Gaps in the Middle East mosaic

The monk had amazing news, so he wrote directly to the Orthodox Patriarch in Jerusalem.

The year was 1884 and the ruins of a Byzantine church had surfaced near the north gate of the ancient village of Madaba, south of Amman. The floor included sections of a sixth century map -- a spectacular mosaic offering historians vital insights into the culture, wildlife, commerce, art and geography of biblical Palestine.

There was a bird's eye view of Jerusalem, giving pilgrims details about walls, gates, streets, markets and holy sites. The mosaic even included Constantine's Church of the Holy Sepulcher, which Persians later destroyed in 614 A.D.

A surviving fragment in Greek said: "... of the Christ loving people of Madaba."

The map is still there. The Church of St. George is still there, worshipping in its "new" sanctuary built over the ruins in 1896.

"We have always been here. I pray that we will always be here. But it is hard. It seems that our Christian brothers and sisters around the world do not know that the church is still here, after all this time," said Father Innocent, as the doors closed and the day's tiny band of tourists departed. It was the night before Pope John Paul II visited nearby Mount Nebo during his pilgrimage in 2000.

"We are small" in number, said the priest, with quiet determination. "But most churches (in America) send missionaries. The missionaries, they tell our people to join a new church. We ask, 'Why? The church the apostles started is still here. We are Christians. Help us.' "

It is an old, old story. The Middle East is an ancient mosaic. Some of the images are quietly disappearing, fading with the declining numbers of Christians who live in the lands where their faith was born. Arab Christians have lost ground -- literally -- with the rise of Israel. Yet, as Christians with Western ties, they live in constant tension with the vast Muslim majority.

This can be glimpsed in occasional headlines. Israeli tanks have rumbled into Bethlehem, where a sniper killed an altar boy last fall near the steps of the Church of the Nativity. In Nazareth, conflict continues as an Islamist faction tries to build a mosque adjoining the Basilica of the Annunciation, the Middle East's largest church.

In his book "The Body and the Blood," journalist Charles Sennott estimates that 13 percent of Palestine was Christian in 1946, as opposed to 2 percent today. Ancient churches are shrinking or stuck in limbo throughout the Arab world. Meanwhile, all peace efforts focus on clashes between Jews and Muslims. "If the Christians disappear," states Sennott, "the Middle East will become that much more vulnerable to this embittered dichotomy."

In Jordan, one highly symbolic Muslim leader has repeatedly voiced similar themes, warning that Arab leaders must learn from their own history, or suffer the consequences.

"Far more important than the numbers of the Christians in the modern Arab world is their social, economic and cultural visibility," writes Prince El Hassan bin Talal, the uncle of King Abdullah, in his book "Christianity in the Arab World."

"The fact remains that the Christian Arabs are in no way aliens to Muslim Arab society; a society whose history and culture they have shared for over 14 centuries to date, without interruption, and to whose material and moral civilization they have continually contributed, and eminently so, on their own initiative or by trustful request."

Yes, Arab Christians ties to the West have influenced everything from the shape of Arab nationalism to educational efforts in an age of high-tech economics, said Hassan. Muslims who automatically blame Christians for negative trends in the modern era are simply forgetting one simple fact -- the Arab churches are older than the mosques.

"The lessons of history are too often lost and that is tragic," the prince told me, in an interview in 2000. The ancient Christian churches are "part of what built this region and our culture and the Arab world. We cannot forget them. ... It is tragic that there are more Arab Christians from Jerusalem in Sidney, Australia, than there are in Jerusalem. We must insist that helping Arab Christians stay here is simply a matter of human dignity."

Heeding Tolkien's words

Frodo Baggins stands alone at the Great River Anduin, holding the one ring of power in his open hand as he prepares to go to the hellish land of Mordor.

Why was this task given to him? Then, in his memory, he hears the wizard Gandalf repeating words of wisdom to guide him at that moment. Frodo closes his hand over the ring and continues his quest.

This dramatic scene is not in J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings." Nevertheless, it appears at the end of episode one in director Peter Jackson's attempt to bring this epic to the screen.

"This scene is not in the book -- but it could have been. That's important. It is consistent with Tolkien's vision," said British scholar Joseph Pearce, author of "Tolkien: Man and Myth."

"We do not see this in the book, but in the movie we do. This is what happens when artists make books into movies. They have to visualize things. What is crucial is that the words Frodo hears are words Tolkien actually wrote and they express one of the book's great themes."

This is especially important to readers who worried that Tolkien's Catholic faith -- which is woven into this 600,000-word tome -- might vanish. Even worse, said Pearce, the moviemakers could have twisted Tolkien's words. For example, Frodo's reverie on the riverbank is worth closer scrutiny. Where did this come from?

Very early in "The Lord of the Rings," Frodo says he wishes the master ring had not been found in his lifetime.

"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

But what ultimate power is deciding what happens and when? By using these words -- twice -- near the end of the first film, the screenwriters highlighted this issue, said Pearce. They also linked this quotation with another that says it is not the evildoers who are in charge.

It was the dark lord Sauron, after all, who created the great rings to rule Middle Earth and the "One Ring to rule them all." In addition to asking why this ring was recovered in his time, Frodo asks why this ring found its way to Bilbo Baggins, his kindly uncle.

In both the book, and the movie, Gandalf replies: "Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-MAKER. In can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was MEANT to find the ring, and NOT by its maker. In which case you were also MEANT to have it. And that may be an encouraging thought."

Tolkien wanted to write a sweeping myth that included Christian themes, yet he rejected all attempts to interpret his work as a parable or allegory. The symbolism is subtle, not preachy.

Clearly, the screenwriters tried to be faithful to the book while also going about their appointed duty of crafting waves of spectacular images to pull action-lovers into theaters over and over again. It is the myriad scenes of fury, terror and deadly skill that dominate the film. Yet there are beautiful moments that carry spiritual weight.

The warrior Boromir dies a brutal death sacrificing his life for others. As he dies, he seeks forgiveness from the future king. Aragorn bows his head, noted Pearce, "and makes what almost looks like a pre-Christian sign of the cross." The elf princess Arwen prays for the healing of Frodo. Gandalf fights to save his followers and then falls into an abyss -- arms extended as if on a cross.

"The big worry was that this would be some kind of Hollywood parody of 'The Lord of the Rings,' " said Pearce. "I have no idea if any of the artists involved in this project are Christians. I have no idea what their point of view is, in terms of faith.

"But it must have made sense, just from an artistic point of view, to leave much of the spiritual element intact. After all, that is what gives the book its depth and power. That is what makes it much more than a work of mere fantasy."

Second thoughts on Christmas 2001

The images flash by on television screens during every Christmas season.

The pope moves slowly around the altar in St. Peter's Basilica on Christmas Eve or sits on his balcony throne, solemnly waving to flocks of New Year's pilgrims. He reads sermons which news reports crunch into sound bites about hope and world peace, or joy and world peace.

This year it was children and world peace.

"My thoughts go to all the children of the world," said the frail Pope John Paul II, struggling to emphasize key phrases in his Midnight Mass text. "So many, too many, are the children condemned from birth to suffer through no fault of their own the effects of cruel conflicts."

Once these media rites are over, our civil religion proceeds to the National Football League playoffs. Christmas is quickly old news.

But this was not an ordinary year. Thus, it was a good year to note what two radically different kinds of believers have to say about Christmas.

Anyone who reads the pope's texts discovers that he believes something miraculous actually happened 2,000 years ago, something connected with peace on earth and good will among men. Pope John Paul II, in other words, believes that Christmas is built on more than a mere story that produces warm feelings in human hearts.

If Christmas is built on truth, he said, then there is reason for hope and joy -- no matter what. This message is not an easy sell after 2001 and the pope said so on Christmas Eve.

"The Messiah is born," said John Paul. "Emmanuel, God-with-us! ... But does this certainty of faith not seem to clash with the way things are today? If we listen to the relentless news headlines, these words of light and hope may seem like words from a dream. ... Our hearts this Christmas are anxious and distressed because of the continuation in various parts of the world of war, social tensions, and the painful hardships in which so many people find themselves. We are all seeking an answer that will reassure us."

The pope's defense a Christmas miracle may not have sounded radical, but it was -- especially after the horror of Sept. 11. To understand why, it helps to contrast his Christmas message with that of an American shepherd who makes his share of headlines.

According to the Rt. Rev. John Shelby Spong, the problem with religious believers who embrace miracles is that this quickly leads them to claim "they have received their truth by divine revelation. It is a strange claim that leads almost inevitably to the authoritarian assertion that there is a single 'true church' or a particular religious system that alone offers salvation."

In today's world, this kind doctrinal certainty is truly dangerous, said Spong, a relentlessly candid voice in the Episcopal Church's progressive establishment.

After Sept. 11, it is time "recognize that religious truth, like all truth, emerges out of human experience," he said. "Once that is understood, then religious people will recognize that their exclusive claim to possess divine revelation is nothing but a part of our human security system. Those claims create the mentality that fuels religious imperialism."

The bishop openly attacks "irrational doctrines" such as papal infallibility and scriptural inerrancy. Just before Christmas, Spong again denied that God is a "supernatural being." Thus, "I cannot interpret Jesus as the earthly incarnation of this supernatural deity."

"Perhaps the only way for the Christmas promise of peace on earth to be achieved," he said, "is for every religious system to face its human origins and recognize that worshipers in every religious system are nothing but human seekers walking into the mystery."

For Spong and many others, there is a "Christ experience," but not a literal Christmas. The pope embraces tradition and revelation. He still believes that God can give answers.

"The birth of the Only-begotten Son of the Father has been revealed as 'an offer of salvation' in every corner of the earth, at every time in history," he said. "The Child who is named 'Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace' is born for every man and woman. He brings with him the answer, which can calm our fears and reinvigorate our hope."

After Sept. 11 -- What good? What evil?

There was never any question whether the hellish events of Sept. 11 would be selected as the most important news story in the Religion Newswriters Association's annual poll.

The question was which Sept. 11 religion story would receive the most votes.

There were so many - from the prayers of the bombers to the prayers of those who fought them. In the end, five of the RNA poll's top 10 stories were linked to Sept. 11 in some way. The secular journalists who cover religion named Osama bin Laden as 2001's most significant religion newsmaker, with President Bush placing second.

"Osama bin Laden has demonstrated, not for the first time in history, how easily religion and religious fervor can be hijacked to serve political ends," noted one journalist.

Was this attack merely about politics? Armies of experts said it was part of an ancient clash between civilizations and religions. Some saw evidence of a pivotal struggle within Islam, a fight requiring sermons and fatwas as well as bullets and bombs. President Bush said this was a battle between good and evil - period.

But it's hard to discuss good and evil, and terrorists and heroes, in an age that says truth is a matter of opinion. Welcome back to America's culture wars.

"We're not fighting to eradicate 'terrorism,' " argued Thomas Friedman, in the New York Times. "Terrorism is just a tool. World War III is a battle against religious totalitarianism, a view of the world that my faith must reign supreme and can be affirmed and held passionately only if others are negated."

In this column and others, the New York Times defined "religious totalitarianism" as any claim that a faith teaches absolute, exclusive truth.

"The future of the world may well be decided by how we fight this war," wrote Friedman. "Can Islam, Christianity and Judaism know that God speaks Arabic on Fridays, Hebrew on Saturdays and Latin on Sundays? Many Jews and Christians have already argued that the answer to that question is yes, and some have gone back to their sacred texts to reinterpret their traditions to embrace modernity and pluralism."

David Zwiebel of Agudath Israel of America fiercely disagreed, insisting that this "vision of America where religious belief is welcome only if it abandons claims to exclusive truth is truly chilling - and truly intolerant."

Here are the top 10 stories in the RNA poll:

1. Americans rush to prayer vigils after the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon. Clergy describe waves of worshippers asking, "Where was God?'' Worship attendance surges, but quickly returns to seasonal levels.

2. Fearing a backlash of hate, most American Muslims experience just the opposite. Many non-Muslims organize visits to mosques and clergy condemn negative stereotypes.

3. Bush repeatedly proclaims that America's war is not with Islam, but with those who blaspheme its teachings. But many Middle Eastern and Asian Muslims agree with bin Laden's proclamations that the U.S. is at war with their faith.

4. Months of debate over the morality of research on stem cells taken from human embryos lead to a presidential order limiting the use of federal research dollars to existing stem cell lines.

5. Assassinations and suicide bombings escalate in Israel, fueling animosity and mistrust in the Middle East and dimming the prospects of peace between Jews and Palestinians. Homes are bulldozed in Gaza and the West Bank.

6. The White House proceeds with its Faith-Based Initiative despite criticism from the religious left and many conservatives. A modified version wins passage in the U.S. House, but has yet to pass the Senate.

7. Books and courses on Islamic beliefs and culture surge in popularity as Americans seek to better understand Islamic fundamentalism and its place in the Muslim world.

8. Pope John Paul II visits to Greece, Syria and Malta, becoming the first pope to visit a mosque, the Great Mosque in Damascus. A papal visit to the Ukraine increases old tensions, as Ukrainian and Russian Orthodox leaders claim that he is stealing their sheep.

9. Books on prayer soar on bookstore charts, illustrated by sales of the ``Prayer of Jabez.'' The apocalyptic "Left Behind" series sets publishing records, even though only 24 percent of Americans and 42 percent of ``born again'' Christians say they have heard of the books.

10. Christian relief workers -- accused by the Taliban of trying to convert Muslims -- are freed after three months of captivity in Afghanistan.

O Christmas Palm, O Christmas Palm

The tree filled up so much of the station wagon that driving home was an adventure.

But it was worth the extra effort. Things are more complex if you want a living tree, the kind you can transfer -- roots and all -- to the yard or a pot on the patio when its ritual duties are done. We are seriously considering moving this tree back indoors to decorate next Christmas.

This is Palm Beach County, after all. People do all kinds of strange things with palm trees.

"The Christmas Palm is a nice tree and it's really pretty," said the helpful Home Depot salesman. "And about this time of year, it will get red berries on it. Maybe that's why people called it the Christmas Palm. But I don't think I've heard of anyone trying to use one of these as a Christmas tree."

Why not? This is the tropics, I noted. Why not decorate a Christmas Palm here?

"I don't know how it used to be," he said. "But most people these days just want a normal Christmas tree. You know?"

We both looked at the parking lot, with its familiar holiday tent packed with dying evergreens trucked down from somewhere up north.

When I moved to South Florida, friends warned that the first Christmas would be surreal.

This is true. It feels strange the first time you hear "White Christmas" or "Jingle Bells" blasting out of the radio of a nearby convertible -- with the top down, since it's 80 degrees -- idling at a traffic light.

The shopping malls, with the help of acres of various forms of white plastic, look like icy chunks of Denver or Minneapolis that have broken free and floated south. Entire neighborhoods are wrapped in icicle twinkle lights. And if you glance into the giant front window of the archetypal South Florida home you will see the familiar glowing shape of a "normal" Christmas tree.

My theory is that what is surreal about Christmas here is that most people are trying to act like they aren't in South Florida. South Floridians are trying to celebrate somebody else's Christmas and it feels bizarre, with good reason. The "normal" Christmas just doesn't feel right.

So I have been trying to find out what Christmas was like in the tropics before the arrival of air conditioning, national television networks, roads jammed with slow-driving northerners and rows of superstores that look the same in every zip code on the planet.

I have found hints of older traditions in the parades of sailboats, shining with strings of lights. A few people still know how to make stunning wreaths out of palm fronds and seashells. There are Cuban Christmas dishes -- some topped with red and green peppers and multi-colored tortillas -- that don't look like they would play in Peoria.

Millions of people do celebrate Christmas in the tropics and, below the equator, in the middle of what is their summer. Christmas rites can be celebrated with a wide variety of traditions. Wouldn't it be depressing if the whole world tried to import our "normal" Christmas, complete with cartoon angels, sanitized mall-music carols, dumb advertisements, office-party rituals, non-sectarian symbols and the soothing sounds of car horns and cell telephones?

I wonder. Would we know a traditional Christmas if we saw one? What was Christmas like before the advent of this "normal" Christmas?

Meanwhile, my family has discovered that the fronds on a Christmas Palm are shaped just right for hanging ornaments and a few strings of lights. This tree will look just fine, matched with a Nativity scene.

In fact, listen to these words and flash back 2000 years: "And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shown round about them. ..."

Stop for a minute and visualize the scene in your mind. Remember that this is Bethlehem, not far from the sea, on a sandy camel path out into the desert.

Yes, it's Christmas. See the palm trees in the background?

Happy Hanukkah, no matter what

When Sabina Dener was a child in the Bronx, she knew it was Hanukkah when everyone started singing Christmas carols.

"When I was in school, we had to learn Christmas carols and we had to stand up and sing them, too," she said, describing the World War II era. "That's just the way things were. Hanukkah was a minor holiday we celebrated at home. It was about treats and games and that was that.

"Now everything has changed. Just look at this."

It was a glorious evening to light the first candle of the eight-day "festival of lights," as about 3,000 Jews gathered under the palm trees at CityPlace, a $550-million development in the heart of West Palm Beach, Fla. If celebrants stood in the right place on the balcony last Sunday night, they could see the whole panorama of Macy's, the New York Pretzel stand, a nonsectarian holiday tree and the eight-foot-tall menorah.

On the map, this is a long way from the boroughs of New York City. But the two regions are connected by tradition, statistics and what can only be called the Seinfeldian ties that bind. Research in 2000 found that 230,000 people live in Jewish households in Palm Beach County -- America's sixth-largest Jewish community.

The mood at this celebration seemed to be, "Happy Hanukkah, no matter what." Rabbis offered meditations about sacrifice and justice. The local congressman loudly praised the military and attacked the enemy.

Hanukkah traditions include a note of defiance. The holiday centers on events in 165 B.C., when Jewish rebels, led by the Maccabees, defeated their Greek oppressors. The rite of lighting candles -- one on the first night, increasing to eight -- began with a miracle linked to this victory. When it came time to purify the recaptured temple, only one container of ritually pure oil could be found for its eternal flame. Tradition says this one-day supply burned for eight days.

For centuries, Hanukkah has symbolized the need for Jews to defend the purity of their faith, when asked to assimilate. Today, many insist that the holiday is a celebration of religious liberty and pluralism -- period.

"In every generation, there are Maccabees," shouted Rabbi Isaac Jarett of Temple Emanu-El, one of nine participating rabbis from the various branches of Judaism. "In every generation, there are people who seek to destroy us -- as unbelievable as that seems.

"Right now, we have Maccabees in Afghanistan fighting to preserve Western Civilization. ... So why did you come here? You came here tonight, not because you wanted to be here. You came because you needed to be here."

It was hard to find anyone present who was not from the New York City area or somehow connected -- through family ties -- with the events of Sept. 11. It was impossible to find anyone who didn't connect recent events in Israel and in the United States. When the music played, even the most frail and elderly people in the courtyard rose to their feet to sing "The Hope," the national anthem of Israel, and then "The Star Spangled Banner."

When the anthems were over, Baby Boomer Gregg Lerman kept bouncing 9-month-old Hope in his arms. Her sparkling ear studs matched her father's and her tiny t-shirt proclaimed: "My First Chanukah."

"What's this all about? It's about rebirth and freedom," said Lerman, who grew up in Long Island, N.Y. "That's what Hanukkah is supposed to be about and that is certainly what it means to me right now. It's about survival in the face of adversity, both here in America and, as always, in Israel."

After an hour or so, the sermons ended and the partying began. People shopped, danced, sang traditional songs and made pilgrimages to Starbucks and The Cheesecake Factory. Children lobbied for more presents and parents headed to the parking deck with their heavy shopping bags.

But this was one year when everyone knew Hanukkah was about something else.

"It's about the triumph of good over evil," said Dener. "After Sept. 11, this holiday is suddenly very relevant. The concept of a life and death struggle between good and evil is not theoretical right now. It's real."

United we kneel?

God only knows how many clergy have been asked to write prayers for the spiritually fragile days since Sept. 11.

Offering a prayer for Ground Zero, the Rev. Charles T.A. Flood of Philadelphia began by praising the saints "who have made us holy from times past. ... God has sent them to us in times of loss and confusion."

It helps to name names and the Episcopal priest did that. "The Saints were not those who were perfect," said the prayer, as posted on Episcopal and Anglican Web sites. "They were parts of God's creation who struggled and often failed and yet managed to raise up our faith in God and in one another.

"Abraham, Isaac, Joseph, Sarah, Hannah, Joshua, David, Moses, Mary the Mother of Jesus. Buddha and Mohammad. ... They led God's people to God's Light."

This was not exactly a traditional litany. Archbishop of Canterbury George Carey said the inclusion of Buddha and Mohammed was "very unfortunate. ... It's not Church of England practice to refer to Buddha or Mohammed in prayers."

The Rev. George Curry of the evangelical Church Union told the Daily Telegraph: "It is blasphemous. It is appalling. Any self-respecting Christian will be horrified."

The bottom line is that it's easier to stand together than to kneel together. Statements of faith that have brought comfort to many have caused distress for others. The question is whether believers must blur the doctrinal lines that divide them, while striving to find any ties that bind.

Evangelist Franklin Graham, for example, set off a media firestorm when he said: "The God of Islam is not the same God. He's not the God of the Christian or Judeo-Christian faith. It's a different God and I believe it is a very evil and wicked religion."

Later, Billy Graham's heir noted that his Samaritan's Purse relief agency has poured millions of dollars into Muslim communities in Bosnia, Kosovo, Sudan, Iraq, Turkey and Afghanistan. Christians are called to love their neighbors, regardless of creed. But there is no way, he argued, to avoid the words of Jesus: "I am the way, the truth and the life. No one can come to the Father except through me."

It is also unlikely that Muslim clerics will edit the inscription on the face of Jerusalem's Dome of the Rock, which stresses that Allah is, "One, God, the Everlasting, who has not begotten and has not been begotten. ... Praise to God who has not taken a son." In other words, a cornerstone of Islam is the rejection of the Trinitarian God of Christianity.

True Christianity is a missionary faith. So is Islam.

The Archbishop of Canterbury confronted that reality in an address -- entitled "How Far Can We Travel Together?" at the Beit Al-Quran, an Islamic cultural center in Bahrain. He spoke only days after 18 Anglicans in the Church of Pakistan were killed during Sunday worship. Carey called for tolerance that did not require believers to hide or shred their core beliefs.

Muslims are thriving in the West, building waves of new mosques and winning converts, he said. The question is whether believers in other faiths will have the same freedom to build, to preach and to convert others -- in Islamic lands.

"All minority religions, which expect the freedom to express themselves in worship and in the nurture of their young, and to be able to make converts must, as a matter of human justice, encourage the same freedoms to be exercised in those parts of the world where they are in a majority," said Carey. "I must express the deep worries of many Christians in our country who see their Christian brothers and sisters in many parts of the world unable to practice their faith with the same freedom that peoples of other faiths enjoy in the West."

"Clearly this will always be a tension between two missionary faiths such as our own, both of which see their beliefs more in absolute rather than relativistic terms."

The archbishop ended with a poignant detail from the massacre in Pakistan. A Muslim man was guarding the church door that Sunday and he died, struggling to "protect people whose faith he did not share."

A mere ripple in the pews

Sometimes the number is 38 percent and sometimes it's something like 41.

For decades, Gallup Poll researchers have asked people if they attended worship services in the previous week. On rare occasions the percentage may soar to 48. It has been known to dip to 35. But that's about it. There are seasonal ripples in the pews, but few big waves.

Then came the events of Sept. 11.

"Everybody started hearing all kinds of things from people all over the country," said Mike Vlach of Church Initiative, based in Wake Forest, N.C. This evangelical support network (www.churchinitiative.org) has about 5,000 churches on its mailing list.

"It seemed like we were talking about sizable changes in the spiritual landscape of the country. ... We immediately started calling churches and asking, 'What are you seeing out there? What are people asking? What are you doing in response?' "

Media reports joined the chorus, citing this return to faith as a ray of light in the darkness. Then the late September Gallup Poll (www.gallup.com) came out and the number was 47 percent, up from 41 in May. That was a rise, but not shockingly higher than the normal post-summer lift.

Vlach kept placing his calls and the news was good. Pastors said they were seeing larger crowds, including many inquisitive visitors. The atmosphere of uncertainty was lingering. "People have a heightened sense of alertness," said a pastor in Indianapolis. A Chicago-area contact reported: "We have noticed a heightened desire in people to put their spiritual lives in order."

The anecdotes were wonderful, but Vlach said he could not find strong evidence of lasting impact. Most church leaders were comforting their anxious flocks and welcoming any visitors who happened to walk in on their own. But few churches had tried to reach out to the un-churched.

Pastors preached one or two sermons linked to Sept. 11 and, perhaps, organized a memorial service. But that was about it, said Vlach. Few churches made sustained attempts to talk about life and death, heaven and hell, sin and repentance.

"I'm not sure that many churches even saw this as an opportunity to deal with these kinds of issues," he said. "I'm not sure many church leaders are trained to think like that."

By mid-November, the Gallup number was back to 42 percent.

Yes, 74 percent of Americans said they were praying more than usual, 70 percent said they had wept and 77 percent said they were being affectionate with loved ones. As the Gallup team said, Americans were seeking "spiritual solace." But the data suggested that they were flying solo.

The evangelical market analysts at the Barna Research Group (www.barna.org) did a wave of national polling starting in late October, looking for statistical signs of revival. They found that worship statistics were following familiar patterns. Participation in prayer circles and Bible study groups "remained static." Even among born-again Christians, they found a slight decrease in the number of believers who were sharing their faith with non-believers.

"After the attack," said George Barna, "millions of nominally churched or generally irreligious Americans were desperately seeking something that would restore stability and a sense of meaning to life. Fortunately, many of them turned to the church. Unfortunately, few of them experienced anything that was sufficiently life-changing to capture their attention."

These seekers found comfort, but were not motivated to change their beliefs and lifestyles. The most stunning statistic was that the percentage of Americans saying they believe in "moral truths or principles that are absolute," meaning truths that don't change with the circumstances, actually declined -- from 38 to 22 percent. In fact, only 32 percent of born-again Christians said they still believe in the existence of absolute moral truth.

"Our assessment," said Barna, "is that churches succeeded at putting on a friendly face but failed at motivating the vast majority of spiritual explorers to connect with Christ in a more intimate or intense manner." The Sept. 11th tragedy offered congregations a unique chance to "be the healing and transforming presence of God in people's lives, but that ... has now come and gone, with little to show for it."

The Devil and Harry Potter

There's nothing like a hot quote about Satan to grab a reader's attention.

"I think it's absolute rubbish to protest children's books on the grounds that they are luring children to Satan," said Harry Potter creator J.K. Rowling, according to an email message that keeps circling the globe. "People should be praising them for that! These books guide children to an understanding that the weak, idiotic Son Of God is a living hoax who will be humiliated when the rain of fire comes ... while we, his faithful servants, laugh and cavort in victory."

Truth is, Rowling never said that. This email alert -- with its YOU MIGHT WANT TO SHARE THIS WITH YOUR FLOCK headline -- claims that Rowling bared her soul in a London Times interview. Actually, this bogus quotation is a cleaned-up snippet from a satire published by the wicked pranksters at TheOnion.com.

So stop and think about the Zen-like nature of this cautionary tale. What we have here is a case of humor-impaired Harry Potter critics circulating -- as fact -- bites of a satire making fun of how humor-impaired many Harry Potter critics are getting these days. Got that?

Life will only get more complicated for culture warriors now that "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" has rolled into 3,672 motion-picture sanctuaries.

"Christians are now spreading this parody on the Internet with their own scriptural commentaries on how we need to stand for truth," said youth pastor Connie Neal, author of "What's a Christian to Do with Harry Potter?" Naturally, journalists are howling because the "people who are spreading it haven't checked it out to even make sure it's true!"

Meanwhile, believers who are using Potter-mania as a chance to rip into each other should get out their Bibles, said Neal, in a BreakPoint.org interview. They should turn to St. Paul's letter to the Galatians, in which a passage that condemns sorcery also condemns strife, anger, selfishness, enmity and jealousy. And lying remains a sin, as well.

It's time to lighten up, she said. There are anti-Potter mothers who have stopped talking to pro-Potter mothers.

"It is one thing to say, 'I personally choose not to read Harry Potter because to me, this equates to real witchcraft and therefore I want nothing to do with it,' " said Neal. "But we step over the line when we say, 'Because I think the Potter books equate to real world witchcraft, I insist that everyone else adopt my interpretation -- even though the author has made it clear that she did not mean it as real-world witchcraft.' "

Meanwhile, Rowling remains a member of the Church of Scotland and keeps saying, "I believe in God, not magic." She also has stated that the magical elements in her books come from her studies in British folklore. This means she is trying to tap some of the same wellsprings as C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and even Charles Dickens.

Last year, Rowling told a Canadian reporter that she is a Christian and that this "seems to offend the religious right far worse than if I said I thought there was no God. Every time I've been asked if I believe in God, I've said, 'yes,' because I do. But no one ever really has gone any more deeply into it than that and, I have to say that does suit me. ... If I talk too freely about that, I think the intelligent reader -- whether 10 or 60 -- will be able to guess what is coming in the books."

Scores of believers -- on the left and right -- unapologetically adore Rowling's work. Others have offered cautious praise, even as they worry about witchcraft's rise as a force in popular culture. There are a few who consistently attack all works of myth and fantasy.

There are valid issues to debate. But things are getting nasty, as issues of power, fundraising and institutional survival take over.

If this debate must continue, noted Douglas LeBlanc of Christianity Today, "We should argue honorably, neither caricaturing each other's interpretations nor ignoring Rowling's treatment of the occult. And if advocates on either side grow frustrated they should try something truly daring: Writing better stories."