Listening to the voices inside China

Han Dongfang's passport says Hong Kong, but his voice says Beijing railway worker.

When mainland listeners hear Han on Radio Free Asia, they can tell that he spent years riding the rails, seeing first-hand the trials of workers across China. He sounds like a man who has suffered on the inside, even if theauthorities now force him to live on the outside.

"In China you can tell the truth or you can tell the lie," said Han, who in 1989 formed the land's first independent labor union since the triumph of Communism. "If you tell the lie, you climb higher. If you tell the truth, you are a threat to those whose power is built on lies."

Han paused. His English is excellent, but he still struggles to find the right words, especially when his Christian faith bleeds into his socialist convictions and his hopes wrestle with his fears.

"It is easy to get angry," he said. "There is so much injustice. ... But we must control our anger and not give in to hate. After all, Communism is built on anger and class struggle. God wants us to tell the truth. That will be enough."

When describing his work, Han stresses that he is labor activist focusing on workers' rights. He smiles, but visibly winces, when anyone calls him the "Lech Walesa of China." He publishes the monthly China Labor Bulletin, but does not consider himself a journalist. Short-wave broadcasts carry his voice across China, but he does not consider himself a professional broadcaster. He has declined appeals to slip religious messages into his radio work.

Whatever Han is today, it's easy to pinpoint the moment when he found his calling. It was in April 1989 that Han and his wife first noticed a rally in Tiananmen Square. Student leaders were pushing the common workers back into a corner and Han quickly found other activists who shared his concerns. Soon, he helped set up a broadcast booth and called the first meeting of the Beijing Workers Autonomous Federation.

After surviving the June 3rd military crackdown, Han refused to confess to wrongdoing. Then he contracted tuberculosis in prison. Faced with global protests, Chinese officials let him go to America in 1992. After all, he was almost dead.

Minus a lung, Han returned to Hong Kong the next year and made several futile attempts to enter China. Today, the 38-year-old activist, his wife and their two American-born children have settled in Hong Kong. Nevertheless, Han remains hard-wired into the mainland. The concept behind his radio work is simple. He uses telephone wires to build a bridge. When Chinese workers dial his Hong Kong office, he asks if he can tape their reports about local conditions. Then he airs the anonymous tapes, which generates new calls.

Han knows China's regional accents and he knows how to use telephone operators in remote areas to find the middle-management leaders and laborers who have stories to tell. Many appreciate that Han still talks about old values such as justice, "solidarity" and workers' rights. They have seen disasters, followed by cover-ups. They help him contact the families and friends of the dead and injured. There are many unheard voices.

"I get calls," said Han, at a recent Barcelona conference about faith, journalism and human rights. "The voice on the other end of the line says, 'I am a party official. I am a high party official. Do not ask me how high a party official I am. I cannot believe what I am seeing and I have to tell someone.' "

Then there are other calls that say: "Everything here is perfect. CLICK."

Han assumes that his telephone is tapped, so he focuses on simple, yet revealing questions about daily life. He refuses to air speeches about overthrowing the government. He could do entire broadcasts about religious liberty, but he has, so far, tried to avoid that explosive topic on the air.

"There is a great religious hunger inside China," he said. "This hunger is at the grassroots, out in the villages and it is spreading into the cities. Those voices will keep growing louder and louder and, soon, people will have to listen."

One TV, one family

The salesman at the electronics superstore smiled broadly, but his eyes revealed that he thought I was some kind of religious nut.

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

No matter what, I could not get him to realize that my needs were quite simple. As a journalist, I wanted several news channels and my family likes old movies. What I wanted was a digital system that connected a satellite mini-dish to my television.

"No problem," he said, patiently. Clearly, I wasn't well informed about my options. "You know, they make systems now that allow you to use your satellite dish with more than one television."

That's OK, I said. But I need to hook up one television, in one room.

Undaunted, he whipped out a brochure and proceeded: "Let me show you what everybody gets, these days. It really doesn't cost that much more to get a system that you can hook up two or three televisions. It used to be hard to do that, but not now."

No thank you, I said. I just want to be able to hook up one television set.

The salesman still didn't get the picture. "Don't you want to hook up your other TVs? You can get a system that hooks up to the sets in your bedroom and your children's rooms and everywhere else."

We don't own any other televisions, I explained. We just have one TV, in one room, in our one house, for our one family.

He regrouped. Now he knew what he was dealing with. I was in denial, still fighting the cultural gravity of modern life. I could hear him thinking: "This is one of those holier-than-thou types who think they're too good to watch TV."

I knew what he was thinking because I had to have this same chat with the cable TV people when I lived in Southern Appalachia. Next came this satellite guy in the Washington, D.C., area. I'm sure that I will soon have a similar talk with another eager envoy of the video principalities and powers now that we are moving to South Florida. We all live in the same mall.

Here is what I will say -- again.

Actually, I don't have anything against TV. I teach mass media courses and I wouldn't be trying to teach students how to work in the world of news and entertainment media if I thought it was all rubbish.

Truth is, there's a lot of good stuff -- brilliant, even -- on TV. But there's a lot of garbage, too. So at the start of each week, we try to mark up the TV schedule, looking for programs we will want to watch as a family, or that I want to tape to watch later. We talk about this all the time.

In fact, I believe that more religious leaders need to take the time to praise the good, as well as urge parents to create practical media rules and then keep them. You know that old saying in the Book of Proverbs? "Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it."

Our family rule is that we strive to watch an hour a day on tape or a movie every few days. We also don't let our children watch alone -- even the teen-ager. So we have one television and we keep it in a room that is used by the whole family.

Sadly, in most American homes the television is the true altar.

There are even more options, for better or for worse, once a family is hooked up to a cable or satellite service. We must face those decisions together. We owe that to our children, because we're their parents. We don't want to turn into distant relatives who end up sitting in separate rooms, watching different shows, on private TVs, speaking different languages and living in separate worlds.

If you stand firm, someone will listen.

So far, I have managed to buy a system that will connect one receiver to our one television set, in one room, in our one house, for our one family.

Satan's throne in a Church?

The Anglican Communion's civil war has flared up again, with more headlines about sex, sin and schism.

Colorado was the front lines last week, when archbishops from Southeast Asia and Rwanda invaded Episcopal Church territory to lead rites consecrating four additional missionary bishops for America. Archbishop of Canterbury George Carey asked if they were aware "that action of this kind takes you perilously close to creating a new group of churches at odds with the See of Canterbury and the rest of the Communion?"

The African, Asian and American bishops behind the Anglican Mission in America think they know what they are doing. The crucial question is: "Why are they doing it?"

To answer that, it may help to flash back nearly a decade to words spoken at a Colorado altar by another Asian bishop. During a 1992 visit, Archbishop Moses Tay of Singapore offered a radical view of the doctrinal divisions within Anglicanism. Tay is a symbolic figure, because he later hosted the January 2000 rites to consecrate the Anglican Mission in America's first two bishops.

Tay is soft-spoken, but not timid. Speaking at Denver's Christ Church, he turned to Revelation, chapter 2, an ominous passage in a mysterious book. In this vision, Jesus is seen reigning in heaven. Christ tells the angel of the Church of Pergamum, ``I know where you are living, where Satan's throne is.''

Is it possible, asked Tay, that Satan had a throne in that church? "Would we be shocked if that is true, that Satan has his throne in some of our churches?''

The Revelation text offered two warning signs of this condition, said Tay. The first was "corrupt teachers" who brought other gods into the church through syncretistic worship. The second was compromise on issues of sexual immorality.

The archbishop didn't have to say much about sex. Clashes over sex outside of marriage -- especially homosexual acts -- had already shaken Episcopalians and other oldline Protestants for a decade. But this sermon came four years before an Episcopal court ruled that the church has no "core doctrine" on sex and marriage. It came eight years before the House of Bishops acknowledged that many believers live in "life-long committed relationships" outside of Holy Matrimony and pledged "prayerful support" and even "pastoral care" for those living in such relationships.

Sex was old news. So Tay spent more time warning that church members would have to worry about their leaders -- literally -- praying to other gods. As shepherd of a small flock in Singapore, he stressed that he knows what it's like to work in a culture packed with competing gods. He wondered aloud if Americans take this issue seriously.

"We have this pressure (to compromise) in our own place, in Singapore, in the Far East," Tay said. "I believe this is ... very prevalent within some quarters of the Anglican Communion. I say this with some shame and sadness, because this is the very thing that the Bible forbids.''

A year later, I witnessed what Tay was describing during a news event in New York City -- the annual "Missa Gaia (Earth Mass)" at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. Before the bread and wine were brought to the altar, musicians offered a rhythmic chant that soared into the cathedral vault: "Oba ye Oba yo Yemanja. ... Oby ye Oba yo O Ausar. Oba ye Oba yo O Ra Ausar." This was printed in the bulletin.

As New York Bishop Richard Grein waited at the altar, the musicians sang praises to some of the gods of Africa and Egypt.

Is this kind of syncretistic worship common? Of course not. Is it encouraged by a few academic leaders and trendy liturgists? Apparently so. Have some bishops quietly tolerated the worship of other gods -- by name -- at Episcopal altars? Yes.

Are some Third World Anglicans concerned about this? Yes.

It's tempting just to argue about sex, said Tay. But after his Denver sermon, he asked this tough question: What is the meaning of unity in a communion in which some believers and even bishops may not worship the same God?

This is an explosive question. Sooner or later, the See of Canterbury will need to provide an answer.

Bono's crusade comes to DC

As lunch ended in the ornate U.S. Senate Foreign Relations Committee conference room, Sen. Jesse Helms struggled to stand and bid farewell to the guest of honor.

Bono stayed at the conservative patriarch's right hand, doing what he could to help. For the photographers, it would have been hard to imagine a stranger image than this delicate dance between the aging senator and the rock superstar.

"You know, I love you," Helms said softly.

The singer gave the 79-year-old Helms a hug. This private session with a circle of senators during U2's recent Washington stop wasn't the first time Bono and Helms have discussed poverty, plagues, charity and faith. Nor will it be the last. Blest be the ties that bind.

"What can I say? It's good to be loved -- especially by Jesse Helms," Bono said two days later, as his campaign for Third World debt relief continued on Capitol Hill.

The key to this scene is that Bono can quote the Book of Leviticus as well as the works of John Lennon. While his star power opens doors, it is his sincere, if often unconventional, Christian faith that creates bonds with cultural conservatives -- in the Vatican and inside the Beltway. Bono has shared prayers and his sunglasses with Pope John Paul II. Don't be surprised if he trades boots and Bible verses with President George W. Bush.

The hot issues right now are red ink and AIDS in Africa. An entire continent is "in flames," said Bono, and millions of lives are at stake. God is watching.

The bottom line is that the Bible contains 2,000 verses about justice and compassion. While it's crucial to answer political and economic questions linked to forgiving $200 billion in Third World debts, Bono said this also must be seen as a crisis of faith. The road into the heart of America runs through its sanctuaries.

"What will really wake people up," he said, "is when Sunday schools start making flags and getting out in the streets. ... Forget about the judgment of history. For those of you who are religious people, you have to think about the judgment of God."

Bono knows that this bleak, even melodramatic, message sounds bizarre coming from a rock 'n' roll fat cat. In a recent Harvard University commencement address, he said the only thing worse than an egotistical rock star is a rock star "with a conscience -- a placard-waving, knee-jerking, fellow-traveling activist with a Lexus and a swimming pool shaped like his own head."

This is old news to Bono, who has had a love-hate relationship with stardom for two decades. In U2's early days, other Christians said the band should break up or flee into "Christian rock," arguing that fame always corrupts. Bono and his band mates decided otherwise, but the singer soon began speaking out about his faith and his doubts, his joys and his failures.

"I don't believe in preaching at people," he told me, back in 1982. A constant theme in his music, he added, is the soul-spinning confusion that results when spirituality, sensuality, ego and sin form a potion that is both intoxicating and toxic. "The truth is that we are all sinners. I always include myself in the 'we.' ... I'm not telling everybody that I have the answers. I'm trying to get across the difficulty that I have being what I am."

Eventually, Bono acted out this internal debate on stage. In the 1990s he celebrated and attacked fame through a sleazy, macho, leather-bound alter ego called The Fly. After that came Mister MacPhisto, a devilishly theatrical take on mass-media temptation. The motto for the decade was, "Mock Satan and he will flee thee."

Today, U2 has all but dropped its ironic posturing and the soaring music of this tour covers sin and redemption, heaven and hell, mercy and grace. Bono is quoting from the Psalms and the first Washington concert ended with him shouting: "Praise! Unto the Almighty!"

It wasn't subtle and it wasn't perfect. Crusades rarely are.

"I do believe that the Kingdom of Heaven is taken by force," said Bono, paraphrasing the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 11. "God doesn't mind if we bang on the door to heaven sometimes, asking him to listen to what we have to say. ... At least, that's the kind of religion I believe in."

Father Scalia's vocation

As the boy grew to become a man, he explored the marble chambers that pump power into American politics.

He worked as an intern. He rode the private subway that whisks legislators to the Capitol. He took his share of power lunches. Finally, he decided that his vocation was in a higher court.

"One day it hit me," said Father Paul Scalia. "To save things, it is going to take more than a really good Supreme Court decision. Good thing, too, because we're not going to have one anytime soon. I am very, very pessimistic about the ability of government policies ... to change things."

The 30-year-old priest in the Diocese of Arlington (Va.) has not sought the media spotlight to deliver sobering opinions of this kind. This would have been easy because of his last name. Father Paul is one of the nine children of Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia, whose outspoken views on moral issues have made him a hero on the religious right and the bane of the lifestyle left. According to media reports, Father Paul also worked behind the scenes to help Justice Clarence Thomas return to the Roman Catholic faith.

Politics are important, said Scalia. But this is an age in which the moral decisions that shape private and public life are as likely to be affected by MTV and movies, as by high courts and legislatures.

Politics may "may slow down our cultural decay," he said. "I am not very optimistic about its ability to stop it."

Priests who observe the lives of their people know this, said Scalia, at a meeting to support gays and lesbians who strive to follow Catholic teachings. The 10th annual "Healing for the Homosexual Conference" was sponsored by Parents and Friends, a network of clergy, counselors and parents based in Washington, D.C. But Scalia's address included few references to homosexuality. Instead he covered a wider range of issues -- from families wrecked by adultery to the pressures that drive girls to hate their own bodies, from Catholics who shack up before marriage to teens hooked on cyber-pornography.

All of these issues are symptoms of a larger problem, he said. Millions of Americans yearn for sexual pleasure and for spirituality. However, many have forgotten that what they do with their bodies profoundly affects the health of their souls. Male and female bodies are not mere machines, like automobiles, that can be used for pleasure and then taken in for tune-ups at gyms and clinics.

"If the body is just something that I own, then when I am sexually involved, or when my body is sexually involved, I am not," Scalia said. "So what does it matter? What does it matter ... if I have sex before marriage? Or if I have sex with someone who is not my spouse, or if I have sex with someone of the same sex? And so on. If the body is just a tool, just an instrument, then what does it matter?"

Every human being, stressed Scalia, is not a "soul encased in a body, but a soul living through a body. ... The body is always to be treated with reverence, because the body is the expression of the image of God. The body is the way that the soul communicates."

This is a complex message and one that many hear as a radical limitation on personal freedom. This is especially true, he said, in an age in which the Supreme Court -- in its 1992 Planned Parenthood v. Casey decision -- has linked liberty to "the right to define one's own concept of existence, of meaning, of the universe, and of the mystery of human life."

With a sarcastic shrug, the priest noted that this decision was based on the "defining the universe section of the constitution." He said this has led to "a deadly understanding of freedom" and what Pope John Paul II calls a "culture of death" in which the weak -- the sick, the poor, the elderly and the unborn -- can be crushed by the freedoms of the strong.

Freedom "does not mean doing whatever we want," argued Father Scalia. "Freedom means the ability to do what we ought to do."

Charlie Ward, sinner

Every Sunday, countless Christians around the world recite an ancient prayer that begins: "I believe, O Lord, and I confess that You are truly the Christ, the Son of the living God, Who did come into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief."

Anyone who can say that last phrase without a mental pause isn't paying attention. The tendency is to do a few quick mental calculations in which one's sins are contrasted with those of, let's say, Timothy McVeigh or Robert Downey, Jr. But it was St. Paul who first confessed that he was the "chief of sinners" and that means that these words have clout. Christianity teaches that this phrase applies to each and every sinner.

I thought about this prayer during the NBA-playoffs controversy about New York Knicks guard Charlie Ward. While leading a Bible study that was visited by New York Times reporter, Ward said: "Jews are stubborn .... Why did they persecute Jesus unless he knew something they didn't want to accept?"

The reporter said, "What?"

Ward replied, "They had his blood on their hands." He opened his Bible and read from the Gospel of Matthew: "Then they spit in Jesus' face and hit him with their fists." Ward added, "There are Christians getting persecuted by Jews every day. ... People who are raised Jewish and find Christ, and then their parents stop talking to them."

The media storm was spectacular, to say the least. Two comments by Washington Post scribes will suffice.

Sports writer Michael Wilbon said Ward is "someone who tries to push his religious beliefs on other people, a proselytizing, self-righteous and self-absorbed character who thinks that he and a few others have tapped into the truth and that anyone who doesn't believe exactly what he believes is going straight to hell."

While strongly defending Ward's right to free speech, political columnist Richard Cohen noted: "To insult Jews while playing for a New York team and to use the New York Times and a Jewish writer as your medium either shows breathtaking gall or a touching belief that nothing untoward was being said. It was the latter, undeniably."

Both of these writers represented large segments of the American public that were appalled by Ward's words. I am convinced, however, that several other comments need to be made about this latest fight over salvation and the public square.

First, no one can deny that what Ward said was highly offensive, in large part because he spoke out in an age in which any public defense of absolute truth is sure to offend millions. This is a serious issue for anyone -- pope or politician, evangelist or entertainer -- who attempts to defend traditional Christian teachings on heaven and hell.

However, as offensive as Ward's comments were, it didn't help that many journalists edited them to resemble the views of conspiracy crackpots who preach that a cabal of Jews exists for the sole purpose of oppressing gentiles, especially Christians.

What Ward said was offensive, but not as offensive as what many journalists reported that he said -- that Jews persecute Christians, period. The sad truth is that Ward was right when he said that many Jews are disowned or attacked by their families after they convert to Christianity. It's true that conversions cause division and pain, as well as joy.

But it's almost beside the point to mention these other issues, in light of one huge mistake that looms over Ward's comments.

What he said was highly offensive. But in the eternal scheme of things, Ward's words were not nearly offensive enough. Jesus was crucified after a complex and ugly drama in which legions of people -- Roman officials, competing elites inside a splintered Jewish hierarchy, a street mob representing all of humanity -- ended up with bloody hands and stained souls.

The faith of the ages teaches that all are guilty. Sin is sin. Sinners are sinners. Ward forgot to judge himself, along with everybody else.

So what should Ward have told journalists? According to centuries of Christian tradition, he should have said that Jesus came into the world to save sinners, "of whom I am chief."

Anglican World Wide Web wars, Part II

No one in the Episcopal Church hierarchy knows what will happen at Christ Church in Accokeek, Md., once push really comes to shove.

But everyone knows the bitter battle for control of the 303-year-old Colonial parish is a big story, perhaps even a pivotal one in the global Anglican wars over sex, salvation and the Bible. But it's getting hard to pin down the precise details.

What happened last week when parish leaders denied Washington, D.C., Bishop Jane Holmes Dixon access to their altar? How many parishioners worshipped inside? How many joined Dixon for her quick Mass on a nearby basketball court and how many of those were imported activists? Who heckled whom? How many bishops joined in this liturgical circus? And what in the world really happened when a parish officer collided with the bishop's husband?

The firebrand cyber-scribe David Virtue reported that, during chaos caused by a heckler, "junior warden Frank MacDonough stepped forward to take control of the situation. Immediately Dixon's husband David M. Dixon stepped forward and placed both his hands on the shoulders of the warden pushing him back. A verbal exchange ensued." MacDonough finally exclaimed, "You don't put your hands on me."

Virtue added: "I have been informed that there is every likelihood that charges will be pressed against both Dixons. The complaint against Jane Dixon is for trespassing and against David Dixon for assault."

That would certainly be news. However, an Episcopal News Service (www.dfms.org/ens) story about Accokeek didn't mention the shove in question and neither did the next day's Washington Post report.

Everyone has a story to tell. But, these days, the stories that are shaping life in the Episcopal Church and other religious bodies are often laced with conflicting plots and details.

The web is like that. Thus, some consider it a font of venom and warped information. Others believe it's opening doors that must be opened. After all, as St. Luke warned religious leaders: "Whatever you have said in the dark shall be heard in the light and what you have whispered in private rooms shall be proclaimed upon the housetops." A modern paraphrase might be: "Don't say things that you wouldn't want to see on the Internet."

"The big boys," said Virtue, "have always assumed that they get to control all of the juicy information in the church. Well, they can't do that anymore and they're freaking out."

The Accokeek battle is the kind of story that has sent rising numbers of Anglican readers -- around the world -- to the "Virtuosity" (www.orthodoxanglican.org/virtuosity) site for online reports. Virtue's critics have a name for this -- propaganda.

"A lot of journalism in the Episcopal Church today ... is nothing short of muckraking. It's descended to that level," said Bishop Steven Charleston of Episcopal Divinity School in Massachusetts, speaking to the national Episcopal Communicators. "There's so much glop that goes on to email systems and into print that is considered to be news -- it's just shameful."

Virtue and other web conservatives are not alone. The church's left wing has long looked for news and commentary in the sprawling site created at Rutgers University by Louie Crew (www.andromeda.rutgers.edu/~lcrew), founder of Integrity for Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgendered Episcopalians. He now sits on the national church's executive council. Other readers turn to AnglicansOnline.org and a host of establishment sites.

The bookish leader of the Episcopalians keeps trying to tame the Internet tornado.

Presiding Bishop Frank Griswold wants journalists who cover his church to "take the high road" and focus on "the work of reconciliation" while weaving together the "divergent dimensions of truth that exist among us." Sadly, he told a forum at the Episcopal Media Center, there is a lot of "dubious communication that is making its way round the church, serving highly partisan ends and serving ... causes of division and conflict, characterized by untruths and misrepresentations."

These are the kinds of Zen-like quotations that make Virtue cackle with glee and rush to his computer.

"Let me unspin all of that," he said. "The World Wide Web is driving these guys nuts, so they want to nail my hide to the wall."

Anglican World Wide Web wars, Part I

Soon after the Episcopal Church voted to offer "pastoral care" for those in "life-long committed relationships" outside of Holy Matrimony, Archbishop of Canterbury George Carey met with some American bishops who were worried about the future.

Once upon a time, views aired in a private Lambeth Palace gathering such as this may have been discreetly shared with other bishops or edited into a safe, uplifting press release.

Today? Forget about it.

"My motto is 'Take no prisoners,' "said evangelical David Virtue, a raging cyber-scribe who never uses a flyswatter when a baseball bat is available. "If I hear something, I'm going to put it out there and I don't care who gets mad."

Relying on a source inside the Lambeth meeting and others caught in the fallout, his "Virtuosity" (www.orthodoxanglican.org/virtuosity) email list reported that Carey was worried that the Episcopal Church's sexual agenda could cause a schism. Carey and these bishops were said to have shared their concerns with U.S. Presiding Bishop Frank Griswold.

Anglican Communion News Service editor James Rosenthal struck back, issuing a bulletin on Nov. 2 that quoted Carey saying that Virtue's report was "a bare faced lie."

But then the Church of England Newspaper confirmed key elements of Virtue's report. Then Carey's own staff asked that the Rosenthal bulletin be withdrawn. Lambeth Palace said the story containing the "bare faced lie" quotation "didn't emanate from here."

Journalists do not enjoy being called liars. Virtue wrote Rosenthal: "I expect a ... retraction or I will sue you. You have defamed me."

That is where this tempest in a British teapot stood until May 9, when Rosenthal released a public apology, conceding that his press release "lacked clarity and the content was inaccurate." He asked all news services, web pages and email lists to kill the story.

There is one big unanswered question: Where did the "bare faced lie" quote come from? At midweek, Lambeth press aides and Rosenthal's office had not responded to numerous inquiries about this issue.

What is happening? All over the ecclesiastical map, bishops and bureaucrats are learning that the wise crack is true -- freedom of the press really does belong to people who own one. The web has given legions of people the ability to ship documents, speeches, transcripts, letters, statistics, fact sheets, opinions and embarrassing press reports into scores of pews and pulpits.

A Canterbury press release goes all over the world. But so does a Virtue email carving up a bishop's revealing remarks in a local parish forum that was captured on tape.

While only 3,000 users have signed up to receive his press reports, that number includes 30 or more traditional Anglican writers and editors -- in Canada, Latin America, Asia, Australia and, especially, Africa -- who forward his work to thousands of their own cyber-subscribers. Many of them click "forward" once again.

Virtue claims to have 80,000 readers. His critics on the Episcopal left dispute this and have conducted their own investigations, trying to undercut that statistic. Of course, those critics have their own web sites and email lists.

The official church press is no longer the only game in town. Ask the Presbyterians or the Baptists. Ask the United Methodists or the Greek Orthodox bishops. Ask just about anybody. The World Wide Web wars are turning up the heat in a growing number of religious sanctuaries. This, in turn, affects how the shepherds relate to their flocks.

After all, noted journalist Andrew Carey of the Church of England Newspaper, when Episcopalians read denominational press releases, it seems that their church is "in perfect health, and merely trailblazing for a more enlightened Christianity. The rest of the Anglican Communion will follow -- you mark their words!" Yet when they open an email from Virtuosity or the Third World bishops, it seems the Episcopal Church and "other liberal provinces ...are on a downward spiral into hell, if they have not already arrived."

It does little good, he said, for clergy to moan about this. The web has changed the rules of the game.

Carey the journalist should know. His father is the archbishop of Canterbury.

Who is praying for McVeigh?

As every movie buff knows, condemned prisoners always get to say a few final words.

Some apologize, while others protest. Some repent. Some rant. All have a last chance to confess to an eternal judge.

A decade ago, an infamous killer in South Carolina quietly offered words of thankfulness and acceptance. When Rusty Woomer died in the electric chair, he was not the man whose Quaaludes-and-whiskey fueled binge had left four tortured and dead.

"I'm sorry," said Woomer, whose prison years included many acts of selfless service to others. "I claim Jesus Christ as my savior. My only wish is that everyone in the world could feel the love I have felt from him."

It's hard not to contrast this with the arrogance shown by America's greatest terrorist, said the Rev. Lee Strobel, a former Chicago Tribune legal-affairs reporter who is now a writer and teacher at the massive Saddleback (Calif.) Community Church. Nevertheless, anyone who takes Christianity seriously must pray for a moment of repentance and grace before Timothy McVeigh is executed by lethal injection.

"After he is declared dead, McVeigh will stand trial once more," said Strobel, before the now-delayed execution date. "This time, there will be no secrets, no defense attorneys, no legal maneuvering, not rationalizations, no excuses. And unless something happens before then, he will be found guilty once again and sentenced to a hellish eternity in a place utterly devoid of hope. ... This will not make God happy."

During his media offensive, McVeigh has said his last blast of political rhetoric will include lines from William Ernest Henley's "Invictus." In this anthem of defiant individualism, the poet briefly thanks "whatever gods may be," yet concludes:

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scrolls,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

That doesn't sound like a humble confession of sin. Strobel's sermon, entitled "What Jesus Would Say to Timothy McVeigh," noted that the bomber has refused to apologize and even called his youngest victims mere "collateral damage." Thus, McVeigh has become the soldier from hell -- a poster boy for all that is evil. Can this man be saved?

"God is just, but God also is merciful," said Strobel. "So McVeigh's soul can saved. That is the word of hope that he needs to hear. ... There is always a chance that someone can repent and be forgiven. We are supposed to believe that, no matter what."

Debates about heaven and hell, salvation and damnation, become even more complex when linked to an issue as explosive as the death penalty. Strobel said he opposes the death penalty, in part because of the cracks in the justice system that he probed during his years in journalism. He also would agree with Pope John Paul II that nations today can efficiently fight crime "without definitely taking away the possibility of self-redemption."

Strobel said Christianity clearly teaches that McVeigh -- whatever his legal fate -- can repent and find salvation. So the most disturbing question is not, "Can McVeigh be saved?", but, "Why aren't more believers praying that he will be saved?"

Of course, there are "universalists" who don't believe in hell and, thus, believe that McVeigh will go to heaven with everyone else, no matter what. People who hold this belief tend to stay quiet during the days just before the execution of notorious criminals.

Meanwhile, other believers proclaim salvation by grace, but in practice this doctrine of radical forgiveness tends to make them nervous, said Strobel. Most people find it easier to imagine God forgiving their own "garden-variety sins," or those of a kindly neighbor, than God forgiving the likes of Jeffrey Dahmer, Karla Faye Tucker or, should he repent, McVeigh.

But sin is sin, said Strobel.

"If anyone ought to know how much he needs God and how much he needs to be forgiven, it ought to be Timothy McVeigh. But that doesn't mean we're supposed to be cheering as he dies and calling him the world's greatest sinner. Doing that only makes it harder for us to see the sin in our own lives and how badly we all need to be forgiven."