The dramatic end to the Atlanta courthouse shootings last March was certainly newsworthy. Brian Nichols, the accused murderer, takes a young woman hostage. Then she calms him with pancakes, stories of her daughter and readings from Rick Warren’s bestselling book, The Purpose Driven Life.

Hours later, the fugitive releases Smith, and he is arrested without doing harm to anyone else. Her newfound celebrity had everyone clamoring for a piece of the story.

Some connections to a Baptist church — and the fact that she read a Baptist preacher’s book while held captive — did not go unnoticed. Baptist Press, the Southern Baptist news service, clamored to embrace her and herald her hero status.

Several months later Smith released her book giving the fuller story of that memorable night. She told of giving Nichols some crystal methamphetamine and not reporting that detail to the police immediately.

Baptist Press — which earlier had rushed to hitch itself and good Baptists to this rising star — responded with a report that “fans” of Smith “were shocked” when news of the drugs surfaced.

Shocked? Why? From the start, Ashley Smith gave off more signals of a troubled life than the Woman at the Well.

Smith did not have custody of her young child, who was being cared for by an aunt. She had a criminal record in Augusta, Ga., and had gone out alone in the early morning hours for “cigarettes.”

The haste to make Smith a Baptist hero did not serve her or anyone else well. Elevating her to sainthood because of her newfound celebrity, and then acting shocked when she isn’t a saint, was at best naïve.

The good news is that apparently Smith is coming out of this incredible experience with a story of grace and renewal. Warren and others are providing the counsel and support she needs.

Reportedly Smith is fighting the demons of addiction with faith and determination, and being redeemed as a parent. She needs our prayerful support — surely there are some miles to go.

In public appearances as well as in her book, Smith talks of the lessons she has learned from the encounter and ensuing instant fame. There are some lessons from this experience for us as well.

It is wise to use a little caution before eagerly recruiting every highly recognizable face for our team. The celebrity craze that keeps American eyes glued to pop-culture magazines and television shows does not stop at the church door. Christians seem as gullible as many others when it comes to embracing stars.

Southern Baptists eagerly published the autobiography of actor, martial arts expert and exercise machine promoter Chuck Norris a couple of years ago. While Norris admits fathering a child out of wedlock and ending a long-term former marriage — hardly the “family values” heralded by Southern Baptists — he qualifies for inclusion into the exclusive SBC club. He is a star who espouses a shared right-wing political ideology and talks about Jesus.

The church has long been fascinated with celebrities — singers, actors, athletes, “Miss Americas” — who profess spiritual commitments. Indeed, many are effective and consistent witnesses in very public places. But a word of caution is always in order.

First, we should not expect too much from these people. The public arena is a tough place to live out consistent faith.

Second, we should give them time. I learned this lesson long ago with singer B.J. Thomas’ publicly hailed conversion and brief run with Jesus. As a seminarian I took a youth group to hear him sing his new Christian hits at an amusement park.

A few months later I read the profanity-laced interview he did that ridiculed the church and Christians. But I try to not be too skeptical for some, like Charles Colson, prove themselves over time.

Third, we should recognize that the best examples of faith are rarely found in the spotlight. None of the truly inspiring sermons I’ve ever heard was on television. True models of spiritual maturity rarely have their names on marquees.

In fact, consistent Christian living that puts the needs of others ahead of one’s own ambitions is the stuff of which disciples, not celebrities, are made.