evangelicals

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Pandemic caused today's church woes? Troubling questions were there before that

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Pandemic caused today's church woes? Troubling questions were there before that

For the experts who examine trends in pews, the post-pandemic tea leaves have been hard to read -- with a few people going to church more often, others staying away and some still watching services online.

But it's important for pastors to note another sobering fact, according to one of America's most experienced observers of Protestant life. Here it is: The typical church has to keep adding members simply to keep membership steady. And it's becoming increasingly important to maintain a growing core of believers who are truly committed to faith and ministry.

"We used to have people we called 'social' Christians, even though that's an oxymoron," said Thom Rainer, founder of the Church Answers website and former dean of the Billy Graham School of Missions and Evangelism at Southern Baptist Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky.

"Today, these people feel that they no longer need that 'Christian' label to be accepted in business and community life," he said, reached by telephone. "COVID sped things up -- made trends more obvious. But the pandemic was the accelerator, not the cause of what's happening."

Surveys since 2020 show that a "steady share of Americans -- about 40% -- say they have participated in religious services in the prior month one way or the other," according to a Pew Research Center report. But other details are blurry, since the "share of U.S. adults who … attend religious services once a month or more has dropped slightly, from 33% in 2019 to 30% in 2022."

Meanwhile, Pew reported that 7% claim they are attending services in person more often, post-COVID, while "15% say they are participating in services VIRTUALLY more often."

It's important to factor new realities into patterns seen for decades, noted Rainer. For example, in a recent online essay he argued that, if a typical Protestant church has an average worship attendance of 100, it needs to add about 32 attendees a year just to stay even.

Here's the math. The odds say at least one person will die -- a factor that rises for churches with aging flocks. Then, while mobility rates have slightly declined, it's likely that nine members will move away. Also, Rainer said years of statistics show that "your church will lose seven church members to another local church for every 100 in attendance."

The No. 1 factor in annual decline?

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Covenant pastor preached on death, grief and the tears of Jesus -- weeks before the attack

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Covenant pastor preached on death, grief and the tears of Jesus -- weeks before the attack

The Bible's shortest verse -- "Jesus wept" -- is also one of its most important.

That was the message delivered by the Rev. Chad Scruggs in a March 5 sermon -- "Death's Conqueror" -- as the faithful at Nashville's Covenant Presbyterian Church continued their Lenten journey toward Holy Week and Easter's promise of new life after death.

"How do we face death in our world," he asked, "especially untimely deaths, without the pain and confusion of death leading us to despair?"

That was three weeks before a gunman crashed through the glass doors of his church's Covenant School and killed three staff members and three 9-year-old students -- including the pastor's daughter, Hallie Scruggs. Police fatally shot the attacker, 28-year-old Audrey Hale, a former Covenant student who had taken the name "Aiden" and male pronouns online. 

Police confirmed that Covenant had been targeted. But Nashville officials and the FBI have declined to release a "manifesto" referenced in Hale's final social-media warning: "One day this will make more sense. I've left more than enough evidence behind."

The families of those killed have mourned in private, even as solemn Holy Week rites flowed toward Easter (April 9) -- surrounded by a whirlwind of familiar arguments about gun control and a mental-health crisis that has shattered so many lives.

In his sermon before the attack, Scruggs had already plunged into deeper, ancient, mysteries -- stressing that believers can trust that God understands the grief, anger and confusion caused by violence and death.

When meeting the grieving family of his friend Lazarus, Jesus responded with anger, as well as compassion. Thus, the importance of the Gospel of John's blunt words: "Jesus wept."

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So your praise band is rockin' -- but why has the congregation stopped singing?

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So your praise band is rockin' -- but why has the congregation stopped singing?

Anyone who has visited a shopping mall understands the Big Idea behind a food court.

"If you want Mexican food, you go here. … If you want pizza, you go over there," said Kenny Lamm, the worship ministry strategist for the Southern Baptist state convention in North Carolina. "Then we sit together and eat whatever we want. …

“The question is whether a food-court approach works if you are seeking unity while leading worship in a church."

In the latest wrinkle in what researchers have long called the "worship wars," some church leaders are asking a blunt question about the decision to trade traditional hymnals for contemporary Christian music. That question: Has the typical Sunday service become a semi-professional concert instead of a communal worship experience for all believers?

As part of his work, Lamm hears from many pastors, musicians and church members. One recent letter -- which he posted while keeping the writer anonymous -- combined many hot-button issues in this debate.

After four weeks of visiting a church, the writer noted that he was constantly distracted during worship by "haze machines," "programmable lights that blind the audience," concert-level darkness in the auditorium, as well as musicians wearing "ball caps," skinny jeans, "Chuck Taylor" tennis shoes and other "stage" apparel.

Many of the new songs seemed to confuse the congregation.

"The melody is unmemorable. Very few in the audience seem to know the songs either; indeed as we looked around during one of the songs, we did not see one person singing -- not one," noted this visitor. "Some of the songs are so high I cannot sing them. I wish the leaders would consider the average singer! … Why does just about every praise and worship song go up an octave and double in volume halfway through, then die back down at the end?"

Concerning volume levels, he added: "Driving home, my wife indicated that the excessive loudness was starting to cause some serious anxiety. Having earplugs available in the lobby is a sure sign there might be a problem."

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Anglican same-sex blessings: Has archbishop of Canterbury taken a bridge too far?

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Anglican same-sex blessings: Has archbishop of Canterbury taken a bridge too far?

In England, proclaiming God's blessing on same-sex relationships has become the new orthodoxy for clergy with established ties to the powers that be.

But not in Nigeria and the Global South, where Anglican leaders have urged the Church of England to consider the impact of its actions on believers facing conflict with Jihadi terrorists.

"I am genuinely torn by this," said Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby, about an appeal for General Synod leaders to consult with Anglican primates around the world before proceeding. "It isn't just about listening to the rest of the world -- it's caring. Let's just be clear on that. It's about people who will die, women who will be raped, children who will be tortured.

"So, when we vote, we need to think of that. It's not just about what people will say -- it is about what they will suffer."

But after years of tense dialogues and visiting war zones, Welby told the synod to proceed. Thus, the General Synod bishops, clergy and laity voted 250-181 to offer blessing rites for same-sex couples married by the state -- while retaining church doctrine that marriage is between a man and a woman.

"For the first time, the Church of England will publicly, unreservedly and joyfully welcome same-sex couples in church," said Welby and Archbishop of York Stephen Cottrell, in their Feb. 9 statement. Anglicans have "deep differences on these questions which go to the heart of our human identity."

This move angered LGBTQ activists who said mere "blessings" were not enough, while leaders of giant Anglican churches in Africa and Asia also rejected the compromise.

Welby said he had little or no choice, when addressing a Feb. 12 meeting of the Anglican Consultative Council in Accra, Ghana.

After the synod vote, he said, "I was summoned twice to Parliament and threatened with parliamentary action to force same-sex marriage on us, called in England 'equal marriage.'"

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Looking through the lens of history, the 2023 Asbury revival is 'deja vu' all over again

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Looking through the lens of history, the 2023 Asbury revival is 'deja vu' all over again

The atmosphere in Hughes auditorium was electric as Asbury students -- many in tears -- streamed to the altar to pray, while worshippers sang hymns, mixed with Bible readings, testimonies and public prayers of repentance.

Administrators cancelled classes, grasping that this ordinary chapel service was the start of something bigger -- a 144-hour wave of worship that drew thousands to Wilmore, Kentucky, while similar revivals began on other Christian and secular campuses across the nation.

The year was 1970.

Then again, revivals rocked Asbury College -- now a liberal-arts university -- in 1908, 1921, 1950, 1958 and on other occasions. Historians will now add 2023.

The revival that began on February 8 is "like deja vu all over again," said Stephen A. Seamands, who was a senior in 1970 and returned to teach for nearly 40 years at Asbury Theological Seminary.

"The wildness of these events is that they're actually un-wild. The atmosphere is serene, deep and at times rather quiet," he said. "It's like a veil is pulled back and students see Jesus for the first time -- Jesus manifested in a new and powerful way."

Outsiders may assume that this two-week revival "is over," after Asbury leaders announced that services would be moved off campus, with students moving toward a regular academic and chapel schedule. At one point, as many as 20,000 people had flocked to central Kentucky.

"Never in my life will I forget this," said Asbury University President Kevin J. Brown, in a public statement. "Never in my life have I been so proud to say that I am a part of Asbury University. I write this with tears. The people here are so special."

Seamands said it "will take 30 years or so" to discern what happened. Revivals, he explained, begin with an awakening inside a Christian community -- that's stage one. True revivals, throughout history, have led to evangelism, missions and "efforts for social justice" at the national and global levels.

"It's also clear that this Asbury revival is about Gen Z and its hunger for genuine worship," said Seamands, referring to Americans born in the Internet age.

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Standing on the shoulders of giants: Urban pastor wrestles with his backwoods family roots

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Standing on the shoulders of giants: Urban pastor wrestles with his backwoods family roots

Growing up in West Virginia, the Rev. Michael Clary always wondered about some of the archaic language his elders used, words like "yonder" and "reckon."

Then he learned that his grandfather -- a steel-mill worker and country preacher -- had memorized the classic King James Bible by listening to tapes during his long drives to the factory. He had a sixth-grade education and, if he couldn't spell something, he could still quote a verse that contained the word and then find it in his Bible.

All that scripture soaked in -- deep. Thus, "I reckon" wasn't just another way to say "probably." It was New Testament language, such as: "For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us."

These Appalachian roots caused pangs of shame during graduate school, said Clary, who leads Christ the King Church, a Southern Baptist congregation in Cincinnati.

Soon after that, "I was pastoring a fast growing church in an urban environment, and a spirit of elitism had infected us," he wrote, in a Twitter stream that went viral. "The people we felt free to mock were conservative, uneducated, backwoods fundies. … They lacked the theological sophistication and cultural insight I had acquired while doing campus ministry and studying at seminary."

The bottom line: "I had moved on. I was better than them. I was more learned and cultured. I had 'seen the world' and they hadn't."

Clary said he wrote those "words with tears in my eyes." Reached by telephone, he explained that he was facing the kinds of church tensions that arise while defending traditional doctrines in a flock located a few blocks from the University of Cincinnati. It's hard to be "winsome" -- a buzz word today -- while trying to remain faithful in a bitterly divided culture.

That's precisely why this painful, personal Twitter thread -- republished as one text on several websites in recent weeks -- rang true, noted John Stonestreet, president of the Colson Center for Christian Worldview.

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When did prayer become acceptable to NFL? When a crisis happened on live television

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When did prayer become acceptable to NFL? When a crisis happened on live television

Super Bowls create media storms, but many journalists and sports executives thought what happened in 1988 was totally out of bounds.

The establishment was shocked when players and coaches from Denver and Washington, D.C., held a prayer meeting on the eve of this NFL rite. The powers that be worried that "fraternization" of this kind could damage this clash between gridiron warriors.

To make matters worse, players from competing teams soon began kneeling in post-game, on-field prayer huddles as a symbol of unity and, often, shared concerns about injured players. Players waved off league efforts to stop the prayer circles.

"For the NFL, this was a corporate thing," said historian Paul Putz, of Baylor University's Faith & Sports Institute. Executives are "fine with prayer, as long as it isn't tied to anything controversial or a specific brand of religion. …

"The NFL didn't mind prayers that were out of sight, maybe in locker rooms with chaplains. But then things started happening on television. That was too much."

That was then. The electric wave of prayer that swept America after Buffalo Bills safety Damar Hamlin's heart-stopping injury was, he said, a "critical mass" moment and a sign of changing times -- maybe.

The key was that this drama happened on "Monday Night Football," with anguished players from both teams huddled around Hamlin near midfield, many visibly praying, as first responders fought to save his life.

It was natural for broadcasters to acknowledge the explosion of social-media commentary from athletes, coaches and others -- including fervent calls for prayer. All 32 NFL teams soon posted #PrayForDamar appeals.

"We have never seen anything like this before," said Putz. It became clear that it "was OK to tweet messages that went way beyond the usual thoughts and prayers."

The question, added Putz, is what happens next.

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All those attacks on churches? Were they part of the year's top religion-beat news story?

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All those attacks on churches? Were they part of the year's top religion-beat news story?

In the years before Roe v. Wade, one of America's largest Christian flocks struggled to find a way to condemn abortion, while also opposing bans on abortion.

A 1971 resolution said: "Some advocate that there be no abortion legislation, thus making the decision a purely private matter between a woman and her doctor" while others "advocate no legal abortion," permitting it "only if the life of the mother is threatened." Thus, it backed legislation allowing "abortion under such conditions as rape, incest, clear evidence of severe fetal deformity, and carefully ascertained evidence of the likelihood of damage to the emotional, mental, and physical health of the mother."

After the 1973 Roe decision, the same body stressed the "limited role of government" in abortion questions, while supporting a "full range of medical services and personal counseling" for expectant mothers.

That was the Southern Baptist Convention -- before its conservative wing gained control, creating a powerful cultural force against abortion rights.

Churches were always active in abortion debates, with some embracing centuries of doctrine on the sanctity of human life, while overs became strategic abortion-rights supporters. Thus, journalists in the Religion News Association named the Supreme Court decision to overturn Roe v. Wade as the year's top American religion-news story. Now churches -- left and right face -- face the challenge of proclaiming certainties while many states seek compromise.

Stressing politics, the RNA stated: "The Supreme Court overturns the 1973 Roe v. Wade precedent and says there is no constitutional right to abortion, sparking battles in courts and state legislatures and driving voters to the November polls in high numbers. More than a dozen states enact abortion bans, while voters reject constitutional abortion restrictions in conservative Kansas and Kentucky and put abortion rights in three other states' constitutions."

This poll avoided other religion-news elements of this story, such as acts of violence against churches -- especially Catholic parishes -- and crisis pregnancy centers, ranging from vandalism to arson, from the interruption of sacred rites to the destruction of sacred art. Protestors marched at the homes of SCOTUS justices and police arrested an armed man who threatened to invade the house of Justice Brett Kavanaugh.

This year, the RNA added an international list, selecting Russia's war against Ukraine as the top story, in part because of bitter tensions between the Russian Orthodox Church and the new Orthodox Church of Ukraine, backed by the United States and the Orthodox Ecumenical Patriarchate in Turkey.