Graham looking to London?

Billy Graham promised that he would avoid politics and stick to saving souls during his final New York crusade.

The New York Times offered a sigh of relief, noting that the closest he came to danger in the first sermon was when he said: "There's a lot of discussion about the Ten Commandments being in a courtroom or in our country. We need to look at the Ten Commandments because they convict us of our sin."

The key was that Graham remained silent on the "divisive issues of the day" such as -- the newspaper offered this handy list -- "stem cell research, or abortion, or gay marriage, or even homosexuality."

Nevertheless, the world's most famous evangelist did emphasize the Christian belief that Jesus is the only path to salvation. He also talked about "sin" and "repentance," judgmental words that often attract ironic quotation marks.

"What causes lying, cheating, racial prejudice?" asked Graham, as he began the crusade last weekend in Flushing Meadows-Corona Park. "The Bible says, 'For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies.'

"These are the things that defile a man and they defile a country. They defile our world today. ... The Bible says that our problem is sin."

To which legions of "values voters" would say, "Amen."

That's the problem these days. It's hard to talk about "sins" that "defile" a country without people connecting the dots to Hollywood, courts, laws, schools and a host of other hot-button subjects.

It's true that Graham did little during this historic crusade to embrace the Bush White House or its allies on the Religious Right, noted Rice University sociologist William Martin, author of "A Prophet With Honor: The Billy Graham Story." Graham deflected questions about abortion, talked about poverty and noted that he remains a registered Democrat.

Graham didn't need to dwell on social issues, said Martin, who attended the rallies in Queens. For example, the evangelist stressed that sex is a blessed gift, as long as people remember to follow "the Word of God." That was all he needed to say.

"I am sure that he was not as explicit as he has been, especially on all the moral issues that he used to preach about so much," said Martin. "But you don't have to repeat yourself all the time. By now, I think most people know what Billy Graham believes."

One of America's most outspoken religion-news critics agreed. The 86-year-old Graham has become such a revered figure, noted writer Jeff Sharlet, that most Americans -- journalists included -- no longer recognize how his beliefs about culture have soaked into the images and themes in his preaching.

"There's this idea that Billy Graham is no longer conservative or has somehow transcended politics," said Sharlet, editor of TheRevealer.org, in a WNYC interview. "That's a really shallow understanding of what conservative theology is about and what Billy Graham's conservatism has always been about. He no longer needs to talk about politics because the alignment of evangelicalism and the kind of politics he's always supported has become so neat at this moment that he no longer needs to exhort people in the direction he feels is the right way."

The public and the press are paying especially close attention as Graham struggles through the final events of his 58-year career, which has included 417 crusades in 185 countries. The white-haired patriarch's voice sounded stronger at the end of the New York crusade than at the beginning and he is considering an invitation to return to London in the fall.

This would complete what Martin called a 14-month "victory lap" of the locations of his most famous crusades -- Los Angeles, New York City and London. The question is whether Graham has the strength to cross the Atlantic, due to his fight with Parkinson's, fluid buildup on the brain and prostate cancer. The health of his wife, Ruth Bell Graham, is just as fragile.

But Graham sounded like he wants to go back to London.

"That sermon the other night just didn't sound like the end," said Martin. "It was classic Billy, with that emphasis on the Second Coming that we have heard him use for so long. There's just something about hearing Billy Graham say, 'Jesus is coming again. Are you ready?' "

Orthodox prayer in public square

When Father John Parker was asked to say the benediction at the graduation rite for the Medical School of South Carolina he did what any Eastern Orthodox priest would do.

He went straight to "The Great Book of Needs," a four-volume set of prayers collected over two millennia for use during every imaginable kind of ritual.

It was easy to find prayers about Jesus and healing, including: "Do now, O Lord, give your grace to all those here gathered who have labored and studied hour upon hour, to go into all the world, and also to heal by the talent You have given to each of them. Strengthen them, by your strength, to fear no evil or disease, enlighten them to do no evil by the works of their hands and preserve them and those they serve in peace, for You are our God, and we know no other."

Then he received a letter from the president's office offering guidelines for prayers at this public school in Charleston, S.C. It required inclusive language such as "Holy God, Holy One, Creator, Sustainer" rather than prayers mentioning Jesus, Allah, the Trinity or other specific divine references.

"Steer clear of parochial, exclusively defining religious names, concepts, practices, and metaphors," it said. "A good rule of thumb to remember is that you come representing the entire faith community, not just your own group. The prayer should therefore not be offensive to anyone, whether Catholic, Baptist, Jewish, Muslim, etc."

Parker had a problem, because he knew that centuries of Orthodox tradition forbad this approach. He decided that the policy was so inclusive that ancient Christian prayers would be excluded.

"As an Orthodox priest, I was invited to pray on behalf of all and for all," he said. "The question was, once I was there, would I be allowed to pray as an Orthodox Christian? According to that memo, they wanted me to pray in somebody else's words and, if you stop and think about it, to pray to somebody else's God. ...

"I knew that my archbishop would not allow me to do that. We cannot pray the way they wanted me to pray."

Nevertheless, Parker sent school officials the text of the Orthodox benediction. His invitation to pray was immediately revoked and the May graduation slot filled by a Southern Baptist pastor, one linked with the progressive Cooperative Baptist Fellowship. Another member of the same church serves as the medical school's chaplain.

The goal was not to "silence any local pastor or the voice of any religious tradition in the public square," wrote Chaplain Terry Wilson, responding to Parker's concerns. Neutral prayers had, in the past, been offered by an array of clergy -- Presbyterian, United Methodist, Episcopal, Jewish and Catholic.

"Our graduates represent the major faith traditions of the world," noted Wilson. "Watching the commencement service, I hummed to myself the words of the old spiritual, 'He's got the whole world in his hands.' " On 9/11, he added, the beautiful St. Luke's Chapel at the school "overflowed with students, faculty and medical staff. We prayed, wept and sang together as Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Bahais and Sikhs in the midst of the terror. ... This is who we are and such is the make up of our graduates. God bless us all."

Parker understood this dynamic. But it is one thing, he said, for Christians to gather in "ecumenical" settings in which their prayers can be based on images and beliefs that they share in common. It is something else to participate in truly "interfaith" events that blur the lines between world religions or, even worse, combine pieces of these faiths in a syncretistic puzzle.

At some point, he stressed, leaders of public institutions must ask why they want to continue including moments of prayer in these pluralistic public settings.

"No Christian may judge the soul of any person. God alone is judge," said Parker, in a final response to school officials. "We must learn to dwell in peaceful co-existence with those who do not believe as we do. But, dwelling in peace co-existence does not mean the same thing as saying that we actually believe the same thing. To the contrary, it would be disrespectful to pretend that we have no differences."

Howard Dean: There he goes again

It was a mean question, but Howard Dean had to know it was coming.

The Democratic National Committee chairman was visiting Capitol Hill for a chat with Sen. Harry Reid, followed by a photo-op scrum with the minority leader and 50-plus journalists. That's when Fox News correspondent Brian Wilson did the math and asked the inevitable question.

The logic was simple. Since Dean had said (a) that he hates Republicans and (b) that the GOP is full of white Christians, did these statements imply (c) that he hates white Christians?

For once, Dean held his tongue.

That's the way things have been going ever since the San Francisco forum in which Dean said that the problem with Republicans is that they have "a pretty monolithic party. They all behave the same. They all look the same. It's pretty much a white Christian party."

There was more. "The Republicans are not very friendly to different kinds of people," he said. "We're more welcoming to different folks, because that's the type of people we are."

When offered a chance to soften his "white Christian party" remark, Dean told NBC that "unfortunately, by and large, it is. And they have the agenda of the conservative Christians."

And all the people said: There he goes again.

It was hard to hear red-state Democrats grinding their teeth because of all the Republicans screaming "Hallelujah!" This was the best news for the GOP values-voter strategists since candidate Dean, during the 2004 White House race, proclaimed that Bible Belt people should stop being so obsessed with "guns, God and gays."

Dean's latest barrage did annoy religious conservatives. Some wondered how mainstream journalists and politicians would have responded to similar statements targeting social or religious groups on the left.

Wall Street Journal columnist Peggy Noonan, a Catholic conservative, asked what would happen if President Bush ever stood at a podium and said these words:

"The struggle between the Republican Party and the Democratic Party is a struggle between good and evil and we're the good. I hate Democrats. Let's face it, they have never made an honest living in their lives. ... They have no shame. But why would they? They have never been acquainted with the truth. You ever been to a Democratic fundraiser? They all look the same. They all behave the same. They have a dictatorship, and suffer from zeal so extreme they think they have a direct line to heaven."

This was not a real speech, of course. What the former Reagan White House scribe had done was weave together threads from recent speeches by Dean and by Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton. It is unusual, she said, for top party leaders to use this kind of rhetoric in the public square.

The biggest problem is that Washington, D.C., is more "politically segregated," than the rest of America, she said. "Democrats by and large hang out with Democrats, Republicans with Republicans. This is true in consulting, in think tanks, in journals, in Congress. If you work for a Democratic senator, the office is full of Democrats. The people with whom you share inside jokes and the occasional bitter aside are Democrats. ... The same is true for Republicans."

She could have listed one more reality. The generals and dedicated soldiers in the two parties certainly do not worship in the same kinds of sanctuaries. Dean keeps shining a spotlight on this religious schism.

This is strange since Dean is white and he has openly said he is a Christian. He also keeps insisting that the Democratic Party must lose its fear of moral language as it strives to regain its old foothold among traditional religious believers.

But if this is his goal, asked Howard Fineman and Tamara Lipper of Newsweek, why does the Democratic Party leader keep making these kinds of hostile remarks?

"Dean's real problem may not be his mouth but his mind-set," they wrote. "He and his aides seemed genuinely mystified at the idea that his characterization of the GOP was a political mistake. But by labeling the other party a bastion of Christianity, he implied that his own was something else -- something determinedly secular -- at a time when Dean's stated aim is to win the hearts of middle-class white Southerners, many of whom are evangelicals."

Can't ask. Can't tell.

If a Catholic child steals a candy bar, church doctrine calls this a small sin.

But if a priest embezzles a large amount of money, this act is much more serious -- a sin that severely corrupts and threatens the soul.

Both of these acts involve theft, but Catholicism does not believe they have equal weight. They do not have the same "parvity of matter," noted Father Donald Cozzens of John Carroll University, who once led a seminary in Ohio.

"It doesn't help to look that up in a dictionary," said Cozzens, whose recent books on the modern priesthood have generated both heat and light. "That's a theological term that describes the relative gravity of immoral thoughts, acts or behaviors. There are different levels of honesty and dishonesty. There are levels of language and cursing."

But when it comes to sex, there are no misdemeanors. Every "deliberate, willful sexual sin is, from the church's perspective, a felony -- a mortal sin," he said.

This may sound trivial, but it isn't for Catholics who worry about their church in an age of turmoil, tragedy and scandal. Cozzens is convinced that this basic question about the relative nature and consequences of sins must be discussed soon, before Vatican officials begin a long-awaited "apostolic visitation" of American seminaries.

Cozzens is known for asking questions that fray nerves on left and right. In the past five years he has described what he calls a thriving "gay subculture" in some seminaries. He noted that most cases of clergy sex abuse have involved "ephebophilia" with under-aged boys, not "pedophilia" with prepubescent children. He has detailed the impact of plunging Catholic birth rates -- below two children per family -- on parental attitudes about their children taking holy vows.

Now he is convinced that teachings about the "parvity of matter" are making it harder to tell the healthy seminarians from the dangerous ones. It is almost impossible to have candid conversations about sexuality, he said.

"This state of affairs is further complicated by the fact that, according to church teaching, no individual is to be compelled or asked to reveal the 'state of his or her soul,' " he wrote, in a recent Commonweal essay. "As a consequence, the candid dialogue needed to form mature celibates is hampered and the specter of sin hangs heavy in the air. In such a climate, behavioral signs that might indicate future difficulties are often masked or simply missed."

The logic is simple. If seminarians are struggling with sexual temptations, they know that these thoughts and emotions are just as sinful as the sexual acts, he said, in a follow-up interview. It doesn't matter if the temptations involve children, teens or adults. If seminarians raise these issues in confession, they know that their superiors cannot mention these struggles in a setting that would threaten their ordination.

The result is a cloak of secrecy that covers discussions of sex. Professors cannot ask and the seminarians do not have to tell -- in public.

Cozzens said he knows of cases in which "seminary faculty simple did not feel they could ask a seminarian, 'Have you even thought about sex with a child?' If they did that they would, in effect, be asking that man to betray his conscience in a setting that would kill any chance he had of being ordained."

It is crucial to emphasize, he said, that raising questions about this "parvity of matter" issue is not the same thing as suggesting changes in the church's core teachings about sex and marriage.

It is also possible to draw a line between this issue of sexual secrecy and related debates about mandatory celibacy and the ordination of homosexuals. Based on his work as a clergy vicar, Cozzens remains convinced that gay priests are no more likely to violate their celibacy vows than those who are straight.

But it is time for candid questions, he said.

"There are men who, quite frankly, are grateful for the current sexual climate in our seminaries," said Cozzens. "It makes their efforts to hide a piece of cake. ... If our teachings changed on sex and the 'parvity of matter,' there would be all kinds of questions asked that some seminarians do not want to answer -- at least not in front of others."

Citizen Anschutz on a mission

The loaded words appear early and often in articles about entrepreneur Philip Anschutz of Denver.

The list includes "elusive," "reclusive," "mysterious" and many others. Most writers then note that Anschutz has not granted interviews since 1974 and the image is complete -- he is a ghost worth billions of dollars.

Nevertheless, Anschutz does have ideas and, on rare occasions, he shares them in public. Consider this statement about movies and the bottom line.

"Speaking purely as a businessman, it is of utmost importance ... to try and figure out a way to make goods and products that people actually want to buy," he said, in a speech last year. "I don't think Hollywood understands this very well, because they keep making the same old movies. ...

"I don't think they understand the market and the mood of a large segment of the movie-going audience today. I think that this is one of the main reasons, by the way, that people don't go to movies like they used to."

This speech received little, if any, attention when it was delivered at a Hillsdale College forum. Once again, Anschutz avoided the mainstream-media radar.

But this is changing, in part because he is backing a big-bucks entertainment project that cannot escape attention. The man Fortune once called "the billionaire next door" is changing his public non-image.

Atlantic Monthly described the old Anschutz this way: "He is worth more than $5 billion -- down from $18 billion at the height of the 1990s boom, when Qwest Communications, which he founded, was one of the highest of the high-flying tech stocks. He is a devout Presbyterian and a staunch Republican who has donated hundreds of thousands of dollars to right-leaning candidates. ... He owns oil fields, railroad lines, the country's finest collection of western art, a network of farms and cattle ranches, five Major League Soccer franchises, Regal Entertainment (the country's largest chain of movie theaters), and two daily newspapers -- the revived San Francisco Examiner and the newly launched D.C. tabloid of the same name."

Now the Anschutz story has a new lead. His Walden Media studio is working with Walt Disney Pictures to create a franchise that could catch "The Lord of the Rings" or "Star Wars." The goal is to film all seven books of the 20th Century's most beloved work of Christian fiction -- "The Chronicles of Narnia" by C.S. Lewis. The $150 million production of "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" arrives on Dec. 9.

The scandal of an evangelical mogul has mainstream Hollywood whispering a nasty word that begins with the letter "p."

It isn't "profits." It's "proselytizing."

After all, the studio's mission statement -- yes, a movie studio with a "mission statement" -- declares: "Walden Media believes that quality entertainment is inherently educational. We believe that ... we can recapture young imaginations, rekindle curiosity and demonstrate the rewards of knowledge and virtue."

Eyebrows are up in power pews as well as corporate boardrooms, especially after two years of passionate debate about faith and film.

As evangelical activist Charles Colson said: "If you happened to stumble across a devout Christian in Hollywood, you'd likely assume he was one of two things: He must be Mel Gibson, or he must be lost." On the other side, Jack Shafer of Slate.com said bluntly: "Nobody dumps millions of dollars into the movie and exhibition business -- or newspapers -- to uplift the masses. There's got to be an angle."

Anschutz has heard the curses and hosannas. But he told the Hillsdale forum that the edgy Hollywood elites will, ultimately, respect someone who brings his own money to the table and succeeds.

"My reasons for getting into the entertainment business weren't entirely selfless. Hollywood as an industry can at times be insular and doesn't at times understand the market very well," he said. "I saw an opportunity in that fact. Also, because of digital production and digital distribution, I believe the film industry is going to be partially restructured in the coming years -- another opportunity. ...

"My friends think I'm a candidate for a lobotomy and my competitors think I'm naive or stupid or both. But you know what? I don't care. If we can make some movies that have a positive effect on people's lives and on our culture, that's enough for me."

Star Culture Wars

While tweaking the original Star Wars movie for re-release, director George Lucas decided that he needed to clarify the status of pilot Han Solo's soul.

In the old version, Solo shot first in his cantina showdown with a bounty hunter. But in the new one, Lucas addressed this moral dilemma with a slick edit that showed Greedo firing first. Thus, Solo was not a murderer, but a mere scoundrel on the way to redemption.

"Lucas wanted to make sure that people knew that Han didn't shoot someone in cold blood," said broadcaster Dick Staub. "That would raise serious questions about his character, because we all know that murder if absolutely wrong."

The Star Wars films do, at times, have a strong sense of good and evil.

Yet in the climactic scene of the new "Revenge of the Sith," the evil Darth Vader warns his former master: "If you're not with me, you're my enemy." Obi-Wan Kenobi replies, "Only a Sith deals in absolutes."

Say what? If that is true, how did Lucas decide it was wrong for Solo to gun down a bounty hunter? Isn't that a moral absolute? If so, why are absolutes absolutely wrong in the saga's latest film? Good questions, according to Staub.

While we're at it, the Jedi knights keep saying they must resist the "dark side" of the mysterious, deistic Force. But they also yearn for a "chosen one" who will "bring balance" to the Force, a balance between good and evil.

"There is this amazing internal inconsistency in Lucas that shows how much conflict there is between the Eastern religious beliefs that he wants to embrace and all those Judeo-Christian beliefs that he grew up with," said Staub, author of a book for young people entitled "Christian Wisdom of the Jedi Masters."

"I mean, you're supposed balance the light and the dark? How does that work?"

The key is that Lucas -- who calls himself a "Buddhist Methodist" -- believes all kinds of things, even when the beliefs clash. This approach allows the digital visionary to take chunks of the world's major religions and swirl them in the blender of his imagination. Thus, the Force contains elements of Judaism, Christianity, Animism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism and even Islam.

None of this is surprising. Lucas merely echoes the beliefs of many artists in his generation and those who have followed. But the czar of Star Wars also has helped shape the imaginations of millions of spiritual consumers. His fun, non-judgmental faith was a big hit at the mall.

It is impossible, said Staub, to calculate the cultural impact of this franchise since the 1977 release of the first film -- episode IV, "A New Hope." The films have influenced almost all moviegoers, but especially Americans 40 and under.

"I don't think there is anything coherent that you could call the Gospel According to Star Wars," stressed Staub. "But I do think there are things we can learn from Star Wars. ... I think what we have here is a teachable moment, a point at which millions of people are talking about what it means to choose the dark side or the light side.

"Who wants to dark side to win? Most Americans want to see good triumph over evil, but they have no solid reasons for why they do. They have no idea what any of this has to do with their lives."

Staub is especially concerned about young Star Wars fans. He believes that many yearn for some kind of mystical religious experience, taught by masters who hand down ancient traditions and parables that lead to truths that have stood the test of time, age after age. These young people "want to find their Yoda, but they don't think real Yodas exist anymore," especially not in the world of organized religion, he said.

In the end, it's easier to go to the movies.

Meanwhile, many traditional religious leaders bemoan the fact that they cannot reach the young. So they try to modernize the faith instead of digging back to ancient mysteries and disciplines, said Staub.

"So many churches are choosing to go shallow, when many young people want to go deep," he said. "There are people who just want to be entertained. But there are others who want to be Jedis, for real."

Brother Manning, on the road

The preacher's blue jeans are faded and artistically patched to symbolize the ragamuffin theme in his ministry.

The speaking voice is gentle, until the occasional verbal storm shakes the room.

The demons are familiar. Cigarettes, alcoholism and a lifelong struggle with guilt can give a 70-something orator an edge. Once a Franciscan priest, now a divorced Catholic layman, Brennan Manning is the only superstar on the evangelical speaking circuit who goes to daily Mass and to confession as often as he can.

The angels are familiar, too. Manning always begins with the same gentle joke: "In the words of Francis of Assisi when he met Brother Dominic on the road to Umbria -- 'Hi.' " What follows are flights of intellect, hints of poetry and blunt appeals to the emotions that lead to a common theme.

"God loves you just as you are," said Manning, during a swing through South Florida this past semester. "Not the way that you should be, because no one in this building is the way that they should be."

At the Last Judgment, he said, here are the questions that Jesus will ask every sinner: "Do you believe that I love you? That I waited for you day after day? That I longed to hear your voice?"

Year after year, the New Orleans-based Manning speaks in conferences and retreat centers nationwide. He has strong ties to Christians in the music industry, via his 1990 bestseller, "The Ragamuffin Gospel" and a dozen other books. An author's work is going to spread when he draws the attention of Michael Card, Michael W. Smith, Bono of U2 and others.

This message of divine love triumphing over shame, fear and guilt also strikes a chord in a setting that some might find surprising -- modern college campuses. While Christian colleges strive to offer a different environment, many of the issues are the same, said Manning, who as a priest once served as a campus minister.

"Based on my pastoral experience, I think there is serious guilt among college students today," he said. "It may not be guilt about some of the things that older adults think they should feel guilty about, but there is guilt all the same.

"It's guilt that is totally based on friendships and relationships. Most of it is about their peers. ... Many students feel as if they have given their hearts away and then they have been abandoned. Now they feel that they cannot even trust God."

Students may feel tremendous guilt about their parents, often for what to outsiders will seem like paradoxical reasons, he said.

It's natural for the young to feel resentment or hostility toward parents who have neglected them, especially workaholic, distant fathers. Often, they have been given large amounts of their parents' money, but not time and attention. Then there are families that have been splintered by divorce, abuse and various forms of chemical dependency.

These students feel anger, said Manning, but they also feel guilt about their anger.

Then there are the students whose parents have been highly involved in their lives and have sacrificed time and money to help them succeed. This creates a different kind of pressure and, thus, guilt.

"What if," he asked, "you knew that your parents had taken out a second mortgage on their home just so you can go to college? What if you knew that they were really making sacrifices for you, yet you also knew deep down inside that you are a bit of a slacker and a partygoer? Then you would feel guilty because of your own lack of gratitude, your own lack of love."

Over and over, Manning tells his listeners that they must accept that God loves them -- no matter what. As a result, his many critics insist that he is preaching "cheap grace," a kind of Christianity Lite that shortchanges hard teachings on sin and repentance.

Manning insists that his critics are missing the point.

"You see, you do not have to change to earn God's love and compassion," he said, near the end of one sermon at Palm Beach Atlantic University, in West Palm Beach. "This love always precedes the repentance of sins. Repentance is about you. It is about allowing yourself to be loved by God. The love comes first."

The New York Times sees red

When it comes to capturing the worldview of New Yorkers, it's hard to top Saul Steinberg's famous cartoon entitled "A View of the World from Fifth Avenue."

It appeared -- where else? -- on the cover of The New Yorker. The city is in the foreground and, beyond the Hudson River, there is a void dotted with mesas, mountains and hints that Chicago, Texas, Nebraska, Los Angeles and the Pacific Ocean exist.

There are no steeples anywhere.

This would have been the perfect cover for a new study by the New York Times hierarchy entitled "Preserving Our Readers' Trust." The in-house panel decreed that the newspaper must do a better job covering "unorthodox views," "contrarian opinions" and the lives of those "more radical and more conservative" than journalists inside the Mecca of American journalism.

"We should," it said, "increase our coverage of religion in America and focus on new ways to give it greater attention. ... We should take pains to create a climate in which staff members feel free to propose or criticize coverage from vantage points that lie outside the perceived newsroom consensus (liberal/conservative, religious/secular, urban/suburban/rural, elitist/white collar/blue collar)."

It might help, noted the report, if Times editors sought out some "talented journalists who happen to have military experience, who know rural America first hand, who are at home in different faiths."

This is precisely what the newspaper's "public editor" was describing last year in his column with the infamous headline: "Is the New York Times a Liberal Newspaper?" Daniel Okrent's very first sentence was his answer: "Of course it is."

Many people criticize the Times for many things, he said, but the "flammable stuff" almost always seems to be linked to faith, family and morality and the most ticked-off people are on the cultural right.

"If you're examining the paper's coverage of these subjects from a perspective that is neither urban nor Northeastern nor culturally seen-it-all; if you are among the groups The Times treats as strange objects to be examined on a laboratory slide (devout Catholics, gun owners, Orthodox Jews, Texans); if your value system wouldn't wear well on a composite New York Times journalist, then a walk through this paper can make you feel you're traveling in a strange and forbidding world," wrote Okrent.

The editorial page is thick with "liberal theology" and many think the news is tainted, too, he said. The coverage of gay marriage "approaches cheerleading."

In a recent "On the Media" interview with WNYC, Okrent gracefully tried to retreat a step or two, acknowledging that he gave the "paper's enemies" ammunition they could yank out of context. The Times isn't really liberal, he said, it's merely liberal on "certain issues, social issues. ... It is a product of its place and of its people, and I think it's really important for the paper to recognize that and recognize how it is perceived."

In other words, the New York Times is only liberal on issues such as sex, salvation, abortion, Hollywood, euthanasia, gay rights, public education, cloning and loads of other issues linked to faith and public life.

That's all. But that's enough.

Life does look different from the vantage point of Ninth Avenue, and also from Times Square. The self-study panel noted, for example, the urgent need for the newspaper to be careful when it pins "loaded terms" on believers. For example, there are those "fundamentalists" who would rather be known as "Christian conservatives."

One such religious believer is John McCandlish Phillips, who is known these days as a preacher on Manhattan's upper West Side. But long ago, he was the rare superstar Times reporter with a worn-out Bible next to his newsroom typewriter. Now he is tired of hearing top Times columnists -- stuck in a "values voters" funk after the 2004 election -- saying that America has become an oppressive "theocracy" caught up in a "jihad."

The self-study is a remarkable step forward, especially with its blunt talk about religion and the need for accurate, balanced reporting, said Phillips.

"People at the Times are sensitive, as they should be, to this criticism because they know it is accurate. ... This document seems to be a call back to the standards that made the Times the foremost engine of news gathering and presentation in the history of the world."

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."