The dilemma of the December Dilemma

It happens about the time shopping malls hire their Santas, schools schedule "Winter Concerts" and televisions start radiating even more images of children clutching trendy gadgets.

That's when Jewish groups hold "December Dilemma" forums to help parents survive "the holidays." In isolated segments of society, the season continues to be called Christmas.

Rabbi Hillel Goldberg thinks this is all really strange.

"I always feel like an outsider, but not because it's Christmas," said the veteran editor of the Intermountain Jewish News in Denver. "I feel like an outsider because so many Jews are talking about their 'December Dilemmas' and I don't have a 'December Dilemma.' In fact, I think the whole 'December Dilemma' concept is strange because it presupposes that what's going on in some other tradition is automatically going to take up a lot of space in a Jew's life."

In other words, Goldberg believes Jewish groups actually need to hold forums asking why so many Jews feel such strong conflicts this time of year. Ironically, the true "December Dilemma" is that Jews need to talk about a "December Dilemma" in the first place.

It's especially poignant, said the rabbi, that so many Jews fear that their children will "feel deprived" if they miss the commercialized and quasi-religious parade that dominates popular culture in December. He said this usually means there is a "hollow place" in the lives of these families, a place that should be filled with Judaism's own daily, weekly and seasonal cycle of traditions and teachings.

A child in a family that enjoys Jewish life and faith is less likely to crave a Christmas tree. Here's another irony: children who have, December after December, been taught the true meaning of the modest holiday called Hanukkah are also less likely to try to coerce their parents into turning it into a Jewish super-holiday. This year, the eight-day "festival of lights" begins at sundown on Sunday (Dec. 13).

But if a family's life is dominated by television, pop music, movies, shopping and other activities that have little or nothing to do with their faith, then it will probably feel tension during these media-mad and highly secularized holidays.

"I don't deny that many people truly feel conflicted and confused during this season," said Goldberg. "But I believe that this is evidence that something is radically wrong in the lives of many Jews. This is very sad."

Truth is, millions of Jews no longer practice Judaism and many others blend elements of other religions - such as Buddhism - into their faiths. Of America's 4 million to 6 million Jews, a 1990 poll found that 1.1 million claim no religious faith at all and another 1.3 million actively practice another faith. Researchers found only 484,000 American Jews who regularly attend synagogue or temple services.

Obviously, the "December Dilemma" also affects millions of homes in which one parent is Jewish, to one degree or another, while the other is Christian, to one degree or another.

Here's how Ellen Harris of Palo Alto, Calif., described December with Santa Claus and a menorah: "My husband and I aren't sure about faith, but we do feel that cultural and moral educations are important for our kids. They don't identify themselves as Jews or Christians, although they talk about both faiths openly. I think it is healthy for them to know the differences and for them to know about things that don't have answers." She offered her views on "Melding The Religions" in Disney Online's "December Dilemma" pages.

That says it all. However, Rabbi Goldberg is convinced that a small, but fervent, minority will avoid spinning in the holiday blender by turning to quieter celebrations built on Jewish tradition. And for the majority, its sense of season schizophrenia will probably fade.

"The whole concept of the 'December Dilemma' is based on the idea that people still feel some tension between their Jewish faith and what's going on around them," he said. "One would have to conclude that, as more Jews lose any real sense of Jewish identity, we will hear less and less talk about a 'December Dilemma.' "

Texas Baptists face the sex wars

For two decades, Southern Baptists have been so busy fighting about the Bible that they've been some of the only church folks who weren't fighting about sex.

Those days are gone. A band of conservatives recently broke away from the moderate Baptist General Convention of Texas and formed a new body called the Southern Baptists of Texas. The rebels said the BGCT wasn't tough enough on abortion and homosexuality.

"We've got to get away from this thing of getting away from God's word," said the Rev. Miles Seaborn of Fort Worth, the group's president.

This convention, which currently includes 183 churches, immediately proclaimed that "all human life is sacred, specifically life in the womb" and pledged it would reject churches that condone homosexual acts or have "pastors or deacons that are practicing homosexuals."

This makes it sound like the old Texas convention, with its 5,700 churches, has openly backed abortion and gay rights. At its recent gathering, the BGCT backed laws requiring parental consent 48 hours before minors could have abortions. But it declined to vote on condemning abortion "in all cases except when the mother's life is in danger" and leaders ruled out of order a motion to deny funding to any Baptist medical institution proven to perform abortions. It also defeated a call to affirm the right of local churches to ordain gays and lesbians.

Texas is one of the last fronts in the 19-year civil war in the 16-million-member Southern Baptist Convention. The Southern Baptist right - which is weak in Texas, but runs the national body - remains united on social issues and committed to "biblical inerrancy," the belief that the Bible is without errors of any kind.

"They know who they are. They are the people who are opposed to what they see as theological liberalism and modernism," said philosopher Mike Beaty, who teaches at Baylor University in Waco, a hub for Texas moderates. "But the moderate camp includes all kinds of people with all kinds of beliefs and these people have been united more by what they're against - fundamentalism - than by what they are for."

Facing a national conservative tide, moderates have rallied around the "four fragile freedoms" of Baptist life - "Bible freedom," the "soul freedom" of individuals to interpret the Bible, "church freedom" that focuses power at the local level and "religious freedom" that strictly separates church and state. The result is what Beaty called a "tradition-less tradition" that fears any effort to coerce individual believers and congregations.

Thus, the University Baptist Church in Austin protested last spring when the BGCT said its gay-rights stands clashed with "scriptural guidelines." The Rev. Larry Bethune asked: "What could make these Baptist principalities and powers act in such an un-Baptist way, throwing aside our deepest Baptist ideals of soul freedom, liberty of conscience and local church autonomy?"

And there's another issue that won't go away - Bill Clinton. Many Southern Baptists are furious about a Newsweek article arguing that the president's moral flexibility is linked to his Baptist heritage. A key conservative, the Rev. Al Mohler of Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Ky., even said Zippergate is an "indictment of the generation of moderate and liberal Baptist leaders who served as Bill Clinton's moral advisers, and are now his enablers in a lifestyle of gross immorality and irresponsibility."

The Texas Baptist newspaper called this "despicable demagoguery" and noted that conservatives haven't drawn similar conclusions from news accounts of scandals in their own camp. Editor Toby Druin noted that "the Bible I read says, 'Thou shalt not commit adultery' " and this sin has touched both moderates and conservatives.

Then again, that depends on how one defines "sin" and "adultery."

Once upon a time, Southern Baptists lived in a Bible Belt that seemed isolated from most troubling trends. It was easier to stress the positive, such as evangelism and missions, when only liberal churches far away quarreled over nasty, negative issues such as abortion and sex.

"It seemed like we could all read the Bible for ourselves and then we pretty much agreed on what it said, at least on these kinds of issues," said Beaty. "It seemed like the culture was on our side and we were speaking the same language. It was easier back then."

Walking with C.S. Lewis

He always took the early, slow train from Oxford, so he could say his prayers and enjoy the scenery before he arrived at the tiny station at the foot of the Malvern Hills.

C.S. Lewis rarely tinkered with the details of these trips, since the goal was always the same -- to walk and talk with friends. He wore a rumpled tweed jacket with the obligatory leather elbow patches, baggy wool pants, walking shoes and an old hat. He had a battered rucksack and he never carried a watch.

His host was George Sayer, his former pupil at Magdalen College and a close friend for three decades. They usually walked the 10-mile Malvern ridge, with its lovely views of the distant Welsh hills, the Severn valley and the Cotswolds. But sometimes they strayed elsewhere, joined by other colleagues.

"Beauty was so important to Jack and so was good conversation," said Sayer, using the nickname Lewis preferred. "What could be better than putting the two together? One could not have found a better walking companion."

Sayer gazed out the sunny garden window in his sitting room, which served as the starting point for their travels. Then he laughed out loud.

"You should have seen Jack trying to walk with J.R.R. Tolkien! Once Jack got started a bomb could not have stopped him and the more he walked, the more energy he had for a good argument," said Sayer. "Now Tolkien was just the opposite. If he had something to say, he wanted you to stop so he could look you in the face. So on they would go, Jack charging ahead and Tolkien pulling at him, trying to get him to stop - back and forth, back and forth. What a scene!"

That was long ago. It has been nearly a quarter of a century since Sayer led Malvern College's English department and a decade since he wrote "Jack: C.S. Lewis and His Times." This year, fragile health prevented Sayer from fully participating in events marking the centenary of Lewis' birth on Nov. 29, 1898. Lewis died on Nov. 22, 1963, the same day as President John F. Kennedy.

It's hard to say why Lewis remains such a dominant figure, said Sayer. The former atheist did have a unique ability to handle tough questions in a way that was both intellectual and popular. Lewis also wrote many different kinds of books - from children's literature to apologetics, from science fiction to literary criticism. Readers start reading one form of his writings, such as "The Chronicles of Narnia" fantasies, and then graduate to another, such as the more philosophical "The Problem of Pain." Many have been drawn to his work through two movies called "Shadowlands," based on the story of the Oxford don's marriage to American poet Joy Davidman.

Much of this "would have infuriated Jack because he rejected all attempts to analyze writers by dwelling on their personal lives," said Sayer. "He called this the 'personal heresy.' It is very ironic that so many people have such an astonishing attachment to C.S. Lewis as a person, or to the person that they perceive him to have been."

This trend began during the writer's lifetime. Lewis was, of course, thankful that millions embraced his work. But Sayer said he grew frustrated that so many readers - especially Americans - hailed him as a celebrity, yet failed to dig deeper into the issues that most challenged him.

Lewis would probably be distressed, said Sayer, to discover that the books that made him an effective apologist in the 1940s and '50s are so popular decades later. He would ask why mainline Catholics and Protestants writers now attack Christian orthodoxy, rather than defend it. Lewis would ask why so many evangelicals keep writing books for the people already in pews, instead of focusing on those outside the church.

"Jack was a highly intellectual man, yet he was also very emotional," said Sayer. "The man I knew was highly persuasive, quite comical and very entertaining. Above all, he loved a good argument and he rarely passed up a chance to jump into the thick of things. He would want his admirers to take his work and push on, not to stay in the same place."

Veggie sales, Veggie sales

It didn't take long for Phil Vischer to create the following prime directive for his computer-animation studio: "We will not portray Jesus as a vegetable."

The folks at Big Idea Productions will do just about anything for a laugh when creating their VeggieTales versions of Bible stories. But Vischer is committed to keeping a safety zone between the sacred and the hip, even while Bob the Tomato, Larry the Cucumber and friends storm the kid-video castles of Disney, Viacom, Newscorp and Time Warner Inc.

"There's a biblical core to the stories we tell and people have to know that will always be there," said Vischer. "So the major plot points are sacred, but we get to have fun with the details. People have to understand that we're not competing with Sunday school. We're competing with Saturday morning television. We're in a different ball game."

So the Bible remains the Bible. But Joshua is a cucumber in a robe and green peas carry the Ark of the Covenant around Jericho while grape slushees rain down from the walls. A tiny asparagus named Dave spins a slingshot around his head and slays Goliath the pickle. Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego survive the fiery furnace of a candy czar who wants them to worship a towering chocolate bunny. Virtual vegetables prance through music videos that are as bizarre as the regular music videos they are mocking.

The result is a phenomenon that has Christian bookstore owners dividing life into two eras - "B.V." and "A.V." Big Idea Productions has sold 6 million half-hour videos, with 4 million units shipping in 1998 - the first year of a distribution pact with Lyrick Studios that put VeggieTales in WalMart, Target and other secular outlets. An 11th video release, "Silly Songs 2: The End of Silliness?", goes on sale this weekend.

Meanwhile, Vischer is taking calls from movie studios and cable bosses. The Veggies make their TV debut on Dec. 19 in a primetime PaxTV special built around the company's "The Toy that Saved Christmas" video.

It was back in 1991 that Vischer got tired of making Pop Tarts dance, beer bottles spin and graphics sparkle for corporate clients in Chicago. Using funds from family and friends, the Bible-college reject began creating vegetables that told Bible stories, after deciding that candy bars might worry parents. Either way, it was cheaper to animate figures with no limbs. Today, Big Idea has about 70 employees, but Vischer said he isn't sure about that number since he keeps running into new people in the hallways.

Some major VeggieTales influences are obvious, such as Dr. Seuss and Monty Python. Some are less obvious, such as communications theorist Neil Postman's classic "The Disappearance of Childhood" and the work of media entrepreneur Bob Briner, who chides modern Christians for abandoning work in art and culture.

While it would be hard to push a creed in a for-profit company, Big Idea isn't ashamed of its big ideas. Its mission statement includes a list of blunt "we believe" statements, such as: "Popular media, used irresponsibly, have had a profoundly negative impact on America's moral and spiritual health." Company goals include enhancing "the moral and spiritual fabric of our society" and leading "a revolution reintroducing Christian values into popular media."

Vischer doesn't hide the fact that he wants to create a recognizable, quality brand name with clout -- like Nike, Starbucks, "Touched By An Angel" and, yes, Disney. But this takes time. Most attempts to promote faith in the marketplace have taken a one-shot, zap-them-with-the-Gospel approach.

"It's like, 'Bonk!' We hit people in the head with a Christian brick and, when it bounces off, we can't understand why it didn't work," he said. "Of course, we also used up all our money making that one brick and we can't buy anymore air time or tell anymore stories because we haven't created a real company that makes money so that we can stay in the game for the long haul. So we throw our brick and quit.

"What we want is for people to fall in love with our characters and grow up with them. We want to have a lasting impact."

Slavery, faith & the marketplace

Two years ago, Christians were sold as slaves for as little as $15 in Southern Sudan.

This statement is no longer accurate, but not because the Khartoum regime has stopped trying to bomb, massacre, starve, rape, torture and kidnap Christians, animists and even other Muslims into submission. No, fluctuations in currency rates have simply raised the price to $50 or $75.

"When we go in to buy people's freedom, we budget $100 per slave to pay for the whole operation, which includes transportation into places where the regime doesn't want us to go," said Jesse Sage of the Boston-based American Anti-Slavery Group. "But here's the most sobering reality: you can still trade one human being for three cows, or the other way around."

All of this is taking place far from most pews and news cameras. Thus, two years ago, an interfaith coalition organized the first International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church. This Sunday, worshippers in about 100,000 churches - from Southern Baptists to Catholics, from Pentecostals to the Orthodox - will pray for those who are living and dying as martyrs.

These prayers are one expression of a wider movement against all religious persecution, which led to the recent passage of the International Religious Freedom Act. President Clinton signed the bill into law on Oct. 27.

In the words of former New York Times editor A.M. Rosenthal, the term "persecution" means: "Blood, fetters, death, wherever, and to whatever religious minorities -- in the Iran of the ayatollahs, in the China of the Communist Politburo where Catholics and Protestants who wish to worship as their faith dictates have to risk their freedom and worship underground, in Pakistan where Christians by the scores have been imprisoned for 'blasphemy' against Islam, in Tibet where pictures of the Dalai Lama are displayed only on pain of prison, or in the Sudan where Christians and members of ancient African faiths are massacred by the Islamist Government."

The act creates a Commission on International Religious Freedom -- with three members appointed by the president, two by the Speaker of the House, two by the Senate majority leader and one each by the House and Senate minority leaders. It will have its own budget, the power to "take testimony and receive evidence" and must publicly release at least one annual report of its findings. The White House and what Rosenthal has called the "trade-uber-alles lobbies" fiercely opposed the bill and defeated efforts to impose economic sanctions.

"Protectors of the status quo have been able to keep the facts buried," said Jewish activist Michael Horowitz of the Hudson Institute. "They've been able to cast doubt on whether religious persecution is real. We won that battle, because this new commission can put facts on the record. What we weren't able to do was get the same kind of sanctions and policies focused on thug regimes -- like Sudan -- that were aimed at the apartheid regime in South Africa."

Prayers and facts will remain the primary weapons in the fight against persecution. However, many religious schools have begun collecting funds, literally, to purchase the freedom of slaves. This past weekend, about 250 students from 60 colleges gathered at Georgetown University for a conference organized by Freedom House's Center for Religious Freedom.

The keynote speaker was Baroness Caroline Cox, a British nurse who now serves as deputy speaker in the House of Lords. She has led numerous teams of doctors and journalists into Southern Sudan. She recently interviewed a Catholic leader who survived a raid on the village of Mayen Abun. Many where slaughtered, including his brother, and his sister was one of those taken as a slave. Santino Ring's words were haunting: "We're trying to hold a frontline of Christianity here, but we feel completely forgotten. Doesn't the church want us anymore?"

"That's what our persecuted brothers and sisters feel," said Cox. "They have no evidence the church wants them at all. All of us who've worked with the persecuted church come back humbled, inspired, enriched, beyond anything we can describe. If the day comes that they become martyrs, we must celebrate their martyrdom. But we must make sure it's not in vain, because that martyrdom is for our faith."

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?"