Tuning in signals from Hollywood Heaven

It's another day at the mall multiplex, where hip witches are looking for love, Oprah's fighting her demons, free will and sin are invading a suburban utopia and vampires are being born again, more or less.

Moviegoers also have the option right now of going to heaven and hell with superstar Robin Williams in "What Dreams May Come." The big news in this latest "Hollywood Heaven" opus is that some gatekeepers in America's dream factory are trying to take eternity seriously -- perhaps more seriously than most conventional religious leaders.

"This movie wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. In even contains some hopeful signs for those who believe heaven and hell are real," said Boston College philosopher Peter Kreeft, author of 30-plus books including "Heaven, the Heart's Deepest Longing." In terms of America's growing fascination with spirituality, he added, it's clear that "people are asking some of the right questions, right now. They are spiritually hungry, even if they are choosing to eat poisonous food."

As was the case with "Ghost" and numerous other modern movies in this genre, Kreeft said that "What Dreams May Come" appears to be "essentially a Buddhist or Hindu movie" created for audiences that remain comfortable with Judeo-Christian images. After death, the characters learn that there are no rules that govern eternity, reincarnation is a viable option and that reality is a simple matter of perception. "What's true in our minds is true, whether people know it or not," explains one heavenly teacher.

Early on, Williams' Everyman character asks an angelic figure what role God plays in this dreamlike heaven. "He's up there somewhere, shouting down that He loves us," says the spirit.

An ad for a Los Angeles seminar on "Metaphysical Filmmaking," led by producer Stephen Simon, sums of his goals: "As we approach the new millennium, film is the natural medium for the expression of transformational consciousness. Metaphysical films can illuminate new landscapes, chart new maps and model new paradigms for relating to life." The result is part Dante's "Inferno," part Star Trek, served up with waves of special effects and pop psychology.

But it would be wrong to dismiss this as mere New Age propaganda, stressed Kreeft, who is a very traditional Roman Catholic. The movie focuses on a crucial subject - eternal life - which churches have all but ignored for at least a generation. And while the doctrine is unorthodox, it contains images of heaven and hell that are almost shockingly traditional.

"This movie was gorgeous and fascinating to look at, but there was more to it than that," he said. "This wasn't a kind of minimalist kind of beauty. It was opulent. It was an old- fashioned, natural kind of beauty. That's important. We need to be able to say that heaven is beautiful."

In addition to affirming the existence of heaven and hell, the movie shows that decisions in this life impact the life to come. It teaches that people must not lose faith and to let fear dominate their lives. It stresses the need for courage, forgiveness and gratitude.

Above all, "What Dreams May Come" takes love seriously. This is, conceded Kreeft, human love, instead of divine love. But at least the human love depicted in this movie is noble and beautiful. Many critics have savaged the movie because its depiction of marital love is based more on idealism than sexual passion.

"This movie did get human love right," said Kreeft. "It showed love as charity and self-sacrifice. It praises faithfulness ... and this love even includes children. There's an intact family, for once, and we see many beautiful scenes showing the love in this family. That's positive."

There are even scenes of repentance. But everyone repents to each other -- not to God.

"They do repent to somebody, which is a start," said Kreeft. "That's better than, 'Love means never having to say you're sorry.' ... What the movie didn't say, of course, was that God counts and that God judges. It didn't say that one finds true joy by conforming to God's reality. ... In a way, the movie was simply too spiritual. It didn't take reality seriously enough."

Worship Wars 1998

She likes pipe organs, chants, kneeling, candles and incense.

He wants to sway in the aisle with his hands lifted while the praise band plays a rock anthem from the Contemporary Christian Music sales charts.

He likes a preacher who stands in a pulpit and, for 40-plus minutes, dissects a biblical passage to reveal each and every nuance. She likes someone who strolls about, with a wireless lapel microphone, chatting about how God touches people's daily lives and dreams. The children want to visit a new church that has a comedy team and the preacher shows lots of movie clips.

Welcome to what researchers call the "worship wars." Religious groups are struggling to reach people who live in the niches created by satellites, multi-media computers, music superstores, multiplex theaters and the omnipresent mall.

Everyone says they want to "worship." If they belong to same congregation, then the pastor, or bishop, or deacons, or worship committee eventually has to decide who will be happy and who will be mad. If a church makes major changes, many older members will vote with their checkbooks. If a church stands pat, younger members vote with their feet.

"Some people want a more liturgical service, with a sense of awe and a connection to the past," said the Rev. Dan Scott, pastor of the Valley Cathedral, a charismatic megachurch in Phoenix. "Some people want a more contemporary feel, with a sense of celebration and release and joy. Some people want all of that at the same time."

Many seek the traditions of the apostles and saints of early Christendom. Others prefer traditions from recent centuries -- bookish eras in which people regularly spent hours listening to orations on public life, morality and doctrine. Meanwhile, many in today's electronic-media-saturated culture think of a "tradition" as anything older than the World Wide Web.

These groups clash whenever worship is put up to a vote. Meanwhile, others ask if the goal of worship is to please people in pews or God in heaven. And what about the past? Do the saints get to vote? The legendary Catholic apologist G.K. Chesterton once stated the issue this way: "Tradition means giving votes to the most obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead. Tradition refuses to submit to the small and arrogant oligarchy of those who merely happen to be walking about."

It's crucial to study the past with open eyes, argues Scott, in his book "The Emerging American Church." A generation of older American church leaders -- especially in pulpit-driven Protestant churches - has failed to see the big historical picture. It isn't normal for believers to sit quietly in pews, as if in school, he said. For centuries, worshippers actively participated in grand liturgical dramas and offered ecstatic praise.

"People don't want to just sit there," he said. "So what is disappearing is the middle ground between the liturgical and the contemporary. That's the safe, middle-class, lecture-driven worship that so many people think of as 'traditional.' ... You can't just lecture to people, anymore. That's gone."

Scott's church has about 4,000 people who join in its worship services. The key word is plural -- "services." The Valley Cathedral is one of a growing number of congregations that offer several approaches to worship and its ministry team ranges from a pastor who once prepared for the Catholic priesthood to those who grew up in Pentecostalism. One service is rooted in high-church rites and liturgies, while another offers an "old fashioned" gospel style that pleases many older members. A high- energy, "contemporary" service appeals to many Baby Boomers.

What holds this church together, said Scott, is that all new members study the same catechism that teaches what it means to be a believer and how their church is trying to find its niche in Christian tradition. Everyone learns the ancient Apostles Creed.

"What we are seeing is a struggle between three very different generations - each of which rejects the others' approach to worship," he said. "This is distressing, to say the least. At some point, you have to find some source of unity."

What if Clinton was a famous pastor?

Try to imagine what would have happened if Bill Clinton was a world-famous pastor.

What if he led a thriving evangelical megachurch, was the author of Christian bestsellers and the key to TV-ministry ratings? Or what if he was the bishop of a prestigious diocese, a prophetic voice for social justice and crucial to a progressive power structure?

Then it happens. Someone claims this leader has had a sexual affair, perhaps even with someone under his pastoral care. But the scandal hasn't been made public. Or, perhaps there is some doubt whether he is guilty. So the ministry board meets behind closed doors and someone asks the big question: Should we force him to resign in shame?

It says a lot about America's divisions over sex, gender, marriage, sin and repentance that many themes aired in these religious debates echo those in the national shouting match over Clinton's sins. Sin is sin, but power is power.

The leader's defenders always note that he is crucial to the church's future and, besides, his flock still loves him. What would happen to the budget? Who could replace him in the pulpit? Isn't this just a conspiracy? Where is the proof? What about the woman's motivations?

Critics always ask: Is the sinner's repentance real?

In Clinton's case, there have been two "inadequate reactions" to his plea for forgiveness, said the Rev. Gordon MacDonald of Lexington, Mass., preaching soon after joining the president's private trio of pastors.

"One has been to engage in the offer of cheap, swift grace, a forgiveness that comes so quickly and freely that it provides no justice nor healing and spiritual redemption," he said. The other has been to automatically dismiss his plea, assuming "it is a matter of political theatrics. ... If the president's repentance is false or short-termed, that will show in time, and we will have to swallow hard and admit that we were taken in. It wouldn't be the first time nor the last that the Christian community extended its hand of grace and had it bit off."

The ultimate question is the same: Does he stay or does he go? Many are convinced the leader's departure is essential. Others believe a fallen leader can repent, be healed and find accountability - in private, while keeping his job.

MacDonald has been a crucial figure in these debates. Twelve years ago, he was ensnared in a scandal that rocked evangelicalism. But he repented, sought his wife's forgiveness and, years later, put the lessons he learned into a book called "Rebuilding Your Broken World" - which the president is said to have read twice.

Ironically, Clinton's critics praise MacDonald's path to restoration. They note that he resigned as leader of a major missionary group and sought two years of therapy with his wife, before returning to ministry. MacDonald has urged repentant leaders to go on retreat, stop blaming their critics and, if and when they return to public life, to restrict their duties and embrace strict disciplines. A retreat, he wrote, is no time for "plotting what the politicians call a comeback."

Critics want to know if MacDonald is preaching a softer sermon to the president.

In an open letter to MacDonald, another pastor reminded him that Clinton grew up with the language and symbolic gestures of Southern religion. The result can be an "Elvis syndrome" in which emotions are more important than actions, noted the Rev. William Smith, writing in World magazine. This condition allows sinners to "stand around the piano at Graceland and sing gospel songs with tears in our eyes, then to go upstairs to fornicate, and persuade ourselves in the morning that our real person is the hymn-singing one," wrote Smith.

But, MacDonald told his flock that critics should ask themselves why they keep assuming the worse of this president. For now, he accepts that the president's confession of sin came from "genuinely contrite heart," he said.

"I have seen his private tears, heard his personal words of remorse. And I have chosen to embrace this man as a sinner in need of mercy. I have received him as I would try to receive any of you should you find yourself in a similar circumstances."

Hey reporter! Are you a believer?

Before he answered the Los Angeles Times' questions, the Rev. Oral Roberts wanted to ask some questions of his own.

The mid-1980s were turbulent times for televangelists and veteran religion writer Russell Chandler was probing the state of his ministry and finances. So Roberts wanted some details about the journalist's life and beliefs and he wouldn't settle for a summary of his academic and professional credentials.

"Are you a Christian?", he asked, as the tape rolled. "Do you believe on the Lord Jesus Christ? ... I'm not playing games."

Chandler said that he didn't divorce his faith from his journalism. But, as a professional, he said he preferred to be judged on the quality of his work. Did Roberts need an answer before the interview could proceed?

"You bet I do! This is private property. We have freedom of religion just like you have freedom of the press," he said. "I've been beaten, kicked around a lot and my product is up there for you to see. So I'm waiting for your answer. ... We're either Christian brothers or we're not."

There was a long pause. Eventually, Roberts accepted Chandler's assurance that they could discuss their Christian convictions in an appropriate setting.

Every religion writer I know has faced this question or some variation on it. Once, when I was covering a fiery Pentecostal service, the preacher pointed down at my pew and bellowed: "Brother! Are you with us?" Holding up my notepad, I said: "I'm taking notes!" This was true, although it's hard to take notes when people are speaking in unknown tongues.

I have been grilled by New Agers, United Methodist bishops, legions of Episcopalians, every manner of rabbi, assorted Calvinists and Baptists, both northern and southern. A public relations pro in Salt Lake City once assumed I was a Mormon because I have a strange beard and kept waving away the waitress with the coffee pot.

The other day, the Tennessee Association of Churches informed me that it wants to salute me for my writing. Since my teaching schedule won't allow me to attend their Oct. 22 meeting, I thought I'd take this opportunity to say "thank you." But I also want to make the following comment, since I'm sure that some in this group had, yes, planned to ask where I worship.

I propose a moratorium on asking journalists the church question. Instead, any religious leader who wants to size up a reporter should ask: How long have you covered religion news?

There isn't a really good answer to the church question. In fact, one of the worst answers a reporter can give is: "Yes, as a matter if fact I go to YOUR church. Now, could you please tell me why OUR church wants to modernize the creed?" At this point, the reporter usually receives a sermon on why he or she shouldn't betray THEIR church. Few people love traitors.

It may not help to say you attend another church. Some people will then assume you're an apostate or that you'll be prejudiced against their church - or both. If you decline to answer, this also makes some people mad. This says, in effect, that the interviewee has to open up his or her soul, but interviewer does not. And it doesn't work to say that it doesn't matter which church you go to, or whether you believe anything at all, because you are a professional journalist and, thus, you'll be fair to everyone. This causes believers to roll their eyes, because the news media have a history of botching religion stories.

Plus, saying that it doesn't matter whether a reporter has any personal interest in religion at all comes very close to saying that centuries of doctrine and tradition don't matter. As a rule, apathy about eternal issues isn't a sign of intellectual interest in this subject -- the kind of interest that produces accurate reporting. Few editors hire sports reporters who don't care about sports.

So, how do I answer the big question?

For years I have used a response that goes like this: "Yes, I am an active churchman and I take my faith very seriously. Thus, I understand that you take your faith very seriously. That's why I want to do everything I can to report your words and viewpoints accurately. Now, can I get out my notebook?"

Can today's church veto the saints?

Just because the early church taught that certain doctrines were true doesn't mean the modern church can't change and preach something else, according to the Arkansas bishop who is a key figure in a global Anglican dispute.

The early church had opinions about truth. Now, the modern church has opinions of its own, said the Rt. Rev. Larry Maze, preaching recently to a regional gathering of Integrity, the Episcopal Church's official gay-rights lobby. But opinions, even ancient ones, remain opinions and it would be wrong to let people who cling to opinions from the past veto those who embrace the present.

"There are those who speak as though they know the mind of God and, with startling clarity, they tell us what pleases God and what displeases God," he said. "They speak of certainty as the hallmark of faithful people. Yet, some of us continue to experience God as the one who chooses to live in the midst of our tensions, in the midst of our ambiguities ... always drawing us to truths greater than the truth of a given moment."

The Arkansas bishop has been in the news this year because of clashes with the newborn St. Andrews Church in Little Rock, which was formed by traditionalists who reject his views on the Bible, marriage, sex, salvation and many other doctrinal issues. When the bishop refused to allow the mission's priest to serve in Arkansas, Father Thomas Johnston had his credentials transferred to the Diocese of Shyira, Rwanda. Ever since, the priest's African bishop has been under pressure to abandon his Little Rock flock.

There's more to this story. Anglicans from Africa and other Two-Thirds World churches regularly use appeals to the past while attacking modernized doctrines in the First World. During this summer's Lambeth Conference in Canterbury, traditionalists stressed that they were defending biblical truths, handed down through the ages.

Maze said that the real split is between those who believe their faith is based on ancient, unchanging truths and modernists who accept ambiguity and change. Ultimately, it is the search for truth that matters. Traditionalists, he said, should admit that they possess opinions -- not truths and certainties -- about sexuality, abortion, family, life and death.

"Opinions that have for generations been layered in sanctified language are, nonetheless, opinions," said Maze. "May God grant us the grace to not deify our own opinions."

Maze isn't the only mainstream Anglican airing variations on this theme. Preaching recently at New York's Grace Episcopal Church, Presiding Bishop Frank Griswold said all churches will need to surrender some traditions in order to join in an ongoing search for new truths. Some ancient traditions may in fact be evil, he argued, noting that St. Paul said, "Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light" to deceive believers.

"And what is the shadow side of our own particular traditions? ... Some of our singularities and seeming ecclesial virtues may, in actual fact, be impediments to the realization of God's desire," said Griswold.

Meanwhile, a Canadian bishop openly says that one ancient doctrine that the modern church should shed is "Christian exclusivism," which teaches that salvation is found only through faith in Jesus. Historically, this stance has been closely linked with belief in the literal truth of creedal doctrines such as the virgin birth, the resurrection and the Second Coming of Jesus.

The early church's dogmatic "exclusivism" makes it hard to affirm that God saves souls through all of the world's religions, not just Christianity, writes the Rt. Rev. Michael Ingham, in "Mansions of the Spirit: The Gospel in a Multi-Faith World." This doctrine offends non-Christians.

The bishop doesn't mince words. Traditionalists who defend "Christian exclusivism" and other judgmental ancient dogmas may, in fact, worship a different god than the interfaith deity who inspires modern pluralists, he said.

This will not be an easy rift to close.

"The problem with exclusivism is that it presents us with a god from whom we need to be delivered, rather than the living God who is the hope of the world," writes Ingham. "The exclusivist god is narrow, rigid and blind. Such a god is not worthy of honor, glory, worship or praise."

United Methodists: Breaking up is hard to do

The Rev. Charles Sineath wasn't surprised when a close friend responded to a cancer diagnosis by soberly focusing on defeating that tumor.

A serious response was appropriate, in a life-and-death crisis. Try to imagine the response he would have received, said the pastor, if he had cheerily told his friend: "Why are you focusing on that prostate that is malignant? After all, your eyes are healthy, your hearing is good, your hair is in good shape, your teeth are sound, your arms and legs and liver and heart are all in good shape. With so much that is good, why don't you focus on that instead of on your prostate?"

That would be insane. Yet this parable sums up what Sineath and others at First United Methodist Church in Marietta, Ga., started hearing when they leapt to the forefront of efforts to address the health of their denomination. Last spring, the 5,000- member church steered nearly $60,000 of the "apportionment" it is supposed to send to the national church into regional United Methodist causes that its leaders believe "honor God" and are "scripturally sound."

Naturally, United Methodists on the left side of the theological aisle oppose this stance, since it hurts their agencies and seminaries. Centrists and even some conservatives argue that the Marietta congregation and others that are taking similar financial steps are being too negative. Why focus on the bad, they ask, when there is so much good in the church?

One side is convinced the United Methodist Church has cancer. The other disagrees and rejects calls for surgery. It's hard to find a safe, happy compromise when the issue is a cancer diagnosis. Ask the Presbyterians, Episcopalians, the Disciples of Christ and others.

So it raised eyebrows when United Methodism's best-known expert on church growth and decay called for open discussions of strategies to split or radically restructure the national church. Research indicates that United Methodists are increasingly polarized around issues of scripture, salvation, sexuality, money, politics, multiculturalism, church government, worship and even the identity of God, said the Rev. Lyle E. Schaller of Naperville, Ill.

Many people are in denial, while their 8.5-million-member church continues to age and decline, he said, in the Circuit Rider magazine for United Methodist clergy. Others know what's happening, yet remain passive. One group says the church should only pursue a positive agenda of missions and evangelism. This assumes United Methodists can agree on definitions of loaded terms such as "missions" and "evangelism." Another group yearns to find common ground on issues - such as redefining marriage, or the reality of the resurrection of Jesus - on which compromises would be just as controversial as orthodoxy or modernism.

It might be necessary, he said, to offer unhappy congregations a chance to pay a fee and exit the national church's tight legal structure, receiving in return clear titles to their real estate. United Methodist leaders may have to use a word they have refused to utter - "schism."

But Schaller is convinced there is another option - creating a tent big enough to hold liberal and conservative networks within a more flexible national church. Clashing churches would agree to disagree and the denomination would allow people the freedom to put their money where their mouths are.

The result would be United Methodist conferences defined by region, ideology, cultural heritage or some combination of the above factors. Evangelicals could go ahead and form their own conference and so could others pushing for gay rights, feminism and other liberal causes. There could be a conference for Hispanic or Korean churches. Urban churches might form a network and rural churches could, too.

Perhaps, suggested Schaller, modern America is so simply too divided to allow unity in a centralized structure of church government. Yes, breaking up would be hard to do.

"What is your preference?", he asked. "Should United Methodists continue to quarrel under the roof of a relatively small tent with a shrinking number of people in that tent? A more productive approach would be to accept the growing ideological polarization as the inevitable price tag on pluralism and as a fact of contemporary American culture."

Moses, Dr. Laura and the rabbi

The Ten Commandments are so hot, right now, that its amazing some Beltway politico hasn't tried to hit Moses with a grand jury subpoena or a blast of rumors about his private life during all those mysterious years out in the desert.

America's political establishment is struggling with the implications of Commandment No. 7: "Thou shalt not commit adultery." No. 9 issues a timely warning against perjury: "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor." Meanwhile, legislators and legions of social activists are fighting over whether it's legal to post this particular top 10 list anywhere in the public square.

After all, they are called the Ten Commandments, which implies that someone - make that Someone - wants people to obey them, said Rabbi Stewart Vogel, co-author of a new book, with radio superstar Laura Schlessinger, entitled "The Ten Commandments: The Significance of God's Laws in Everyday Life." The book has gained a double-shot of momentum from the White House scandals and the Jewish High Holy Days, which conclude with Yom Kippur on Wednesday (Sept. 30).

"Without a God ... you end up with a subjective morality. There's no way around that," said the rabbi," who leads Temple Aliyah in Woodland Hills, Calif. "To believe in God is to believe that human beings are not mere accidents of nature. ... Without God, there is no objective meaning to life and there is no objective morality. I don't want to live in a world where right and wrong are subjective."

Theologians and philosophers debate these kinds of lofty issues all the time without causing a ripple in homes and shopping malls. But this book may be different, because Dr. Laura's take-few-prisoners style of family counseling has won her a loyal audience of 20 million, leading to a string of bestsellers with punchy titles such as "How Could You Do That?!"

The book grew out of several years of personal discussions, since the talk-show host is active in Vogel's synagogue. While he is a Conservative Jewish rabbi, Schlessinger and her family recently completed a complicated religious journey by converting to Orthodox Judaism. Once a fierce skeptic, she describes herself as the product of an "inter-faithless marriage" between an unbelieving Jewish father and a culturally Catholic mother.

As might be expected, the book blends two very different styles. The first-person singular voice is Dr. Laura's and she is clearly the source of the radio-based parables. But the rabbi said readers shouldn't assume that he wrote all the theological commentary, while she added doses of "real life." Schlessinger has strong viewpoints on scriptural issues, he said, and rabbis also have to deal with tough, practical problems.

"But we do tend to separate what we call 'religious life' from the kinds of issues Dr. Laura deals with day after day," said Vogel. "We end up with 'religious life' over here and 'radio life' over there and they never meet face to face. We tried to bring the two together."

Thus, the book addresses both cultural and highly personal questions. The chapter on the sixth commandment, "Thou shalt not kill," covers issues ranging from murder to abortion, from acts of self-destruction to gossip that crushes the reputation of others. When addressing idolatry and other gods, the authors spend as much time on the old-fashioned worship of success as they do on trendy gospels of self-esteem.

Hardly anyone wants to ditch the Ten Commandments, said the rabbi. Most people want their neighbors to follow the Ten Commandments, because that creates a safer, kinder, more just world in which to live. The problem is that so many people are simply too easy on themselves.

"One thing leads to another," he said. "So people commit adultery and then they have to lie to cover it up. So No. 7 leads straight to No. 9. ... And when people start lying, they are really setting themselves up as idols. So we're back to the issue of God. People are saying that they get to set up their own standards for what is right and wrong and it doesn't matter what happens to others. They put themselves in the place of God."

Dobson and Wallis sing a rare duet

It would be hard to imagine two more radically different evangelicals than Dr. James Dobson of Focus on the Family and Jim Wallis of Sojourners magazine.

One is a superstar on the Religious Right, the quietly authoritative radio counselor who has used his multimedia empire to pummel President Clinton and political progressives. The other is a veteran social activist who has fiercely criticized the political establishment from the left on economic and military issues, while needling Clinton and others from the right on social issues such as abortion.

These two voices rarely sing in harmony. But right now, Dobson and Wallis are airing strikingly similar views of the morality play in Washington, D.C.

"Never has an American president been more comfortable with the symbols of religion than Bill Clinton," notes Wallis, in a recent MSNBC commentary. "He seems at ease in any available pulpit. But as adroitly as he has used the name and word of God, Clinton has also abused it. Resignation or impeachment are the political topics now, but the real issue here is moral accountability -- for Clinton and the rest of us."

Dobson agrees that the main crisis is not in the White House. No matter what details spew out about Clinton's moral or legal conduct, most Americans seem convinced they cannot pass judgment on what is right and what is wrong in this case. Perhaps they have lost the ability to make such judgments -- period.

"I just don't understand it. Why aren't parents more concerned?", asks Dobson, in his latest letter to 2.4 million Focus on the Family supporters. "What have we taught our boys about respecting women? What have our little girls learned about men? We are facing a profound moral crisis - not only because one man has disgraced us - but because our people no longer recognize the nature of evil. And when a nation reaches that state of depravity - judgment is a certainty."

The irony is that this is precisely the kind of fiery rhetoric that Wallis and others focused on mainstream Americans during the Vietnam conflict, the Civil Rights Movement, the war on poverty and the revolutions of Central America. It made sense, a quarter of a century ago, for Wallis and other inner-city activists to start a magazine called "Post American," which evolved into Sojourners. Now, Dobson and many others on the Religious Right also sound like aliens in a strange, amoral land.

Addressing the Clinton crisis, both Wallis and Dobson say it's impossible to dismiss his affair with Monica Lewinsky as a merely "private" since it took place in the Oval Office, with the most powerful boss any government employee could have pairing off with an intern. Any academic leader, military officer, pastor, doctor or counselor who did the same thing would be fired, due to policies that have drawn support both from feminists and moral conservatives.

Dobson and Wallis also believe Americans place too much trust in glib, talented, aggressive people who spin their way to success in a media marketplace. Both worry that Americans now care less about lies and laws, simply because the economy has left them so comfortable for so long. Both fear a rising tide of cynicism.

Meanwhile, the president used a recent interfaith breakfast as a forum to preach to himself on repentance. The audience included many clergy who have prayed with Clinton throughout his tenure, including a famous Nov. 18, 1995, rite in which National Council of Churches leaders laid hands on him and asked God to bless him. It was the day after Lewinsky's second Oval Office tryst with Clinton.

Everyone would have been better off, including the many clergy who trusted him, if the president had confessed much earlier, says Wallis.

"Some of his spiritual advisors have been counseling Clinton for many months to tell the truth about this for the sake of his own soul, his family, and the nation. To mention God now has not persuaded everyone of the sincerity of the president's repentance. My religious mother --who voted for Clinton -- put it this way: 'He didn't really repent, he just got caught.' "

After the crash: Where is God?

The images of debris and death from Swissair 111 are all too familiar, as are the scenes of grieving families gazing at a distant crash site.

Four years ago, Father Thaddeus Barnum was caught up in a similar drama, when USAir flight 427 fell in a 23-second death dive into the wooded hills about a mile from his church outside Pittsburgh. The Sept. 8 crash killed 132, virtually shredded the aircraft and remains one of the great mysteries in aviation history.

After rushing to the hellish scene, Barnum became one of the few clergy allowed inside the yellow security tape to minister to the stunned investigators and rescue crews. Over and over, he rushed through the same kind of media gauntlet clergy are facing this week in Nova Scotia.

The Episcopal priest kept hearing the same question: "Why did this happen?"

"Everybody knows what that means," he said. "What they were asking was, 'Where was God? Why did God allow this to happen?' What else could that question mean?' "

After all, Barnum wasn't a mechanic, a federal investigator, a coroner or a pilot. He was just a man in a clerical collar, someone who is supposed to provide comforting answers on demand. The reporters were asking questions about the very nature of God, live and on camera.

"That's fair. We need to face tough theological questions. The problem was that they really didn't want a real answer. They wanted a sound bite," said Barnum, who wrote a book called "Where Is God in Suffering and Tragedy" about the crash. "I wanted to tell them, 'Come on. You're journalists. You cover accidents and murder and death all the time. Does a plane have to fall out of the sky for you to realize this is a sinful, fallen world?' "

Truth is, jet crashes provide today's archetypal images of sudden death and grief in a land that has little direct experience with war and mass terrorism. While heart attacks and car wrecks lurk in private nightmares, the fall of a jetliner is big news. This hits close to home, especially since millions of people regularly spend time strapped into airplane seats, thinking about life and death as the wheels leave the ground.

But life goes on. On the first anniversary of the USAir 427 crash, noted Barnum, mourners gathered at the site, waiting in silence for the clock to reach 7:03 p.m. Then the weeping was interrupted by a familiar sound - another Boeing 737 following same flight path, at exactly the same time. It was just part of the routine.

Life goes on, but the questions linger. Theologians have given a technical name - "theodicy" - to the ultimate question raised by such tragedies. Barnum states the equation bluntly in his book: "Either God caused the tragedy and is not good, or He couldn't stop it and is not all-powerful. Either way, God is less than God." One bitter rescue worker simply said, "Do me a favor when you get up in your pulpit. ... Don't let God off the hook."

There is no sound-bite answer to questions about free will, evil and the impact of sin on all of creation, said Barnum. Christianity also insists that God is not above suffering and death, but chose to experience both in human flesh. In the end, Christmas leads to Good Friday, which is followed by Easter. This answer infuriates many people, while offering hope to others.

Near the point of impact, Barnum discovered a torn human body hanging on a scorched tree on the hillside. He wept, yet this horrible sight also reminded him of the cross. It was impossible for a priest to avoid that kind of mysterious experience while wearing a decontamination suit in that particular valley of the shadow of death.

"When we went into the crash site, we were facing the facts and I guess that shocked some people," he said. "It's OK for clergy to sit on the outside and comfort the grieving families. We're allowed to offer our answers in places like that. But we're not supposed to take Jesus Christ with us inside the yellow tape where everything is broken and bloody."