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That ancient question that will not go away: Where is God in the coronavirus crisis?

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That ancient question that will not go away: Where is God in the coronavirus crisis?

Queen Elizabeth II has seen more than her share of good and evil during her 68 years on the British throne.

Candles shining in the darkness just before Easter are familiar symbols of the presence of good, even in the hardest of times, said the 92-year-old queen, in a recent address about a single subject affecting her people -- the coronavirus crisis.

"Easter isn't cancelled. Indeed, we need Easter as much as ever," she said. "The discovery of the risen Christ on the first Easter Day gave his followers new hope and fresh purpose, and we can all take heart from this. We know that coronavirus will not overcome us. As dark as death can be -- particularly for those suffering with grief -- light and life are greater."

An ancient question loomed over the queen's remarks: Where is God during this global pandemic that threatens the lives and futures of millions of people?

Theologians have a name -- "theodicy" -- for this puzzle. One website defines this term as "a branch of theology ... that attempts to reconcile the existence of evil in the world with the assumption of a benevolent God."

In his book "God in the Dock," the Christian apologist C.S. Lewis of Oxford University argued that "modern man" now assumes, when evil occurs, that God is on trial. This process "may even end in God's acquittal," he noted. "But the important thing is that Man is on the Bench and God is in the Dock."

This tension can be seen during news coverage of tragedies, wars, disasters and pandemics. Ordinary people involved in these stories often address "theodicy" questions, whether journalists realize it or not. This is a pattern I have observed many times -- since this past week marked my 32nd anniversary writing this national "On Religion" column.

The late Peter Jennings of ABC World News Tonight noted that, whenever news teams cover disasters, reporters often ask questions that sound like this: "How did you get through this terrible experience?" Survivors frequently reply: "I don't know. I just prayed. Without God's help, I don't think I could have made it."

What happens next, Jennings once told me, illustrates the gap that separates many journalists and most Americans. There will be an awkward silence, he said, and then the reporter will say something like: "That's nice. But what REALLY got you through this?"


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AP covers Orthodox Easter around the world -- except in the churches of America

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All news is local? I guess not, when it comes to Eastern Orthodox Christianity.

I looked forward to coverage of Pascha (Easter in the West) this year for several reasons — in part because bishops in America have cooperated with “shelter in place” orders, but have also been creative in some of their responses. It’s hard to capture Orthodox liturgy with one digital camera, but monasteries and parishes have been doing their best, often with beautiful results. (Click here to visit my old parish outside Johnson City, Tenn, in the Smokey Mountains.)

Thus, I was disappointed when I read the Associated Press feature about Pascha. It was an impressive effort to cover the global angle of this story — but completely ignored the fact that Orthodoxy is right here in North America, as well. The story ended with this reporting credit:

Daria Litvinova reported from Moscow. Theodora Tongas in Athens, Menelaos Hadjicostis in Nicosia, Cyprus, Konstantin Testorides in Skopje, North Macedonia, Elias Meseret in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia and Dusan Stojanovic in Belgrade, Serbia, contributed.

All valid. But who covered Dallas, Wichita, Kan., Pittsburgh, Southern California, Appalachia, Florida and Washington, D.C., among other obvious locations? Did I miss a story somewhere?

You see, Orthodoxy in America has turned into an interesting quilt of ethnic traditions and thriving parishes packed with converts, from lots of other flocks or folks who had no faith at all.

Yes, the Greeks are the Greeks and the Slavs are the Slavs. But there are also Orthodox red necks, Midwestern farmers and lots of other American archetypes. Here’s a rather normal pack of folks singing in lockdown:


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It's a fact that the Holy Fire in Jerusalem is a hoax? Associated Press appears to assume that

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What, pray tell, are journalists supposed to do when people report miracles?

This question isn’t as simple as it sounds. For example, here are two statements to compare: (1) Every year, X-number of people are miraculously healed. (2) Every year, X-number of people pray for healing and they say that they have been healed.

Wait, let’s add another: (3) Every year, X-number of people claim they have been healed and doctors report that, in some cases, there is no simple explanation for the changes in their symptoms and health.

OK, that first statement is a statement of faith. The second is a statement of fact, in that it is accurate that these believers said this and that they believe it. This “they believe it” construction is common in news reports about this kind of thing. The third statement, however, involves information from outside sources — a medical journal, perhaps — that in some way support (or at least do not contradict) the faith claim. In other words, this is a belief statement PLUS some additional reporting.

Personally, I appreciate news reports that include this third stage (such as reports about Vatican investigations of healing claims when an intercessor is being considered for designation as a saint).

This brings me to a recent Associated Press report about the annual Holy Fire rite at Jerusalem’s most important ancient Christian sanctuary. Here is the overture (and pay attention to the final statement):

JERUSALEM -- Israel is working with foreign governments and Orthodox Christian leaders in the Holy Land to make sure that one of their most ancient and mysterious rituals — the Holy Fire ceremony — is not extinguished by the coronavirus outbreak, officials said. …

Each year, thousands of worshippers flock to Jerusalem's Old City and pack into the Church of the Holy Sepulcher — built on the site where Christian tradition holds that Jesus was crucified, buried and resurrected — for the pre-Easter ceremony.

Top Eastern Orthodox clerics enter the Edicule, the small chamber marking the site of Jesus’ tomb, and exit with candles said to be miraculously lit with “holy fire” as a message to the faithful. Details of the flame’s source are a closely guarded secret.

Note the double statement of authority for the authenticity of this rite and miracle claim. First there is a simple “said to be” structure, which is the safe type (2) form discussed above.

But what comes next, with “are” and the “closely guarded secret” language?


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Covering 'mainline' faith: Why do the old Protestant churches get so much news ink?

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Soon after I left the newsroom of the Rocky Mountain News to teach at Denver Seminary, in the early 1990s, a general-assignment reporter was asked to do a story about a trend in religion. It was something to do with prayer, if I recall, and editors wanted to run it on Easter.

The reporter went to three or four nearby churches in downtown. As you would expect, these were old flocks linked to Mainline Protestantism and one Catholic parish. All were, to one degree or another, both historic and struggling, in terms of attendance and membership. The city’s biggest churches were in the suburbs, especially in the booming territory between Denver and Colorado Springs — already a nationally known evangelical power base. The state included at least five internationally known centers on spirituality and prayer, one evangelical, one charismatic Episcopal, one Buddhist and two Roman Catholic.

The story ended up with voices from the dominant flocks of Denver’s past, when liberal Protestant voices were the statistical norm.

Many times, through the years, religious leaders have asked me: Why do the oldline Protestant churches receive so much news coverage? During my Denver years, Episcopalians and United Methodists did make lots of national news — as doctrinal wars escalated about sex and marriage.

These were subjects that editors considered news. Evangelical Presbyterian churches growing to 6,000-plus members in their first five years of existence? That might be worth a column. It’s not big news.

I thought of these discussions the other day when I read a Religion News Service — a long feature with lots of valid material — that ran with this headline: “As a pandemic peaks at Christianity’s Easter climax, churches adapt online.” Here’s the opening anecdote:

On Palm Sunday (April 5), the Rev. Ted Gabrielli, a bespectacled Jesuit with a bushy beard, stood in the bed of a roving pickup truck that traveled through Boyle Heights, a mostly Latino neighborhood on Los Angeles’ east side.

Gabrielli, a pastor at Dolores Mission Church, greeted neighbors from the truck and blessed the homes, alleys and streets he passed. He greeted many by name. One neighbor, caught on a Facebook livestream of the procession, stood from her home waving palms, the symbol of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem in the week before he was crucified.


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'Why did God let this happen?' Washington Post report on pastor's death asks fair questions

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My first full-time journalism job was working as a copy editor (and music columnist) for The Champaign-Urbana News-Gazette. Thus, I spent most of my time editing stories, designing pages and, of course, writing headlines.

Sometimes reporters liked my headlines and sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes readers liked my headlines and sometimes they didn’t. When readers hated my headlines, they usually called the reporter who wrote the story and yelled at them. Why? Because, like most news consumers, they didn’t realize that reporters rarely write the headlines that run with their stories.

As someone who went on to spend years as a reporter and columnist, I really wish more readers understood this basic fact about the news business.

This brings us — once again — to a question about a headline. If you read The Washington Post online, or follow Twitter, you saw this blunt headline:

Prominent Virginia pastor who said ‘God is larger than this dreaded virus’ dies of covid-19

However, if you read the dead-tree-pulp edition of the Post, you saw this:

Pastor preached about virus that took his life

As you would expect, some people — including former GetReligionista Mark Hemingway — raised questions about that first headline. I thought that it was accurate, but rather cruel. It could be read as an attempt to mock (a) this preacher, (b) God or (c) both. The second headline offered a mild statement of the facts.

If the goal is to evaluate work in the Post, which matters most — a click-bait headline or the contents of the actual news story?


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This week's podcast: Are all those COVID-19 stories about rebel preachers fueled by bias?

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Veteran GetReligion readers will remember that I grew up as a Southern Baptist preacher’s kid in Texas and then, as an undergraduate, did a double major in journalism and history at Baylor University, along with a master’s in church-state studies.

Why bring up my Baptist credentials, right now? Well, they’re relevant to the topic that “Crossroads” host Todd Wilken and I discussed during this week’s podcast. (Click here to tune that in.)

You see, I have been listening to Bible Belt folks argue about journalism for a long time. My parents backed my career choice, but trust me when I say that I can quote chapter and verse on why many people think that “Christian” and “journalist” are words that don’t go together.

The bottom line: If you ask why so many journalists struggle to do accurate, balanced coverage of religion you’ll hear lots of conservatives in pews (and pulpits) say: “Well, journalists hate religious people.”

That’s a straw-man argument and simplistic, to boot. I have seen, and heard about, some strong examples of prejudice against religious folks in newsrooms, but I have never thought that negative prejudice was the biggest problem that skews religion coverage. For starters, I’ve met some journalists who don’t care enough about religion to, well, hate it. There’s way more journalists who think that there’s good religion and then there’s bad religion and they are pretty sure which is which.

Anyway, I continue to hear from GetReligion readers who are mad about all those news stories on independent preachers who ignore coronavirus crisis “shelter in place” orders requiring them to avoid business-as-usual worship. Here’s a chunk of the GetReligion post that served as the hook for the podcast:

… (The) question looks like this: Why are the few pastors who reject “shelter in place” orders getting so much ink with their face-to-face worship services, while the vast majority of clergy who have moved their rites online — often for the first time — are getting little or no coverage? I have already written about this twice at GetReligion — look here and then here. …

Here is what people are feeling: How come some angry preacher deep in the Bible Belt is getting all this coverage and, well, online efforts by the still massive Southern Baptist Convention are ignored?


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Photos of lilies at sunrise won't be enough: Talking 2020 Easter news with Eric Metaxas

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Yes, I wore the tacky “I (heart) New York” sweatshirt on purpose.

Note that it’s green, as well. Just to crank up the tacky factor, I bought this stereotypical sweatshirt for half price after St. Patrick’s Day — at a shop located deep in the dark, dismal, Dante’s Inferno-like lower floors of New York City’s Penn Station. If you’ve been there, you know what I am talking about.

So I wore it as an ironic nod to the fact that my old friend Eric Metaxas is — like all New York City writer-commentators — doing what he calls “bunker” broadcasts from his apartment somewhere in the 4, 5, 6 subway zone on the city’s East Side. He pops out from time to time for runs in Central Park (especially if there are Samaritan’s Purse field hospitals there).

I have known Metaxas for nearly a quarter century now, dating back to early Internet contacts in the days when he was a freelancer and VeggieTales scribe (see his interview with Phil “Bob the Tomato” Vischer).

Note that means that our friendship dates way, way back before we needed to avoid talking about Citizen Donald Trump. I also do not understand his obsession with late 1970s radio classics, but that’s another issue altogether. I mean, Trump plus “Bennie and the Jets”? Come on.

But I thought GetReligion readers might enjoy this video on this weekend, in particular, since it focuses on news coverage of this very unique Easter season — both in the churches of the East and West. Metaxas grew up in Greek Orthodoxy and has traveled into evangelicalism, while I grew up Southern Baptist and have converted into Eastern Orthodoxy. We are both bilingual, in a way.

This is not — to say the least — a year when newspaper editors will be able to get away with a glowing picture of Easter lilies at sunrise and that’s that.


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Court frees Cardinal Pell: Washington Post offers basic journalism. And the New York Times?

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This will be a very simple post about a very complicated religion-news story.

I am referring to the news that lit up Twitter the other day, when the news broke that Australia’s highest court had — with a 7-0 vote — overturned controversial (I need a stronger word) decisions by two lower courts convicting Cardinal George Pell of sexually assaulting two choirboys at the Melbourne cathedral in the 1990s.

I will not attempt to hash out the many ways that the secret nature of these Aussie court proceedings affected the news coverage. I will not discuss the details of the victim’s testimony against Pell and whether it was possible for a bishop, wearing many layers of thick, complicated vestments and almost certainly accompanied by an aide, to have committed these crimes in a public place.

No, my goal here is to contrast the journalism in two elite-media reports — in The Washington Post and then The New York Times — about this final court decision, which set Pell free and unleashed hurricanes of online arguments (yet again).

In terms of journalism, what is the essential difference between these two stories?

First, let’s look at the Post story, which ran with this headline: “Cardinal George Pell is released from prison after court quashes sexual abuse conviction.” If you read this story, you will find several passages like this:

In a written statement, Pell said he felt no ill will toward his accuser and did not want his acquittal to add to the bitterness in the community.

"There is certainly hurt and bitterness enough," he said. "However, my trial was not a referendum on the Catholic Church, nor a referendum on how church authorities in Australia dealt with the crime of pedophilia in the church.

"The point was whether I had committed these awful crimes, and I did not."

Readers will also read passages like this one:

The decision is likely to upset Pell's many detractors, who hold him responsible not just for the alleged assault on the choirboys but for the broader record of the Catholic Church in Australia, where some 4,444 people reported being abused in recent decades, according to an official inquiry. Their average age was about 11 years old.


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No confessions? Coronavirus crisis creates legal, doctrinal Lenten minefield for priests

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No confessions? Coronavirus crisis creates legal, doctrinal Lenten minefield for priests

Every now and then, while a priest is traveling or out running errands, a stranger will approach and ask: "Father, will you hear my confession?"

This can happen on a city sidewalk or in a quiet corner of a big-box store. Often the question is urgent -- because something disturbing has shaken someone's faith.

"I've been asked for confession in a taxi. I've been asked while on a train," said Father Fergal O'Duill, part of the Dallas-Fort Worth branch of the Catholic movement Regnum Christi. His name is pronounced "O'Doul" and he is originally from Dublin, Ireland.

These requests happen, he added, because "people see you and they know you're a priest. We're priests no matter where we go."

Hearing confessions is crucial during the penitential season of Lent, which precedes Easter, which is on April 12th this year for Catholics and Protestants (and April 19th for Eastern Orthodox Christians). Centuries of Catholic and Orthodox tradition urge believers to go to confession during Lent, before receiving Holy Communion on Easter.

The irony, right now, is that O'Duill can hear confessions during chance encounters, but not during scheduled times at the school where is serves as a chaplain.

The evolving coronavirus pandemic has turned Lent into a confusing minefield of legal and doctrinal questions for pastors and their flocks. In many communities, but not all, state or local officials have ordered people to "shelter in place" -- staying home unless they have "essential" needs elsewhere. This has raised an obvious question: Is going to confession "essential," even if Catholics are preparing for Holy Week and Easter rites they will have to watch on digital screens at home?

For most of March, O'Duill was one of several priests who heard confessions in a giant parking lot, or in a pair of tents, near the Highlands School in Irving, Texas. Every effort was made to provide enough privacy to maintain the "dignity" of the sacrament, he said, while priests remained a safe distance from the penitents. Priests offered similar "drive-through" confession opportunities in a few other parts of America.

Then, on March 22, Dallas County Judge Clay Jenkins issued a "shelter in place" order effective through April 3 and, perhaps, beyond.

The ground rules changed.


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