've ever been in a church setting before,” he said.

Under the gentle and steady discipleship of Minister of Outreach, Daniel Arredondo and Liverett, Murphy committed himself to following Christ and was baptized on February first this year.

Murphy does not frame his faith in doctrinal terms. He speaks of following Jesus through action—helping others, fixing what’s broken, showing up when someone needs help. For him, faith has become more present and embodied than ever before.

Church is a place where he belongs, contributes, and grows. Murphy’s faith is active and grounded in compassion. He helps because he knows what it is like to need help—and not receive it. That knowledge shapes both his work and his walk.

A Seasonal Job Becomes a Lifetime Calling

It was meant to be temporary. As the Christmas season approached, Baptist Temple was without a Minister of Music for the usual holiday worship events. Experienced and available, Kirby Follis was invited to lead the church through Advent and Christmas.

It worked out well. The choir was talented and musicians were already in place. “We had a great celebration,” said Follis.

The church, pleased with the results, invited Follis to remain on staff full-time. Follis had a promising career in banking and prayed fervently before accepting the call. He said, “The Lord fulfilled my call to step fully into ministry.” 

Although he had been a worship leader for five years, this was his first experience leading a big program. There were choirs, handbells, a worship orchestra, and dinner theater, but he grew into the job. “I had complete freedom to lead and try new things or evaluate and revise old things,” he said.

Follis served during the final years of Bill Perdue’s pastorate and was part of the team of staff that led the church during the interim months between pastors. The team which also included Gary Bradley, Danny Johnson, and Guillermo Rolando ensured that the spiritual vitality of BT remained undiminished and yielded eleven baptisms during this time.

When Mark Newton was called as pastor, the next phase of Follis’s service began. A five-year period where his additional duties changed from children’s ministry to missions. A highlight of this era was BT’s active participation in the Billy Graham Crusade held in San Antonio. Follis helped mobilize volunteers, counselors, and follow-up teams. He was one of sixty BT church members who sang in the crusade choir.

Training sessions brought together participants from a range of congregations, including meetings hosted at St. Margaret Mary Catholic Church. Follis remembered the remarkable cooperative spirit among churches in the city at that time. Legendary Billy Graham Crusade music director Cliff Barrow lead the choir. “To be under his guidance is something you remember your whole life,” said Follis.

One of the most popular worship-related ministries during his time was the dinner theater. Follis inherited this program that was created by Mary Ann Stevens, whose leadership had expanded children’s choirs, introduced handbells and instrumentation, and developed resources to support music education. Building on that foundation, Follis and co-director Nancy Pennington continued the ministry and oversaw a stylistic shift toward musical theater productions with Christian themes. 

Kirby Follis was at BT from 1993—2000 and today serves as Executive Pastor of Cityrise Church in Houston but still remembers the joy of serving a vibrant San Antonio church “with a desire to embrace, love, and serve as changing community.”

“Baptist Temple has long been 

a beacon atop the I-10 freeway.

May her light continue to brightly shine!” 

Kirby Follis

Rooted in Friendship, Renewed in Service

Bobann Moore returned to the church of her childhood to help serve the Tuesday night community dinner after retiring from a long career in clinical research. With newly available time, she made a decisive commitment: Tuesdays would belong to Baptist Temple.

"Bobann is a great cook but has been happy to help in any way she can,” said Kay Richardson, who leads the community dinner crew. “She preps vegetables, butters bread, cuts and plates desserts, and gets ice in cups. She also provides some of our desserts when needed. And she is always ready and willing to serve our community from the line.” 

With a constant smile on her face that reflects her inner joy, Moore makes it a point to greet and speak to community members and is an encouragement to the other volunteers. Soon her service expanded to organizing neighborhood donation drives, collecting clothing and household items, and delivering them weekly to the church’s thrift store. Her car—and often her garage—fill quickly.

Her story at Baptist Temple spans nearly a lifetime. She first arrived as a child of nine, when her family moved from Oklahoma to San Antonio. Her father, Bill Leikam, was Pastor Loren White’s college roommate at Oklahoma Baptist University and was invited to serve as BT’s minister of music while also teaching full-time at San Antonio College. 

She was baptized at age eleven by Loren White and grew within the full rhythm of church life—Sunday mornings, Sunday evenings, and Wednesday nights—at a time when the sanctuary was full and the ministries were thriving.

She was married by BT Pastor Bill Purdue, and later her daughter was dedicated at BT. Generations overlapped naturally; friendships formed in childhood extended into adulthood.

Moore is part of a group of friends who get together once a month for dinner, sustaining bonds formed in pews and classrooms long ago. They grew up at Baptist Temple and have kept ties throughout the years even though many now attend other churches. “Since seven of us still attend BT, when we get together, we talk about what's going on at BT,” said Richardson.  

Although her church home is at Cornerstone, Moore has always shown particular interest in BT's ministries to the community and the homeless. She understands that volunteer-driven ministries depend on faithfulness across generations. “I want to keep this place going as best I can,” she explained, mindful that seasons change and servants age. Her commitment is steady, practical, and deeply relational.

Her memories of Baptist Temple are shaped by leadership and mission. She recalls the warmth and kindness of Loren White, the energy and vision of Mark Newton, and the organizational strength of Bill Purdue. She remembers bold ministries—the methadone clinic, the bus ministry, and outreach to housing projects—that embodied a willingness to serve neighbors even when such efforts made some uncomfortable.

In the past, Moore had served faithfully BT for years as nursery coordinator during a season when the church overflowed with young families. She volunteered to work church events and spearheaded a fundraising drive that raised thousands of dollars to assist a family in need. Her service was usually behind the scenes, but always effective.

Today, Moore continues to encourage generosity within her circle of longtime friends—redirecting gift exchanges toward donations, organizing care bags, and quietly modeling what it means to remain invested in a church that shaped her life. Baptist Temple, she says simply, “means a whole lot to us.”

For Bobann Moore, Baptist Temple is not only a place of memory but a living mission—one worthy of time, effort, and faithful presence. “Bobann has a giving, servant's heart and I am blessed to call her my friend and serve alongside her,” said Richardson.

From the Sanctuary to the Mountains: A Church That Sent Healers

BT Team in 2004. Megan is second from the right.

 

Megan Pieniazak Dove came to Baptist Temple as a child, joining the congregation with her family while she was in the fourth grade. From the beginning, the church became a formative space for her spiritual and personal development. She was immersed in the rhythms of congregational life—Sunday school, choir, GAs, and especially Acteens, a ministry she later described as central to her growth in faith. Looking back on those years, Dove recalled feeling so “bubble wrapped with love and assurance that she could dream big,” an environment that nurtured both confidence and calling.

With the encouragement of Pastor Mark Newton, she enrolled at Baylor University, where was active in the Baptist Student Ministry and deepened her sense of vocation. It was also at Baylor that she met her future husband, Stephen.

Dove’s time at Baylor included two semesters in Mexico, undertaken to strengthen her Spanish language skills. Experiences that would later prove essential. 

After completing her education, she returned to Baptist Temple in 2002, at just twenty years old, to serve as minister of children and youth, later just focusing on children.

In 2003, Megan and Stephen responded to a call to missions, relocating to Chiapas, Mexico for a year, to serve at Clínica Peña de Horeb, an eye clinic established by Good News Friends to bring medical care to some of southern Mexico’s most impoverished and geographically isolated communities. Dove’s earlier language training enabled her to work effectively with patients. She and Stephen assumed responsibility for the clinic’s administrative operations, coordinating medical teams, staffing, and daily logistics. 

The clinic’s work unfolded through three primary avenues: periodic medical campaigns during which U.S. physicians provided free ophthalmological surgeries; year-round eye exams and distribution of donated glasses; and regular outreach trips to remote villages scattered across the mountains. “Stephen and I would go on at least one or two remote trips a month to deliver glasses,” said Dove.

BT sent several mission teams to the clinic beginning in the late nineties. In 2002, BT prepared 5000 pairs of donated glasses to take to the clinic. 

Kirby Follis, BT Music and Missions at the time, recalled one trip to the clinic when the mission team combined medical care with pastoral presence. Physicians, nurses, and specialists treated many types of eye conditions, while others offered what Follis, described as “spiritual triage”—praying with patients, listening to their stories, and offering encouragement alongside physical care. “The need was immense” said Follis, “People walked for miles—sometimes for days—descending from remote mountain villages to wait in long lines, hoping for the chance to see a doctor.”

Melissa Baxter contributed to this article.


 

When the Church Becomes the Community

The Brunnemann Building at Baptist Temple carries more than a name. It carries a story. 

Kay Richardson remembers why it matters.

The building was named for her father, Max—someone who grew up in the church and spent his life helping it search for ways to connect with the surrounding neighborhood.

Once a store owned by her grandfather, the structure went through numerous changes before becoming a center of activity where food and fellowship, clothing and care, and haircuts and hugs are shared.

By the time Richardson’s father was honored with the building that bears his name, he was already deep into his illness. He never lived to see what would finally emerge there.

“I think about how thrilled he would be to see what’s happening now,” Richardson said. “The thrift store. The food pantry. The Tuesday night meals. They’re bringing in the community the way it always should have been.”

On Tuesday evenings, the church cafeteria is filled with people enjoying a free meal. For some it’s the only hot meal they get all week, for others it is a chance to sit with their family. For one working mother with five small children, it ‘s a welcome break. Volunteers bring the meals and help with the kids.

Volunteers prepare food and greet guests, but the room itself belongs to the community. On a recent Tuesday night, Richardson looked around the room and noticed something striking.

“Almost everyone there was from the community,” she said. “Not church members—except the volunteers. Just people. Some homeless. Some not. But all enjoying the food, the fellowship, and the space.”

And sometimes, something deeper happens.

That same night, a man who had suffered a stroke—unable to speak—kept pointing across the room. Richardson followed his gaze and approached the other man.

“I think this man knows you,” she said.

The recognition was immediate. The two men had been patients in the same rehabilitation facility, both recovering from strokes. They were reunited unexpectedly over a shared meal.

“These little connections keep happening,” Richardson said. “That’s when you realize what this space really is.”

The question of whether these relationships lead people to church—or to faith—is never far from the surface. Richardson speaks about it candidly.

“Yes, it matters,” Richardson said. “But we also know this is a slow process.”

The priority, she explained, is trust. For now, the work is simple and steady: Listening, trust-building, and offering unconditional love.

“We ask how we can pray for them. We read a short scripture. We invite them to services,” she said. “Sometimes they come. Some people from the community have even joined the church this year. But mostly, we’re focused on showing love—one week at a time.”

Vernon Liverette sees it from another angle. People may not realize how many hands it takes to make the ministry work: unloading food trucks, organizing shelves, sorting clothes, helping families shop, brewing coffee, welcoming strangers.
“It takes all of us,” he said. “And when we work together, that’s when we make an impact.”

For many who come through the pantry doors, Baptist Temple is not simply a church—it is the church.

“Some of them tell us, ‘You’re the only ones who care. You’re like my family,’” Liverette said. “And for some, we may be the only church they have contact with at all.”

Those served include grandparents raising grandchildren, families under financial strain, and people just needing a place to sit for a while. Everyone is met the same way—with dignity, food, and presence.

“That doesn’t happen without volunteers. No matter your role, your contribution matters. It makes a real difference,” said Liverette addressing a group at the annual volunteer Christmas party.

He paused, then smiled.

“And you should all give yourselves a round of applause.”
After years of uncertainty, Baptist Temple did not reinvent itself through strategy alone. It changed by showing up consistently—feeding people, learning names, listening to stories, and allowing the church to become part of the community it had long hoped to serve.

And in the Brunnemann Building, a legacy finally found its fulfillment.

Your contributions to our ministry helps us feed the hungry. 

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2025: The year in review

THE YEAR IN PICTURES 

It was a year marked by need—and faithfulness.

Across San Antonio, rising food insecurity pressed itself into daily life. Baptist Temple felt that weight not as an abstraction, but as faces, names, and empty hands. With the help of our hunger fighting partners, the church responded. Over the course of the year, more than seven hundred homeless meal bags were distributed, groceries were provided to over 3,500 families, and more than 4,000 hot meals were served. Each number represented a conversation, a prayer, a quiet act of dignity restored. God provided and the number of volunteers increased, as did the number of food sources—clear signs of God’s grace.

Hunger relief efforts intersected with learning, laughter, and shared life. Community events filled the calendar and the campus with energy: the Dollars and Sense seminar led by George Long offered practical guidance; the Charity Ball Association children’s party transformed the grounds with clowns, inflatables, pony rides, and a petting zoo; and the Boo Bash, cosponsored by the Early Learning Center and Respite Care, welcomed families into a safe and festive celebration. Even Vacation Bible School bore fruit, as two children made decisions to follow Christ—small moments that carried eternal weight.

The year was also marked by transition—hellos and goodbyes that reshaped the rhythm of congregational life. God’s Will Ministry began gathering for Sunday worship at 3:00 p.m. in the chapel adding to the five congregations already worshiping on the BT Campus. Divine Women expanded their services and relocated to the Long House. Respite Care launched a parent’s day out program on campus, offering rest to weary caregivers of special needs kids. At the same time, the Henry Ford Academy did not reopen in the fall, closing a chapter that had once held promise and purpose.

Worship remained the steady center. The sanctuary echoed with special services and sacred moments: the Southern Plainsmen worship concert, Adult and Teen Challenge leading worship with testimony and song on two occasions, and musical presentations on Palm Sunday and during Advent. Easter was celebrated with the flowering of the cross, a visible sign of resurrection hope. The Early Learning Center presented its strongest Christmas program to date, and Christmas Eve was marked not by spectacle but by simplicity—scripture read, songs sung, Christ remembered. In a moment of affirmation and gratitude for faithful service, Linda Moos was ordained as a deacon.

Life together mattered, too. Game day fellowships and shared meals created space for laughter and conversation. Valentine’s Day brought “A Night of Romance,” featuring great entertainment, laughter, and a catered dinner. Eighteen members walked together in the San Antonio Hunger Walk, embodying in public what they practiced daily. Homecoming stood above the rest—a celebration of the church’s 114th birthday, the largest worship attendance of the year, and an even larger gathering afterward at Comanche Park, where former members and staff returned from near and far to reminisce about the past and to rejoice about the present.

The year also witnessed new life in Christ. Baptisms marked turning points and testimonies of grace: Manuel; Kelsie; Elijah; Thomas; the Estrada family—George, Ana, Mia, and Fabian; Ralph; and Adelina. Their stories joined the long stream of faith that has shaped Baptist Temple for generations.
The year carried loss. We mourn and give thanks for lives of: Louise Stuteville, George Martin, Mary Lee Shelton, Ken Muenzler, and Robert Newman. Their absence was felt, their memory honored, their faith remembered with gratitude and hope.

Looking back, 2025 was a year marked by faithfulness—by hands extended, tables shared, voices lifted in worship, and lives changed. In the face of need, the church did what it has always done: it stepped up.