Most denominational meetings are, to put it bluntly, incredibly boring. Ministry reports, budget debates, and the occasional vote dominate the agenda. At best, there may be a panel on evangelism or cultural engagement, but these discussions are rarely strategic and almost never rise to the urgency of the cultural moment. It often feels like a gathering designed not to solve problems, but to check boxes and keep the machinery running.

This stands in stark contrast to the National Conservatism Conference. I’ve attended twice, first as a student in 2023, and again last week as a speaker. The difference is night and day. The talks and panels at NatCon zero in on crucial questions conservatives must confront right now, such as Israel–American relations, ending Obergefell, the future of artificial intelligence, the publishing landscape, and much more. No topic is off-limits. Even more importantly, every subject is framed under a broader vision. NatCon is not merely about fighting back against the left, but about asserting a common vision of national renewal.

That sense of purpose is exactly what’s missing in the Southern Baptist Convention. On paper, the SBC is the largest Protestant denomination in America, a network of more than 40,000 churches. In reality, the convention functions more like the National Dog Show: bureaucratic entities trotting out their “best in show” to impress the messengers. Instead of equipping churches to face the challenges of our cultural moment, the convention panders to the lowest common denominator of attendees. Ruffling feathers is unwelcome. Framing every ministry in the best light is the norm. Even motions from the floor must first be filtered through a shadowy executive committee before they’re considered.

NatCon is messy in a way that’s healthy. It brings together a wide range of sponsors, intellectuals, and leaders. Trump administration officials share candid assessments of successes and failures. Academics, journalists, pastors, and policy leaders present on the issues they believe are most urgent. Not everyone agrees on every issue — far from it. But despite the factions under the NatCon umbrella, there is a surprising amount of unity around shared goals. The debates feel real because they are real. The stakes are clear.

One could imagine something similar for Southern Baptists. Imagine entity heads, seminary professors, and pastors given space to present on the issues they consider most pressing — cultural, theological, or missional — while hosting unfiltered Q&As with participants. Imagine genuine debate about how to plant faithful churches in secular cities, how to navigate questions of sexuality and technology, or how to fund missions in a post-Christian America. Or what if the head of Lifeway were asked to present on publishing on a panel in which there was serious disagreement with Lifeway’s approach? That kind of gathering could galvanize energy and vision.

But that’s not what happens. The barrier is vision. National Conservatism knows what success looks like: movement-aligned policies passed, institutions built, ideas advanced. In the SBC, “success” depends entirely on which faction you ask. Is it higher baptism numbers? Bigger mission budgets? More missionaries? More institutional control? Less? There is no agreed-upon vision for victory. If you merged the Southern Baptist Convention with the Evangelical Theological Society and added in an unashamedly conservative orientation, you might get close to what NatCon offers. But as it stands, the SBC is stuck in a cycle of endless motions, reports, and political maneuvering.

Of course, events like NatCon require money. None of the speakers are paid, but their travel and lodging are covered. Behind the scenes, major donors make it possible. If Southern Baptists wanted to attempt something similar, they would need real funding. Perhaps redirecting resources from a languishing Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission would help. Money isn’t the hardest part, though. Alignment is.

That’s what makes the contrast so striking. National Conservatism sparks action. It makes you want to get involved, write, build, organize — do something. The SBC, on the other hand, often feels like a carefully scripted dose of regime-friendly propaganda, interrupted only by the chance to catch up with old friends. For the average messenger, who spends precious tithe dollars just to attend, the dog-and-pony show is insulting. Yet, for those on the inside of well-funded entities, whose costs are covered by the very same tithe dollars, it’s a perfect opportunity to lobby for pet projects.

The SBC has the size, the history, and the resources to convene a gathering that could actually inspire and equip churches for the cultural moment we’re in. But until leaders are willing to risk real debate, real disagreement, and a real vision for the future, the convention will continue to feel more like an empty pageant than a movement.