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'Good men' vs. 'Real men' -- Do religious leaders understand the difference?

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'Good men' vs. 'Real men' -- Do religious leaders understand the difference?

The 18-foot granite Titanic Memorial in Washington, D.C., shows a robed man rising from the waves, his arms extended like a cross.

Once a year, at the precise time on April 15, 1912, when the liner was declared doomed, the Men's Titanic Society gathers at this statue, which is hidden behind Fort McNair after being moved to make way for the Kennedy Center. Members wear tuxedos, to honor the passenger who donned evening clothes in order to "die like a gentleman."

A toast in the rite includes: "Chivalry, gallantry, bravery and grace. … To the young and old, the rich and the poor, the ignorant and the learned, all who gave their lives nobly to save women and children. To those brave men."

No one debates the values that inspired that sacrifice.

"Men seem to instinctively treat masculinity as the call to die so that others may live -- the highest form of sacrifice," noted Nancy Pearcey, in "The Toxic War on Masculinity," her latest work of Christian apologetics. "That principle seems to be built into men's created nature."

However, Pearcey noted that sociologist Michael Kimmel has offered clues as to why many activists now condemn "traditional masculinity."

Kimmel asked West Point cadets to describe a "good man," and heard "honor," "duty," "integrity," "sacrifice," "do the right thing," "be a protector" and similar responses. When he asked what it means to "man up" as "a real man," cadets said, "tough," "never show weakness," "win at all costs," "suck it up," "get rich" and "get laid."

Pearcey calls the "good man" credo the "software of God's creation," while the "real man" stereotype reveals the "virus of sin."

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Can Christian colleges 'keep the faith' or is avoiding compromise impossible?

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Can Christian colleges 'keep the faith' or is avoiding compromise impossible?

As America's second-oldest Lutheran college, Roanoke College in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley proclaims that it is "never sectarian" in outlook, while maintaining that "critical thinking and spiritual growth" are essential.

The online spiritual-life page also offers this advice: "We encourage you to follow your own personal spiritual path while here at Roanoke." The collage "honors its Christian heritage" and its affiliation with the progressive Evangelical Lutheran Church in America by stressing "dialogue between faith and reason," according to its "Mission & Vision" statement. "Diversity, inclusion and belonging" are strategic goals.

These commitments are "so informal that it's hard to call them doctrinal commitments at all," said Robert Benne, a retired Roanoke College professor who founded its Benne Center for Church and Society. "This is what you see in many Christian colleges. … These vague commitments go along with efforts to embrace whatever is happening in modern culture."

This isn't unusual, he stressed, after studying trends in Christian higher education for decades. In the post-pandemic marketplace, an increasing number of small private schools -- religious and secular -- face economic and enrollment challenges that threaten their futures.

Leaders of many Christian colleges and universities face a painful question as they try to stay alive: When seeking students and donors, should administrators strengthen ties to denominations or movements that built their schools or weaken the ties that bind in order to reach outsiders and even secular students?

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Dear Hollywood: 'A Christmas Carol' by Charles Dickens is truly a Christmas story

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Dear Hollywood: 'A Christmas Carol' by Charles Dickens is truly a Christmas story

On his way to becoming a Hollywood superstar, Bill Murray demonstrated great skill at delivering rants that blurred the line between lunacy and pathos.

In the 1988 flick "Scrooged," he belted out lessons learned from visits with the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future, as well as occupying his own coffin in a crematorium.

"I'm not crazy. It's Christmas Eve. It's the one night when we … share a little more. For a couple of hours, we are the people we always hoped we would be. It's really a miracle because it happens every Christmas Eve," proclaimed Murray's character, a greedy, arrogant TV executive.

"If you waste that miracle, you're gonna burn for it. I know. … There are people that don't have enough to eat and who are cold. You can go and greet these people. Take an old blanket out to them or make a sandwich and say, 'Here!' l get it now. … I believe in it now."

"Scrooged" is a fascinating Tinseltown take on the Charles Dickens novella "A Christmas Carol" because of what the film contains and what it leaves out, said English literature professor Dwight Lindley of Hillsdale College in Michigan.

This dark comedy contains miracles, ghosts, angels, sin, judgment, penance, purgatory, damnation, the Grim Reaper and eternal life. What it lacks is any meaningful role for God or a Holy Babe in a manger.

"Scrooged" is as "far as some people in Hollywood can go with Dickens," by "domesticating his message and making it more comfortable," said Lindley, who is teaching a six-lecture online course about this 1843 text.

The class, he added, was created for "anyone who loves the story, but doesn't know how to dig deeper into it than what they have seen in the somehow superficial versions that are around. … Some people have a sense that there is something deeper, something moving underneath the surface."

For many, watching "A Christmas Carol" on video is a holiday ritual. These movies usually include the basic story, while ignoring the narration in which Dickens frames his parable.

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Dorothy Sayers: It's no mystery that her world was shaped by a classical education

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Dorothy Sayers: It's no mystery that her world was shaped by a classical education

As president of the Detection Club, Dorothy L. Sayers led initiation rites featuring ceremonial garb, flickering candles and the spooky presence of Eric, a human skull.

With a flair for the dramatic, Sayers required British mystery writers to take an oath, including: "Do you promise that your detectives shall well and truly detect the crimes presented to them, using those wits which it may please you to bestow upon them and not placing reliance on, or making use of, Divine Revelation, Feminine Intuition, Mumbo-Jumbo, Jiggery-Pokery, Coincidence or the Act of God?"

New members promised "moderation" in -- this is a partial list -- the use of conspiracies, death-rays, ghosts and trapdoors, while "utterly and forever" avoiding "Mysterious Poisons unknown to Science." And of course: "Do you solemnly swear never to conceal a vital clue from the reader?"

The Detection Club was founded in 1930, with G.K. Chesterton as president. Sayers was a founding member and became its third president, followed by Agatha Christie.

Famous for her Lord Peter Wimsey detective novels, Sayers' career defied simple labels. As a young woman, she worked for the S.H. Benson advertising agency in London. Among Christians, she is best known as a colleague of C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and others in the Inklings writers circle in Oxford. Sayers wrote poetry, theological essays and theatrical works for the stage and BBC Radio. She was gifted in multiple languages and spent the final years of her life translating Dante's "The Divine Comedy" into English.

Sayers is also known for a 1947 Oxford presentation -- "The Lost Tools of Learning" -- that has influenced generations of Classical education leaders in the United States, England and elsewhere. As a child, she was educated by her father, an Anglican vicar, who taught choral music and Latin at Oxford.

"Her parents gave her a classical education that allowed her to navigate her world, the tools to support herself. When she struggled and made mistakes, she was able to repent and get back on track," said medieval scholar Lesley-Anne Williams, who lectured on "Dorothy Sayers: Advertising, Murder and Classical Education" during last week's annual Inklings Festival at the ecumenical Eighth Day Institute in Wichita, Kansas.

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Heard any dull sermons, lately? Preachers need to know that many will say, 'Yes'

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Heard any dull sermons, lately? Preachers need to know that many will say, 'Yes'

Kids do say the darndest things, and with decades of pulpit experience, the Rev. Joe McKeever has learned that these revelatory remarks often happen just after church.

In one case, a parent shared a question from a perplexed child who struggled with a complex McKeever sermon. Thus, the 7-year-old asked: "Why does Pastor Joe think we need this information?"

That's blunt. But not as blunt as what happened to a friend, as McKeever recounted in a recent essay: "Boring sermons: We all have them from time to time."

This pastor said a family from his church attended a Friday football game, and during halftime, their preschooler asked why students chanted "BORING!" at the visiting marching band. "Her mother explained that sometimes students will do that when they feel the other band is doing poor work," wrote McKeever. The mother added: "It tells them they stink."

The child remembered this and shouted "BORING!" during the next Sunday sermon.

Pastors need honest feedback from time to time, stressed the 83-year-old McKeever, who -- in addition to decades in various kinds of Southern Baptist ministry -- was for 20 years an active member of the National Cartoonists Society.

"One of the problems with being a pastor is that we rarely hear anyone else preach," he said, reached by telephone. "We do what we do in the pulpit, over and over, and it's easy to lose any sense of standards.

"Many preachers lose the ability to listen to themselves. … They end up telling people things that they don't need, things that they didn't want, that they don't understand and, worst of all, that they don't find inspiring."

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Big questions religious leaders need to be asking about autism statistics and ministry

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Big questions religious leaders need to be asking about autism statistics and ministry

Many modern churches may be weak when it comes to architecture and sacred art, but they almost always have concert-level lighting, sound and multi-media technology.

But in a few sanctuaries linked to ancient traditions, worship leaders are trying something different. In some Eucharistic services, they are offering autistic worshippers an atmosphere that is more calm and less intense.

"If you look at many church services from the point of view of highly sensitive people -- especially autistic children -- there is too much noise, too many lights," said Father Matthew Schneider, known to online Catholics as @AutisticPriest. "We can turn down the lights. We can turn down the volume. We can do a few things to accept these families and let them feel more comfortable."

For neurodivergent people, it actually helps that ancient rites are built on repeated gestures, prayers and music that become familiar. Schneider experienced this phenomenon in seminary, but grasped its importance when he was diagnosed as autistic several years after his ordination.

"If you do something over and over, then I know what's coming. I have time to take that in. I know what is happening and why," said Schneider, who currently teaches theology at Belmont Abbey College near Charlotte, North Carolina.

"If you throw me a curve ball, it may take me some time to get over the shock. That's just a reality for autistic people. ... If I'm familiar with a service -- stand up, kneel down, look right, look left -- that can become comfortable."

Religious leaders will have to face these issues after seeing waves of stunning statistics from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and other groups studying neurodiversity trends. For example, in 2000, 1 in 150 children were somewhere on the autism spectrum. That number was 1 in 36, in recent CDC data. And 26.7% of autistic children now display "profound" symptoms.

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What if New York City became a community? Tim Keller came to the city to stay

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What if New York City became a community? Tim Keller came to the city to stay

On the Sunday after 9/11, thousands of New Yorkers went to church, with many joining a line stretching outside the Redeemer Presbyterian services in a Hunter College auditorium.

The Rev. Tim Keller asked his staff if they could manage a second service -- doubling the day's attendance to 5,300. Keller's sermon, "Truth, Tears, Anger and Grace," began with Jesus weeping before raising Lazarus from the dead.

Many Americans were "coming to New York to fix things," he noted. "We are glad for them. They will try to fix the buildings. We need that. And eventually they will leave. But when Jesus weeps, we see that he doesn't believe that the ministry of truth -- telling people how they should believe and turn to God -- or the ministry of fixing things is enough, does he? He also is a proponent of the ministry of tears. The ministry of truth and power without tears isn't Jesus."

This sermon contained major themes from the life and work of Keller, who died on May 19 death at age 72, after a three-year battle with Pancreatic cancer. Instead of seeking quick fixes, especially through politics, he kept urging conservative Protestants to stress compassion and face-to-face ministry, while continuing to defend centuries of Christian doctrine.

In Keller's case, that meant building a church for New Yorkers that addressed their blunt, exhausting, even cynical, concerns about life.

In that first sermon after 9/11, Keller noted that everyone had an opinion about New York City and America as a whole. Some were claiming that "God is punishing us" because of rampant immorality. Others said America had been judged because of social injustice and greed. Instead of blaming the victims, Keller said it was time to ask who would stand their ground and love their neighbors.

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Entering year 35 with 'On Religion' -- Demons, martyrs, violence, miracles in Colombia

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Entering year 35 with 'On Religion' -- Demons, martyrs, violence, miracles in Colombia

In one of her first encounters with violence linked to the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC), Deann Alford heard, or felt, a bullet pass and slam into a door frame, with shrapnel striking a nearby woman and child.

The future journalist was both shocked and inspired by her contacts with Christians caught in that land's toxic climate of paramilitary warfare, narcotrafficking and kidnappings. She struggled to grasp how someone like pilot Russell Martin Stendal, after years held for ransom, could forgive his kidnappers and then start a missionary effort to convert them.

"Without his months as their hostage, I'm convinced he never could have reached the FARC," wrote Alford, in "Victorious: The Impossible Path to Peace," her blunt memoir about religious freedom in Colombia.

Stendal, she added, "has forgiven all. But I have not. ... In my quarter-century as a journalist, I've written dozens of articles about Colombian guerrilla groups' crimes against Christians, ranging from extortion to murder. Many of these stories regard crimes of the FARC, typically threatening and abducting church workers, missionaries and pastors, extorting them with offers they could not refuse."

Eventually, Alford realized that it wasn't enough to cover Colombia with telephone calls, faxes and Internet connections. She would have to put "boots on the ground" and return. "But I didn't. I was afraid. No, that word is too mild. I was terrified. I let the risk of being killed and kidnapped keep me away."

Alford's bottom line: "I told the Lord I would go anywhere for him but Colombia."

But she returned and, over years of contacts, her fears mixed with frustration. After working in secular newsrooms, as well as Christian publications and wire services, she couldn't understand why more people -- journalists and religious leaders -- could not see the importance of the faith stories unfolding, decade after decade, in Colombia.

This is another example of an important theme woven into my work with this "On Religion" column, with this week marking the start of my 35th year. Simply stated, many journalists do not "get" religion, in terms of grasping the role faith plays in many important events and trends stories.

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Raquel Welch finally found some peace in with believers in an ordinary church pew

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Raquel Welch finally found some peace in with believers in an ordinary church pew

The statuesque film legend didn't call attention to herself as she shared a pew with other conservative Presbyterians in their small church not far from Hollywood.

She was articulate when discussing theology and church matters and, from time to time, would offer advice on finances. She had learned a lot in the movie business.

Raquel Welch wasn't trying to hide, during the later decades of her life when she faithfully attended Calvary Presbyterian Church in Glendale, California. She was simply looking for people she could trust.

"She was careful. … She wasn't going to one of those 2,000-member churches where everyone would look at her. That wasn't her style," said the Rev. Christopher Neiswonger, who grew up in that congregation and attended nearby Fuller Theological Seminary. He now leads Graceview Associate Reformed Presbyterian Church in Southhaven, Mississippi.

"She also wasn't trying to stick her thumb in the eye of a Hollywood culture that she knew would denigrate this kind of faith commitment. … She was Raquel Welch, but she just wanted to be part of our church family."

Welch died on Feb. 15 at the age of 82, inspiring waves of tributes focusing on her iconic beauty in "Fantastic Voyage," "100 Rifles," "The Three Musketeers" and dozens of other movies and television programs. The legendary poster from "One Million Years B.C." framed her as a bombshell babe image for the ages.

In a Facebook tribute shared with other believers, Neiswonger called Welch a "wonderful lady and a fine Christian" whose "faith grew more powerful and practical with age. It's often true that the most important things become the most important to us as we've matured personally."