Anglicans meet Rome's Big Ben

Father Peter Toon is a strict traditionalist in all things liturgical, which is fitting since he leads the Society for the Preservation of the Book of Common Prayer.

Thus, the Anglican priest has little sympathy for those who want to wiggle out of translating the Latin word "Credo" -- the root for "creed" -- as "we believe" instead of the more personal and definitive "I believe."

"Of course 'Credo' means 'I believe.' ... And it's the same thing in the Greek Orthodox liturgy, because 'Pisteuo' can only mean 'I believe,' " he said.

These liturgical wars have been going on for decades and the combatants are always seeking allies at other altars. This is how Toon began corresponding with the leader of the Vatican's influential Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. This was Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger of Germany -- now Pope Benedict XVI.

The cardinal agreed that it wasn't heresy to translate "Credo" as "we believe." But Ratzinger also said that this error would eventually need to be corrected in the Roman Missal, said Toon. They had a friendly series of exchanges.

Now that Ratzinger is pope, contacts of this sort have gained symbolic weight. Toon and others in the balkanized Anglican Communion have good reason to wonder if this articulate, outspoken Catholic intellectual may soon play a role in their tense debates about sex, worship and doctrine.

Progressive Episcopalians certainly remember a stunning letter that Ratzinger sent soon after the 2003 election of the openly gay Episcopal Bishop Gene Robinson of New Hampshire.

Writing to a Texas conference held by the conservative American Anglican Council, he wrote: "The significance of your meeting is sensed far beyond Plano, and even in this City from which Saint Augustine of Canterbury was sent to confirm and strengthen the preaching of Christ's Gospel in England. ... In the Church of Christ there is a unity in truth and a communion of grace which transcend the borders of any nation."

The address on the envelope was even more symbolic than the text, with its familiar John Paul emphasis on truth as a source of unity, not division. What mattered most was that Ratzinger sent the letter directly to the Episcopal traditionalists, bypassing the office of U.S. Presiding Bishop Frank Griswold in New York City.

Symbolic gestures of this kind are taken seriously in marble sanctuaries. If there is anything that Anglican prelates understand it is the subtle politics of protocol.

Thus, it was significant that Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams attended the inaugural mass for Benedict XVI, becoming only the second occupant of the throne in Canterbury to witness such a rite since the Reformation. Afterwards, the former Oxford don greeted the pope in German and presented him with a pectoral cross.

Ah, yes, but journalists and photographers paid close attention to the precise details of this rite of reception.

"Symbolism is everything," opined David Virtue, a conservative Anglican whose Internet reports circle the globe. "When the new pope met with the patriarchs from the Orthodox churches there were public embraces and kisses, but when Benedict XVI met Williams there was only a handshake. ... Williams edged forward perhaps hoping for a papal embrace but it was not forthcoming."

Then the London Times reported that, behind the scenes, Vatican authorities had been corresponding with the Traditional Anglican Communion inside the Church of England, discussing the possible formation of an Anglican-rite body in communion with Rome. This network claims the loyalty of more than 400,000 Anglicans around the world and perhaps 500 parishes.

Who was the key Vatican official behind these talks? According to Archbishop John Hepworth of Australia, it was Cardinal Ratzinger.

It is easy to make too much of these contacts, said Toon. After all, Benedict XVI supports traditional Anglicans in the Third World and elsewhere on many issues, but he disagrees with some of their compromises -- such as a softened stance against divorce.

"The new pope will continue to be a gracious friend," said Toon. "But I think he will be much too busy -- for some time -- handling events in his own church to have more than a few words to say about all of these little Anglican groups and their affairs."

After the Iakovos earthquake

When Archbishop Iakovos first became America's Greek Orthodox shepherd, he spent most of his time helping immigrants follow a familiar faith in a strange land.

That was in 1959. By the time he finished his 37-year reign, the Turkish-born archbishop faced a different challenge -- helping American converts find their place in the unfamiliar sanctuaries of Eastern Christianity.

Iakovos knew that America would change the Greeks, challenging their faith and traditions. He also knew that Americans would change his church, in ways that would help an ancient faith reach modern America. He spent the final decades of his long life wrestling with both sides of that equation.

"I cannot visualize what an American Orthodoxy would look like. ... But I believe that it will exist. I know that it must be born," said Iakovos, while visiting Denver's Assumption Greek Orthodox Cathedral in 1992.

"I do know this for sure. The essential elements of the Orthodox tradition will have to remain at the heart of whatever grows in this land. The heart has to remain the same, or it will not touch peoples' souls. It will not be truly Orthodox. I know that this will happen here, but I do not know when it will happen or how."

The 93-year-old archbishop died on April 10 without fanfare, although he was an almost mythic figure among Greek Americans and mainline ecumenical leaders.

Soon after becoming archbishop, Iakovos met with Pope John XXIII, the first formal meeting between an Orthodox leader and a pope in 350 years. This opened a door for later reconciliation efforts between the ancient churches of east and west.

The archbishop marched with the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., in Selma, Ala., and then appeared -- in his flowing black robes -- with King and other civil rights activists on the cover of Time magazine. It was an early glimpse of Orthodoxy on the main stage of American public life.

Iakovos met with presidents, earned a Harvard Divinity School degree, led interfaith dialogues, asked Arab Christians to seek peace, lobbied for human rights and, in 1980, received the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

The official church obituary hailed him as a "role model for American Greek Orthodox Christians, thoroughly committed to the vital democracy of his adopted country without forfeiting the ageless values of Greek culture or abandoning Greek Orthodoxy's spiritual and ecclesiastical roots in the Church of Constantinople."

Nevertheless, it was a showdown with the hierarchy in Turkey that forced his exit.

In 1960, Iakovos pushed to create the Standing Conference of Canonical Orthodox Bishops in the Americas to promote cooperation between Greeks, Arabs, Russians, Romanians, Serbians and other Orthodox believers.

Then in 1994, he dared to chair a summit for bishops committed to "bringing our household into order" and seeking a plan for Orthodox unity in America.

The document released after that Ligonier, Pa., meeting boldly said: "We commit ourselves to avoiding the creation of parallel and competitive Orthodox parishes, missions, and mission programs. We commit ourselves to common efforts and programs to do mission, leaving behind piecemeal, independent, and spontaneous efforts, ... moving forward towards a concerted, formal, and united mission program in order to make a real impact on North America through Orthodox mission and evangelism."

Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew was furious, seeing this as an effort to weaken ecclesiastical and financial ties with Istanbul. Then Iakovos retired, stunning Orthodox leaders in America. His exit was an earthquake and the aftershocks have not stopped.

Today, Orthodox unity here remains a dream. But it's impossible to study the media, education and missions work that Orthodox churches are now doing together without seeing signs of the changes that Iakovos believed were coming. The problem is finding a way to express centuries of Orthodox tradition in such a pluralistic, intensely Protestant land.

"Orthodoxy still has not found its niche yet in American life," said Father Christopher Metropulos, executive director of the multi-ethnic, convert-friendly Orthodox Christian Network based in Ford Lauderdale, Fla. "It hasn't found its unique voice for speaking to this culture. I think the archbishop knew that. ...

"But it is too late to stop the changes. We are working together. We are starting to do mission work together. We are Orthodox and we are in America. That's the reality."

Should Jews believe Judaism is true?

David Klinghoffer knew that his new book "Why the Jews Rejected Jesus" would make plenty of people angry.

After all, the Orthodox Jewish journalist argues that Jesus misunderstood centuries of Jewish tradition, twisted it or rejected it outright -- or all of the above. The Apostle Paul, he says, padded his Pharisee resume and may not even have been a Jew.

Truth is, Klinghoffer believes Judaism is "true," in every sense of that unpopular word. But he has discovered that many modern Jews get mad when someone has the chutzpah to openly proclaim that Judaism is rational and built on a binding covenant with God that is linked to eternal salvation.

"The Sinai covenant and its commandments, you see, are not compatible with every lifestyle," he said. "So if you try to tell many Jews that the covenant is still in effect they're going to bristle. They see those commandments as a judgment on their lives."

Klinghoffer paused and chose his words carefully: "If you say that one way of living is right, then that implies that another way of living must be wrong. ... If our beliefs clash, then we can't both be right. People don't like to talk about things alike that."

This weekend, millions of Jews will have a chance to talk about their beliefs and the ties that bind as they begin the weeklong Passover season, which recalls the Exodus from Egypt. This is the most widely celebrated of all Jewish holidays, with friends and loved ones gathering for the familiar rites of the symbolic Seder meals.

What Klinghoffer finds disturbing is that the doctrinal lessons of Passover are incomplete without those taught by Shavuot, a holiday that comes 50 days later. Shavuot recalls the revelation of the Jewish law -- the Torah -- to Moses at Mount Sinai.

Without Shavuot, he said, Passover is meaningless. Without the truth contained in the Torah, Jews have no identity.

Yet few Jews celebrate Shavuot and many hesitate to defend their own faith.

"I think it is interesting that when I speak to audiences of Christians and Jews, it's the Christians who say that they appreciate hearing from a Jew who isn't afraid to be honest," he said. "They don't want to settle for watered-down dialogues in which no one talks about the questions that divide us as well as the truths that unite us."

Klinghoffer's book is making waves because it bluntly states and defends the arguments used by Jews -- from ancient times until today -- as they rejected Christian claims that Jesus was the Messiah and the source of salvation for all humankind. Rather than providing ammunition for anti-Semites, he said his intention was to help traditional Jews and Christians be candid.

For example, Christians have for centuries pondered the unique Jewish role in "salvation history," a mystery often summed up in the familiar statement, "How odd of God to choose the Jews." Meanwhile, Jewish scholars have faced a paradox of their own. As the Jewish intellectual Franz Rosenzweig once said: "Israel can bring the world to God only through Christianity."

Without Judaism, there is no Christianity. But without Christianity, Klinghoffer argues, there would be no Western civilization as the world knows it and, without Christendom, Europe would have remained pagan and almost certainly fallen to Islam.

Despite their many differences, Klinghoffer is convinced that traditional Jews and Christians can find unity on many controversial questions -- from abortion to euthanasia, and many hot moral issues in between. Christians and Jews are supposed to believe that "we can say, with a straight face, that there is such a thing as 'truth,' " he said.

This matters in an era in which many want to blur the doctrinal lines between world religions. Others want to deny the existence of religious truth altogether.

"This raises all kinds of questions," said Klinghoffer. "Who gets to decide what is right and what is wrong? Does God get to play a role in those decisions or do we just put that up to a vote among ourselves? Where does moral authority come from? Do we just pluck it out of the air or does it come from somewhere?

"When we start asking these kinds of questions, Jewish and Christian believers can stand side by side."

Year 17 -- Episcopagans in the News

Our story begins with a liturgy entitled "A Women's Eucharist: A Celebration of the Divine Feminine," posted among the online offerings of the Episcopal Church Office of Women's Ministries.

Digital sleuths easily connected this rite to Tuatha de Brighid, a "Clan of modern Druids." Then before insiders could say "Episcopagans," critics found links between its use of milk, honey and raisin cakes and Asherah, Astarte and rituals banned in the biblical book of Hosea.

As a rule, rites connected to Baal are frowned on in Christian churches.

The Internet trail led to the Rev. William Melnyk and his wife, the Rev. Glyn Ruppe-Melnyk, in the Diocese of Pennsylvania. In Druid circles, he is "Oakwyse" and she is "Glispa." Soon, Pennsylvania Bishop Charles E. Bennison, Jr., agreed to discipline the Melnyks -- who publicly repented.

It was crucial to avoid a "where there's smoke, there's fire" response, the bishop told the media. "I will not allow this situation to turn into a witch-hunt of any sort."

A bishop does not, after all, have to hunt witches when he has already found his druids.

However, the priest previously known as "Oakwyse" is now the druid formerly known as a priest. In a recent online post, Melnyk has withdrawn his letter of repentance and resigned from the priesthood. Those seeking Druidic rites and weddings may visit www.oakwyse.org for details.

For the life of me, I cannot understand why some people think religion news is boring. Year after year, I mark this column's anniversary -- this is No. 17 -- by rounding up strange bits and pieces that didn't fit anywhere else during the previous 12 months.

Believe me, I would never dare to make this stuff up.

* Alabama radio preacher Paul Morehead is pushing the WWJD (What Would Jesus Do) condom. Thus, this quotation: "When a young man and a young woman give in to Satan, when they strip down like animals in the wild and prepare themselves for a lusty round of heavy petting and full-blown sex, what better reminder for them to buck up than a WWJD condom with the image of our Lord and Savior right there on the package?"

* The most amazing faith quote of the 2004 White House race was on the left, when Sen. John Edwards said: "If we can do the work that we can do in this country -- the work we will do when John Kerry is president -- people like Christopher Reeve are going to walk. Get up out of that wheelchair and walk again."

* Charleston, S.C., church sign: "Stop, Drop and Roll Does Not Work in Hell."

* In the year of the "values voters," I am amazed that no one chased the religion angle in the ABC News poll that said 56 percent of Republicans were "very satisfied" with their sex lives, compared with 47 percent of Democrats. Who has worn "something sexy" to bed? That would be Republicans, 72 percent, and Democrats, 62 percent.

* Someone at Time magazine needs a dictionary. Its recent list of the 25 most influential Evangelical Protestants in America included Father Richard John Neuhaus and Sen. Rick Santorum -- who are Roman Catholics.

* How tough is life on the Jewish dating scene? It seems that MarryBlaire.com is still in business.

* Here's evidence that there is a God: Microsoft's Bill Gates receives 4 million pieces of e-mail per day -- most of it spam.

* Amen! Four Catholic parishes in Monterrey, Mexico, have installed Israeli-made electronic devices that jam cell telephones.

* Note to President Bush: You know that pro-Texas "hook 'em, 'horns" gesture you do by raising the pinky and index fingers on your right hand? Apparently that has another meaning in Norway -- it's a salute to Satan.

* I thought this was an urban legend, but wire service reports indicate that the Rev. Jack Arnold, 69, really did collapse and die at a suburban Orlando Presbyterian church, immediately after saying the words, "And when I go to heaven. ..."

* During CNN's coverage before the pope's death, Monsignor Lorenzo Albacete said that he told Pope John Paul II that he had agreed to speak to the network about the pontiff when he died. The pope replied: "How do they know I'm going first?"

A mystical spark from Poland?

It was in 1931 that a young Polish nun began seeing visions that would touch the life and death of Pope John Paul II and, perhaps, offer a glimpse of the end of all things. Sister Faustina Kowalska reported seeing a merciful Jesus, with beams of red and white light shining from his heart.

In her diary, the cloistered mystic described a 1935 vision in which she was told the write down this prayer as protection from divine judgment: "Eternal Father, I offer You the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Your dearly beloved Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, in atonement for our sins and those of the whole world; for the sake of His sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world."

Some of the Sisters of Our Lady of Mercy thought the uneducated nun was unstable and the Vatican shunned her writings. But her visions impressed a young priest in nearby Krakow named Father Karol Wojtyla, who rose through the ranks from professor to bishop, archbishop and cardinal. Finally, he became Pope John Paul II.

The Polish pope was a champion of Faustina's "Divine Mercy" devotions and, during a 1997 pilgrimage to her tomb, he testified: "The message of Divine Mercy has always been near and dear to me." In a sense, he said, it "forms the image of this pontificate." On April 30, 2000, John Paul II canonized her as St. Faustina.

As if these spiritual bonds were not enough, students of St. Faustina's writings found one other possible link between the mysterious nun and the pope.

It was in 1937, a year before she died of tuberculosis, that the 32-year-old nun had another apocalyptic vision of Jesus. She wrote:

"As I was praying for Poland, I heard the words: I bear a special love for Poland, and if she will be obedient to My will, I will exalt her in might and holiness. From her will come forth the spark that will prepare the world for My final coming."

While John Paul II did not speculate publicly about the meaning of these words, his final hours created yet another mystical bridge between his life and St. Faustina. As part of her canonization, the church designated the first Sunday after Easter as the "Feast of Divine Mercy" for the world's 1.1 billion Roman Catholics.

Following ancient Jewish and Christian traditions, believers begin celebrating holy days at sundown on the previous day. Thus, Pope John Paul II died in the first hours of the feast rooted in St. Faustina's devotions. His last words and symbolic acts took place in the context of a Divine Mercy vigil and Mass celebrated at his bedside by Archbishop Stanislao Dziwisz, his personal aide for 40 years, and a dozen other worshippers.

According to a number of statements to the media, John Paul struggled to dictate this short message to his secretary: "I am happy and you should be happy too. Do not weep. Let us pray together with joy."

During the Mass, which began at 8 p.m., the pope looked toward the window of his apartment -- conscious of the throngs praying outside.

Father Jarek Cielecki, director of Vatican Service News, reported that: "A short while before dying, the pope raised his right hand in a clear, although simply hinted at, gesture of blessing, as if he became aware of the crowd of faithful present in St Peter's Square."

After the Divine Mercy liturgy ended, witnesses said John Paul managed to speak a final benediction before he died -- "amen."

Hours later, thousands gathered for the festive Divine Mercy liturgy. The decorations included the vision of Jesus that an artist painted, following the instructions of St. Faustina of Krakow. It framed the final public words of Pope John Paul II, prepared in advance to be read to the faithful if he was not able to attend.

"To humanity, which at times seems to be lost and dominated by the power of evil, egoism and fear, the risen Lord offers as a gift his love that forgives, reconciles and reopens the spirit to hope," he wrote. "It is love that converts hearts and gives peace. How much need the world has to understand and accept Divine Mercy!"

Cremating Terri Schiavo

Day after day, the cluster of protest placards outside the hospice in Pinellas Park, Fla., kept changing.

"Not brain dead" gave way to "Give Terri water." Hopeful appeals to Gov. Jeb Bush and President George W. Bush turned into cardboard cries of hopelessness.

Then a new message appeared in the last days before the death of Terri Schiavo: "No cremation."

Protesters were bracing for the next hot controversy. Now they wanted to know if her husband would go ahead and do what he had vowed to do, cremating her body despite the furious opposition of her highly traditional Roman Catholic parents.

As Michael Schiavo once told the Tampa Tribune: "She never wanted to be put in the ground with bugs. She always told me that." Thus, he planned -- backed by the courts -- to have her cremated and her ashes taken to his family's plot near Philadelphia.

Bob and Mary Schindler were appalled, arguing that cremation would violate their daughter's Catholic faith. The parents have requested a wake, an open-casket funeral Mass and traditional burial in Florida. In one of their many pleadings to Pinellas County Court, the Schindlers argued that Michael Schiavo "has consistently exhibited a lack of respect" toward Catholicism.

"Even in death, he isn't going to allow them a shrine, a place to go talk to her," Franciscan monk Paul O'Donnell told reporters, speaking for the family. "Won't he at least give them her dead body?"

This debate is stark evidence that many Catholics continue to struggle with changes made by the modern church. After centuries of opposition to cremation, the Code of Canon Law now states: "The Church earnestly recommends the pious custom of burial be retained; but it does not forbid cremation, unless this is chosen for reasons which are contrary to Christian teaching."

The hardest liturgical changes to accept are those linked to emotional events at the crossroads of life -- birth, marriage and death.

"Cremation is no longer considered shocking to most Catholics," said Philip Lawler, editor of Catholic World Report. "But, overwhelmingly, traditional Catholics would lean toward a traditional burial. The older the Catholic, the more likely they would remember the traditions against cremation."

The modern Catechism of the Catholic Church hints at the ancient roots of this controversy, noting that cremation is permitted, "provided that it does not demonstrate a denial of faith in the resurrection of the body."

Early Christian believers were familiar with pagan cremation rituals and saw martyrs burned at the stake, noted Father C. John McCloskey III, of the Faith and Reason Institute in Chicago. The Jewish apostles knew that Judaism rejected cremation.

"The early church also defined itself in opposition to Manichaeism, Gnosticism and other heretical sects that taught that the soul is good and the body is bad. So it didn't matter what you did with the body. The soul was all that mattered.

"But the church kept saying, 'No, the body is good. It should be honored and treated with respect.'... Thus, you had an emphasis in church tradition on funeral rites and the burial of the body in ground that has been blessed."

If Catholics choose cremation, the church still teaches that ashes should be stored in a holy place, as opposed to being kept in an urn on the fireplace mantle. Church authorities frown on rites that conclude with human ashes being scattered into nature, even though the ocean-loving relatives of John F. Kennedy, Jr., did precisely that in 1999, with the help of a priest.

In the Schiavo case, said McCloskey, it's important that the church wants Catholics to ask moral questions about their choices as they honor a deceased loved one. Thus, it is still appropriate to ask why someone -- such as Michael Schiavo -- chooses cremation over a traditional burial.

"You have to think that the goal here is to deny her family and the pro-life movement a grave, a place where they can have a shrine in her honor," he said. "But, honestly, if there is a grave of any kind, no matter where it is or what it is, people are going to find it.

"After all is said and done, people are still going to want to go there and pay tribute to Terri Schiavo."

The prayers of Hebrew Catholics

NEW YORK -- It's hard for Roy Schoeman to share his faith without mentioning Abraham, his son Isaac and a sacrificial altar on Mount Moriah.

This story from Genesis is a cornerstone of the Jewish faith in which he was raised and educated, the son of Jews who escaped the Holocaust and came to America. But this familiar passage -- with its covenant between God and Abraham's children -- also is crucial to his testimony as a convert to Roman Catholicism.

For Schoeman, these faiths cannot be pried apart.

"If Christianity was meant for anyone it was meant for the Jews," he said at a gathering of the Association of Hebrew Catholics. Thus, the Catholic faith "is Judaism as it was defined by God Incarnate, Jesus Christ. ... He did not come to bring Christianity to the gentiles and leave the Jews alone."

The Palm Sunday-weekend conference was held at Sts. Cyril and Methodius Church, not far from Times Square. It drew more than 100 Catholics from across the nation and overseas, including a core group of converted Jews.

Some in the audience shed tears as Schoeman emotionally offered a prayer for the conversion of his own mother. They murmured "amen," as he read the biblical account of Abraham preparing to sacrifice "his only son," until being stopped by an angel who said God would provide a lamb. Because Abraham was willing to surrender his son, God said: "I will indeed bless you and I will multiply your descendents as the stars of heaven. ... And by your descendents shall all the nations bless themselves, because you have obeyed my voice."

Surely this prophecy foreshadows the life and sacrifice of Jesus, said Schoeman, a former Harvard Business School professor who now focuses his studies on theology. This is why Hebrew Christians insist that conversion does not destroy Jewish identity, but "fulfills it," "completes it" and even "crowns it."

It would be hard to craft a statement that would be more offensive to millions of religious and secular Jews.

However, leaders of the Association of Hebrew Catholics spend as much, or more, time addressing the beliefs of Catholics who say the Second Vatican Council teaches that Jews can "be saved" without embracing Jesus. This division in Catholic ranks has affected many public debates, from clashes about the goals of Jewish-Christian dialogues to the content of Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ."

The conflict intensified in 2002 when a study committee linked to the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, working with National Council of Synagogues, released a set of theological reflections that inspired blunt headlines. The Washington Post went with "Catholics Reject Evangelization of Jews," while Christianity Today offered " Jews Are Already Saved, Say U.S. Catholic Bishops."

The document argued that while the "Catholic Church regards the saving act of Christ as central to the process of human salvation for all, it also acknowledges that Jews already dwell in a saving covenant with God." Thus, the unique Jewish witness to God's kingdom "must not be curtailed by seeking the conversion of the Jewish people to Christianity."

Cardinal Avery Dulles of Fordham University was one of many rejecting this text as a statement of Catholic teaching.

"Peter on Pentecost Sunday declared that the whole house of Israel should know for certain that Jesus is Lord and Messiah and that every one of his hearers should be baptized in Jesus' name," wrote Dulles, in America magazine. "Paul spent much of his ministry proclaiming the Gospel to Jews throughout the Diaspora. Distressed by their incredulity, he was prepared to wish himself accursed for the sake of their conversion."

The problem is that progressive elements inside Judaism and Catholicism are striving to "redefine both of these faiths," said David Moss, president of the Hebrew Catholic association. Thus, most mainstream Jewish leaders are convinced that the Vatican has officially changed its doctrine.

"The truth is that Catholicism teaches that there is only one path to salvation and that is through Jesus Christ," said Moss. "Now how does that salvation happen for individual people? That's up to God. He's in charge, not us. ...

"But there is nothing in Vatican II that says Catholics are not supposed to take the Gospel of Jesus Christ to his own people."

Archbishop in a tough room

Comedians know the meaning of the phrase "tough room."

Professional speakers of all kinds try to steer clear of openly hostile audiences. Naturally, clergy avoid them as well.

But Denver Archbishop Charles J. Chaput recently accepted a luncheon gig in what he had to know would be a "tough room." Sure enough, his speech in the open City Club forum produced what veteran Rocky Mountain News religion writer Jean Torkelson called "verbal fisticuffs" when Chaput fielded questions on sex, celibacy, contraception, taxes and the state of Sen. John Kerry's soul.

The archbishop came out swinging in the first lines of his address, creating an interesting case study in how the World Wide Web can change the shape of ecclesiastical press relations.

"Some of you may remember that a year ago I was part of a rally on the Capitol steps to protect state funding for the poor and homeless. But you didn't read about it in the 'Rocky' or the Denver Post, because they didn't cover it," he said.

"Last September, just a few weeks before the election, I preached a homily to 5,000 people at Red Rocks, and I had them repeat out loud three times that if we forget the poor, we'll go to hell. That's one of the principles of Catholic social teaching. If we forget the poor, God will forget us. By our indifference, we will damn ourselves. But you didn't read about that in the press either, because -- again -- nobody covered it."

The archbishop was probably not surprised that this part of his speech didn't get covered, either. It's a Catch-22.

In the pre-digital days that would have been the end of that, other than a Catholic newspaper report for the faithful. But Chaput took a simple step that, in the age of email lists and "weblogs," offered his critique to a small, but strategic, national audience. He posted the City Club text on his own Web site and this link spread via a sympathetic network of traditional Catholics.

The reviews were good in many cyber-rooms.

Chiming in at the No Left Turns "blog," political scientist Joseph Knippenberg of Atlanta's Oglethorpe University in Atlanta wrote: "We need more religious leaders like Archbishop Chaput who will challenge the simple-minded separationism that clearly informs the opinions of a significant portion of elite audiences like this one. And we need reporters who will cover these speeches fairly and honestly."

This makes it safer to play "tough rooms." In addition to posting speeches, I think religious leaders -- left and right -- should take advantage of other digital options.

* Why stick to a prepared speech text? Web-savvy leaders can claim the right to digitally record their public appearances and then post online the audio and video files. Was the crowd hostile? Were there hecklers? Supporters and critics can watch for themselves.

* Worried about a hostile media interview? In addition to urging reporters to use recorders, cautious religious leaders can record the interviews for themselves and then transcribe and post the results. This allows the interviewer and the interviewee to know what was said. If readers want to compare press coverage to the verbatim transcript, then so be it. Chaput used this tactic with the New York Times before the 2004 election.

* Tired of stereotypes? It's easier for people of faith to tackle complicated topics when they know they can use digital networks to circulate precise statements of what they believe. They can also post commentaries to help outsiders -- reporters, even -- understand the nuances. Recent National Association of Evangelicals statements on issues such as religious liberty, peace, poverty and the environment have filtered into elite news media, settings in which the term "evangelical" is often a slur.

* Using "blogs" and other digital forums, the faithful can post links to news media reports and then attach jeers and cheers. In an age of declining audiences for mainstream media products, wise newsroom executives might want to pay attention to these forums. What would happen if major religious groups -- such as the Southern Baptist Convention -- opened digital dialogues with media professionals?

It could happen. It would be good if it did happen. It's hard for dedicated, concerned readers to have too much information.

Communion in the Anglican Communion?

The words change from continent to continent, but the world's 77 million Anglicans have always found unity around altars containing bread and wine.

In Ireland's new Book of Common Prayer, the modern rite proclaims: "Father, with this bread and this cup we do as Christ your Son commanded: we remember his passion and death, we celebrate his resurrection and ascension, and we look for the coming of his kingdom.

"Accept through him, our great high priest, this our sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving; and as we eat and drink these holy gifts, grant by the power of the life-giving Spirit that we may be made one in your holy Church. ... Amen."

These familiar words failed to unite 38 archbishops when they gathered recently in the Dromantine Conference Centre in County Down, Northern Ireland. In fact, the Eucharistic table became the symbol of division.

The leaders of the Anglican Communion met for business, study and prayer, but could not share Holy Communion.

It's hard to gather at the same altar when bishops lack a common understanding of words such as "salvation," "resurrection," "marriage" and even "God," said Bishop C. FitzSimons Allison, an Anglican historian who is the retired bishop of South Carolina.

"You can't hold a church together with appeals to human emotions. You need stronger stuff than that," he said. "You can get by with bonds of affection at your local Rotary Club, but that won't work for us right now. ... You have to be of one mind on the doctrines that have united Christians through the ages."

In headlines around the world, the clashes behind Dromantine's high walls were caused by a familiar controversy -- the ministry of New Hampshire Bishop V. Gene Robinson, a gay man living in a same-sex relationship.

The primates released a five-page communique that, in its most quoted passage, urgently requested that the "Episcopal Church (USA) and the Anglican Church of Canada voluntarily withdraw their members from the Anglican Consultative Council for the period leading up to the next Lambeth Conference" of the world's bishops in 2008.

The North Americans quickly denied that they had agreed to stand down.

But reports circulated that conservatives, led by Nigerian Archbishop Peter Akinola and others, had moved beyond words into dramatic action. Before the meeting, Akinola wrote Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams and warned that many Third World archbishops would not celebrate communion with U.S. Presiding Bishop Frank Griswold. There are 2 million Episcopalians and between 40 million and 50 million Anglicans in Africa alone.

Seeking compromise, Williams proposed bringing in a chaplain to lead a daily Eucharist.

"Archbishop Akinola responded it was not the worthiness of the minister that prompted their objections, but their belief that unity of doctrine preceded unity of worship. It was not a question of receiving 'from' Bishop Griswold, but 'with' Bishop Griswold," wrote the Rev. George Conger, in the Church of England Newspaper.

Williams relented, "formally recognizing the state of broken Eucharistic communion," wrote Conger. Some Third World archbishops, led by Archbishop Emmanuel Kolini of Rwanda, fasted for the four days.

Griswold was defiant, saying his church welcomes future opportunities to defend its actions on behalf of homosexual clergy, since its leaders believe they have "sought to act with integrity in response to the Spirit, and that we have worked, and continue to work, to honor the different perspectives very much present" in the church.

Yes, these are painful and sobering times, and Allison said he could understand the stance taken by Third World bishops.

After all, it has been a dozen years since he decided he could no longer, with a clear conscience, receive communion during meetings of the U.S. House of Bishops. During a Bible study, several bishops had said that they believed they worshipped a god that is "older and greater" than the God of the Bible. Others said they could not affirm this belief, but would not condemn it.

"This is apostasy," Allison said.

When it came time for all the bishops to go to the altar and receive communion, Allison declined.

"If you do not share the same faith, you cannot share the same communion," he said, recalling that moment. "When people start talking about new revelations and creating some kind of new faith, that's when the red flags have to go up."