Faith Crisis in Blogosphere

The news from Rome infuriated the most quotable Catholic, gay, HIV-positive, political conservative in cyberspace.

But Andrew Sullivan knew where to find comfort after the Vatican's recent reminder that gay unions are in no way "similar or even remotely analogous to God's plan for marriage and family." He poured out his frustration at www.andrewsullivan.com and his online community responded.

"Times are terrible," wrote a Catholic priest. "The church says gay people are not permitted to get married, ordained or adopt children. All prohibitions. Not one statement of moral guidance or recognition. Negation only. I don't know what to say or think myself. ...

"I take refuge in conscience (which the tradition treats with utmost respect) and in my belief that the church is larger and older and wiser than one segment, no matter how powerful and officially sanctioned its self-defined role. The church cannot be contained or proscribed as the narrow experience of what the magisterium teaches. It is all of us."

Sullivan shared that anonymous epistle with the 400,000 or so readers who visit his "weblog" each month. There are between 1.5 and 3 million "blogs" and the former New Republic editor is known as a trailblazer in this ever-expanding "blogosphere."

Blogs are helping shape mainstream news, as the ousted editors of the New York Times now know. But blogs are also touching untold numbers of private lives. This is especially true in the realm of religion, where public policy and private piety are mixing in new ways.

Headlines seem distant in the daily press. They are personal in the blogs. One day it's Catholic doctrine and its impact on legislators and judges. The next day it's the Episcopal Church and the consecration of its first openly gay bishop.

Sullivan is used to slinging ink in this marketplace. But this week he used his blog to say that events are pushing him toward a "pretty major life-decision."

"It tears me apart to see no prospect of the Catholic Church ending its war on gay people and their dignity in my lifetime," he wrote. "I think it's getting worse; and the next pope from the developing world could make the current one seem humane. Leaving the sacraments would be a huge blow to the soul; but the pope just called the love I have for my boyfriend 'evil.' "

Sullivan posted painful letters from gay Catholics who said the Vatican had pushed them over the line. One pondered cutting off "my membership and support of the Roman Catholic Church" and moving on to "what in my upbringing would be called 'the next best thing': the Episcopal Church."

But the "blogosphere" has other sanctuaries. Father Paul Mankowski of the Pontifical Biblical Institute in Rome called Sullivan and his acolytes "conditional" Catholics who yearn for a different church.

"They persist in their membership, but with the understanding that the Church will be a different Church in the future," he said, in the blog at Catholic World News (www.cwnews.com). "And if the Church will reverse her teaching in future, the Church must be wrong now. And if a man believes the Church is wrong now, he can't possibly mean the same thing I mean when he professes her to be one, holy, catholic and apostolic."

And Catholic blogger Amy Welborn (www.amywelborn.com) wondered whether Sullivan fears surrendering the familiar rituals of daily Catholic life, even though his beliefs have changed. Yet reason suggests that there "comes a point when an individual who doesn't believe that faith rests on objective truth comes up hard against the institution that maintains that it does, and at that point, something's got to give."

Then again, she said, he may stay. What's the "marquee value" of being a gay Episcopalian?

Reached by email, Sullivan said he feels tied to Catholicism by baptism, family, the sacraments and a "lifetime of prayer and reflection." He still goes to Mass. He asked his readers to pray for him and was stunned at the consolation that flowed through these digital ties that bind.

"I don't think I could belong to any other Church but the one I believe to be the true one," he said. "I respect completely other faiths and denominations; but this one is in my bones and in my soul."

An Orthodox parable for today

MIAMI -- The elderly husband and wife were screaming at each other as they waited for an audience with the Orthodox archbishop of Tripoli. Metropolitan Theodosius VI could hear them and so could his young Lebanese assistant. Finally, the couple stormed into the office. They agreed on only one thing -- divorce.

"I will deal with you separately," said the archbishop. Then he gestured for his aide to linger. This was going to be a learning opportunity for Philip Saliba, a master class in the realities of church leadership. Half a century later, he remembers what he learned.

It helps to know that, Theodosius soon became patriarch of the Antiochian Orthodox Church, the ancient church of Sts. Peter and Paul. Then in 1966, he consecrated Philip Saliba as metropolitan of the Antiochian Orthodox Christian Archdiocese of North America.

So the old world was teaching a lesson to the new world, a lesson that the 72-year-old Metropolitan Philip turned into an emotional parable during last weekend's 46th Archdiocese Convention, held at the Fontainebleau Hilton in Miami Beach.

This was a parable about the growing pains of Eastern Orthodoxy in America, a story about trying to honor the past while facing the future. Grasp this parable, Philip told his priests and lay leaders, and you will begin to understand the hurdles facing churches in America as they strive to gain autonomy from the old country.

So here is the rest of the parable.

Theodosius asked the elderly husband what was wrong with his wife. He offered a familiar litany: She didn't cook, she didn't clean and she refused to shine his shoes. The husband left and the wife came in. She said her husband was lazy and unaffectionate. He gambled, drank too much and leered at other women.

The archbishop listened and then faced the two of them. Recalling that moment, Philip thickened his Lebanese accent to imitate his old teacher's voice. All Theodosius said was: "You are having very serious problems. Go home! Come see me next year!"

Philip was confused. He said he did not understand the wisdom of this response to the couple's fury. What was he supposed to have learned?

That is easy, said the archbishop. The husband and wife were very old. During the next year, they might kill each other. In a year, the odds were good that either the wife or the husband would die. That would solve the problem.

The audience laughed. Then Metropolitan Philip's voice grew serious. Never forget, he said, that people in the ancient lands of the East truly believe that "time and death" will solve most difficult problems.

The audience stopped laughing. This was the meaning of the parable.

After all, it had been two years since the American archdiocese -- which has grown from 66 to 228 parishes during his tenure -- overwhelmingly approved an appeal to the Holy Synod in Damascus for autonomy and the ability to manage more of its own affairs. And it had been two years since Metropolitan Philip survived a life-and-death showdown with heart disease.

Hotel hallways were buzzing with reports of calls from the Istanbul offices of Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, symbolic leader of the world's Orthodox churches, seeking delays in autonomy efforts affecting the growing churches in North America, and their bank accounts. After all, changes in the convert-friendly sanctuaries of the Antiochian archdiocese and the Orthodox Church in America, which has Russia roots, might spread to others -- even the Greeks.

Some leaders "in the East," said Metropolitan Philip, are convinced that if he dies, the autonomy issue will die. Delay the decision and time and death will solve the problem.

Shouting in Arabic and English, Philip vowed that he would not let this happen.

"No! No way," he said. "I will rise from the grave!"

Hours later, the conference approved -- by a 99.6 percent margin -- sending the latest draft of an autonomy resolution to the Holy Synod, a document prepared by leaders from America and the old country. The synod should meet in October, but recent meetings have been postponed.

In other words, the phrase "Byzantine politics" exists for a reason.

"If this step is delayed," Metropolitan Philip said, Orthodox unity in North America "will be set back for 100 years."

Harry Potter for grownup believers (of all kinds)

ORLANDO -- Lee Hillman's nightstand contains a copy of Sir James George Frazer's classic "The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion."

It's a condensed version, not the two-volume 1890 epic or the12-volume monument from the following decades. The single volume contains more than enough magical minutia for ordinary readers. Six dense pages will usually put Hillman to sleep.

Nevertheless, the practicing pagan keeps reading. It has helped give perspective on her other passion -- reading and writing about a certain young wizard in England.

"There is no relationship set up in the Harry Potter books between magic and religion," said Hillman during Nimbus 2003, the first global convention dissecting the 2,715 pages published so far in the series. "This had to be a deliberate decision by J.K. Rowling. ... She is using literary conceits drawn from throughout Western culture."

She scanned the crowd at a panel discussion last weekend entitled "Harry Potter: Witchcraft? Pagan Perspectives." Then she said the same thing again, as a Wiccan believer and another miscellaneous pagan nodded in agreement.

"There is nothing in these books that relates magic to any particular religion," said Hillman. "There is no connection. None. None. Zero. ... They are not really about witchcraft."

Don't misunderstand. Hillman still loves the Potter books. That's why she was wearing a spectacular witch's hat and robe, a flash of purple that even stood out among the 600 other colorful fans at Disney's Swan Hotel. Among online Potter devotees, the 31-year-old secretary from Rochester, N.Y., is known as "Gwendolyn Grace, Minister of Magic" and she was the driving force behind the gathering.

Nimbus 2003 sprouted out of the Internet, where the "Harry Potter For Grownups" email list has 10,000 members and a "Fiction Alley" list dedicated to stories written by fans for other fans has 30,000 members.

With this kind of reach, organizers attracted participants -- about 90 percent female -- from across the United States, as well as from England and Australia.

In hotel hallways, witch wannabes raised their expensive, professionally carved wands and fought imaginary duels with tickling spells and other incantations. In the lecture halls, others heard papers on everything from Harry Potter and the First Amendment to "Greenhouses are for Girls, Beasts are for Boys? Gender Characterizations in Harry Potter." There were packed sessions on so-called "slash" fiction in which online scribes write gay and lesbian themes into new Potter stories.

Organizers also dedicated an entire track of lectures and panels to spiritual issues, addressing topics such as "Seven Deadly Sins, Seven Heavenly Virtues: Moral Development in Harry Potter" and "Can Any Wisdom Come From Wizardry?"

Hillman and other pagan panelists were convinced that Rowling -- who has said she attends the Church of Scotland and does not believe in magic -- is a wonderful writer for children, but is clearly not interested in witchcraft. This is not the magic in which they believe.

"There is a cause-and-effect relationship to everything in these books," said Hillman. "You say the spell, you see the effect. ... It's like turning on a light. You flip the switch and the magic is there. That just isn't how things work."

Meanwhile, evangelical writer Connie Neal enthusiastically found echoes of biblical stories and parables in the Potter canon. Her book "The Gospel According to Harry Potter" has been banned in many Christian stores, but "this only seems to have made the secular stores more interested," she said. She keeps challenging people to set up evangelistic reading groups that mix Bible study and Harry Potter discussions.

A Jewish cantor found echoes of the Talmud. A Mormon speaker found strong family values. And classics teacher John Granger aired the thesis of his book "The Hidden Key to Harry Potter," arguing that Rowling has soaked her work in centuries of Christian symbolism and spiritual alchemy themes shared with Shakespeare, Milton, Blake, C.S. Lewis and countless others.

"The human person was designed for resurrection, in love. That is what we yearn for because that is how we were created," he said. "That is what these books are about. We respond to them because we are human. Rowling is using symbols and themes that have worked for centuries. And you know what? They still work."

Facing the Russian icons

As was his custom, the thief began his day with prayer before an icon of Mary and Jesus. But then the image began to move and he saw bleeding wounds on the Christ child's hands and feet. Trembling, he cried out: "Oh lady, who has done this?" "You and other sinners," said Mary, "who crucify my Son anew with your sins."

In this classic Russian icon called "Unexpected Joy" the thief repents and begins a new life. The icon is complex, yet contains a spiritual truth that would have been clear to the Russians who faced it as they prayed. They understood the symbolism. They knew the parable. But what does this 19th century icon say to Americans who see it hanging in a gallery?

"It's hard for us to grasp things like this," said Frederica Mathewes-Green, author of "The Open Door: Entering into the Sanctuary of Icons and Prayer." "The thief is convicted of his sins and repents and the result is this 'Unexpected Joy.' Repentance? Joy? We have trouble connecting the two. Of course, we also have trouble imaging a thief who faithfully prays in his icon corner. ... It's like this icon lets us have a glimpse of a whole different world."

It was late on a muggy Washington, D.C., afternoon and a few tired visitors were viewing the 89 works in a summer exhibition called "Windows Into Heaven: Russian Icons, 1650-1917" at the Pope John Paul II Cultural Center. There were glorious angels from the doors that lead from sanctuaries to altars. Immaculate icons from the workshops of czars -- details painted with single-hair brushes -- hung near the rough icons of peasants.

Many of the images featured familiar faces and scenes, from St. John the Baptist to St. George and the dragon. This constant repetition of themes often puzzles visitors. Others ask why some icons are "more artistic" than others, said volunteer John Harrison.

"But this really isn't about art, is it? Each of these icons may be a copy of a copy of a copy," he said. "But that's the point. The images are familiar. But each icon had a life of its own. It is real. It was a holy object to real people, in a real time and a real place. Their prayers were real."

It's almost impossible for Americans to grasp the role icons played in for centuries in lands such as Russia, said curator James Lansing Jackson, who assembled this exhibit. In addition to prayer corners in homes, these "windows into heaven" were found in factories, stores, schools, prisons, offices, roadside shrines and countless other public and private locations.

"They were literally everywhere and part of almost every event in life," he said, reached at his office in Cedar Falls, Iowa. "The typical home might have contained 20 or more. ... There were probably 200 million icons in Russia in the days before the 1917 revolution."

Many Orthodox believers fled as the Bolsheviks took control and they took family treasures with them, including their icons, said Jackson. By the 1930s, Soviet officials were selling antiques, art and icons on foreign markets to raise hard currency.

Some believers hid their icons during times of terror and persecution. Then, as generations passed, some flung them aside as signs of a forgotten faith. With the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991, there was another frenzy of interest in icons, for reasons ranging from spiritual hunger to raw commercialism.

"Ironically, the fact that they did have historic and antique value gave many people a motive to save them," said Jackson. "They were saved by greed and by the fascination that Westerners have for them. That's a strange thing to say, but it's true."

Still, it's poignant to face icons in settings "so far from their homes," said Mathewes-Green. This is like being introduced to orphans whose lives have been shattered. Who knows what happened to their families?

"It's tragic when you see them collected as mere art objects, put away somewhere in glass cases," she said. "They are beautiful and it's tempting to get caught up in their beauty. But the icons are not what we are supposed to focus on. That is not their true purpose. They are supposed to lead us somewhere else."

Church Shoppers 'R' Us

How many Southern Baptists does it take to change a light bulb?

Answer: "One to change the bulb and 16 million to boycott the maker of the old bulb for bringing darkness into the church."

And on the left, how many United Church of Christ members does it take? Answer: "How dare you be so intolerant! So what if the light bulb has chosen an alternative light style?"

There are zillions more ecclesiastical light-bulb jokes where those came from and Carmen Renee Berry heard plenty while writing "The Unauthorized Guide to Choosing a Church." How many Catholic nuns does it take to change a light bulb? Episcopalians? Calvinists? United Methodists? Pentecostals? Members of the non-instrumental Churches of Christ?

Behind the jokes is a serious issue. According to her "meticulous count, there are exactly 29816 gazillion denominations to choose from." What are consumers supposed to do, throw darts at the Yellow Pages?

Berry has been there and done that. Over the years, she said, "I met a variety of 'believers' -- incense burners and Bible thumpers; charismatic hand wavers, 12-steppers and genuflectors; priests, pastors and prayer warriors; militant social justice demonstrators and right-wing activists; and lots of theologians who were straight, gay, male, female, fighting for purity and fed up with the status quo -- a varied spectrum of people all living under the umbrella of the 'church.'

"I've listened to, and argued with, them all."

Berry was raised in the conservative Church of the Nazarene and, in the end, found her way back into a small flock of Nazarene progressives. But her searching taught her things. She knows she is allergic to incense. She can dress Presbyterian. She can tell Mennonites from the Amish. And she learned that she is not alone in this search.

"People want to make a faith their own," said Berry, a former social worker who is best known for writing the bestseller "Girlfriends."

"They don't want to go to a church just because they were born into it. ... They want to authentically express their own spirituality. They want to find that congregation that will help them find their own way, their own path."

It doesn't help that most religious groups keep changing -- in terms of doctrine and style. There are Baptists writing documents that look like creeds or confessions. There are Catholics who pick and choose what to believe in the catechism. There are Presbyterians who don't think hell and predestination matter anymore and Methodists who think evangelism is cultural imperialism.

Next door, there are fundamentalist churches that are as old-fashioned as ever, while others show movie clips in between the offerings of their hard-rock worship bands. There are flocks that use incense, candles and ancient rites while the priests sound like Oprah.

Berry openly argues that seekers must start by knowing their own needs and biases. She, for example, avoids churches that do not accept women as clergy. She learned to avoid churches -- on the left and right -- that "engaged in group-think" on politics. She found that vital small-group ministries were crucial.

She also found that she does not need a church with ironclad teachings on heaven and hell. She doesn't want to get tangled up in today's fierce debates about sexuality and marriage. Those issues are not at the top of her personal list, she said.

Thus, her book tried to offer a kind of consumer's guide to the worship, history and culture of various traditions -- Orthodoxy, Catholicism, Presbyterianism, Lutheranism, Congregationalism, Methodism, Pentecostalism and the complex world of Baptist and free-church evangelical life. She also included a detailed personal-faith survey.

The hard part is finding a balance between personal freedom and the larger framework of spiritual authority found in a church, said Berry. It is very American and very Protestant to want both at the same time.

"I believe in true Truth, with a big T," she said. "But I have to admit that I have a kind of shopping list of my own. I have my beliefs, too. I know that sounds contradictory, but there you go. ... You end up advocating a kind of spiritual consumerism. That makes me very uncomfortable, but that's the reality of what is going on out there. That's what people are doing."

Same-sex Anglican disunion

The couple holds hands before the altar as a priest guides them through their vows. "I take you to have and to hold from this day forward, to love and to cherish, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, as my companion, lover and friend."

The congregation responds: "Blessed be God who appears to us in their love."

There is the exchanging of rings, familiar scriptures, a kiss and a blessing on the couple's "acts of tenderness and intimacy." They may be crowned or anointed before Holy Communion. The priest may lead them in a procession around the altar, cover them with a veil or tie their hands with a cord.

This is not a wedding.

Nevertheless, "A Rite for the Celebration of Commitment to a Life Together" features a barrage of symbols from centuries of marriage rites. This 1996 text is an American example of the same-sex union rites that are shaking the 70-million-member Anglican Communion.

"This rite is clearly parasitic on marriage," said Edith Humphrey, a Canadian Anglican who teaches at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. "At least this American rite is in your face, so you know what is being communicated. That kind of candor is refreshing. ... This certainly looks like a marriage rite."

But most supporters say these rites merely bless existing same-sex relationships. This distinction is crucial, according to Vancouver School of Theology liturgist Richard Leggett.

"Despite some similarities to the marriage rite, the underlying theology and the distinctive liturgical elements define a covenant that is unique and that poses no threat to marriage as the sacramental union of a heterosexual couple," argued Leggett, commenting on a new Canadian rite.

Instead, this gives "liturgical expression to a new thing that God is doing in our midst, life-long stable and covenanted relationships for gay and lesbian disciples of Christ."

There is fire behind these academic words. After decades of guerrilla tactics, open Anglican warfare has erupted on three fronts.

In Canada, Bishop Michael Ingham -- after numerous delays -- on May 23 issued a same-sex union rite for use in his Diocese of New Westminster. Meanwhile, the Diocese of New Hampshire elected Father Gene Robinson as the Episcopal Church's first openly gay bishop, guaranteeing pre-consecration debates at the U.S. General Convention that begins July 30 in Minneapolis.

That gathering also faces a California resolution seeking rites to express the church's blessing on "all couples living in life-long committed relationships of mutuality and fidelity outside the relationship of marriage, which mediate the grace of God."

Then Oxford Bishop Richard Harries appointed Father Jeffrey John, a gay theologian, as bishop of Reading. Nine evangelical bishops in England have publicly vowed a fight. Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams called for dialogue, yet signaled he will not oppose John's appointment.

What is at stake? Sixteen Third-World archbishops from Kenya, South India, Uganda, the Philippines, Sudan, Tanzania and elsewhere responded to Ingham by declaring a state of "severed communion" with his diocese.

Archbishop Peter Akinola told the BBC that Nigeria -- with 10 archbishops, 81 bishops and 17.5 million Anglicans -- would "sever relationships with anybody, anywhere, anyone who strays over the boundaries" of traditional church doctrine. Robinson's election, he told the Guardian in Lagos, is "a Satanic attack on God's church."

But there is more to this debate than sex, said Humphrey. The new Canadian rite makes a crucial claim: "All human relationships have the potential to be agents of God's purpose. Regardless of the specific characteristics of the relationship, the act of blessing does not make the relationship more holy but rather, in giving thanks to God and invoking God's holy name, releases the relationship to realize its full potential as an expression of God's love."

This raises all kinds of questions about words such as "fidelity," "covenant," "sacrament" and "union," she said. In a marriage rite, God and the church create something new -- a sacred union that changes the relationship between the man and the woman. These new rites insist that the church is merely "blessing" an existing same-sex relationship.

"The whole premise is different. The relationship is already holy. It is already sacramental," she said. "The church is merely celebrating what the couple is already doing."

Plagiarism and the pulpit

One thing great preachers enjoy about traveling is that they can hear other people preach. But the American orator A.J. Gordon received a shock during an 1876 visit to England. Sitting anonymously in a church, he realized that the sermon sounded extremely familiar -- because he wrote it.

"The man in the pulpit was reading it verbatim without saying a word about the source. After the service, Gordon introduced himself and we can just imagine the pastor's reaction," said the Rev. Scott Gibson, director of the Center for Preaching at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary outside Boston.

Perhaps the pastor read one of Gordon's books or found the sermon in a journal. He might have lifted it from a major newspaper, because it was common in those days for sermons to be published in Monday editions.

But the preacher never thought the author would cross the Atlantic and land in one of his own pews, said Gibson, who is studying the history of plagiarism in preaching. It has always been hard for an offender to believe that a church member has read the telltale source or that a visitor with an excellent memory happened to be sitting in the right place at the wrong time.

"This is not a new problem," said Gibson. "Some people think the World Wide Web came along and suddenly you had thousands of pastors copying other people's sermons with a few clicks of a mouse. But there has always been a lot of laziness out there.

"Preachers get busy and they run out of time and then they just plain steal."

The temptations are timeless, but the Internet has raised waves of new ethical questions.

In his study, Gibson defines "plagiarism" as preaching someone else's sermon research or content without giving public credit for it. But is it plagiarism to use an outline or text the pastor has legally obtained -- even purchased -- from one of the thousands of preaching sites that have sprung up online? Is it acceptable to use a respected site such as SermonNotes.com without telling the congregation? What about quoting from the anonymous inspirational stories that arrive daily in everypastor's email? Is it wrong if a megachurch pastor has support staff members who do "ghost" work as researchers and writers? Does a preacher have to reveal each and every source of inspiration?

"It's hard to footnote sermons," said the Rev. Haddon Robinson, an internationally known teacher of preaching in Dallas and Denver before arriving at Gordon-Conwell. "There's no way to make people in the pews understand all of the sources you are using, especially if they're highly academic sources. I don't think anyone expects preachers to stand up there and quote all of their reference books and commentaries by name."

But all preachers read and hear stories and insights that they want to share with their flocks. It makes a sermon more colorful to feature a quotation by an author " who simply says something better than you can," said Robinson. Attributing direct quotes also adds authority, especially when quoting figures such as Martin Luther, C.S. Lewis or Billy Graham.

This is safe territory.

The danger is when pastors appropriate entire outlines or sermon texts and claim them as their own. Perhaps the strongest temptation is to personalize anecdotes that happened to other people. But it only takes seconds, noted Gibson, for a preacher to cite the source of a story or to say something like, "I heard a great sermon on this biblical text by pastor so and so and I want to share some of his insights with you." Some pastors add additional references in the Sunday bulletin or in study pages on the church website.

It's easy for preachers to play it straight, said Gibson. The question is whether many congregations have become so mesmerized that they will overlook plagiarism.

"Some people get so caught up in the experience of hearing that great preacher," he said. "It's not so much the content. It's his persona. It may not matter to them that he is using someone else's sermons. What you hear people say is, 'He's our preacher and it doesn't matter what he's doing. Let's move on.' "Some churches today just don't care."

J.K. Rowling, Inkling?

Harry Potter froze in terror as the hellish Dementors rushed to suck out his godfather's soul. But he was not powerless, because he had learned the Patronus Charm for use against the evil ones. So the boy wizard focused on a joyful memory and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"

Salvation arrived in the form of a dazzling silver animal that defeated the ghouls and then cantered across the surface of a lake to Harry. It was as "bright as a unicorn," but on second glance was not a unicorn. It was a majestic stag that bowed its antlered head in salute and then vanished.

If C.S. Lewis or J.R.R. Tolkien had written this scene in "The Prisoner of Azkaban," literary critics and Christian apologists would know how to break the code, according to John Granger, author of "The Hidden Key to Harry Potter." They would parse the Latin charm and study author J.K. Rowling's delicate use of medieval symbolism.

"The key is that stag, which is often a Christ symbol. But she is not content to make it a stag. It's a stag that looks like a unicorn," said Granger, who teaches Latin and Greek in Port Hadlock, Wash.

"She's saying to the reader, 'A stag may be a reach for you. So I'll have it be a stag that looks like a unicorn, since that has been a universally recognized Christ symbol for ages.' It's almost, 'Let me make this clear for you.' "

But these symbols have eluded most readers who have bought 192 million copies of these novels in 55 languages. (Rowling requested Latin.)

This weekend bookstores are serving up the first 8.5 million copies of the 768-page fifth volume, "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix." The usual suspects will immediately say the usual things. Many Christians will quote Bible verses condemning magic. Academics will call the book a childish confection and analyze it as media myth and pop psychology. Librarians will give thanks that children are reading -- anything.

Granger believes they are missing the obvious: Rowling has baptized her work in medieval Christian symbols and themes that shape and define her tales of good versus evil. Potter's creator, he noted, received a superior education -- with studies in French and classical languages at the University of Exeter -- and has a working knowledge of ancient and medieval literature. She has made no effort to hide her admiration of great writers, especially Jane Austen and Lewis.

Granger has focused on her language and symbolism, in large part because of his similar studies in "Great Books" and ancient languages. He has also attempted to predict how these themes will play out in Rowling's future Potter novels.

"I started reading the Potter books as an Orthodox Christian father who had to explain to his oldest daughter why we don't read such trash," he said. "But once I started turning the pages the University of Chicago side of me kicked in."

Take that climactic scene in "The Prisoner of Azkaban," he said. The Latin "expecto," as used in the Apostles' Creed, is best translated "to look out for" or "to long for expectantly." And "patronus" means guardian, but can also mean "deliverer" or "savior." So Potter cries "I look for a savior" and a stag appears, one that looks mysteriously like a unicorn.

In the Middle Ages, noted Granger, stags were Christ symbols, in part because of the regeneration of their antlers as "living trees." A cross was often pictured in the prongs. Lewis uses a white stag in this manner in "The Chronicles of Narnia." Unicorns were also popular Christ symbols, portraying purity and strength.

Rowling repeatedly links Potter with creatures -- a phoenix, griffins, centaurs, hippogriffs, red lions -- used by centuries of Christian artists.

Her use of alchemy symbolism taps into medieval images of spiritual purification, illumination and perfection.

None of this is accidental, he said. Anyone who cares about Potter-mania must take Rowling more seriously.

"What we are seeing is a religious phenomenon taking place in a profoundly secular, profane culture," said Granger. "J.K. Rowling is pouring living water into a desert. ... She is mounting a head-on attack on a materialistic world that denies the existence of the supernatural and, so far, she is getting away with it."

Glad tidings for secularists

WASHINGTON -- Pollsters who pry into matters of faith know they have to phrase their questions carefully. One big question goes something like this: "What is your religion?" As a rule, few dare to answer "none." But researchers at the City University of New York made a subtle change in 2001 when updating their portrait of U.S. religious identities. They asked: "What religion do you identify with, if any?"

A stunning 14 percent said, "no religion" -- nearly 30 million Americans. Another question asked if respondents were religious or secular and 16 percent chose "secular."

"Those two words -- 'if any' -- made a big difference," said Fred Edwords, editorial director of the American Humanist Association. "Those two little words signaled that it was acceptable for people to say that they didn't believe in God or at least didn't practice any particular religion."

Other recent surveys have brought secularists similar glad tidings.

According to the National Election Studies, the percentage of Americans who say they attend weekly religious services fell from 38 to 25 percent between 1972 and 2000. Meanwhile, those that never attend services rose from 11 to 33 percent.

Ordinarily these kinds of numbers would inspire chatter in Washington. A rising number of openly secular voters would have a major political impact -- especially for Democrats.

"We are in touch with lots of people who are certainly to the left of theism and it's no surprise they are on the political left and, thus, Democrats," said Tony Hileman, executive director of the American Humanist Association. "Also, it's no surprise that all the religious extremists -- the names John Ashcroft and George W. Bush come to mind-- are on the political right and, thus, they are Republicans.

"This is one of the biggest divisions in American life today and we shouldn't be afraid to talk about it."

This chasm is often seen in the fine details of daily politics.

In the 2000 White House race, Voter News Service found that 14 percent of the voters said they attended religious services more than once a week and 14 percent said they never attended. The former backed Bush by a 27-percent margin and the latter Al Gore by a 29-percent margin.

Some of President Bill Clinton's advisors spotted a similar trend in

1996, while seeking to learn which poll questions would most accurately predict a voter's choice. These five worked best: Is homosexuality morally wrong? Do you every look at pornography? Would you look down on a married person who had an affair? Is sex before marriage morally wrong? Is religion very important in your life?

If voters chose "liberal" answers on three out of five, reported

Atlantic Monthly, the odds where 2-1 they would pick Clinton. The odds soared if they leaned left on four out of five. Those giving "conservative" answers went Republican, by precisely the same odds.

Public debate on "lifestyle" issues of this kind is a relatively new phenomenon, noted Edwords. There was a time when Baptists, Pentecostals and other conservative Protestants tended to shun political activism altogether, in part because they believed "politics was too sinful."

Then American culture began to radically change in the 1960s and '70s and issues of faith and morality heated up on both sides of the political aisle. Today, leaders of the American Humanist Association and other openly secular groups believe the headquarters of the Religious Right is not in Virginia Beach or in Lynchburg -- it's in the White House.

This has created a stronger coalition of humanists, secularists and liberal Christians and Jews that is united in opposition to what it believes is a dangerous blend of fundamentalism and government. This represents both opportunity, and risk, for the political left.

"The Republican Party wants to be the party of God," said Edwords. "But it's just as clear that Democrats don't want to stand up and say they are the godless party. They have to keep using religious language, even though that may make some of us secularists uncomfortable. What Democrats have to say is that their religion is broader and more inclusive and more tolerant. ... "We know they have to do that. It just doesn't pay to do politics while wearing atheism on your sleeve."