Anglicanism

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Jokes and big questions: The Babylon Bee meets with Elon Musk and learns a few things

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Jokes and big questions: The Babylon Bee meets with Elon Musk and learns a few things

At the end of each podcast, Babylon Bee leaders ask guests the same 10 questions, including this stumper: "Calvinist or Arminian?"

That caught Elon Musk by surprise, and he needed clarification on the difference between Arminian believers and persons from Armenia. After some background on Protestant history, he said: "My mind would say 'determinism' and my heart says, 'free will.' "

Why was the mastermind behind Tesla and SpaceX -- a man worth $278 billion at the end of 2021-- talking to a Christian satire website? The answer: Musk has 69.7 million Twitter followers, and he frequently responds, even if it's a U.S. senator questioning his taxes.

"You know, he engages with our content from time to time," Bee CEO Seth Dillon told Fox News. After email exchanges about a meeting, Musk said: "Fly to me and we'll do it."

The result was 100-plus minutes of conversation in Austin, Texas, ranging from satire to science, from politics to pop culture. Topics included why entrepreneurs are fleeing California, sustainable energy, superheroes (Musk would choose to be "Irony Man"), the physics of reusable rockets, cyborgs, how "wokeness" threatens humor, CNN morality and the future of a planet near an expanding sun.

Musk discussed his journey from South Africa to America, including his days as a manual laborer while struggling to pay student loans. Then he dove into computer coding and online commerce, making millions of dollars that led to Tesla. The rest is history.

On celebrity websites, Musk is often described as an atheist or agnostic. Asked if he prays, Musk once replied: "I didn't even pray when I almost died of malaria." But after the success of the first manned Falcon rocket mission, Musk said, in his public remarks: "You know, I'm not very religious but I prayed for this one."

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Lessons learned about Christmas past -- by watching classic movies of 1940s

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Lessons learned about Christmas past -- by watching classic movies of 1940s

It's a black-and-white movie Christmas, with snow falling as joyful families mingle on city sidewalks while window-shopping -- buying food, presents, decorations and fresh-cut trees for festivities that are only two days away.

For Americans, this scene represents the ghost of Christmas past, long before suburban malls, big-box scrums and Amazon.com. And as "The Bishop's Wife" opens, an angel -- a graceful Cary Grant -- enters this 1947 tableau, smiling at carolers and children and helping the needy and lost.

"Christmas is always in danger in Christmas movies -- we'd have no reason to make such movies otherwise," wrote critic Titus Techera, executive director of the American Cinema Foundation. In this classic movie, "we have a remarkable concentration of problems in one household: A man's faith, his family, community and church … are all tied together."

It isn't unusual to find miracles, tight-knit communities, glowing churches and parables about human choices, temptation, sin and redemption in old Christmas films, said Techera, contacted by Zoom while visiting Bucharest.

That's why Techera -- a native of Romania, before his work brought him to America -- has written four online essays about the lessons learned from watching '40s movies that were remade in the '90s. The other films in this Acton Institute series are "The Shop Around the Corner," "Miracle on 34th Street" and "Christmas in Connecticut."

There's a reason many modern Americans keep watching these movies, he said. Some yearn for a time before most Americans became so isolated, separated by jobs far from extended families, sprawling suburban neighborhoods and all the paradoxes built into digital networks that were supposed to keep people connected.

"What we see in these movies is a time when Christmas was a far less commercial celebration and there was quite a bit of continuity with traditions from the past. … For many, the church was part of that," he said. "Christmas was a family thing. It was a community thing. … Commerce was more subservient to ordinary life. Commerce had not taken over all of life, including Christmas."

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Queen preaches to England's bishops, with a call for mere Christianity in troubled age

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Queen preaches to England's bishops, with a call for mere Christianity in troubled age

Close watchers of the British Monarchy have recently become concerned about two words describing life in Windsor Castle -- "new stage."

First there was Queen Elizabeth II's unexplained overnight hospital stay in October for "tests." Then the 95-year-old monarch missed the recent National Day of Remembrance service for Britain's war dead. She did, however, attend christening rites at All Saints Chapel for her two newest great-grandsons.

All of this represents a "new stage" in her very public life.

"She's alright, thank you very much," said Prince Charles, responding to a Sky News enquiry. "Once you get to 95, it's not quite as easy as it used to be."

The Queen has not, however, been silent. Her recent message to Church of England's General Synod -- her first absence from this gathering -- was strong and personal. It was read by her youngest son, Prince Edward, the Earl of Wessex, who rarely seeks the public spotlight.

"It is hard to believe that it is over 50 years since Prince Philip and I attended the very first meeting of the General Synod," said the prince, reading the Queen's words. "None of us can slow the passage of time; and while we often focus on all that has changed in the intervening years, much remains unchanged, including the Gospel of Christ and his teachings.

"The list of tasks facing that first General Synod may sound familiar to many of you -- Christian education, Christian unity, the better distribution of the ordained ministry. … But one stands out supreme: 'To bring the people of this country to the knowledge and the love of God.' "

It's significant that Queen Elizabeth was most concerned with matters of doctrine and spiritual life -- not the church's role in politics and various cultural disputes, noted theologian Adrian Hilton, a former adviser to the Secretary of State for Education.

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The complicated story of C.S. Lewis becoming a convert -- on screen, in his own words

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The complicated story of C.S. Lewis becoming a convert -- on screen, in his own words

While historians argue about what C.S. Lewis did or didn't say, it can be stated with absolute certainty that the Oxford don never patted down his rumbled, professorial tweed jacket before exclaiming, "Where's my phone?"

That line occurs at the start of "The Most Reluctant Convert," as actor Max McLean enters a movie set preparing for the first scene. Seconds later, the camera follows him into the real Oxford, England, where Lewis was a scholar and tutor at Magdalen College.

At first, the famous Christian writer explains how he became an atheist. When he walks into the real White Horse pub, he orders two pints of beer, with one for the viewer. Soon, scenes from his memories spring to life, with Lewis striding through them as a narrator.

"Lewis is in his imagination. He's personified in his thoughts. … I do think that the structure emerged out of the fact that Lewis had a lot to say," said McLean, laughing.

Thus, director Norman Stone -- a BAFTA winner for BBC's "Shadowlands" -- let the "voice of Lewis articulate his struggle, his passion. He is one of those rare individuals where one's intellect, one's emotions and one's spirituality are completely intertwined," said McLean.

All of this is second nature to McLean since the film covers much of the same territory as his own "C.S Lewis Onstage." This was a one-man show at the Fellowship for Performing Arts in New York City, an off-Broadway company McLean founded and guides as artistic director. It has staged other Lewis works, such as "The Screwtape Letters" and "The Great Divorce," drawing warm reviews from The New York Times and other major publications.

The first-person narration, explained McLean, was primarily drawn from Lewis' autobiography, "Surprised by Joy," and the many volumes of his personal letters.

The jump from stage to screen, of course, allowed the film's creators to seek permission to film in some of the most important sites linked to Lewis' life. In addition to the White Horse, viewers follow Lewis into the historic Magdalen College library, a tutor's campus suite and, most importantly, The Kilns -- the home where Lewis lived for decades with his older brother Warren and, briefly, with his cancer-stricken wife, the American poet Joy Davidman.

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Why did a lion among Church of England evangelicals swim the Tiber to Rome?

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Why did a lion among Church of England evangelicals swim the Tiber to Rome?

As always, rumors swirled around the favorites in the 2002 race to become the 104th Archbishop of Canterbury.

Efforts to derail Bishop Michael Nariz-Ali of Rochester were different, in part because he was born in Pakistan -- fluent in Urdu and Farsi -- and was poised to become the first non-white leader of the Church of England. Others noted that he attended Catholic schools as a boy and practiced that faith.

Progressives warned that Nazir-Ali was too conservative on issues dividing Anglicans. He opposed the ordination of noncelibate gays and lesbians, while defending ancient teachings on marriage. He was a fierce critic of Sharia law and "radical Islam," while defending persecuted Christians around the world Most of all, critics noted that he was a strong evangelical leader in the global Anglican Communion.

Nazir-Ali insisted that he was "evangelical and Catholic," even as he lost his shot at the Throne of Canterbury.

That's the same label that he used when he stunned the Anglican world by announcing that he was returning to Roman Catholicism. He is expected to be ordained as a Catholic priest this Sunday (Oct. 30), serving in the Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham, a canonical structure established in 2011 by Pope Benedict XVI that allows Anglicans to enter Catholicism while retaining many Anglican rites and traditions. The 72-year-old Nazir-Ali is married and has two children.

This move was necessary "because I believe that the traditional Anglican desire to adhere to the fullness of apostolic, patristic and conciliar teaching can now best be maintained in this way," the former bishop announced.

Writing in The Daily Mail, he called the decision a "bittersweet moment."

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The gospel according to post-theist Episcopal Bishop John Shelby Spong

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The gospel according to post-theist Episcopal Bishop John Shelby Spong

Newark Bishop John Shelby Spong never stuck "Why Christianity Must Change or Die" on the doors of Canterbury Cathedral, since it was easier to post a talking-points version of his manifesto on the Internet.

"Theism, as a way of defining God is dead," he proclaimed, in 1998. "Since God can no longer be conceived in theistic terms, it becomes nonsensical to seek to understand Jesus as the incarnation of the theistic deity."

Lacking a personal God, he added, it was logical to add: "Prayer cannot be a request made to a theistic deity to act in human history in a particular way."

Spong's 12-point take on post-theism faith emerged after spending years on the road, giving hundreds of speeches and appearing on broadcasts such as "The Oprah Winfrey Show" and "Larry King Live." While leading the Episcopal Diocese of Newark, within shouting range of New York City, he did everything he could to become the news-media face of liberal Christianity.

By the time of his death at the age of 90, on Sept. 12 at his home in Richmond, Va., Spong had seen many of his once-heretical beliefs -- especially on sex and marriage -- normalized in most Episcopal pulpits and institutions. However, his doctrinal approach was too blunt for many in the mainline establishment, where a quieter "spiritual but not religious" approach has become the norm.

Spong called himself a "doubting believer" and said he had no problem reciting traditional rites and creeds because, in his own mind, he had already redefined the words and images to fit his own doctrines. He also knew when to be cautious, such as during Denver visit in the late 1980s -- an era in which the Diocese of Colorado remained a center for evangelical and charismatic Episcopalians.

After a lecture at the liberal St. Thomas Episcopal Church, I asked Spong if he believed the resurrection of Jesus was an "historic event that took place in real time."

"I don't think that I can say what the disciples believed they experienced. I'll have to think about that some more," he said, moving on to another question.

The bishop answered a decade later, in his memo calling for a new Reformation:

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Working to save significant, yet 'friendless,' churches in England and Wales

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Working to save significant, yet 'friendless,' churches in England and Wales

The structure of St. Baglan's Church in North Wales is simple, with plastered stone walls and whitewashed timbers between the slate slabs of its roof and floor.

The 13th Century sanctuary was rebuilt in the 1800s, but the carved doorway lintel dates from the 5th or 6th century. An adjacent field contains the 7th Century well of St. Baglan and for ages the faithful sought healing in its waters.

"This church was built on the site of an earlier church and there were sanctuaries here before that. People in Wales have been coming to sites like this for worship back into pre-Christian times," said Rachel Morley, director of the Friends of Friendless Churches since 2018.

During a visit to Llanfaglan parish in Wales, this tiny, abandoned sanctuary was surrounded by sea mists and low clouds from the mountains, she said. Then the sunset light over the Irish Sea "shot under the eaves and the church lit up inside with golden light. It was a complete sensory overload. That had to mean something."

Was this church designed so that this light would illumine the prayers of evensong? That's the kind of question members of the Friends of Friendless Churches have been asking since 1957, when Welsh journalist Ivor Bulmer-Thomas founded the charity with the help of poet T.S. Eliot, artist John Piper, British politician Roy Harris Jenkins and others.

The goal was to preserve historic, "significant" churches "threatened by demolition, decay, or inappropriate conversion." By the end of 2021, the charity will control 60 churches in England and Wales, almost all of them Anglican sanctuaries.

Year after year, the Friends of Friendless Churches watch as 30 or so truly historic churches go on sale and "there could be many more closed at any time," said Morley, reached by telephone.

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Orthodox Kontakion of the Departed: A hint at the complex faith history of Prince Philip

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Orthodox Kontakion of the Departed: A hint at the complex faith history of Prince Philip

The first nun the Bolsheviks threw into the abandoned mineshaft was best known as the Grand Duchess Elizabeth Feodorovna, the sister of the Russian Empress Alexandra.

After the 1905 assassination of her Grand Duke husband, Elizabeth became an Orthodox nun, giving away her wealth to build hospitals and orphanages. She was executed, in 1918, along with others linked to her doomed brother-in-law, Tsar Nicholas II.

When the nuns didn't drown, a soldier used a grenade. He later testified that "we heard talking and a barely audible groan. I threw another grenade. And what do you think -- from beneath the ground we heard singing! … They were singing the prayer: 'Lord, save your people!' "

Finally, there was silence. The body of St. Elizabeth the New Martyr was buried in 1920 at the Church of St. Mary Magdalene on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem. Her life inspired many, including her grieving niece, the Greek Princess Alice of Battenberg. Alice was the great-granddaughter of Queen Victoria of England and the mother of Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh and for 73 years the husband of Queen Elizabeth II.

The complicated history of the royals, past and present, loomed over the short, dignified funeral for Prince Philip in St. George's Chapel, Windsor -- with only 30 mourners due to COVID restrictions. The prince's liturgical choices shaped an Anglican rite that stressed images of service, eternal hope and the beauties of God's creation.

The man many Brits called the "grandfather of the nation," was born on the Greek island of Corfu in 1921, the fifth child and only son of Prince Andrew of Greece and Princess Alice. He was baptized Greek Orthodox, before his life was rocked by wars and revolutions that shattered his family.

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National Cathedral invites evangelical to preach, triggering fierce storm of protest

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National Cathedral invites evangelical to preach, triggering fierce storm of protest

Halfway between Norway and the North Pole, scientists have buried a million seeds and crop samples under a mountain in the Svalbard archipelago -- in case an environmental doomsday comes to pass.

That strategy rings true during "this crazy, chaotic season" when so many are anxious about the coronavirus pandemic, global warming, lost jobs, surging debts and the bitter state of public life, said evangelical megachurch leader Max Lucado, in a recent sermon streamed online by the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C.

“Most of us can't hide out in a bunker, yet threats of calamity may make us try to do so," he said. "If the wrong person pushes the wrong red button -- it's enough to make a person purchase a plane ticket to Svalbard."

But there was a problem. While pre-service publicity stressed that Lucado's books have sold more than 120 million copies and Christianity Today has called him "America's pastor," this invitation alarmed legions of Episcopalians opposed to his history of orthodoxy on sex and marriage. His sermon about God offering comfort in the midst of chaos avoided hot-button topics, but his cathedral appearance triggered an online storm.

Before the event, the Very Rev. Randolph Marshall Hollerith linked the Lucado invitation to the cathedral's history of hosting a variety of religious leaders. This has included evangelicals such the late Billy Graham, Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby and megachurch leader Rick Warren of Saddleback Church in Southern California.

"When we only engage with those with whom we agree on every issue, we find ourselves in a dangerous (and lonely) place," wrote the cathedral's dean. "That means this cathedral, and this pulpit, are big enough and strong enough to welcome pastors, rabbis, imams, clergy of every faith. … It does not mean we agree with everything they might believe, but it does mean that we exhibit and inhabit a sense of open handed welcome."

However, Hollerith issued a formal apology in response to the online backlash, noting: "In my straight privilege I failed to see and fully understand the pain he has caused. I failed to appreciate the depth of injury his words have had on many in the LGBTQ community. I failed to see the pain I was continuing. I was wrong."