The same thing is happening during coffee hours in religious congregations of every shape and size, which is a testimony to the complexity of the religious themes and symbols embedded deep in the show’s mythology. Tough theological questions have circled the island of the castaways ever since the fateful crash of Oceanic Flight 815.

Do absolute moral truths exist? Do good intentions ever justify evil acts? Does real love always lead to self-sacrifice? Can faith and reason coexist or even mesh? Can people change or are they doomed to commit the same sins over and over? What does it mean to be saved? To be delivered?

Some questions are more plot specific. Biblically speaking, what would happen if a patriarch named Jacob was killed by a brother who may or may not be named Esau? Why do some of the island’s inhabitants occasionally speak Latin? What is the significance of the fact that most of the characters had horrible fathers? Where do the female survivors get all those tight-fitting tank tops?

” ‘Lost’ is a religious parable with obvious biblical references trying desperately not to be a religious parable,” according to Catholic writer Roberto Rivera y Carlo, who is best known for his work with the evangelical apologist Charles Colson.

“The religion that has been most straightforwardly stated on the show has been straight-no-chaser Christianity. People pray like evangelical Christians or faithful Catholics. There’s no kumbaya-style religion. … Ultimately, ‘Lost’ is an exploration of free will versus determinism or human freedom versus predestination. Take your pick.”

Let’s see, the plots involve hope, doubt, reason, freedom, sin, virtue, salvation, damnation and seekers striving to find empirical evidence to back their often agonizing leaps of faith. No wonder there is a central character named John Locke, along with others named Milton, Hume, Rousseau and C.S. Lewis (a Charlotte Staples Lewis, this time around).

The men who have been running the program for most of its life — Damon Lindelof, who is Jewish, and Carlton Cuse, a Catholic — have called themselves “men of faith,” while confessing that “Lost” has become a “mash-up” of their favorite Bible stories, college philosophy textbooks, fantasy novels and movies. Thus, it will be impossible to understand Sunday’s finale without wrestling with its final, indeed ultimate, spiritual questions.

“If there’s one word that we keep coming back to, it’s redemption,” said Lindelof, in a New York Times interview that has caused waves of online fan discussions.

“It is that idea of everybody has something to be redeemed for and the idea that that redemption doesn’t necessarily come from anywhere else other than internally. But in order to redeem yourself, you can only do it through a community.”

In the end, it’s almost impossible to say that “Lost” has one overarching theme, said the Rev. Chris Seay of Ecclesia Church in Houston, author of “The Gospel According to ‘Lost.’ “ However, if forced to choose, he said it’s clear that the central characters have been forced to realize that they cannot survive as selfish, isolated individuals — they must “live together” or they are doomed to “die alone.”

However, this also means they have had to confront the reality of their own flaws, he said. Over time, he said, the survivors learned that if they were going to be saved they would have to “fear the evils they find inside themselves more than they fear what is out there in that jungle.” That’s the kind of message that works in a pulpit, as well as on a large-screen television.

While “Lost” does contain its share of references to Eastern religions and direct references to Christian classics, Seay said recent episodes have reminded him of a defining event in the Hebrew Bible — the Exodus of the people of Israel out of captivity in Egypt.

“In a way, these years on the island have been their time of wandering in the wilderness,” he said. “They’ve had to learn how to live in forgiveness with one another, to face their own sins and find some kind of healing and some hope for the future. … You have to ask, what would a promised land look like for this set of characters?”

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“I can still picture this doomed pact in its red frame, briefly hanging on the wall,” noted Peter Hitchens, in a recent essay published in The Daily Mail. “To my shame, I was the one who repudiated it, ripped it from its frame and angrily erased my signature, before recommencing hostilities. … Our rivalry was to last 50 years, and religion was one of its later causes.”

Under ordinary circumstances, a column in a London newspaper about a fractured relationship between two brothers would not warrant much attention among readers who care about matters of faith and doubt.

The Hitchens brothers, however, are not your usual brothers.

As an adult, Peter Hitchens regained his Christian faith, after years as an atheist and his new book is entitled, “The Rage Against God: How Atheism Led Me to Faith.” The title of this column was more conciliatory: “How I found God and peace with my atheist brother.”

Big brother Christopher, meanwhile, has become famous as an evangelist for atheism, a scribe who revels in stabbing sacred cows with his pen — as in his book, “The Missionary Position: Mother Teresa in Theory and Practice.” Then there is his bestseller, “God is not Great: Religion Poisons Everything.”

“There are,” he argues, “four irreducible objections to religious faith: that it wholly misrepresents the origins of man and the cosmos, that because of this original error it manages to combine the maximum of servility with the maximum of solipsism, that it is both the result and the cause of dangerous sexual repression, and that it is ultimately grounded on wish-thinking. …

“God did not create man in his own image. Evidently, it was the other way about, which is the painless explanation for the profusion of gods and religions, and the fratricide both between and among faiths, that we see all about us and that has so retarded the development of civilization.”

Hitchens the younger understands that logic, in large part because he once walked the same road. As a teen, he burned his Bible outside his Cambridge school. To his disappointment, “Thunder did not mutter.” He set out to rebel against everything that he had been taught was good and right and holy. This is what smart British boys of his generation were supposed to do.

Eventually, he stopped avoiding churches and great religious art — leaving him open to unsettling messages from the past. While gazing at one 15th century painting of the Last Judgment, he found himself emotionally and intellectually moved.

“These people did not appear remote or from the ancient past; they were my own generation. Because they were naked, they were not imprisoned in their own age by time-bound fashions,” noted Hitchens. “On the contrary, their hair and the set of their faces were entirely in the style of my own time. They were me, and people I knew.

“I had a sudden strong sense of religion being a thing of the present day, not imprisoned under thick layers of time. My large catalogue of misdeeds replayed themselves rapidly in my head.”

Then came the great oaths of his wedding rites, followed by the baptisms of his formerly atheistic wife and their daughter. A fellow journalist heard that Hitchens had returned to church and, with “a look of mingled pity and horror,” bluntly asked, “How can you do that?”

The twist in this story is that while Peter Hitchens has returned to faith, and Christopher has grown more and more outspoken in his crusade against faith, the brothers have gradually regained their affection for one another. And while many have urged them to turn their personal debates about God and the nature of moral truth into an intellectual traveling circus, neither of the brothers wants to do that.

“I am 58. He is 60. We do not necessarily have time for another brothers’ war. … I have, however, the more modest hope that he might one day arrive at some sort of acceptance that belief in God is not necessarily a character fault,” noted Peter Hitchens.

“I can only add that those who choose to argue in prose, even if it is very good prose, are unlikely to be receptive to a case which is most effectively couched in poetry.”

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“She was preeminently pro-life, against abortion and there to protect and underscore the dignity of every person,” noted O’Malley, praising the founder of the Special Olympics.

When Sen. Edward Kennedy died soon after that, the cardinal strongly defended his own decision to preside at his funeral — despite the senator’s public stands against church church’s teachings on abortion and sexuality.

“We must show those who do not share our belief about life that we care about them,” O’Malley argued. “We will stop the practice of abortion by changing the law, and we will be successful in changing the law if we change people’s hearts. We will not change hearts by turning away from people in their time of need and when they are experiencing grief and loss.”

The cardinal didn’t deliver these highly personal messages from the pulpit of the Cathedral of the Holy Cross. Instead, he posted them on “Cardinal Sean’s Blog” at BostonCatholic.org — his own multimedia journal.

O’Malley isn’t alone. A few other bishops and priests have made the jump into cyberspace. However, there will be many more bloggers wearing Roman collars if Pope Benedict XVI has his way. In a message addressed straight to priests — bypassing the offices of many cautious bishops — the pope has urged them to start spreading and defending the faith online.

“The world of digital communication, with its almost limitless expressive capacity, makes us appreciate all the more Saint Paul’s exclamation: ‘Woe to me if I do not preach the Gospel,’ ” said the pope, in a message released on Jan. 24, the feast of St. Francis de Sales, the patron saint of journalists.

“The spread of multimedia communications and its rich ‘menu of options’ might make us think it sufficient simply to be present on the Web, or to see it only as a space to be filled,” argued Benedict, whose online presence has risen with the birth of Pope2You.net and the Vatican YouTube channel.

“Yet priests can rightly be expected to be present in the world of digital communications as faithful witnesses to the Gospel, exercising their proper role as leaders of communities which increasingly express themselves with the different ‘voices’ provided by the digital marketplace. Priests are thus challenged to proclaim the Gospel by employing the latest generation of audiovisual resources (images, videos, animated features, blogs, websites) which, alongside traditional means, can open up broad new vistas for dialogue, evangelization and catechesis.”

For tech-savvy Catholics, it’s stunning news that the 82-year-old Benedict used the word “blog” in the first place, noted Rocco Palmo, the Philadelphia-based scribe whose “Whispers in the Loggia” weblog is a global hot spot for Vatican news and gossip. The tone of this papal message, he added, is relentlessly positive — a striking departure from the Vatican’s many downbeat messages about media in the past.

The bottom line, noted Palmo, via email, is that “against the backdrop of the widespread American experience of mass closings of parishes, declines in attendance, etc., we’re learning that one thing that helps folks want to keep staying close is when … the church realizes that one hour on Sunday just isn’t enough, that people are looking for something to help keep them connected and inspired through the week. So I think Benedict is calling priests to see that they have a crucial role in that, and to see this not as some sort of hobby or personal indulgence, but a vitally important extension of their ministry. Anything that bears fruit to that end lifts all boats.”

Catholic leaders will, however, need to be careful when working in this chaotic, even deceptive, online world.

After all, some early reports about Benedict’s message about digital media mentioned that Vatican officials marked the occasion by opening an official Twitter feed — @vatican_va — complete with the Vatican coat of arms.

It was a fake. Catholic News Service soon established that the Vatican has not taken up tweeting — yet.

“The whole episode has prompted some Vatican media people to remark, ‘It wasn’t us — but it should have been us,’ ” noted John Thavis, the CNS bureau chief in Rome. “So don’t be surprised to see a real Vatican Twitter feed in the future.”

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This quote from the book “Uncommon Decency” led to timely discussions.

“How can we hold onto strongly felt convictions while still nurturing a spirit that is authentically kind and gentle? … The answer is that it is not impossible — but it isn’t easy,” argued Fuller Seminary President Richard J. Mouw. “Convicted civility is something we have to work at. We have to work at it because both sides of the equation are very important.”

These class discussions are sure to continue after Dunham wrote a commentary urging other evangelicals to watch President Barack Obama’s back-to-school address with a mixture of respect and skepticism. Now, his students are getting an eyeful while reading fierce online criticisms of their teacher’s views.

While his own Christian school near St. Louis didn’t show the speech — which would have required cutting into curriculum several weeks into the semester — Dunham was stunned to hear that some parents were ready to keep their children at home in order to avoid seeing it.

“Seriously? … These are the conversations I would think a parent would be PRAYING to take place,” wrote Dunham. “At some point, Christians have got to stop putting the mental in fundamentalist and start interacting with the world. Teaching our kids to stick their heads in the sand and ignore anyone they may not totally agree with is, in a word, unChristian. Folks, we can’t counter the culture unless we encounter the culture, so let’s take off the blinders.”

After parsing the president’s text, Dunham said he is convinced he needs to use the video in his classroom.

“You know, from a Biblical Ethics perspective, I don’t know how not to talk about this,” he said. “If we can’t talk about these subjects in a Christian school, where can we talk about them?”

Most of Obama’s speech to public-school students focused on familiar themes, especially with its drumbeat call for discipline in an age of video games, rap and reality TV. The president used several candid illustrations based on his life as the child of a single mother, including times when she taught him extra lessons at home — at 4:30 a.m.

“We need every single one of you to develop your talents, skills and intellect so you can help solve our most difficult problems,” he said. “If you don’t do that — if you quit on school — you’re not just quitting on yourself, you’re quitting on your country.”

While Dunham took some lumps online, he was not alone in praising the address.

“This is the speech I expected the president to give to our children — excellent,” wrote the Rev. John Piper of Bethlehem Baptist Church in Minneapolis, a popular evangelical author. “If you settle for the news headlines that say the president tells the
kids to wash their hands and take care of the environment, you will miss the wisdom and courage in this speech.”

An influential Southern Baptist leader also praised the speech, while criticizing Department of Education lesson plans — since withdrawn — that urged students to describe how they could “help the president.”

Many criticisms of this event, argued Albert Mohler, Jr., president of Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, are “reckless, baseless and plainly irrational. … At this level, the controversy is a national embarrassment. Conservatives must avoid jumping on every conspiracy theory and labeling every action by the Obama administration as sinister or socialist.”

At the very least, this firestorm “smacks of disrespect for the president and, by extension, disrespect for the presidency itself.” Even worse, said Mohler, this controversy “threatens to sow seeds of permanent distrust and suspicion in the hearts of the young. In an age of rampant cynicism, this is inexcusable.”

Clearly, said Dunham, some religious conservatives are losing their ability to hope “that God can work in any situation,” especially during an administration led by a president with whom they have sharp moral and cultural disagreements.

“There is a kind of fatalism on the loose that has many people saying, ‘We’re doomed’,” he said. “That kind of perspective may be a conservative perspective, in a political sense of the word, but it’s certainly not a conservative Christian perspective.”

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Consider the magical women in “A Wrinkle In Time” — Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who and Mrs. Which. It’s true that they have strange wardrobes and unique ways of speaking. Mrs. Whatsit is chatty, for example, because she is so young — a mere 2,379,152,497 years, eight months and three days old.

When the elder Mrs. Which arrives from another dimension, her colleagues begin giggling. Why? Since she is meeting three human children, Mrs. Which elects to appear as a “figure in a black robe and a black peaked hat, beady eyes, a beaked nose and long gray hair.” She is holding a broomstick.

Get the joke? For decades, L’Engle’s fiercest critics kept missing it. Thus, “A Wrinkle In Time” — which won the 1963 Newbery Medal — became one of America’s most frequently banned children’s books.

“If you read the book, there is no way that they are witches. They are guardian angels — the book says so. You don’t have to clarify what is already clear,” L’Engle told me, in a lengthy 1989 interview.

“Don’t they know how to spell? W-H-I-C-H is not W-I-T-C-H.”

This interview came during a time when L’Engle (pronounced LENG-el) had increased her already busy lecture schedule after the death of her husband of 40 years, actor Hugh Franklin. But L’Engle kept writing and talking about the themes that dominated her life — faith, family and creativity — until her health failed. She wrote more than 60 works of fiction, non-fiction, drama, poetry and prayers during her life, which ended with her Sept. 6th death in Litchfield, Conn., at the age of 88.

Wherever L’Engle went, people kept asking her to explain her beliefs, from heaven to hell, from sex to salvation, from feminism to the arts. The writer did not hide her views, but rarely used the kind of language that so-called “Christian writers” were supposed to use.

Thus, her career was defined by a paradox: Many of her strongest admirers were evangelical Christians, as were most of her fiercest critics. Thus, it’s symbolic that she donated her personal notes and papers to Wheaton College — the Rev. Billy Graham’s alma mater — where they are part of a collection best known for its materials about the life of Christian apologist C.S. Lewis.

L’Engle was also candid about the role her faith played in her writing. She was, throughout her life, an Episcopalian’s Episcopalian from New York City who was determined to keep describing the visions and voices that filled her soul. While her writing was often mysterious, she kept hiding the crucial clues right out in the open.

It’s hard, for example, to miss the source of the climactic speech to Meg Murray, the heroine in the science fiction series that began with “A Wrinkle In Time.”

“The foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men,” says Mrs. Who, who always speaks in quotations, such as this lengthy passage from St. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians. “… God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things that are mighty.”

It’s even clearer, in the next novel, that the children are backed by the powers of heaven. Meg finds herself face to face with a many-eyed creature with a 10-foot wingspan, a being with too many wings to count, wings that were in “constant motion, covering and uncovering the eyes.” This is a biblical cherubim, yet another angelic vision. He stresses that he is not a singular cherub, and adds, “I am practically plural.”

The goal, said L’Engle, was to create fiction that was unmistakably Christian, while writing to an audience that included all kinds of believers and unbelievers.

“I have been brought up to believe that the Gospel is to be spread, it is to be shared — not kept for those who already have it,” she said. “Well, ‘Christian novels’ reach Christians. They don’t reach out. … I am not a ‘Christian writer.’ I am a writer who is a Christian. I think that you have to be the best writer that you can be. Now, if I am truly a Christian, then that will show in my work.”

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While visiting Belfast, an Englishman was cornered by three thugs. The leader asked one question: “Are you a Protestant or are you a Catholic?”

After a diplomatic pause, the Englishman said: “I am an atheist.”

Confused, his attacker asked: “Are you a Protestant atheist or a Catholic atheist?”

The tough religion questions continued when McGrath entered Oxford University, where he became the rare student who traded his Marxist atheism for Christianity while studying science. He would eventually earn two doctorates — in molecular biology and theology.

Today, McGrath teaches at his alma mater and is admired by academic leaders around the world who are tired of being cornered and asked: Are you a Christian or are you an intellectual?

This was a big question during the 1960s when most secular educators believed that “religion was evil” and “on the way out,” said McGrath, speaking last week in Grapevine, Texas, at a global forum sponsored by the Council for Christian Colleges and Universities.

According to the “received wisdom” of that era, a “new secular age was about to dawn,” he said. “The future was all about a godless culture and the church would just have to adapt to it and that was that.”

These days, even the most skeptical of scholars admit that traditional forms of religion are on the rise and that millions of spiritually hungry students are questioning the chilly, strictly rational creeds of secular modernity. Faith is making a comeback and the high priests of mainstream academia cannot understand why, said McGrath. Thus, many are getting angry and, on occasion, shrill.

These tensions are even beginning to affect the bottom line.

A small wave of mainstream news reports have noted that enrollments are up 70.6 percent during the past 14 years at the 102 schools in the Council of Christian Colleges and Universities, the mostly evangelical Protestant network in which I teach journalism. Over the same period of time, enrollments rose 28 percent at secular private colleges and 12.8 percent at public colleges and universities.

Meanwhile, a national survey conducted by UCLA’s Higher Education Research Institute found that four in five students said they are interested in spiritual issues and 75 percent said they are searching for the meaning or purpose of life.

In this environment, said McGrath, it is crucial for leaders of religious colleges to know that they have two objectives instead of one. They must help students grow in their faith while also growing intellectually.

Failure on either side of this equation is failure in the whole process. This is tricky, because many educators believe that any affirmation of orthodoxy equals fundamentalism. Meanwhile, parents often question efforts to debate religious issues.

The goal, said McGrath, is to help young roots go deeper. Christian educators have a God-given responsibility to help the plants grow.

“We are not simply reassuring students that their faith is right, that it makes sense, … that it connects up with reality,” he told the forum. “One of the big distinctives between a more secular education and what you offer is the mirroring of this love of God for every individual, of helping them to dream dreams, to see visions of where they might be, of what God might do in them and through them.”

This means that professors must accept that Christianity has, over the centuries, built up an unavoidable tradition of history, art, philosophy, ethics and theology that has implications all of life. Thus, McGrath stressed that education affects both the head and the heart and that it is unwise to create two zones on campus — one spiritual and one academic.

In other words, the Christian faith has intellectual content that cannot be locked inside the chapel.

“We need a generation of economists, of lawyers, of politicians who intentionally set out to connect their faith and what they will be doing in the world, not doing it by accident or an afterthought, but rather seeing this as a God-given calling,” said McGrath. Professors want their students to ask, “If I were to enter politics, how could my values and beliefs be reflected in what I say and do? And likewise with chemistry, biology, psychology, you name it.”

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Eric Metaxas thinks that anyone who truly wants to understand the righteous and jealous God of the Bible should try meditating on a different image. Metaxas is thinking about Motown, rather than Vatican City.

“I admit that the Bible does not specifically mention Aretha Franklin,” said Metaxas, a humor writer and speaker best known for his work with the Manhattan-based “Socrates in the City” lecture series. “But when it comes to thinking about God, most people’s minds are full of all those familiar images and they just get stuck. … So why not Aretha? She’s big, she’s bold and you’re going to have to listen to what she’s saying.”

And everybody knows what the Queen of Soul is going to say: “What you want, baby I got it. What you need, do you know I got it? All I’m askin’ is for a little respect when you come home (just a little bit). ? R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me.”

Hold on to that image for a minute, because there is a method to his madness and it’s at the heart of his quirky book “Everything You Always Wanted to Know About God (but were afraid to ask).” Metaxas is a friend of mine and the best way I can explain where he’s coming from is to say that he’s a former editor of The Record at Yale University, America’s oldest college humor magazine, and he’s written for thinkers as diverse as Chuck Colson of Watergate fame and Bob the Tomato of VeggieTales.

The key is that Metaxas (www.ericmetaxas.com) thinks humor is serious stuff and that most religious leaders haven’t grasped this basic fact about modern life. He is convinced that Americans are not going to listen if theologians and clergy keep offering dense doctrinal arguments when making a case for a traditional faith. Instead of talking about how many angels can dance on a copy of the Summa Theologiae, modern missionaries and apologists need to consider the strategies they would use to talk to Comedy Central fans over a few beers and a bowl of mixed nuts.

Which brings us back to Aretha Franklin.

Many modern seekers, said Metaxas, are curious about God and they wish they could find some answers to their tough spiritual questions. But, at the same time, they have trouble accepting the traditional Christian belief that God is God and that there is only one way to find salvation. These claims sound petty and intolerant.

“Here’s a comparison that might make sense,” argues Metaxas, in a book chapter entitled “How Can Anyone Take the Bible Seriously?”

“If a guy is married and he tries to persuade his wife that he needs to have a few other women on the side, his wife will likely say, ‘Sorry, Romeo, but that’s not going to fly. If you want to be married to me, you have to forego those other women. Period.’ It’s just like that with God. He doesn’t force us to pick him, but he does force us to choose between him and the others. We can’t have both.”

In other words, God demands R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

Metaxas has other skewed takes on big issues. He thinks that using sex for self-gratification makes as much sense as using Rembrandt paintings to line birdcages. He’s interested in life’s big questions, questions like how the universe — including all those Chevy Camaros in Queens and Staten Island — exploded out of something smaller than the period at the end of a sentence.

Is this theology? No, it isn’t the way that intellectuals talk in cathedral pulpits and faculty clubs, said Metaxas. But it is the way that ordinary people talk on Friday nights while hanging out with their friends.

“At some point Christians are going to have to use humor and parody because that’s the language of the culture,” he said. “That’s what people consider sharp and entertaining and real. ? You can keep serving up tea-and-crumpets moralism and logical arguments and it’s not going to matter because people aren’t going to listen.

“You may as well be speaking Ukrainian. That isn’t going to work, unless you happen to be speaking to Ukrainians.”

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Still, Ebenezer Scrooge’s spunky housekeeper became a favorite of director Paul McCusker and his Radio Theatre (www.RadioTheatre.org) team during its production of “A Christmas Carol.” As a tribute, characters named Dilber were written into the Father Gilbert Mysteries and “The Legend of Squanto,” while a “Dilberius” appeared in a biblical series.

McCusker also decided to continue this inside joke in his first radio script for “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,” turning a housekeeper named “Mrs. Macready” into yet another “Mrs. Dilber.” Douglas Gresham, the stepson of author C.S. Lewis, jumped on this tiny change as soon as he saw the script.

“His logic was simple,” recalled McCusker, laughing. “He said that the diehard fans will know that it’s supposed to be Mrs. Macready because millions of them know these books cover to cover. Diehard fans will know we changed it and, for them, that will affect everything. Then they’ll start calling and writing, wanting us to change the name back to Mrs. Macready. Why go through that?”

It was nearly a decade ago that McCusker began dramatizing “The Chronicles of Narnia,” the Oxford don’s fantasy series that has sold nearly 100 million copies in the past 55 years. Thus, McCusker has already worked his way through some of the creative and even theological issues faced by movie director Andrew “Shrek” Adamson and the rest of the team that has turned “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” into a $150 million epic for Walden Media and Walt Disney Studios. Adamson has also worked closely with Gresham, whose mother, American poet Joy Gresham, married Lewis late in life.

Legions of Lewis fans must realize, said McCusker, that turning books into movies requires changes. Today’s digital artists can show in mere seconds what, in print, required many paragraphs to explain. Meanwhile, dramatic scenes that Lewis quickly sketched — such as massive battles involving talking beasts and magical creatures — will be expanded because this is what modern audiences want to see fleshed out on screen.

“You have to make choices, but you have to make careful choices. If you take a major scene out, or you make a big change in the plot of a book that is this beloved, you are going to hear about it. Just ask Peter Jackson,” said McCusker, referring to the director of “The Lord of the Rings” movies.

Gresham, 60, is serving as co-producer of the Narnia project. He stressed that he has, “for 30-odd years,” dedicated himself to finding artists and entrepreneurs who share his commitment to faithfully capturing the themes in his stepfather’s books.

“It is my ambition to live long enough to see all seven Narnian Chronicles made into feature films,” he said, during a recent visit to Washington, D.C.

Because of recent leaps in technology, insiders realized that “now is the time to make this movie,” said Gresham. “If you can imagine it today, then we can film it. … But I don’t want people coming out of ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ saying, ‘Wow, what tremendous special effects.’ I want people to look at each other, slightly bemused, and say, ‘Where did they find a real centaur to play that role?’ “

But Gresham knows that many viewers will dissect the movie’s theology, even more than its production values. They will be especially tense when the Christ figure in Narnia, the lion Aslan, offers himself as a sacrifice.

In a lengthy speech after his resurrection, Aslan explains that the evil White Witch “knew the Deep Magic. But if she could have looked a little further back … she would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards.”

This is, as Time magazine noted, “Christianity in a kid-lit veil.”

“They can change a speech like that a little. They may need to shorten it,” stressed McCusker. “If they stay true to the spirit of what was written, people will understand what is happening. … Lewis has woven the Christian symbolism so tightly into the story that you can’t cut it out without changing the story itself. The people who love this book are simply not going to let that happen.”

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That will have to do, since there isn’t a space labeled “apocalyptic.”

“These movies are truly that ambitious,” said the Rev. Chris Seay, co-author of “The Gospel Reloaded,” about faith and “The Matrix” phenomenon. “This story reads more like the Book of Revelation more than it does your normal sci-fi thriller. Everything has this other layer of meaning. … You have to wrestle with all that symbolism and philosophy if you take these movies seriously.”

That statement may sound ridiculous to most clergy, said Seay, pastor of the young Ecclesia congregation in urban Houston. But anyone who studies Hollywood knows that the Nov. 5 release of “The Matrix Revolutions” will be an event of biblical proportions to millions.

The numbers are staggering. The final movie in the trilogy will open — zero hour is 9 a.m. in New York City — on almost 20,000 movie screens in 60-plus nations. Meanwhile, Forbes estimates gross revenue for “The Matrix” and “The Matrix Reloaded” is almost $2 billion, when ticket sales are combined with videogames, music, DVDs and other merchandise.

It matters little that Andy and Larry Wachowski veered into Star Wars limbo in “Reloaded,” sinking into a swamp of linguistics and logic while striving to explain the visual mysteries of “The Matrix.” Few acolytes blinked when Larry Wachowski left his wife, hooked up with a dominatrix and, newspapers reported, began taking hormones to prepare for a sex-change operation.

Millions will flock to theaters anyway.

“Everything about these movies is getting bigger — bigger action scenes, bigger philosophical speeches, bigger rumors,” said Greg Garrett, co-author of “The Gospel Reloaded” and an English professor at Baylor University. “Now they have to justify the buzz. … I have faith that these guys are talented enough storytellers that they will be able to create some kind of cosmology that ties all this together.”

But anyone seeking one coherent set of answers has got the wrong trilogy. The only certainty in “The Matrix” universe is that its new path to enlightenment is made out of pieces of all of the older paths, even if they contradict each other. The only absolute truth is that there is no one absolute truth, no one true faith.

Instead, these movies offer a crossroads where “all of our stories collide,” write Seay and Garrett. “They not only coexist, they come together to create a story of tension, adventure and spiritual pursuit. As Buddhism, Christianity, Zen, existentialism, Gnosticism, Plato and Jacques Derrida interact with one another, we are encouraged to interact with them as well.”

This shouldn’t surprise anyone who has studied religious trends in recent generations, they added. “If movie theaters have become the new cathedrals, as cultural observers from Bill Moyers to George Lucas argue, then the priests of that domain are clad in black leather. And Cool Hand Luke, Obi-Wan Kenobi and E.T. assist in serving the sacrament.”

Yes, “The Matrix” is this kind of metaphysical myth, said actor Laurence Fishburne, who plays a Batman meets John the Baptist hero named Morpheus. Many viewers will seek, and find, deep meaning in the ties that bind Morpheus, the heroine named Trinity and the messianic Neo.

“What kids or young people will get from this divine trinity is … not for us to say,” he said, at a Warner Bros. press conference. “If they get whatever they need, then we’ve done proper service not just to the filmmakers but the larger thing, which is the story itself. So there you have it.”

So there you have what, precisely?

“The Matrix” movies show miracles, but no ultimate power that performs them. Characters make moral choices, but follow no commandments. They pray, but to an undefined god. They believe, but in what?

“We deal with all kinds of people today,” said Seay, “who believe in a Creator, but they have no idea how to articulate that belief. Their God is energy or light or love or something. But it’s real to them and they don’t want to answer that question. … ‘The Matrix’ movies are powerful because they offer people all kinds of things to believe in and none of them are very specific.”

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As far as author Jan Karon knows, this is the only place in North America that bears the name of the mythical North Carolina mountain town she has made so famous with her novels.

The real Mitford has a Baptist church and a barbecue joint and that’s about it.

“Now what more do you need, I mean, if you really stop and think about it?”, asked Karon, before letting loose with a Southern hoot and a cackle.

Yes indeed, all that the Mitford lady needs to tell most of her tales is a busy church, a gossipy diner and the people who frequent one or the other or both. She has taken these humble ingredients, slipped them into the structures of the British “village novel” and created a franchise that keeps taking small-town virtues into the uppity territory of the New York Times bestseller lists.

“Who would want to read books with no cussing’, no murder, no mayhem and no sex? … How can something so innocuous as these Mitford books sell 10 million copies?”, asked Karon, speaking at Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Mich., just before the release of “In This Mountain,” the seventh Mitford novel.

“This is what I think. I think there was a wide vein of readers out there who were just waiting for someone to write a book about them, about their dreams and their lives and their values. … With Mitford, we look at the ordinary lives and see something extraordinary and dramatic and full of feeling and worthy to be observed.”

The books revolve around Father Timothy Kavanagh, a shockingly orthodox Episcopal priest who is so behind the times that he even converts people to Christianity. Late in life, the shy bachelor marries Cynthia Coppersmith, a witty blond divorcee who moves to Mitford to create her award-winning books for children. The surroundings yield legions of colorful characters.

Karon began writing books in the early 1990s in the picturesque town of Blowing Rock, N.C., and other pieces of Mitford can be found in her life. When she was six she wanted to be a preacher. When she was 10 she wanted to be an author. Today she is an author who crafts the words spoken by one of America’s most beloved preachers.

But the witty blond didn’t start writing until mid-life, when she abandoned her career as an advertising executive and escaped to the mountains. The pain of a divorce and the sweetness of a newborn faith figure into her story as well.

Thus, her fiercely loyal readers keep asking: Is she Cynthia?

No, says Karon, Cynthia has better legs.

But the questions keep coming. Is Barnabas, the priest’s scripture-friendly dog, going to die? Now that the Appalachian urchins Dooley Barlowe and Lace Turner have grown up, will they get married? What will Dooley do with the fortune the late Miss Sadie secretly left him? Where does Uncle Billy get his corny jokes? And what is livermush, anyway?

Then there is the ultimate question. In the new novel, Father Tim crashes into his own mortality and even survives a near-death experience. Karon has promised that the next Mitford book, “Light From Heaven,” will end the series. Readers now ask: Is Father Tim going to die?

“No, he’s not going to die,” she said. “This is about his LIFE.”

The books are relentlessly cheerful, even though Karon weaves in dark threads. There is schizophrenia and depression, greed and grinding poverty, child abuse and alcoholism, disease and death. But most of all there is faith, even though her books fly out of secular bookstores.

Karon said it would be impossible to edit out her beliefs. It would be like trying to filter a shot of brandy back out of a cup of coffee. Once they’re mixed, they’re mixed.

“Even if I never mentioned the name of Jesus Christ, I can’t hide from you who I am,” she said. “In truth, the work that has no faith is for me not a whole work. It may be an amusing or credible or clever work, but not a whole work. Faith is a critical and urgent and necessary component of human wholeness.”

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