The modern world, he argued in the Italian magazine Espresso, was divided between Macintosh believers and those using the Microsoft disk operating system. The DOS world was “Protestant, or even Calvinistic” since it demanded “difficult personal decisions” and forced users to master complicated codes and rules.

“The Macintosh is Catholic,” wrote Eco. “It tells the faithful how they must proceed step by step to reach — if not the kingdom of Heaven — the moment in which their document is printed. It is catechistic: The essence of revelation is dealt with via simple formulae and sumptuous icons.”

Nearly two decades later, the hagiographers producing eulogies for Steve Jobs produced evidence that Eco was close — but that he needed to soar past Rome and around the globe to India and Japan. In essay after essay, journalists have argued that the so-called “cult of Mac” was driven by the Apple leader’s “Zen-like” state of mind.

It seems those iMacs, iPods, iPhones, iPads and MacBooks really were religious objects after all, with their gleaming surfaces of glass, aluminum and white or black plastic. There must have been a grand scheme behind that yin-yang minimalism.

“The Zen of Steve Jobs,” proclaimed CNN.

ABCNews.com added: “Steve Job’s Mantra Rooted in Buddhism: Focus and Simplicity.”

HBO’s “Real Time” provocateur complained that too many normal people — even conservatives — were rushing to claim Jobs. “Please don’t do it, right-wingers,” said Bill Maher. “He was not one of you. … He was an Obama voting, pot-smoking Buddhist.”

One image of Jobs dominated the media barrage. In 2005, the prophet from Cupertino visited one of California’s most exclusive pulpits, giving the commencement address at Stanford University. It was one year after doctors discovered the rare form of pancreatic cancer that took his life at the age of 56.

“Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life,” he said. “Almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure — these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”

A quick summary of Jobs’ spiritual life is that he followed his heart right out of a traditional Christian background and into the spiritual maelstrom of the 1960s. Raised as a Missouri-Synod Lutheran, the young Jobs was already breaking bread with the Hare Krishnas near Reed College in Portland, Oregon, when he dropped out and headed to India seeking enlightenment.

It’s hard to know how much the secretive Jobs practiced Buddhism during his often-stormy life, which included an out-of-wedlock daughter (he denied paternity for years) and his legendary rise and fall and triumphant rebirth as Apple’s visionary. Buddhist monk Kobun Chino Otogawa did perform the 1991 wedding of Jobs and Laurene Powell and the Zen master served as a spiritual advisor for NeXT, the computer company Jobs founded in between his two Apple eras.

Critics noted that Jobs was a relentless and abrasive perfectionist who left scores of battered psyches in his wake. Whatever the doctrinal content of his faith, it seemed to have been a Buddhism that helped him find peace while walking barefoot through offices packed with wealthy, workaholic capitalists.

In his Stanford sermon, Jobs urged his young listeners to “trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”

For Jobs, the bottom line was his own bottom line — even when death loomed on the horizon. His ultimate hope was that he, alone, knew what was right.

“Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking,” he concluded. “Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition — they somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

It’s a question that can have the same jarring impact in a circle of feminist mothers in a Manhattan coffee shop.

Here it is: Will you buy your daughter a Barbie doll? Other questions follow in the wake of this one, linked to clothes, self esteem, cellphones, makeup, reality TV shows and the entire commercialized princess culture.

The Barbie question is not uniquely religious, which is one reason why it can be so symbolic for mothers and daughters in liberal as well as conservative circles.

Yet questions about religion, morality, health, culture, education, sexuality and, of course, “family values,” loom in the background, noted Naomi Schaefer Riley, a former Wall Street Journal editor who is best known for her writing on faith, education and the lives of modern young people. Many parents simply worry about the powerful forces that keep pushing their daughters — as experts put it — to “grow older, younger.”

“Mothers are divided on this whole issue and some can get very upset just talking about it. Yet others are not upset,” noted Riley. “You’ll see all kinds of women, religious and non-religious, who taking their 6-year-old daughters to get manicures and to get their hair done, trying to look pretty just like the girls on TV and in all the magazines.

“Then there are women who are the total opposite of all that. They may be evangelical Christians or they may be feminists, but they see this as an attack on what they believe.”

Barbie dolls are not the only products that define this dilemma, but they are highly symbolic. In an essay for the journal Books & Culture, Riley noted the power of a story recounted in “Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatches from the Front Lines of the New Girlie-Girl Culture,” a book by feminist Peggy Orenstein. The anecdote begins with her filmmaker husband approving a Barbie purchase for their young daughter.

“I demanded that he take it away from her. She started to cry. So I gave it back,” wrote Orenstein.

The parents argued some more and the Barbie went back on the Target shelf.

At that point the debate evolved into a clash over quality. Orenstein explained: “I promised I would get her a well-made Barbie instead, perhaps a Cleopatra Barbie I had seen on eBay, which, at the very least, was not white or blond and had something to offer besides high-heeled feet. As if the ankh pendant and peculiar tan made it all okay.”

The daughter began crying and said, “Never mind, Mama. … I don’t need it.”

Many mothers will tear up reading those lines, said Riley, because the scene is so familiar and can be triggered by so many products in shopping malls and just about anywhere on cable television. Moms may be urged to buy a pink Ouija board (“Who will text me next?”) or a Monopoly Pink Boutique Edition. They can dive into the parallel universe of Disney Princess products for toddlers, tweens, teens and young women (“Disney Bridal Gowns: Have a Disney Princess Wedding”). The list goes on and on.

Then there are the television shows. Riley, who has a 4-year-old daughter, noted that the style and content are essentially the same — whether the stars are preschoolers or aged veterans such as Miley Cyrus or Katy Perry. These shows lead young viewers into the world of reality television, with offerings ranging from “Teen Mom” to “Bridezillas,” from “Jersey Shore” to “Say Yes to the Dress.”

Once again, these subjects are just as likely to be discussed by girls gossiping after a suburban church service as by those chatting at the local mall.

This commercialized, highly sexualized culture, said Riley, has become the dominant culture. The question is whether parents dare to challenge it.

“There’s more to this than parents trying to be countercultural,” she said. “The big question is whether they will — for religious reasons or whatever — dare to take a stand and say, ‘I have a right to be THE major influence in the lives of my children.’ …

“It’s hard to say that, in this day and age. It takes a certain amount of courage for a mom to say, ‘Look, I don’t think padded bras are appropriate for 10-year-olds.’ “

Journalists in the region know that it’s scandalously rare for news events and trends that break in the Rocky Mountain West to gain traction in the elite news outlets of the urban Northeast and the West Coast.

But the massacre at Columbine High School on April 20, 1999 was different. The national press came to Littleton, Colo., and stayed — forced to wrestle with ancient questions of good and evil, as framed in the unfathomable acts of students Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold.

Days after the bloodshed, Denver Archbishop Charles Chaput — two years into his tenure — joined a friend at a movie theater, trying to understand the buzz surrounding “The Matrix.” The archbishop left deeply troubled, gripped by the sci-fi epic’s blurring of the line between life and death, between reality and a digital, alternative reality.

A week after another funeral for a young Catholic who died at Columbine, the archbishop was summoned to testify before a U.S. Senate hearing, and the Beltway press, on a loaded topic — “Marketing Violence to Children.”

Chaput was not well known at that time. This was before he was selected to serve on the U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom, before he started speaking out on national issues, before a public clash with the New York Times, before he wrote a bestseller, “Render Unto Caesar: Serving the Nation by Living Our Catholic Beliefs in Political Life.” This was years before his name began surfacing in rumors about empty slots high in the church hierarchy.

Now, the 66-year-old Native American has been named as the 13th shepherd Philadelphia, an ultra-Eastern archdiocese of about 1.5 million Catholics, only 30 percent of whom regularly visit pews. This is a high-profile throne that has, for every occupant since 1921, led to a seat in the College of Cardinals.

As someone who has known Chaput since the mid-1980s, when he was a pastor and campus minister, I’m convinced that anyone who wants to understand this Capuchin Franciscan friar’s priorities should start with Columbine.

In that early Washington visit, Chaput told the senators it would be simplistic to blame one movie, or Hollywood, or corporate entertainment giants for what happened at Columbine. At the same time, it would be naive to ignore the power of popular culture.

“The reasonable person understands that what we eat, drink and breathe will make us healthy or sick. In like manner, what we hear and what we see lifts us up — or drags us down. It forms us inside,” explained Chaput.

The day he saw “The Matrix,” he noted, the “theater was filled with teen-agers. One scene left me completely stunned: The heroes wear trench coats, and in a violent, elegant, slow-motion bloodbath, they cut down about a dozen people with their guns. It occurred to me that Mr. Harris and Mr. Klebold may have seen that film. If so, it certainly didn’t deter them.”

Critics were not amused, especially when the archbishop linked this bloodshed — real and imaginary — to other hot-button issues on both the cultural left and right.

“The problem of violence isn’t out there in bad music and bloody films. The real problem is in here, in us, and it won’t be fixed by v-chips,” he said. “We’ve created a culture that markets violence in dozens of different ways, seven days a week. … When we build our advertising campaigns on consumer selfishness and greed, and when money becomes the universal measure of value, how can we be surprised when our sense of community erodes?

“When we glorify and multiply guns, why are we shocked when kids use them? When we answer murder with more violence in the death penalty, we put the state’s seal of approval on revenge. When the most dangerous place in the country is a mother’s womb, and the unborn child can have his or her head crushed in an abortion, even in the process of being born — the body language of that message is that life isn’t sacred and
may not be worth much at all.”

That’s the voice that “Whispers In The Loggia” blogger Rocco Palmo of Philadelphia has called “brash, outspoken and fearless — energetic, colorful,
cultured — indeed, even hard-core.”

That’s the voice that is leaving the Rocky Mountain Time Zone and headed to the Philadelphia Main Line.

This collection of Sumerian legends is at least 4,000 years old and is among the world’s earliest known stories. Yet this Urak king wrestles with questions that haunt heroes today. Am I free? Am I doomed? Can I fight my fate?

At a key moment, the “woman of the vine” tells the king: “You will never find that life for which you are looking. When the gods created man they allotted to him death, but life they retained in their own keeping. As for you, Gilgamesh … cherish the little child that holds your hand, and make your wife happy in your embrace; for this too is the lot of man.”

These big questions transcend specific religions and have inspired artists through the ages, noted George Nolfi, writer and director of “The Adjustment Bureau,” a science fiction-romance hybrid starring Matt Damon that opens this weekend. However, these are also the kinds of complicated questions that make Hollywood executives roll their eyes as they search for date-night hits.

Can filmmakers do both? In this film, Nolfi and Damon said their goal was to make a romantic action film that also made people think, a popcorn flick for couples open to pondering predestination afterwards in a coffee shop.

“My influences? Everything that I have studied,” said Nolfi, during the New York press events for the movie. “The Greeks were dealing with, ‘How much are you fated?’ The Sumerians and Gilgamesh — that first written story — were dealing with that. … There are the bigger questions. … What makes life meaningful? And how much can you choose your own course? They have been an interest of mine as long as I can remember.”

The challenge is obvious, said Damon. The religious questions and the romantic chemistry have to mix into one commercial product.

“George Nolfi was a philosophy major and went to Princeton and he went on to Oxford. He’ll talk your ear off about that stuff — which you want,” said Damon, describing his colleague, who wrote “The Bourne Ultimatum.”

“You want that underpinning. You want quite a bit of understanding about this things, but you don’t want people to think that they’re coming to a movie that’s like this dry, you know, philosophy class.”

The movie centers on a congressman from New York City who meets a mysterious ballet dancer on the night of a crushing political defeat. Neither knows that higher powers were at work, since this brief encounter was orchestrated by “agents of fate” from the supernatural bureau that constantly adjust the details of people’s lives to keep them in line. At the top of this hierarchy is a godlike figure — “The Chairman.”

These guardian angels in business suits and fedoras watch the unfolding maps of people’s lives on devices that resemble GPS units crossed with tablet computers. When needed they can — within boundaries set by their Higher Power — intervene to force people back onto their predestined path.

In this case, Norris was supposed to forget the dancer and proceed with his life. But something happened and the two fell in love. Then their paths kept crossing, even though these encounters are not on their life maps. Is this mere chance, karma or free will? Is the Chairman intervening to bring them together? Are moviegoers watching John Calvin caught in “The Matrix,” wrestling with caseworkers from “Men in Black”?

“It’s certainly not accidental,” according to Michael Hackett, one of the producers, “that ‘The Adjustment Bureau,’ distilled to its purest form, echoes a number of the great belief systems around the world, religious or otherwise.”

While the film draws on a wide range of religious influences, Nolfi stressed that he worked hard avoid specifics that would drive away any one flock of believers. Nevertheless, there was no way to avoid the ultimate God question.

“You know, good and evil don’t mean much if you don’t have any free will,” he said. “Yet any conception of an all-powerful and all-knowing Higher Power that is also good. … “

The director left the rest of that sentence hanging. “You kind of hit the shoals there, of explaining things and making them all fit together,” he continued. “There are unanswerable questions. I mean, they are questions of faith — literally.”

The wave started with a flash-mob performance by the Opera Company of Philadelphia and hundreds of local choristers. Dressed as shoppers, they sang the best-known anthem from George F. Handel’s “Messiah” oratorio at noon in the downtown Philadelphia Macy’s, which was already decked out for the holidays on Oct. 30th.

Then came the Nov. 13th performance that sent this viral-video trend into overdrive, when 100 vocalists — led by a young woman singing the opening hallelujahs into her cellphone — shocked a food-court crowd in a Welland, Ontario, shopping mall.

There are online reports and rumors about similar “Hallelujah Chorus” sneak attacks in the marketplace. The key is that many onlookers know this classic by heart and can sing along without missing many beats.

These are strange scenes, but they would not surprise anyone who has studied the history of Handel’s masterwork and its stunning popularity, especially among American believers, said Calvin R. Stapert, a retired music professor at Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Mich. He is the author of the new book, “Handel’s Messiah: Comfort for God’s People.”

The Macy’s performance was spectacular and the food-court performance was just as fascinating in its own way, he said.

“One part of me says, ‘Wonderful!’ It’s thrilling. … Then I look at the comments that people keep writing” at YouTube.com as they respond to the videos, said Stapert. “Some of them are so deeply moved that this anthem to their Savior is being sung in such a secular environment. Then there are others who make it clear that, for them, this is nothing more than … a novel way of saluting a cornerstone of Western musical culture.”

No one knows why “Messiah” has become so popular, noted Stapert, in his book. The work’s omnipresence — with performances in churches, civic centers and elite concert halls — is probably the result of “musical, textual, social, religious and psychological factors that will never be completely unraveled.” There is no precedent in music history for this phenomenon.

For starters, Handel is an unlikely hero for today’s musical masses. He was a “reluctant eighteenth-century German Lutheran composer who would have preferred to continue writing Italian operas in Protestant England, a country that had no oratorio tradition until he ‘invented’ it. The rest, as they say, is history,” wrote Stapert.

This musical form — the oratorio — was also a unique and at times controversial kind of art. Handel composed “Messiah” and many of his greatest works in a cultural no man’s land between the music common in sacred sanctuaries and the lively, entertaining, operatic works that were popular in theaters and concert halls. Nevertheless, most oratorios were based on the lives of biblical heroes and early Christian saints.

Then there was “Messiah: A Sacred Oratorio,” which was composed in 24 days and performed for the first time in Dublin in 1742 and a year later in London. The libretto covered the drama of the full Christian liturgical year, yet the work was never intended for church performances. Handel originally composed the work for approximately 24 skilled singers and 24 instrumentalists.

Today, “Messiah” is often performed with choruses consisting of 100 singers or more and orchestras of every imaginable size and composition. In many performances, amateur performers are forced to cut the tempos of Handel’s mercurial, dancing choruses until they resemble lumbering musical stampedes.

To state the matter bluntly, noted Stapert, no complex work of classical music “has survived, let alone thrived, on so many performances, good, bad, and indifferent, by and for so many people year after year for such a long time.”

Now, the most famous anthem from this Christian masterpiece has reached the true public square of our age, in the same mix as “Jingle Bells” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

“You have to ask,” noted Stapert, “if many people are really listening to the words. After all, who is this ‘King of Kinds and Lord of Lords’? … You have to think that the cultural police would be out in a matter of minutes to shut this down if people were paying attention to this profoundly Christian work that is being sung right out in the open, in a mall. Has the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ become so familiar that people cannot hear what it’s saying?”

“Imagine there’s no heaven. It’s easy if you try. No hell below us, above us only sky. Imagine all the people, living for today,” said Lennon, in the anthem that for many defined his life. “Imagine there’s no countries. It isn’t hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for, and no religion too.”

Critics of the rock martyr have quoted these words almost as often as his admirers, especially in light of another quotation about religion that haunted the enigmatic superstar. In a 1966 interview about life in England, Lennon stated: “Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn’t argue with that. I’m right and I will be proved right. We’re more popular than Jesus now.”

Months later, his words were published in America. Many churches responded with bonfires of Beatles records and some Bible Belt radio stations banned the group’s music — for a while. Lennon received death threats.

Responding to the firestorm, Lennon told American reporters: “I pointed out that fact in reference to England, that we meant more to kids than Jesus did. … I was just saying it as a fact and it’s true more for England than here.”

Decades later, pop-culture scholars and religious leaders continue to argue about what Lennon believed and when he believed it. This is the kind of topic that is being discussed in England, America and elsewhere during the fall of 2010 — when Lennon would have been 70 years old.

Despite the images in “Imagine,” Lennon “certainly wasn’t an atheist, he was clear about that,” noted Father Robert Hart, an Anglican traditionalist from Chapel Hill, N.C., whose “Hard to Imagine” essay was recently published in the journal Touchstone.

“What he was missing in his life was the certainty of a specific, definitive revelation of a particular religious truth. It’s not that he denied that this kind of truth existed, but he was never able to find it. That’s what he lacked and he knew it.”

In other words, he was a vivid example of an attitude toward faith that has only gained power in the decades since his death. Lennon was “spiritual,” but not “religious” before that stance became all too common.

And what about his statement that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus?

“The real problem with what John Lennon said in 1966 is not what so many were quick to assume and to decry in a knee-jerk reaction,” noted Hart, in his essay. “The real problem is the element of truth in what he said. The Beatles WERE more popular than the Lord himself among youth in England at the time, as was Frank Sinatra among the older set in America — and as are television, video games and many other things of this world to very many people today.

“Lennon, the eccentric artist, poet and musician, spoke all too accurately.”

Lennon’s life was defined by symbolic moments, noted Hart. He was — literally — born during an air raid and died after being gunned down by a mad man. As a teen, the vicar of the Liverpool parish in which Lennon was baptized and confirmed banned him from services for laughing at an inopportune time, almost certainly during a sermon.

As a global superstar, Lennon pushed his art and psyche to the limit while trying drugs, Eastern mysticism, psychics, astrologers and other ways of coping with life and his fear of death. As an adult he exchanged letters full of spiritual questions with televangelist Oral Roberts, at one point writing, “Explain to me what Christianity can do for me. Is it phony? Can He love me? I want out of hell.”

For a brief time, Lennon tried to embrace evangelical Christianity. In the end, he called himself a “Zen Christian,” among other labels.

One would have to conclude, Hart said, that Lennon both reflected his times and influenced them. He did his searching right out in the open.

“This was a man who, if anything, was almost too honest about his doubts and his beliefs,” said Hart. “There are people who keep things bottled up inside. Well, that wasn’t John Lennon. The question is whether anyone really listened to what he was trying to say.”

“All who die in God’s grace and friendship, but still imperfectly purified, are indeed assured of their eternal salvation; but after death they undergo purification, so as to achieve the holiness necessary to enter the joy of heaven,” the text states. “The Church gives the name Purgatory to this final purification. … The tradition of the Church, by reference to certain texts of Scripture, speaks of a cleansing fire.”

Alas, any distressed “Lost” viewers who rushed to the Vatican website after the show’s finale found no insights about the smoke monster, the Dharma Initiative, that mysterious “4 8 15 16 23 42” sequence or why the fate of the world depended on a pool of light on one very strange island.

At least one member of the U.S. Catholic hierarchy has owned up to being tuned into the “Lost” phenomenon from the beginning. At the end, all Archbishop John J. Myers of Newark could do was understate the obvious.

“I’ve enjoyed the series, considering it to be akin to science fiction,” he noted, reacting to the raging debates about the religious symbols and language that dominated the final moments. “While the Catholic Church does believe in Purgatory, I’m not sure that the series presents an accurate understanding of our beliefs.”

Before the finale, the scribes who had been running “Lost” — Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse — said their creation would end by focusing on how the Oceanic Flight 815 survivors answered ultimate questions about the wounds, conflicts and sins in their pasts. The key word, they agreed, was “redemption.” All of that pain and suffering had a purpose.

The final episode blended together lots of vague theology, philosophy, pop psychology, religious symbols and references to popular books and movies. Think of it as “Our Town” meets “The Sixth Sense,” with dashes of “Ghost,” “Field of Dreams,” “It’s a Wonderful Life” and, at the last minute, a comforting nod to “All Dogs Go to Heaven.”

After years of flashing back and forth in time, the final year’s action centered on events in two parallel time sequences — the climactic battle to determine the island’s fate and a purgatorial “sideways” timeline in which the characters gained insights into their troubled lives, before and after the fateful crash.

At the end, the castaways gathered in a church sanctuary for one last group hug before entering eternity — an ocean of bright light outside the exit doors. The big chat explaining these final events — reuniting the show’s Christ figure, Jack Shephard, with his father, Christian Shephard — was lit by a stained-glass window containing symbols of Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism and Buddhism.

But was the show, as some had theorized all along, actually built on the concept of purgatory? Hadn’t Lindelof told the New York Times in 2006: “People who believe that they’re in purgatory or that they’re subjects of an experiment are going to start reassessing those theories. …” The creator of “Lost,” J.J. Abrams, had denied the purgatory theory, too.

The finale’s spirituality shocked many critics, including one or two who were so upset that they retroactively (flash backward) dismissed “Lost” as a whole. But veteran Washington Post writer Hank Stuever, drawing on his Catholic school past, said it’s time to admit the obvious.

In the final five minutes, “I realized that the purgatory camp had been right all along, that Occam’s razor (the simplest solution is usually the correct one) had worked,” he argued. “Oceanic 815 crashed. Some of its souls awoke in a realm that is neither heaven nor hell. It’s limbo. … Jack Shephard and his fellow travelers were brought there to resolve a number of problems between heaven and hell.”

But some Catholic viewers struggled to reconcile their church’s teachings with the limitations of a product created in Hollywood, a place that has its own definitions of terms such as “sin,” “repentance,” “redemption” and “savior.”

Now, the creators of “Lost” have offered a glimpse of purgatory — lite.

“From a theological point of view — well, you can’t have ‘purgatory’ per se without God, without Christ,” said Amy Welborn, a popular online Catholic commentator. “But given a vague, non-specific Christ-less spirituality, I really don’t see an argument that the sideways realities in the final episode, at least, weren’t meant to be purgatory.”

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?”

The typical faith-based indie has a tiny budget and most of the actors are amateurs or second stringers from television. It doesn’t take much money to promote one because churches are eager to hold pre-release screenings that fire up clergy and volunteers to spread the word — on foot and online.

Southern Baptist entrepreneurs in Georgia made the pro-marriage drama “Fireproof” for $500,000 and it grossed $40 million at the box office, before the DVDs started reaching Bible bookstores. The new Possibility Pictures team spent only $3 million making its first film, “Letters To God,” which opens this week.

Studio people can do the math.

“Lots of people are interested in that ‘Fireproof’ business model,” said Patrick Doughtie, who wrote the original “Letters To God” screenplay and helped direct the movie. “They don’t really know what they’re looking for in terms of content, but they know that these movies are reaching an audience and making some money.”

Doughtie, on the other hand, knew exactly what he wanted to see when “Letters To God” reached movie screens. He began studying screenwriting in order to tell a highly personal story based on the life of his son, Tyler, who died in 2005 at the age of 9 after a battle with an aggressive brain tumor.

After wrestling with anger and depression, Doughtie finally realized how much his son’s faith had touched the lives of the people around him, old and young, and especially other members of Grace Baptist Church in Nashville.

This provided the hook for a fictional story about a boy named Tyler who has brain cancer and begins writing letters to God full of questions about his own life, as well as prayers for his family and friends as they struggle with their fears that he will die. The letters end up in the hands of a postal worker who is struggling with alcoholism and the break-up of his own family.

After he had finished the basic script, Doughtie found a notebook in which Tyler had written some letters to God. This made him even more determined to find producers who were willing to tell the story with the faith element intact.

“All kinds of people are touched by cancer and they’re going to know what this movie is all about,” he said, days before the movie’s April 9 release in 900 theaters nationwide. “But I didn’t want to write a story that was just about cancer. I wanted to write a story about hope and about what needs to happen after a battle with cancer.”

For years, the makers of these faith-driven films have insisted that they can serve as evangelistic tools to reach nonbelievers — even though they are full of hymns, prayers, church services, mini-sermons and other acts of God that tend to appeal to people who are already in church pews.

Sure enough, most of the crucial scenes in “Letters To God” pivot on confessions of faith, accompanied by lilting flutes or heavenly choirs.

Even the most painful moments are squeaky clean. The alcoholic mailman doesn’t shout a single curse when he hits rock bottom or when his wise local bartender refuses to serve him another drink. Tyler’s mother, Maddy, is already a widow and, by the end of the movie, knows that she will lose her youngest son. Still, she loses her cool only once — when her own mother reminds her of a biblical parable about faith. She shouts: “I wish everyone would stop quoting the Bible to me. It’s not curing my son.”

Doughtie said that he hopes nonbelievers will see “Letters To God,” but he knows they will not be the primary audience. More than anything else, he hopes the movie will inspire church leaders to learn how to minister to families affected by cancer.

“People wanted to help us, but they didn’t know how,” said Doughtie. “They loved us. They prayed for us. They brought us casseroles. They wanted to help. … But what are you supposed to do after you pat someone on the back and say, ‘Hey, I’m sorry you lost your kid’?

“What we have to do is remove the stigma from childhood cancer. People in our churches need to take their blinders off and get more involved with cancer families.”

“I try to bend even the worst of my roles, like ‘Training Day,’ ” said Washington, the day after a press screening of “The Book of Eli” in Los Angeles. “The first thing I wrote on my script was ‘the wages of sin is death.’ “

After that biblical pronouncement, the superstar pleaded for a crucial change in this role, for which he won the Oscar as Best Actor. In the original script, viewers learned about his character’s death in a television newscast. Washington insisted that this urban wolf be yanked out of his car and forced to “crawl like a snake” before being riddled with bullets, while people in the neighborhood turned their backs on him.

“I said, ‘No, no. … In order for me to justify him living in the worst way, he has to die in the worst way,’ ” explained Washington.

For Washington, this “bending” process is part of his ongoing efforts to make sense of his Christian faith in the midst of a career as one of Hollywood’s most powerful players in front of, and behind, the camera. The goal isn’t to sneak faith into mainstream films, but to pinpoint themes about sin, redemption, justice, dignity and compassion that mesh with what he believes to be true as the son of Pentecostal pastor and an active member of the giant West Angeles Church of God in Christ.

That’s what he was doing while playing Malcolm X, emphasizing that his sermons built on racial hatred were evolving into messages rooted in equality. In the violent “Man on Fire,” Washington played a bodyguard who decides to sacrifice his own life to save a young girl from kidnappers. This “bending” process is easier in some movies than others.

In the R-rated “Book of Eli” — directors Albert and Allen Hughes call it a “post-nuclear western” — the actor plays a warrior who marches through a devastated American landscape while, literally, on a mission from God. He is carrying the last surviving copy of the King James Bible, along with his machete and a few other weapons that he uses with righteous fervor. Call it “Mad Moses” in “The Prayer Warrior.”

“Here’s a man who, like Saul, or Paul, gets knocked off his horse and has this epiphany, this moment,” said Washington.

In a vision, the voice of God tells Eli, “Take this book west,” and promises to protect him until he can deliver it into safekeeping. There is one big difference between Eli’s story and the biblical account of St. Paul’s conversion, the actor admitted, with a laugh. “I don’t know if it said anywhere in there, ‘And kill everybody on your way.’ “

While early drafts of the script contained even more religious material, the film does show Eli reading the Bible and praying every day. In a pivotal scene, he teaches a young woman how to pray, while trying to protect her from a strongman who wants to seize the Bible to use it as “a weapon aimed at the hearts of the weak and the desperate.”

Eli’s basic message is simple: “Do more for others than you do for yourself.” The movie ends with a prayer that includes a famous quotation from St. Paul: “I fought the good fight. I finished the race. I kept the faith.”

Washington said these are the kinds of messages that linger after the Bible studies that he strives to fit into each day. He has worked his way through the Bible three times, spurred on by the example of Pauletta, his wife of 26 years.

While reading the Book of Proverbs recently, he began looking around his house, marveling over “all this stuff.” This led to a sobering question: “What do you want, Denzel?” He focused on “wisdom,” which led to the word “understanding.”

“I said, ‘Hey, there’s something to work on. How about wisdom and understanding? How about that? I started praying, I said, ‘God, give me a dose of that,’ ” said Washington. “I mean, I can’t get … anymore successful, you know, but I can get better. I can learn to love more. I can learn to be more understanding. I can gain more wisdom.

“So that’s where I’m at.”