worship

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King Charles III and the dangers of talking about Easter

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King Charles III and the dangers of talking about Easter

In western Christian churches, the highest holy day on the liturgical calendar is Easter -- the Solemnity of the Resurrection of the Lord.

A year ago, King Charles III, in an Easter message that made little news, proclaimed that the love Jesus showed "when he walked the Earth reflected the Jewish ethic of caring for the stranger and those in need, a deep human instinct echoed in Islam and other religious traditions. …

"The abiding message of Easter is that God so loved the world -- the whole world -- that He sent His son to live among us to show us how to love one another, and to lay down His own life for others in a love that proved stronger than death."

This year, Buckingham Palace made headlines when it confirmed that Charles III, the Supreme Governor of the Church of England, would not release a statement for Holy Week or Easter. While the monarch traditionally addresses the public at Christmas, Easter messages have not been the norm.

This news shocked many Christian leaders, since the king had just offered statements marking the beginning and end of Ramadan, the month of fasting and prayer for Muslims.

Adding fuel to the fire, a protester sprayed "Not our King" in red paint on a wall of the ancient Cathedral of Saints Asaph and Cyndeyrn in Wales before the arrival of King Charles and Queen Camilla for a Maundy Thursday rite during Holy Week.

The Royal Family did release a short Easter message on social media, showing a cross, the message, "Happy Easter. He is risen!" and a caption wishing "a joyous Easter Sunday to Christians celebrating in the UK, the Commonwealth and around the world today."

It's fair to ask how the king expected the public to interpret both his actions and what could be seen as strategic silence, said Gavin Ashenden, a convert to Catholicism who, as a priest in the Church of England, served as chaplain for Queen Elizabeth II from 2008-2017.

It would have been consistent for Charles to issue remarks about Great Lent, as well as Ramadan, since the fasting and prayer themes in these seasons are similar, wrote Ashenden, on his "New English Catholic" website.

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Memory eternal: For my brother Don Mattingly, a pioneer in youth ministry

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Memory eternal: For my brother Don Mattingly, a pioneer in youth ministry

The Dictionary.com definition for "centrifuge" offers this: "An apparatus that rotates at high speed and by centrifugal force separates substances of different densities, as milk and cream."

It was a strange name, in the late 1970s, for a Southern Baptist Convention youth leadership project. But there was logic to it, according to the man behind the idea -- my brother Don Mattingly.

Centrifuge camps "would spin kids out into their futures, that's what Don always said. Out into ministries. Out into careers they wouldn't have thought of before. Out into projects back home, helping people," said Joe Palmer, the second Centrifuge leader. "It's not all playing volleyball, basketball and games. … They're learning about the rest of their lives."

For my older brother -- who died on March 18 -- the centrifuge of change in young lives was a major theme during his decades as a leader on the national SBC staff, at Baylor University and in countless youth-education events across America.

As the world whirled faster and faster, Don argued that religious leaders needed to create ministries that could spin young people in positive ways, helping them discover what mattered in their hearts, minds and souls.

Centrifuge began in 1979 in Glorieta, New Mexico, quickly attracting flocks of campers, with many Bible studies held in stairwells due to lack of space. This summer, during a "Fuge" (the nickname that stuck) somewhere in America, the network will register the 2 millionth participant in these unique camps.

At the heart of my brother's vision was a track system of classes and forums in which teens heard young leaders -- often seminary or graduate students -- address a variety of potential vocations. Fuge camps still offer tracks on sports, "STEM" careers, sign language, drama, "Random acts of service," music, "spiritual gifts" and more. "MFuge" camps cover work in local, national and global missions.

This was one of my brother's big ideas, as he planned and worked, while earning a religious education doctorate along the way: Young people needed to know that God can call them to work in pulpits or in classrooms, in missions or in coaching, in arts or hard sciences. The church should help them consider their options.

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The Episcopal Church is about to die? It's leader says that's a lie "from the pit of hell"

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The Episcopal Church is about to die? It's leader says that's a lie "from the pit of hell"

Episcopal Church leaders have long heard warning sirens in their annual reports, with brutal statistics supporting this reality -- they have lost half of their members since the 1960s.

If trends continue, the mainline Anglican flock in America will lose another half of its membership by 2040, with some demographers predicting institutional demise by 2050. But that's better than the Anglican Church of Canada, which could be gone by 2040.

After years of producing reports about religion in America, political scientist Ryan Burge knows a viral headline when he sees one. One of his recent Graphs about Religion posts asked: "When are Half of Your Members Going to be Dead?"

"Episcopalians are old," wrote Burge. "In fact, two-thirds of their adult members have celebrated their 60th birthday. In contrast, just 6% are under the age of 30. Put simply: for every young adult Episcopalian in the pews this Sunday, there will be about 10 retirees. Oof."

Episcopalians hold five funerals for every wedding, he noted, in a January 23 address for the Episcopal Diocese of Central Florida.

"My job is to tell the truth," said Burge, of the John C. Danforth Center on Religion and Politics at Washington University in St. Louis. For the Episcopal Church, "the check engine light is flashing."

Episcopalians are not alone, he stressed. In the 1950s, according to historians, "mainline" Protestants -- Episcopalians, Lutherans, Presbyterians, Methodists and others -- were 52% of the U.S. population. That fell to 30% by 1970 and, today, has hit 8.7%.

"Guess what? Old people die, and they're really religious. And you know who they're going to be replaced by? Young people, who are not very religious," said Burge, noting that about 43% of Generation Z claims no religious affiliation.

Drawing laughter, he added: "Hey, here's some good news. Attendance is up, a little bit." And donations are steady. However, "If you die with the most money, you're still dead."

Burge's name surfaced during the Episcopal Parish Network's annual meeting, held in Charlotte, North Carolina. Asked about reports of doom, Presiding Bishop Sean Rowe noted that "people make their living telling us that."

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Robert Duvall's journeys deep into the world of sin, repentance, grace and faith

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Robert Duvall's journeys deep into the world of sin, repentance, grace and faith

Before playing Lt. Col. Bill Kilgore in "Apocalypse Now," actor Robert Duvall, a U.S. Army veteran, persuaded a Vietnam War helicopter pilot to explain the realities of air cavalry life.

To portray Augustus McCrae in "Lonesome Dove," Duval studied equestrian skills with a champion show jumper and befriended West Texas football legend Sammy Baugh, mastering his bowlegged walk and slow drawl.

For his Oscar-winning role as the alcoholic country-music star Mac Sledge in "Tender Mercies," Duvall drove hundreds of miles in rural Texas, studying customs and accents. He formed a band, performed in bars and wrote two songs for the movie.

Duvall visited churches, too -- preparing to embody Sledge's born-again conversion, baptism and faith. Research with believers immediately bled into the screenplay he wrote for "The Apostle," which Duval directed and financed. The movie earned him another Academy Award acting nomination, one of seven during a career that ended on February 15, when the 95-year-old screen legend died at home on his Virginia horse farm.

That movie's complex Pentecostal preacher -- Euliss F. "Sonny" Dewey -- ran from the law after killing his wife's young lover with a baseball bat.

Duvall talked with fallen ministers in prisons and took notes.

"I've met guys like that who have done all kinds of bad things, even murder and rape," Duvall told me, while promoting "The Apostle." These preachers are "real people, and they struggle with the good and the bad that's in their own souls. They're human. I wanted to show the reality of that struggle. ... My guy makes mistakes. But he's more good than bad. He hangs on to his faith, because it's real."

In "The Apostle," Dewey didn't run from God. He screamed his pain in prayers.

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St. Thea of Mississippi? The case for her canonization has reached the Vatican

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St. Thea of Mississippi? The case for her canonization has reached the Vatican

In the final months of her life, Sister Thea Bowman heard the whispers.

She appreciated the hugs that lingered longer, as believers promised to keep praying that she would win her battle with cancer. She saw the warm glances, containing a touch of awe, as Catholics -- especially Black Catholics -- quietly discussed whether Rome would someday recognize her as St. Thea of Mississippi.

"People who really know me know my struggles," she said, before an Aurora, Colorado, prayer service in 1989.

The word "saint" didn't bother her, she added. But she wanted to know why many Catholics hesitate to apply that term to others whose faith touched their lives.

"You see, I'm Black," she said, with a quiet laugh. "I guess the word 'saint' has a different meaning for me. I was raised in a community where everyone grew up believing we were supposed to be what we called a 'saint.' We were always saying things like, 'The saints would be coming to church today' or 'The saints will really be dancing and singing this Sunday.'"

Sister Thea died less than a year later at the age of 52, after spending most of her life teaching children in rural Mississippi schools. Then, in 1987, she was featured in a CBS News "60 Minutes" profile, leading to opportunities to speak and sing across America.

Now, after years of studying the life of Sister Thea, the Diocese of Jackson, Mississippi, has officially sealed the documents and materials it gathered and sent them to the Vatican Dicastery for the Causes of Saints. Before the February 9th Mass marking that event, Bishop Joseph Kopacz said: "Her life continues to inspire faith, hope and joy, not only within our diocese but throughout the church in the United States and beyond."

Sister Thea's grandfather was a slave, her father a physician. She converted to Catholicism when the Franciscan Sisters of Perpetual Adoration opened a school in central Mississippi. She entered a convent in the 10th grade and later earned a doctorate in English language and literature from the Catholic University of America.

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Looking back at "Old Christmas" traditions in the mountains of southern Appalachia

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Looking back at "Old Christmas" traditions in the mountains of southern Appalachia

Candles in farmhouse windows can shine a long way on dark nights in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

That light was especially symbolic at Christmas, when settlers in frontier Appalachia -- many of them Scot-Irish -- faced hard journeys on rough roads and trails through terrain crisscrossed with mountain ridges and valleys cut by rivers and creeks.

"There was a real sense of community building that occurred during the Christmas celebration across Appalachia," said historian Ted Olson of the Appalachian Studies department at East Tennessee State University in Johnson City. "Before automobiles, travel would be on foot or horseback or in wagons. It was difficult to travel through winter conditions, with snow and ice and whatnot to visit kith and kin. …

"The candles would invite people in, suggesting that the flame of spiritual renewal is alive in this house. They said, 'Please join us! … You are welcome. We are all fellow Christians celebrating these sacred days together.'"

On the High Plains and in many frontier regions, farmers often lived great distances from one another. The distances were shorter in the "Southern Highlands" of Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee and North Carolina, but the terrain was treacherous. It might take two or three days to visit extended family or a nearby town with stores, a doctor and other necessities.

Many frontier churches welcomed occasional visits by circuit-riding preachers, and an Irish Catholic family would almost certainly be living far from a priest. Travelers on mountain roads, especially in winter storms, needed safe shelter. During the 12 days the Appalachian people called "Old Christmas," having relatives, neighbors and travelers at the door singing carols captured the essence of the season, noted Olson, author of the book "Blue Ridge Folklife," and a poet, musician and photographer.

Visitors could shout "Christmas gift," since the hosts would be prepared to offer them small gifts to show they were welcome, perhaps an orange, some candy, a decorated pinecone or something else gathered from nature.

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Why Christians in today's marketplace need Advent music playlists

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Why Christians in today's marketplace need Advent music playlists

"O Lord, How Shall I Meet You" is a perfect Lutheran hymn for the weeks before Christmas, but shoppers will never hear it between Muzak versions of "Jingle Bells" and "White Christmas" in their local malls.

The key is that "O Lord, How Shall I Meet You" is from the penitential season of Advent, said Pastor Will Weedon. That's the four weeks preceding Christmas in liturgical calendars for Catholics, Lutherans and others in Western Christianity.

The Christmas connection is clear, stressed Weedon, with lines such as: "O Lord, how shall I meet You / How welcome You aright? /Your people long to greet You / My hope, my heart's delight! / O kindle, Lord most holy / Your lamp within my breast / To do in spirit lowly / All that may please You best."

The hymn contains this confession: "I lay in fetters, groaning / You came to set me free / I stood, my shame bemoaning / You came to honor me."

"We need to hear this as we prepare for Christmas," said Weedon, former director of worship and chaplain for the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod. "Advent hymns have about them a sense of dissatisfaction with our lives in this world. …

"We have a mess on our hands, some of it of our own making, and we're praying for Christ to come and save us," he said, reached by telephone. That message "doesn't work at Walmart, where Christmas starts at Halloween. Our culture doesn't understand the idea of fasting before feasting. We are urged to party and feast all the time."

Collections of Christmas music often include a few popular Advent hymns sung in Protestant services and even in Christmas parties, such as "Joy to the World," "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" and, especially, "O Come, O Come Emmanuel." Many Catholic Advent hymns focus on the role of Mary, the mother of Jesus, such as "Rorate Caeli (Drop down, ye Heavens."

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The convert era: What will Orthodox America look like in 2040 (Part II)

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The convert era: What will Orthodox America look like in 2040 (Part II)

The Orthodox baptism rite includes a three-stage exorcism that is extremely detailed about the spiritual warfare that surrounds new Christians.

Finally, there is this appeal to God: "Redeeming this Your creature from the yoke of the Enemy, receive him (her) into Your heavenly Kingdom. … Yoke unto his (her) life a shining Angel to deliver him (her) from every plot directed against him (her) by the Adversary, from encounter with evil, from the noon-day demon, and from evil dreams. Drive out from him (her) every evil and unclean spirit, hiding and lurking in his (her) heart."

The "Enemy" is Satan. Catechumens are asked, three times: "Do you renounce Satan, and all his works, and all his worship, and all his angels, and all his pomp?" They respond: "I do renounce him."

After several years of conversations while travelling nationwide, Father Andrew Stephen Damick is convinced these ancient prayers are painfully relevant to many converts surging into the small, but now growing, "Eastern Church" in America. It is no longer unusual to meet converts who have worshipped other gods and spirits.

"There's a sense of disenchantment, both in the sense of people feeling disillusioned and sort of bummed by the culture in general, but also disenchantment in the sense of a disconnection from the unseen spiritual world," said Damick, of the online Ancient Faith Ministries.

The converts want stability and guidance. Damick, via Zoom, stressed that many have "experienced the darkness of the unseen spiritual world and want to know what to do about that."

During a recent online forum -- "American Orthodoxy in 2040" -- Seraphim Rohlin, a data scientist who is also a deacon in the Orthodox Church in America, described a survey of converts in the Dallas area. As expected, 50% were former evangelicals, but 25% were former Catholics and 25% were truly "unchurched," including some neopagans. After a surge of young male converts, Orthodox leaders are now tracking a larger wave of young families.

As with many faith groups, some Orthodox parishes declined during the coronavirus pandemic. Other parishes stalled. Still, there have been pockets of Orthodox growth across the nation, even in areas with plateaued or declining population numbers. The biggest surge is in the Sun Belt and West, with numerous parishes doubling and tripling in size.