That was a loaded question, because of tensions behind the scenes between the multi-media Dallas superstar and many mainstream Christian leaders.

Now, this legendary preacher — often listed as one of America’s most powerful evangelicals — has taken a big step toward convincing his critics that he is, in fact, an evangelical. Jakes has, after years of rumors about private assurances, publicly affirmed that he believes in the Christian doctrine of the Trinity.

The Rev. Mark Driscoll of Mars Hill Church in Seattle asked the question directly, during the recent Elephant Room conference at the First Baptist Church in Jacksonville, Fla. This annual event brings together Christian leaders from a variety of backgrounds to discuss tough subjects. Baptist Press has circulated the interview transcript nationwide.

“So you believe,” said Driscoll, that “there’s one God, three Persons — Father, Son and Holy Spirit? You believe Jesus was fully God, fully Man?”

Jakes didn’t flinch: “Absolutely.”

That one word represents a significant change for Jakes, the leader of The Potter’s House, a 30,000-member megachurch that serves as the base for his thriving work in books, Gospel music, social-justice causes and a host of other ministries. While the church is nondenominational, the preacher has long been associated with an unorthodox stream of faith known as “Oneness” Pentecostalism.

The ancient doctrine of the Trinity teaches that there is one God, yet this God has been revealed in history as three distinct persons, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. This is a core doctrine that unites Catholic, Orthodox and Protestant Christians worldwide — including most who embrace Pentecostal and “charismatic” Christianity, the world’s fastest growing Christian movement.

The split between Trinitarian and the “Oneness” Pentecostals occurred in stages early in the 20th Century, soon after the Azusa Street Revival in Los Angeles. That famous spiritual earthquake ignited the interracial Pentecostal movement, with its emphasis on spiritual gifts such as prophecy, healing and “speaking in tongues.”

“Oneness” leaders denied the reality of the Trinity, saying there is one God — period. Thus, they continue to baptize in the name of Jesus, alone, rather than using references to “Father, Son and Holy Spirit.” Critics call this approach “modalism.”

In the Elephant Room interview, Jakes noted that his father was Methodist and his mother was Baptist. However, he stressed that he made his own decision to become a Christian in a “Oneness” Pentecostal church. Thus, he said, “I ended up Metha-Bapti-Costal, in a way.”

Several scripture passages influenced his change of mind on this issue, he said, especially the account of the baptism of Jesus.

“Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River, for example, coming up out of the water [and] the Holy Spirit descends like a dove, the Father speaks from heaven and we see all three of them on one occasion,” said Jakes. This and other references “began to make me rethink some of my ideas and some of the things that I was taught.

“I got kind of quiet about it for a while. Because when you are a leader and you are in a position of authority, sometimes you have to back up and ponder for a minute, and really think things through.”

“Oneness” churches represent a relatively small piece of the global Pentecostal movement — about 5 percent of an estimated 640 million believers. Nevertheless, Jakes has clearly been trying to find a way to keep expanding his work into the evangelical, “charismatic” mainstream without cutting his ties to his past, said historian Vinson Synan of Regent University, author of numerous books on Pentecostalism.

“The reality is that he had to address this issue sooner or later because he has all kinds of followers, including lots of Trinitarians,” said Synan. “This man sells millions of books, makes movies and is an award-winning Gospel singer. He’s a major force in Christian culture in this land. …

“Well, he might not be able to keep doing all of that if millions of evangelicals think he is some kind of heretic. So he makes this one statement and he’s cleared with most evangelicals and charismatics, most of the time. He’s on his way to being more acceptable to just about everybody. That’s big, in the post-denominational world in which we live.”

Consider this paragraph in an MSNBC.com report about efforts by Southern Baptist researchers to shed light on the pros and cons of changing the name of America’s largest non-Catholic flock. Southern Baptist Convention leaders have been discussing this prickly issue off and on for a generation.

This new LifeWay Research survey was conducted, noted MSNBC, after SBC leaders created a task force to “consider the impact of the convention’s name on the denomination, which has been associated with such polarizing political figures as the Rev. Jerry Falwell, convicted Watergate conspirator-turned-Baptist minister Charles Colson and television evangelist Pat Robertson. Just this month, a Southern Baptist church in Kentucky voted to ban interracial couples, a controversial decision the pastor later overturned.”

Alas, this ban on interracial couples had been approved by a Baptist church that happens to be located in the South — not an actual Southern Baptist church. There is a difference. The tiny Gulnare Free Will Baptist Church quickly overturned its decision. MSNBC editors corrected their error, as well.

Nevertheless, this journalistic train wreck perfectly symbolized the cultural baggage that has become attached to that awkward and now inaccurate “Southern” label.

Truth is, it’s getting harder and harder to pin simple labels on Southern Baptists and other religious believers. This reality is especially important in an age in which Americans are increasingly hostile to labels.

“The trend you just can’t miss is the continuing rise of the non-categorized, the non-labeled forms of Protestantism,” said Ed Stetzer, president of LifeWay Research. “You used to be able to look at religion in America and you could put most people into their appointed categories. Now we are seeing more people who just don’t want to be put into a category or they don’t want to stay put.”

It will be impossible, he said, for Southern Baptist leaders to downplay some of the negative numbers in this survey — numbers that are sure to make headlines. For example, while 53 percent of Americans reported having a favorable impression of Southern Baptists, 40 percent of those polled said their impressions were negative. The SBC’s image was especially bad in the West (44 percent) and in the Southern Bible Belt (40 percent).

One eyebrow-raising number in the survey is that, in terms of favorable impressions, Roman Catholics (59 percent) fared better in the South than Southern Baptists (52 percent). Southern Baptists, ironically, fared better in regions in which they have had a lower profile, such as the Northeast and Midwest.

The news was also sobering on a question focusing on the convention’s name and its evangelistic efforts. LifeWay researchers asked: “When I see (fill in denominational affiliation) in the name of a church, I assume it is not for me.” Nationwide, 35 percent of those polled “strongly agreed” that a Southern Baptist congregation would not be a good fit for them — higher than for Catholics (33 percent), generic “Baptists” (29 percent), Methodists (26 percent) and “community” or nondenominational churches (20 percent).

In other words, the mere presence of the word “Southern” cost SBC congregations six percentage points in head-to-head comparisons with other Baptists. In another question linked to decisions to visit or join a church, only 10 percent of those polled said that knowing a “church was Southern Baptist” would have a positive impact.

Meanwhile, the SBC fared worst among Americans who rarely attend church, Hispanics, many urbanites and young Americans. In all, only 17 percent of Protestant adults agreed that knowing a congregation was Southern Baptist would have a positive impact when it came time to decide whether to visit or join. The number among non-Protestant adults was a mere 2 percent.

The clear evidence that nondenominational churches — churches without labels — fared significantly better than Southern Baptist churches was especially significant, said Stetzer.

“People increasingly see religion in terms of silos and categories,” he said. “It seems that they look at churches and then quickly decide, ‘That one’s for me’ or they decide, ‘That one’s not for me.’ … The irony is that they will find many of the same beliefs in nondenominational evangelical churches that they find in our Southern Baptist churches — but people don’t know that.

“It seems that people will give a church a fair shot, but only if the label doesn’t scare them.”

Then again, if Mormons gather for a seminar on what Southern Baptists believe, the odds are good that one of the teachers will be a former Southern Baptist.

“There’s an important word that people forget when they start talking about Southern Baptists and Mormons and that word is ‘competition,’ ” said the Rev. Richard Land, one of the most outspoken leaders of America’s largest non-Catholic flock. He leads the Southern Baptist Convention’s Ethics & Religious Liberty Commission.

“We are talking about the two most evangelistic churches in North America and most of the world,” he said. “There are lots of Mormons who used to be Baptists and lots of Baptists who used to be Mormons. … It’s natural to see some tensions now and then.”

Meanwhile, some Mormons and Baptists keep colliding in the public square every four years or so — just about the time White House wannabes butt heads in Republican debates.

The latest storm centered on remarks by the Rev. Robert Jeffress of the First Baptist Church of Dallas. A supporter of Rick Perry of Texas, Jeffress told the recent Values Voters Summit crowd that Mormon Mitt Romney is “not a real Christian” and later insisted on calling the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints a “theological cult.”

Obviously, that language offends Mormons, said Land. Truth is, no one in today’s Southern Baptist leadership believes that modern Mormons should be described with the word “cult” as most Americans would understand this hot-button term, defined according to “psychological or sociological” factors.

“Clearly the Mormons are anything but that,” he said. “They’re the president of your Rotary Club and the leaders of your local bank. No one thinks they’re one of the dangerous, separatistic cults that you read about in headlines — people like Jim Jones or the Branch Davidians.”

However, most Baptists and members of many other Christian churches have grown up hearing Mormonism described in “theological or doctrinal” terms. A Southern Baptist website on new religious movements states: “A cult … is a group of people polarized around someone’s interpretation of the Bible and is characterized by major deviations from orthodox Christianity relative to the cardinal doctrines of the Christian faith, particularly the fact that God became man in Jesus Christ.”

In recent years, Land has numbered himself among those who describe Mormonism as a kind of fourth Abrahamic tradition, a new faith that has reinterpreted the past under the guidance of its own prophet and its own scriptures. In this case, he said, “Joseph Smith is like Mohammad and The Book of Mormon is like the Koran.” Mormons believe they have restored true Christianity, while Trinitarian churches reject this claim that they have lost the faith.

Thus, it’s not surprising that a new LifeWay Research survey of 1,000 liberal and conservative Protestant clergy in America found that 75 percent disagreed with this statement: “I personally consider Mormons (Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints) to be Christians.” The surprise was that 48 percent of mainline Protestant pastors strongly agreed that Mormons are not Christians.

Meanwhile, the Vatican in 2001 posted its stance on this issue: “Whether the baptism conferred by the community The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, called Mormons in the vernacular, is valid.”

The response from the late Pope John Paul II was blunt: “Negative.” His verdict validated that of scholar Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, who is now Pope Benedict XVI.

Of course, the reason these issues are being debated in the first place is that Romney — a prominent Mormon leader — is a Republican frontrunner in an era in which conservative Catholic and Protestant voters play a prominent role in Iowa, South Carolina and numerous other primary contests. Mormons voters and donors are crucial, as well.

Land, who urged Romney to seek the presidency in 2008, is convinced most conservative believers will have no trouble backing the former Massachusetts governor, when push comes to shove.

“Most people know that they’re voting for a president, not a Bible-study leader,” he said. “Actually, the problem Romney is having in the primaries is not that he’s a Mormon, but that many GOP voters are not sure that he’s Mormon enough.”

The same is true for the missionaries, researchers and pastors who plant churches. Thus, Ed Stetzer once heard a veteran missions professor tell the following bittersweet joke at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Fort Worth, Texas.

It went like this: How do you start a new Southern Baptist church in a big city up north? That’s easy. You go into local grocery stores and introduce yourself to all of the people who buy grits.

“The point, of course, is that this is what you do NOT want to do,” said Stetzer, a native New Yorker who is president of LifeWay Research, linked to the 16-million-member Southern Baptist Convention. “If you’re starting churches in places like New York City, those churches need to look like the indigenous churches that are already growing there.

“A successful church plant in Manhattan is obviously going to look a lot different than one in Alabama. … We’ve known that for a long time, but we’ve learned a lot more since 9/11.”

Stetzer was referring to a faith-shaped trend that has quietly emerged in the Big Apple in the decade since the twin towers fell.

Here’s the statistic that insiders keep citing, drawn from a Values Research Institute (www.nycreligion.info) study: Forty percent of the evangelical Protestant churches in Manhattan were born after 2000, an increase of about 80. During one two-month stretch in 2009, at least one Manhattan church was planted every Sunday.

The impact has been big on one scale and tiny on another. According to the institute’s research, the percentage of New Yorkers in center-city Manhattan who identify themselves as evangelical Protestants has, since 1990, risen from less than 1 percent to three percent. In other words, the evangelical population has tripled.

While even 3 percent of the people living in greater New York is a significant number, this small slice means that — from an evangelical Protestant viewpoint — missionaries still consider the city’s population an “unreached people group” when compared with other regions. Thus, in 2003 the North American Mission Board of the Southern Baptist Convention pinned its “Strategic Focus City” label on New York, initiating a four-year project offering additional funds, volunteers and church-planting professionals.

It’s impossible to tell this story without discussing the impact of 9/11, noted journalist Tony Carnes, who leads the Values Research Institute team. Rescue workers poured into New York City from across the nation, including volunteers from heartland churches not known for their affection for New York City.

“For the first time, to a large degree, important evangelical leaders realized that New York City was not what they thought it was,” said Carnes. “They learned that you didn’t need to walk down the street at night looking over your shoulder, worried that you were going to get shot. …

“They also learned that there were already many evangelical churches here and that they were not weak, struggling and embattled. Many were strong, vital and growing.”

The bottom line is that, while 9/11 was crucial, this story didn’t start with 9/11.

Carnes stressed that 42 percent of the evangelical churches in the city’s outer boroughs were founded between 1978 and 1999. This earlier surge was, in large part, driven by rapid growth in Pentecostal flocks led by African-Americans and Latinos. Another crucial event was the 1989 birth of Redeemer Presbyterian Church, led by the Rev. Tim Keller. Since then, teams from this Manhattan megachurch — which has attracted waves of Asian Christians — have planted 75 new churches across the city.

While it’s easy to focus on the past decade, said Carnes, those striving to see the bigger picture need to study ongoing trends of among immigrants, young adults and others who continue, as they have for generations, to rush to New York City seeking changed lives and new opportunities.

New York, he said, remains America’s great “unsettling city.”

“New York is going to change you, whether you are from Texas or Africa,” he said. “This city leaves you unsettled and that bring moments of pain and loneliness, but also moments that offer great freedom. … Church leaders have started to realize that many of the people who keep arriving in this great city are seeking spiritual freedom, as well. They truly want to start over.”

When flipping through its pages, she said, one of the first things she notices is a missing word — Facebook. She needs to rewrite the whole book to cover this reality gap.

“That obvious, isn’t it? It’s so obvious that we ought to be using Facebook to tell more women about our Bible studies and prayer groups and retreats and things like that,” said Davis, who has been married to a Southern Baptist pastor and administrator for nearly four decades, working in Texas and Indiana.

This connection is certainly obvious in America’s megachurch subculture and the digital-media pros and market-research consultants who serve it. Davis, however, has focused most of her attention as a speaker and writer on churches that occupy corners in ordinary neighborhoods, not the giant sanctuaries that resemble shopping malls.

Lots of churches, she noted, don’t even have solid websites. Facebook? Isn’t it that computer thing all the teens use to waste time?

“Many small churches, or even our medium-sized churches, have nothing — nothing,” she said. “There are people who still do not realize that if you’re not online, or if you are not on Facebook, you do not exist for lots of people today. Your church simply does not exist.”

The disconnected leaders of these churches should start doing the math, she argued, in a Baptist Press essay offering advice to those who have remained unplugged from Facebook.

First, pastors should request “a show of hands to find out how many church members use Facebook,” she said. “The average Facebook user has 130 registered ‘friends,’ so if just 20 church members use Facebook, that’s potentially 2,600 people who could read posts about your church. One hundred members with Facebook could touch 13,000. … Convinced?”

Once they recognize the potential, religious leaders must learn how to handle life in the parallel universe of social networking. Here are some key rules drawn from work Davis has done with church leaders who have taken their knocks.

* It’s crucial to understand the differences between websites, which users enter on their own seeking information, and Facebook pages, which — through “friends” links — can send semi-invited messages into someone’s personal “News Feed.”

“With Facebook,” she explained, “you’re sending messages to your members, but you’re also sending messages to their friends and then, potentially, to their friends and on and on. So it’s more aggressive, in a way. You’re on offense, not defense.”

* Newcomers should proceed with caution in this casual, yet intense medium. Clergy, she said, “know they have to think before they speak. Now they’re learning that they have to think before they click. … For example, pastors are supposed to use the language well. But if you put something on Facebook that has two or three misspelled words in it people are going to think that you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

* It’s important to keep messages short, positive and audience appropriate. Facebook, she said, “is a good place to send out a prayer request, but it’s not the place to share details of someone’s surgery. This is not the place to talk about the fine details of your church’s finances.”

* Know that even simple amateur videos can help. For example, senior adults are more likely to feel comfortable visiting an exercise class if they can watch a short video showing others taking part. It helps to show newcomers what your flock is doing.

* Social networks cannot replace the human touch of true human networks. Facebook posts cannot replace a covered-dish supper, but they can help bring more dishes and people through the church door.

For example, as soon as news reports began about the earthquake and tsunami in Japan, Davis said her own church rushed out a message urging members and their friends to attend a prayer event. Then volunteers sent the message to other churches and their small-group networks. In short, the invitation “went viral” at the local level.

The result: Instant prayer service.

“That message went all over the place,” she said. “We could have never done that by telephone — that fast, to that many people outside our church. People came from everywhere. …

“This is real. This is something that more churches just have to try.”

“The Church has always sought,” notes the Book of Blessings, “to ensure that all those things that are involved in any way in divine worship should be worthy, becoming and beautiful. … Those objects that through a blessing are set aside for divine worship are to be treated with reverence by all and to be put only to their proper use, never profaned.”

This includes books on the altar, as noted in the 2001 text Liturgiam authenticam (The Authentic Liturgy): “The books from which the liturgical texts are recited in the vernacular with or on behalf of the people should be marked by such a dignity that the exterior appearance of the book itself will lead the faithful to a greater reverence for the word of God and for sacred realities.”

But the question some Catholics are asking these days is this: Can there be an app for that? What if clergy used iPads containing the Roman Missal?

At this point, the hierarchy has not publicly approved this leap, noted Father John J.M. Foster, who teaches liturgical law at the Catholic University of America. But that doesn’t mean that the Vatican might not support the limited use of an iPad application, which recently was created by an Italian priest who is a consultant with the Pontifical Council for Social Communications.

Nevertheless, it’s hard to imagine priests walking in processions with iPads lifted high. Could that happen?

“Not yet,” said Foster. “That doesn’t mean that some parish somewhere isn’t going to make PDF copies of the Gospels, put them on an iPad and hand them to the deacon. … However, we shouldn’t assume that something can be used in the liturgy, simply because it has not been forbidden.”

This buzz began in June, when Father Paolo Padrini said he was releasing an app offering the Roman Missal — the texts that are read and sung during Masses throughout the year — in Latin, English, Italian, French and Spanish. Two years earlier, he created an iBreviary for the iPhone, containing the Catholic book of daily prayers.

The Catholic blogosphere reacted immediately. Certainly in iMissal would help priests, such as military chaplains, who were constantly on the move. Priests with weak eyesight could change font sizes in a few seconds. But what would happen if the app crashed during Mass? Could laypeople read along, or would they be tempted to check their email?

The church, however, has faced technical questions before. Hand-written volumes gave way to those printed on presses. However, priests cannot hear confessions by telephone. Internet confessions don’t work, either.

Speaking as a “self-professed geek who is a lover of both technology and theology,” Jeff Miller of the Curt Jester website confessed that he has mixed emotions about liturgical texts on mobile devices.

“This might be a question answered by the Vatican sometime in the future, though they are notoriously slow in answering questions of this type,” wrote Miller. “I can certainly see why some priests would appreciate an electronic version of the Roman Missal. It would be much harder to loose your place and in fact easier to find the correct section each day. I love electronic versions of the Liturgy of the Hours because it makes it so easy to read … without having to thumb through a bunch of ribboned bookmarks.”

Some changes will be needed, stressed Jeff Geerling of Open Source Catholic. For example, the screens on these devices will need to operate without strong backlighting. Imagine the blue-glow distraction of iPads during candlelight services. And that omnipresent aluminum shell?

“An appropriate case,” he noted, “would need to be manufactured to (a) mask the logo on the back, and (b) downplay the fact that a bit of electronic technology is being used. Something simple; perhaps a nice red leather case?”

At this point, noted Foster, no one knows how these apps will evolve. One thing is certain. Priests would need to look up prayers for special occasions and rites.

“There would still be work to do,” he said. “That’s why we have all those ribbons. It’s not like you could just call up a day of the year and everything would be right there so that you could keep scrolling on and on and on. It’s not that simple.”

Some people look at this piece of silver or gold jewelry in the James Avery line and they see fishing lures — period.

But other shoppers see the same item and they think of these words of Jesus: “Follow me and I will make you fishers of men.” This is especially true if they have completed a United Methodist Walk to Emmaus weekend, or some other renewal program inspired by the Catholic Cursillo movement.

“Most of our customers purchase and wear that for the religious symbolism,” said Paul Avery, executive vice president of the company that his father started in a garage. “But there is a group that has no clue what it means. … They just happen to like it. They like to fish or whatever.”

So one man’s ring of fishing lures is another man’s symbol of faith.

The key is that there is an element of mystery to symbols of this kind, said another veteran of this family-driven firm based in Kerrville, an arts-friendly community in the Texas Hill Country.

“It’s interesting that you would never find this in traditional church history, this symbol, but you would find the scriptural reference to being fishers of men,” said Howell Ridout, the company’s vice president of marketing and development.

This particular bracelet started out as a “grassroots thing that just happened,” he explained. Emmaus Walk veterans “actually started using fishing tackle from the hardware store” to remind themselves of the importance of this biblical passage. Now, this modern bracelet is one of the company’s most popular items.

Then again, the current catalogue also contains the very first cross that founder James Avery designed in 1954, a variation on a classic Latin design. Some of the Christian and Jewish symbolism used in this jewelry is truly ancient, while other pieces offer modern variations on biblical themes — such as a bare cross made of nails.

In recent years, Ridout explained, religious items have made up 25 percent of the company’s line and about 25 percent of its sales. However, nearly 80 percent of all James Avery customers at one time or another purchase at least one item of religious jewelry. Clearly, these items are central to the company’s identity, he said.

For centuries, religious symbolism has been at the heart of some forms of faith. What is unusual about the James Avery story is that almost all of the company’s stores — there will be 59 by the year’s end — are in the Bible Belt and 49 are in Texas.

While its customer base includes a wide range of believers, the chain could not succeed in the region in which it is succeeding without appealing to Baptists and other conservative Protestants who for generations have viewed religious symbolism as too “high church,” if not too Catholic.

Then again, the Hill Country location is crucial. Its culture blends art elements from the American Midwest, from Germans settlers, from rustic ranches across the Southwestern and, of course, from Spanish influences. The result is a unique aesthetic expressed in stone, leather, wood and pounded silver.

“Texas is, geographically, a very unique area,” said Paul Avery. “You have the deep Hispanic culture that is so rooted in that Catholic base. Then you have more of the Protestant side of that, the non-Catholic. And there’s a blend of those two cultures that probably allows a lot of … natural evolution.”

These hills also are full of church youth camps, a network that exposed James Avery’s work to young seekers as the 1960s veered into the “Jesus Movement” of the 1970s, which led into an era of charismatic renewal in mainline churches and waves of changes in how many Americans worship.

These days, art and even elements of liturgy can be found in a wide variety of Protestant sanctuaries, Ridout said. Churches of all kinds are moving in a more visual, experiential direction.

It has become common to see Texans wearing crosses — or perhaps symbolic fishing lures — as they go to work, to school, to the grocery store or to church.

“I think there are some clues there, both as to what is acceptable and to what’s sought after and comfortable,” Ridout said. These changes symbolize “what’s meaningful to people, what truly motivates them.”

It cost too much to live near the water, but that didn’t really matter since the sights, smells and rhythms of the coast defined the whole community. Driving away from his hometown has always been emotional, but the last time he pulled onto U.S. Highway 90 was different.

Hurricane Katrina was terrible. Now, the locals are facing what some writers have called “Katrina meets Chernobyl.”

“I’ve never left like this, wondering if … my children’s children will ever know what Biloxi was,” wrote Moore, in an online meditation about a recent visit. Gazing at Gulf, he knew that “there’s a Pale Horse” out there, the rupture in deep water that is creating “plumes of petroleum great enough to threaten to destroy the sea-life there for my lifetime, if not forever.

“Everything is endangered, from the seafood and tourism industries to the crabs and seagulls on the beach to the churches where I first heard the Gospel of Jesus Christ. This is more than a threat to my hometown. … It is a threat to national security greater than most Americans can even contemplate, because so few of them know how dependent they are on the eco-systems of the Gulf of Mexico.”

It would raise few eyebrows if Baptists such as Al Gore, Bill Clinton or Bill Moyers voiced these views. Russell, however, is dean of the theology school at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Ky., a vital hub for conservatives in the 16 million-member Southern Baptist Convention and in the wider world of evangelicalism.

Moore served as chairman of the resolutions committee this past week in Orlando when Southern Baptists gathered for their annual national meeting. Thus, in addition to dealing with scores of internal SBC issues, the convention also expressed its concerns about the unfolding catastrophe in the Gulf of Mexico.

Noting that the Bible teaches that those who harm the vulnerable should be held accountable, the convention called on “governing authorities to act determinatively and with undeterred resolve to end this crisis; to fortify our coastal defenses; to ensure full corporate accountability for damages, clean-up, and restoration; to ensure that government and private industry are not again caught without planning for such possibilities; and to promote future energy policies based on prudence, conservation, accountability, and safety.”

The resolution (.pdf) urged Southern Baptist churches to recruit waves of volunteers for clean-up crews, just as they did after hurricane Katrina.

The resolution stressed that “our God-given dominion over the creation is not unlimited, as though we were gods and not creatures, so therefore, all persons and all industries are then accountable to higher standards than to profit alone.”

The key, said Moore, is that Baptists need a broader view of a key word — “sin.”

“A solid doctrine of sin is what has kept most evangelicals from sliding into a utopian view of government,” he said, in a telephone interview. “We understand the sin nature of human beings. We understand that checks and balances are needed, when you are dealing with human institutions. Well, now we need to understand that corporations must be watched carefully. Planned Parenthood is a corporation. Playboy is a corporation. British Petroleum is a corporation, too.”

The April 20th explosion in the Gulf, said Moore, could be a turning point for many conservative Christians on issues of pollution, ecology and environmental stewardship. It will be hard to ignore the worst oil spill in U.S. history, especially when the wider economic and human toll begins to close church doors and threaten generations of Bible Belt traditions — like youth camps on or near the beach.

It hasn’t helped that the first things most conservative Christians think about when they hear the word “environmentalism” is Hollywood, New Age spirituality and politicos who suggest that human beings are “parasites on a world that would be better off without them,” he said.

This evangelical silence has not been constructive.

“This is one of those issues that, if evangelicals concede it to extremists on both sides, we are going to miss our opportunity to let our voices be heard on what the Gospel says about God’s creation and our stewardship of the resources we’ve been given,” said Moore. “Without a biblically conservative voice in that debate, something vital will be missing.”

“I talked about ministers’ problems and how, sometimes, professional counseling was what was needed,” said the witty physician, whose counseling work was built on his evangelical faith, as well as psychiatric credentials from the Mayo Clinic. “When I was through, the seminary president strode to the microphone to deliver the benediction. He said, ‘Lord, we’re glad that you have called us to be your servants and that all we really need is Jeeee-sussss. Amen.’

“There is still a whole lot of resistance out there to ministers getting help.”

McBurney shared that story in the mid-1980s, a decade after moving to Colorado with his wife, Melissa, to open a private and for years secret facility dedicated to helping ministers save their marriages and careers. I visited the Marble Retreat Center as a journalist, entering with the understanding that patients could remain anonymous and that I wouldn’t publish its exact location. It was crucial, you see, for troubled clergy to be able to tell their flocks that they were spending two weeks taking a break in Colorado — period.

The lodge, in those years, was packed with symbolic details, like the toy owl named “Sigmund.” There was always a fire burning in the stone fireplace in the 12-by-15 foot den that patients simply called “the room upstairs,” even on summer days. The flames consumed dozens of tear-soaked tissues during group-therapy sessions.

McBurney was a true pioneer, serving as a healer for men and women who — as spiritual leaders — struggled to find a haven in which they could face their own sins. The 70-year-old therapist died recently of complications from head injuries suffered in a household accident. He was semi-retired and his work continues at the lodge in the Crystal River Valley, which has worked with 3,600 patients in 36 years. Today, there are nearly 30 centers that do similar therapy for clergy, part of a national network (Caregiversforum.org) that the McBurneys helped create.

“The world has changed and we can be thankful for that,” said Dr. Steve Cappa, who now leads the center with his wife, Patti. “It’s hard for us to explain the kind of religious stigma that surrounded discussions of mental illness when Louis and Melissa began their work, especially if you were talking about trying to help troubled ministers.”

The challenges clergy face are easy to describe, yet hard to master.

* Lay leaders often judge a pastor’s success by two statistics — attendance and the annual budget. Yet powerful, rich members often make the strategic decisions. As a minister once told McBurney: “There’s nothing wrong with my church that wouldn’t be solved by a few well-placed funerals.”

* Perfectionism often leads to isolation and workaholism, with many clergy working between 80 and 90 hours a week.

* Clergy families live in glass houses, facing constant scrutiny about personal issues that other parents and children can keep private.

* Ministers may spend up to half their office hours counseling, which can be risky since most ministers are men and most active church members are women. If a woman bares her soul, and her pastor responds by sharing his own personal pain, the result can be “as destructive and decisive as reaching for a zipper,” McBurney said.

* While most clergy sincerely believe they are “called by God,” they also know they are human and, thus, wrestle with their own fears and doubts. Many ministers have dreams in which they reach their pulpits and discover they are naked.

To be perfectly frank about it, said McBurney, it shouldn’t be hard for traditional believers to understand that Satan tempts ministers in unique and powerful ways.

Yet, in the end, sin is sin and most ministers know it.

“Pastors are used to telling people about right and wrong,” he said. “Knowing what to do is not their problem. They feel a special sense of guilt because they know what God wants them to do, but they can’t do it. …

“It’s hard for ministers to confess their sins, because they’re not supposed to sin. They also struggle to believe that God will forgive them, because they have so much trouble forgiving themselves.”

Nevertheless, as a Southern Baptist with a seminary degree he knew a biblical-authority battle when he saw one — so he caught on fast. Soon he was appalled by the viciousness of the combat between “moderates” and “conservatives” as the 2.7 million-member denomination careened toward divorce.

Things got so bad he told a Houston Chronicle colleague that if the Southern Baptist Convention “ever became embroiled in such a heinous war, I would rather quit my job than be forced to cover it,” noted Moore, in “Witness to the Truth,” his memoir about his life in the middle of some of America’s hottest religion stories.

“Regrettably, years later, I was an eyewitness to SBC behavior that made the Lutherans’ battle look like a Sunday school picnic.”

The Lutheran fight was his “learner schism” and Moore witnessed many other skirmishes in pulpits and pews before — like it or not — he was engulfed by the battle to control America’s largest non-Catholic flock. He also served as president of the Religion Newswriters Association during that time.

The Southern Baptist Convention’s return to the theological right would be near the top of any journalist’s list of the pivotal events in American religion in the late 20th Century. This Bible Belt apocalypse also affected politicians ranging from Jimmy Carter to Ronald Reagan, and anyone else who sought national office in the “culture war” era following the 1960s and, especially, Roe v. Wade.

After leaving daily journalism, Moore saw the Southern Baptist world from the other side of the notebook for 14 years, serving as an SBC media aide on policy issues and then with the convention’s giant foreign missions agency.

Moore said that in the “best of times” he saw believers in many flocks who were so “servant-hearted and so demonstrative of Godlike virtues” that the memory of their faithful acts — in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, for example — still inspires tears. But in the worst of times?

“I have seen church people … violate every one of the Ten Commandments, act boorish and selfish, be prejudiced, broadcast secular value systems and in general behave worse than the heathen people they tried to reach,” noted Moore. In fact, just “name some sin or some act the Bible eschews, and I could pair that vice up with some church leader or member I have known.”

Moore said his career affirmed basic values that he learned as a young journalist, values he saw vindicated time after time in the trenches. Wise religious leaders, he said, would dare to:

* Adopt “sunshine laws” so that as many as possible of their meetings are open to coverage by journalists from the mainstream and religious press. “When you’re dealing with money your people have put in the offering plate, you should be as open as possible,” he said. “The things that belong on the table need to stay on the table.”

* Acknowledge that “politics is a way of life and they need to make it clear to the people in the pews how the game is played,” he said. “I truly admire the people who let the covert be overt.”

* Come right out and admit what they believe, when it comes to divisive issues of theology and public life. “Say what you mean and mean what you say,” he said. “Way too many religious leaders take one position in public and say something completely different somewhere else.”

It’s easy to pinpoint the root cause of these temptations, said Moore. At some point, religious leaders become so committed to protecting the institution they lead that they are driven to hide its sins and failures. There’s a reason that clergy and politicians share a love of public relations and have, at best, mixed feelings about journalism.

“People who get caught up in this kind of group think spend so much of their time testing the waters and floating their trial balloons,” he said. “I prefer to deal with the people who are honest about what they truly believe. …

“Of course, the other side of that equation is that these authentic believers are often politically naive and that means that they don’t survive the realities of the political process.”

NEXT WEEK: Why Catholic doors kept closing.