Humor

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Funny press release or valid news? Becket team salutes its 2022 public-square Scrooge

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Funny press release or valid news? Becket team salutes its 2022 public-square Scrooge

Religion-beat reporters (and columnists) get lots of strange press releases and letters from folks trying to get their pet issues covered.

My all-time favorite, during my Denver years, was a 50-page (at least) handwritten treatise on why superstar Barbara Streisand was the Antichrist. That created a steady stream of amused editors to my desk. I should have had the courage to write about it.

Most press releases are written by people who have absolutely no idea what newsrooms consider to be news or even what topics the reporter/columnist targeted with the release has written about in the past.

Christmas is a HUGE time for religion-beat press releases. This is logical because some newsrooms — those without religion-beat pros, ironically — struggle to find holiday story angles, year after year after year.

This year, I received one release that made me laugh out loud, in a good way. It came from a legal think tank that has made lots of news, in recent decades, with successful arguments at the U.S. Supreme Court. I have, for a decade-plus, received variations on this release from The Becket Fund for Religious Liberty, but this one (#GASP) really should have received some coverage.

It was about this year’s winner of the “Ebenezer Award,” saluting the “most outrageous and scandalous offenders of the Christmas and Hanukkah season.” This year’s winner: The government powers that be in King County, Washington. (Click here for previous winners.)

Here’s some of the press-release background:

King County's "Workforce Equity Manager" for the Department of Human Resources, Gloria Ngezaho, recently authored and issued a memo, titled "Guidelines for Holiday Decorations for King County Employees," where she states that workers may not "appear to support any particular religion" and bans them from displaying religious symbols in any "virtual workspace." …

King's County has refused to back down on their outlandish efforts to squash the religious expression of their employees during one of the most sacred times of the year for people of faith.

Did this story receive any mainstream press coverage?


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New podcast: Are news reports 'dunking' on the late religious broadcaster Marcus Lamb?

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New podcast: Are news reports 'dunking' on the late religious broadcaster Marcus Lamb?

If you search for the word “posterized” in up-to-date online dictionaries, this is what you find: “A slang term depicting a play in basketball. In said play, a player dunks the ball over top or in front of another player, making a play so picturesque that it may appear on a poster, hence the term, posterized.”

Clearly, this is linked to another term frequently used in the nasty verbal wars that are common on social-media sites, with Twitter — dominated by liberal and conservative voices in elite zip codes — being the best example.

That term is “dunking.”

“Dunking” is relevant to the main topic discussed in this week’s “Crossroads” podcast (click here to tune that in) about media coverage of the death of religious broadcaster Marcus Lamb, who died of COVID-19 after using his Daystar Television Network to criticize vaccine mandates and other anti-pandemic rules and guidelines, while advocating alternative treatments.

“Dunking” is defined, sort of, in this Slate article: “ ‘Dunking’ Is Delicious Sport — But it might be making Twitter even more terrible.” Here is a relevant passage:

Since Twitter rolled out the feature a couple of years ago, the quote-tweet has evolved into something like a pair of magic high-tops dispensed to every user on the service: Anyone can botch a tweet, and anyone can leap over him or her to score a couple of points—or a couple thousand likes and retweets.

The basketball term is apt: In a Twitter dunking, someone has made his point or said her piece, and instead of responding to it with a direct reply, perhaps in the spirit of equal-footed debate, the dunker seizes it like an alley-oop on his or her way to the basket. Maybe another player gets the unwitting assist, but the point is yours to be liked and retweeted not just as a reply but as a worthier tweet in its own right.

What does this look like in practice? Consider this example from the blitz of tweets about Lamb’s death. This dunk comes from the creator of the “America’s Best Christian” brand:


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Norm Macdonald: Theological mysteries, a red-brick wall, a spotlight and a microphone

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Norm Macdonald: Theological mysteries, a red-brick wall, a spotlight and a microphone

While debating heretics, early Christians used the Greek term "hypostasis" -- meaning "substance" and "subsistence" -- to help define their belief in the Incarnation of Jesus as one person, yet with divine and human natures.

This "hypostatic union" is not the kind of subject a comedian typically raises on a TV talk show while chatting about mortality with a Hollywood legend. Then again, Norm Macdonald -- who died on September 14 after a secret nine-year fight with cancer -- wasn't a typical funny man. He openly identified as a Christian, while making it clear that he didn't consider himself a very good one.

During an episode of "Norm Macdonald has a Show," the former Saturday Night Live star asked Jane Fonda -- who at one point briefly embraced evangelical Christianity -- this question: "Are you a religious person?"

"I have faith," said Fonda. The host quickly asked, "In Jesus Christ?" Hesitating, Fonda called herself "a work in process," saying she accepted "the historical Jesus."

Macdonald responded: "But do you believe in the hypostatic Jesus?"

When Fonda said "no," he added, "So, you're not a Christian. But you believe, you believe in something."

Raised vaguely Protestant in Canada, Macdonald didn't discuss the brand-name specifics of his faith, even as he wrestled with his own demons -- such as habitual gambling. Yet he could be stunningly specific when addressing criticisms of Christian beliefs. As a judge on NBC's "Last Comic Standing," he quietly shot down a contestant who trashed the Bible, before praising the Harry Potter series.

"I think if you're going to take on an entire religion, you should maybe know what you're talking about," said Macdonald. "J.K. Rowling is a Christian, and J.K. Rowling famously said that if you're familiar with the scriptures, you could easily guess the ending of her book."

The result was a public persona laced with paradoxes, an edgy, courageous comic who often seemed unconcerned if his work pleased the public or his employers.


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New podcast: Did a religious search help shape Norm Macdonald's haunting humor?

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New podcast: Did a religious search help shape Norm Macdonald's haunting humor?

While it may sound strange, I would argue that there are theological “ghosts” hiding inside the great comic Norm Macdonald’s most famous joke. This was the “moth” story, of course.

Right. This joke wasn’t a Saturday Night Live shot at O.J. Simpson or Bill Clinton. It was a long, twisting, bizarre story about a nihilistic moth who was afraid of eternity. It was the kind of joke that fit with the summary of Macdonald’s life and work that opened this Ricochet tribute by Jon Gabriel: “Norm Macdonald — Dostoyevsky in Front of a Red Brick Wall.”

The smartest comedians portray themselves as the dumbest; Norm Macdonald was the best at this sleight of hand. He graduated high school at 14, read Russian literature in his downtime, and had long philosophical discussions with clergy. … Macdonald was a student of human nature first, comedy second.

Macdonald was also a self-identified Christian, yet he made it clear that he didn’t consider himself a very good one.

The question raised during this week’s “Crossroads” episode (click here to tune that in) was whether news consumers had any right to expect journalists to mention that reality in their obits of this brilliant, courageous, edgy, mysterious comedian.

The more I read about him — following some really simple online searches — the more I hoped that someone would spot the religion “ghost” in his death-and-virtue haunted work. It also, at least to me, became obvious that many of his spiritual and religious questions were linked to his secret 10-year battle with the cancer that took his life. Cue up these two YouTube clips (here and here).

So this brings us to a crucial text: The actual “moth story” as it unfolded on on Conan.

Read carefully and keep thinking — Russian literature and maybe even a glimpse of a sacred icon.

Yes, I know that this is long. That’s the point:


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Here's a flashback into religion-beat history, with the help of the legendary Lou Grant

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Here's a flashback into religion-beat history, with the help of the legendary Lou Grant

If anyone ever writes a book about the history of religion news in the mainstream press it will need to include a photo of the glowering, and often smirking, mug of Lou Grant.

Lou Grant was a TV character, of course, played by the Emmy-winning actor Ed Asner, who died on Sunday (August 29) at age 91. But for millions of Americans, he provided -- in "The Mary Tyler Moore Show" and the sequel "Lou Grant" -- an archetypal image of what old-school journalism was all about.

One 1977 "Lou Grant" episode certainly captured some of the attitudes I encountered while interviewing journalists for my 1982 graduate project at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign, which focused on why few newsrooms made serious attempts to cover religion events and trends -- unless they were linked to politics.

Quite a few editors sounded like Lou Grant.

In this episode, entitled "Sect," the city editor of the mythical Los Angeles Tribune was wrestling with two problems at the same time. The problems seemed to be unrelated.

First, the Trib had lost its veteran religion editor. Grant searched and searched, but no one was interested in filling that empty desk. After all, what self-respecting journalist wanted to be stuck with the religion beat?

Problem number two was how to get rid of lazy, often-drunk, no-good reporter Mal Cavanaugh. All through this episode the newsroom's leaders had been searching for a way to get Cavanaugh to resign. Then came a spark of inspiration. The printed script is simple:

LOU: Well, Mal, you've been with this paper a mighty long time. As you say, this is your family.

CAVANAUGH: (All that humility) Aw, well, it's nice to be appreciated.

LOU: And I think I've found a place where we'll be able to use that special, sweet style that is Mal Cavanaugh.

CAVANAUGH: (Those eyes are getting moist; he sees himself getting a column) What's that, Lou?

LOU: Congratulations, Mal. You're the Trib's new religion editor.


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Adventures in religion-beat life: What's the difference between a 'pool pit' and a pulpit?

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Adventures in religion-beat life: What's the difference between a 'pool pit' and a pulpit?

I read the preacher’s words once — and then again — and tried to make sense of them.

In a Florida TV station’s report on a church promoting the COVID-19 vaccines, minister Charlie McClendon was quoted as saying, “Each week I emphasize it from the pool pit just before I preach.”

The pool pit?

I’ve covered religion for two-plus decades, but I hadn’t come across that term. Strange.

Later, my eyes popped wide open in the middle of the night.

Suddenly, it hit me.

“Pulpit.”

I burst into laughter, much to the chagrin of my sleeping wife.

After I posted on Twitter about the mistake, reporter Gretchen Kernbach offered a gracious mea culpa and corrected the wording.

Even before her tweet, I made clear — amid humorous responses and more serious calls for better religious literacy in journalism — that I wasn’t casting stones. In 30 years of news reporting, I’ve made plenty of doozy mistakes myself.

I just thought this particular one was funny. If you don’t believe me, feel free to ask my wife.


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Newspaper that once sang praises of Stalin shocked Babylon Bee likes to sting liberals!

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If you have been reading The Babylon Bee since Day 1, you know that its bread and butter has always been satire of evangelical Protestants of all kinds — from bearded Reformed seminarians who study theology in hipster craft-brewing establishments to megachurch musicians who yearn to play Eddie Van Halen solos during the 100th repetition of whatever praise chorus is currently all the rage.

You can see the Summa Theologica of that viewpoint in the book “How to Be a Perfect Christian: Your Comprehensive Guide to Flawless Spiritual Living,” by Bee founder Adam Ford and Kyle Mann, the website’s current editor. Hold that thought, because we will come back to it.

Lots of core early readers clicked on classic headline like “New Prayer App Delivers Electric Shock Every Time User Says 'Just' ") or "Joel Osteen Sails Luxury Yacht Through Flooded Houston To Pass Out Copies Of 'Your Best Life Now.' "

Then along came Donald Trump: Superstar. Legions of people wanted to click a headline like this one: “Trump Announces He Was Born Of A Virgin And Will Bring Balance To The Force.” Eventually, it was obvious that the Bee also needed to harvest the gazillions of clicks that would result from posts mocking blue-zip-code liberals who have been suffering from so-called “Trump Derangement Syndrome.”

The fact that I needed to add “so-called” in that sentence points to the complexity of the current age for satirists. As another Bee headline noted: “Reality Criticized For Not More Clearly Distinguishing Itself From Satire.”

Now, if Bee readers were going to write a New York Times headline about all of this — the evangelical subculture humor, the jabs at Trump and then the wisecracks about liberals — wouldn’t it look something like this epic double-decker?

What ‘The Babylon Bee’ Thinks Is So Funny About Liberals

The comedy site, a conservative answer to ‘The Onion,’ used to have Trump squarely in its cross hairs. But now it’s less about him and more about the people who can’t stand him.

This is actually a pretty interesting article, if one is willing to ignore the history of the Babylon Bee. Also, it helps to assume that, in order to be legitimate (whatever that means for a satire site) and funny, it needs to focus most of its attention on the sins of Citizen Trump, while ignoring all those freakouts about his existence seen in the highest ranks of the cultural establishment — especially the world of high tech billionaires and America’s entertainment, academic and journalism elites.

All of that brings us to this Times overture that simply writes itself:


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Farewell to 'Diogenes,' a witty, conservative Jesuit with a very sharp pen

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Farewell to 'Diogenes,' a witty, conservative Jesuit with a very sharp pen

For millions of Americans, "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" is as familiar as the national anthem and much easier to sing.

Few would need help with: "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored. He has loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword. His truth is marching on! Glory, glory, Hallelujah! … His truth is marching on!"

During 1990s fights over updated Catholic liturgies, a Semitic languages professor at Rome's Pontifical Biblical Institute wrote a Battle Hymn for modernists.

This "sanitized" text -- "chanted to no tune in particular" -- declared: "I see God's approach; it is good. God makes wine with God's feet. … Brightness flashes from the decision-making apparatus. God's worldview is currently earning widespread respect. Give honor repeatedly to the god of our tradition. We have owned our values."

Father Paul V. Mankowski put his own name on that First Things piece, since it didn't lance specific institutions or leaders. For decades, Catholics seeking his satirical work learned to look for "Diogenes" at CatholicCulture.org or "Father X" elsewhere.

Mankowski died on September 3 at age 66, felled by a ruptured brain aneurysm. Raised in a middle-class Rust Belt family, he worked in steel mills to pay tuition at the University of Chicago. His advanced degrees included a master's from Oxford and a Harvard University doctorate.

Many researchers, politicos and journalists (like me) knew him through telephone calls and emails, usually seeking documents and statements from nearby Catholic leaders. He was a rarity in the modern age -- a Jesuit conservative -- and his superiors eventually ordered him not to address church controversies. Much of his work was published anonymously or using pen names.

Princeton University's Robert P. George blitzed through years of emails, after hearing about Mankowski's sudden death.

"There are some doozies -- especially the spoofs, send ups and parodies," said George, on Facebook. "His wit was a massive quiver full of poison-dipped arrows, and he was a master archer.


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Orson Bean and Hollywood: His wild life had a final chapter worthy of some ink

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Orson Bean answered the same question many times during his crazy ride from Broadway to doing every conceivable kind of work during his decades in Hollywood.

What was this funny guy trying to do, while embracing drugs, edgy politics, sexual healing, hippie communes, experimental forms of therapy and other diversions involving his body, mind and soul?

On one occasion, Bean said he was trying to become the "happiest son of a bitch alive." In another Los Angeles Times interview he added: "I did all this stuff, the drugs, getting my kisser on the tube, because I thought it would make me happy. But it didn't work. I didn't find happiness until I learned to surrender, to give up the crazy pursuit."

Surrender to what? The answer to that question didn't make it into the media tributes after the 91-year-old Bean's death on Feb. 7, when he was hit by two cars while walking in his Venice, Calif., neighborhood. However, the answer has hiding in plain sight in several cable TV interviews, his one-man stage show and an online testimony he wrote entitled "How Orson Bean Found God."

"For most of my life I didn't believe in God," noted Bean. "Who had time? I was too busy with things of this world: getting ahead, getting laid, becoming famous.

"For most of my adult life I've been at least somewhat famous. Not so famous that I had to wear dark glasses to walk down the street, but famous enough that head waiters would give me a good table. I didn't want to be famous for its own sake. I wanted to be famous so as to be happy."

What finally turned Bean's life around was a religious conversion. He went looking for the "Higher Power" in his 12-step program and eventually found peace.

Many Hollywood people who knew Bean were amazed that the final act in his wild life -- from Communist sympathizer to father-in-law of the late conservative raconteur Andrew Breitbart -- didn't make it into news reports.

This was a lot of territory to cover. Bean's work was known by multiple generations -- from "What's My Line" to "Desperate Housewives," from his many appearances on "The Tonight Show starring Johnny Carson" to the surrealist classic "Being John Malkovich." Bean was pre-hip, then hip and finally a kind of ironic post-hip.

In the obituaries, journalists "got the blacklist thing in there, of course, because that's still a major sign of status in Hollywood," said Barbara Nicolosi Harrington, a former Catholic nun who became a screenwriter and film-studies professor.


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