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This week's podcast: Bari Weiss and the influence of woke orthodoxy at the New York Times

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When I read the Bari Weiss resignation letter, I knew (#DUH) that it represented an important development at The New York Times and, thus, in American journalism.

I thought that for legal reasons linked to the omnipresent newsroom reality called Slack — the software program that businesses use for in-house discussions, memos and chatter.

Please read the following comments from Weiss — in a letter to the publisher of the Times — and pretend that you are a lawyer who specializes in civil lawsuits claiming workplace discrimination and verbal violence.

My work and my character are openly demeaned on company-wide Slack channels where masthead editors regularly weigh in. There, some coworkers insist I need to be rooted out if this company is to be a truly “inclusive” one, while others post ax emojis next to my name. Still other New York Times employees publicly smear me as a liar and a bigot on Twitter with no fear that harassing me will be met with appropriate action. They never are.

There are terms for all of this: unlawful discrimination, hostile work environment, and constructive discharge. I’m no legal expert. But I know that this is wrong.

I do not understand how you have allowed this kind of behavior to go on inside your company in full view of the paper’s entire staff and the public.

If Weiss sues the Times, will her legal team — during the discovery process — be able to access those Slack files? How many posts did she save to back her case? Could Times leaders claim a right to privacy there, after years of doing coverage based on internal communications in other offices?

Big questions, but are they linked to religion — other than the Weiss claims that some of her colleagues kept asking why she was “writing about the Jews again”? Was there material here for a “Crossroads” podcast?

As it turned out, there was lots to talk about (click here to tune that in). The key word in the discussion? That would be “orthodoxy.”


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Talkin' Charlie Daniels 2.0: Country music is a mix of Sunday morning and Saturday night

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There’s this old saying here in Tennessee: When you’re talking about country music, you have to deal with stuff that happens on Saturday night and on Sunday morning.

The first person I heard say that was Naomi Judd and, well, she would know a thing or two about that. However, I don’t think that soundbite of wisdom originated with her. That would, for example, help explain the music of Hank Williams. Ditto for Willie Nelson. How about Dolly Parton?

You can put Charlie Daniels in there, as well. This leads me to the podcast conversation I had this week with Eric Metaxas, who has been a friend for 20 years or so. Please note that this goes way back before Donald Trump decided to enter politics.

Metaxas and I agree on many things and we disagree on a few things, too. But we care deeply about what happens when religious issues collide with the news. Eric tends to focus on the end product, while — as someone who has worked in newsrooms — tend to focus on the process.

You see, in the newsrooms I have worked in there have been lots of people who “get” Saturday night, by which I mean the rough-and-tumble topics (including politics) that folks hash out in honky-tonks. There are also a few newsroom pros who “get” what happens on Sunday morning, as in the world of religion.

When it comes time to write about the life of a person like country-rock superstar Charlie Daniels, what ends up in print largely depends on who is assigned to cover the story. That usually offers a window into the worldview of newsroom managers, just as much as it does reporters.

I was stunned when the Nashville Tennessean obit for Daniels viewed his life through the lens of politics and the Trump era (oh, and music). This affected what many news consumers read all over Tennessee, since Gannett now runs this state’s dominant newspapers (including my local paper in Knoxville).

My concern about that obit led to this post: “There was more to Charlie Daniels than politics and even his music (hint: 'I'll Fly Away').” This part of the piece jumped out at me:

… Daniels undoubtedly had many other passions. A staunch supporter of U.S. troops and veterans, he spent much of his career traveling overseas to play for service members in Kuwait, Iraq and Afghanistan. …

For the last four years, hardly a day went by without Daniels sharing this message on his Twitter account: “22 VETERANS COMMIT SUICIDE EVERY DAY!!”

On the platform, the man who sang 1980's confrontational "In America" solidified his reputation as one of the most outspoken figures in country music. In daily posts, he would decry abortion as “murder,” ask fans to “pray for the blue,” and declare that “Benghazi ain’t going away.”


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New York Times still searching for the redeemed heart of the tragic Dr. Lorna Breen story

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Let me offer some tips to reporters who find themselves veering into religion-beat territory.

If you are writing a profile of someone at the heart of a major story and you learn that she was active in a Bible study, and members of this group decide to cooperate with you, you may want to pause and ask: (a) What have members of this group been studying recently? Why? (b) What scriptures were they studying during the events at the heart of the story you are reporting? (c) Do they now see connections between their discussions and the life of the person being profiled?

Let me stress: You are not asking them to violate confidences, in terms of what this person said or questions that she raised. You are asking them, as believers, for their own reflections.

The goal is not to sneak scripture into, well, the secular pages of The New York Times. You are simply acknowledging the proven fact that, for religious believers, scripture and prayer are crucial parts of how they make sense out whatever is happening in their lives.

In this case, we are talking about the coronavirus crisis and the chaotic early weeks of the pandemic in the emergency room at NewYork-Presbyterian Allen Hospital. At the heart of that crisis was Dr. Lorna M. Breen, who committed suicide after suffering from COVID-19 and then displaying evidence that this still mysterious virus affected her mental health.

At a crucial point in the latest New York Times feature about Breen, there is this passage describing the first stage of the crisis, as the staff wrestled with a shortage of personal protective equipment and other needs.

Doctors and administrators were uneasy about the lack of space in the emergency department and pushed for converting other areas, such as a parking lot, where a tent could be erected.

“People I work with are so confused by all of the mixed messages and constantly changing instructions,” she wrote that day in a message to her Bible study group. “Would appreciate any prayers for safety, wisdom and trust.”

People who know little about modern New York City may be surprised to find out that it contains many thriving churches, with support networks deep into major institutions. In this case, Times readers eventually learn that Dr. Breen was part of a famous evangelical flock — Redeemer Presbyterian Church.

Let’s flash back to a GetReligion post in which I examined an earlier Times piece about Breen. I had a hunch, as I kept reading other sources about her life and work, that she was a Redeemer person. That Times piece called her “deeply religious,” but pretty much left things there:


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Keeping up: Tumultuous times reshaping journalism, objectivity and even common language

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What do pundits David Brooks and Fareed Zakaria, leftist intellectual Noam Chomsky, author Malcolm Gladwell, choreographer Bill T. Jones, chess champion Garry Kasparov, jazz leader Wynton Marsalis, novelists J.K. Rowling and Salman Rushdie, feminist Gloria Steinem, civil liberties scholar Nadine Strossen, and teachers’ union head Randi Weingarten have in common?

Not a whole lot except that they are celebrities and joined 153 critics of both President Donald Trump and “cancel culture” in endorsing a dire July 7 letter warning that “ideological conformity” is stifling “open debate and toleration of differences” in America. The signers see “greater risk aversion” among journalists and other writers “who fear for their livelihoods,” alongside editors “fired for running controversial pieces” (talking to you, New York Times).

Another large group, heavy with journalists of color, quickly issued an acerbic response that hailed the media and cultural institutions for starting to end their protection of “bigotry” and the power held by “white, cisgender people.”

Wait, there’s more. Media circles will be buzzing for some time about the resignation letter of Bari Weiss upon leaving The New York Times, made public Tuesday, which contained hints at possible legal action linked to on-the-job harassment. This was followed immediately by Andrew Sullivan's announcement of his departure from New York magazine. which he will explain in his final column Friday.

The bottom line: This is the most tumultuous time for American culture, and thus for the news media, in a generation.

In one aspect, financially pinched print journalism continues to drift toward imitation of slanted and profitable cable TV news (often quote — “news” — unquote).


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Does it matter if journalists have quit asking about the missing McCarrick report?

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It’s July of 2020.

Do you know where the McCarrick report is?

There are people who still care about the who, what, when, where, why and how of the scandal that brought down former cardinal Theodore McCarrick, at one time the most press-friendly and influential cardinal in the United States of America.

In a way, it’s even more important to know more about the rise of McCarrick in church circles in and around New York City and then learn the details of his networking years in Washington, D.C. Who were McCarrick’s disciples and to what degree did they protect him, during the years when rumors were thick on the ground about — to be specific — his unique personal style when dealing with seminarians.

It’s totally understandable that the McCarrick investigation has faded from view. The year 2020 has, after all, served up challenge after challenge for journalists and church leaders, alike. McCarrick was shipped off to western Kansas and, now, it appears that he has moved to a safe house of his own choosing.

The former cardinal is now an afterthought.

But not for everyone. The other day, J.D. Flynn of the Catholic News Agency produced a thoughtful essay on what this silence means and the long term effects it could have on Catholic laypeople and their trust of the church hierarchy. It’s worth reading — even as the year 2020 rages around us. Here is the overture:

On June 20, 2018, American Catholics woke up to discover that retired Cardinal Theodore McCarrick stood accused of sexually abusing a teenager.

The cardinal said he was innocent. The New York archdiocese said it was a singular allegation. Dioceses in New Jersey said they had received isolated allegations of misconduct with adults.

Then the dam broke. It emerged that McCarrick had a pattern of sexual abuse and coercion, with minors and with young priests and seminarians. American Catholics learned about the cardinal’s beach house, his wandering hands, his preference for thin non-smoking seminarians. His coercive and manipulative letters became available to read, the testimony of his victims was crushing.

But the story didn’t stop at McCarrick.


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There was more to Charlie Daniels than politics and even his music (hint: 'I'll Fly Away')

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Here in the Volunteer State, lots of Tennesseans are grieving the loss of a crucial figure in the history of that unique brand of Southern rock that gave American the Allman Brothers, Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Marshall Tucker Band and lots of other fiery folks.

Charlie Daniels mixed rock, blues, country, bluegrass, folk, Texas swing, gospel and every other stream of music that flows through Memphis, Nashville, Knoxville and everywhere else in the Cumberland and Great Smoky Mountains. You heard his music in bars and you also heard it revival meetings in evangelical and Pentecostal churches.

At a crucial moment in music history, Daniels was Bob Dylan’s favorite Nashville guitar player. He also was known to do at bit of testifying at Billy Graham crusades. In a way, those two facts don’t clash all that much. President Jimmy Carter was a fan, too.

As you would expect, this music legend’s sudden death — his final tweets gave no hint of the stroke and collapse to come — received quite a bit of attention in The Nashville Tennessean and the other Gannett newspapers that dominate this state. Here’s the headline on the main Tennessean story: “Charlie Daniels, 'Devil Went Down to Georgia' singer, famed fiddler and outspoken star, dies at 83.”

In social media, the tributes to Daniels — by music stars and ordinary fans — almost all stress his Christian faith. You can see that in this collection of tweets that were part of the online Tennessean package.

But if you dig a bit deeper into the comments on these tributes, it’s easy to see that quite a few other people hated Daniels because of his conservative Christian convictions.

Consider, for example, the hurricane of hate and bile running through many of the comments following the typically sweet tribute tweets that came from Dolly Parton. (Make sure you read her second tweet and the comments connected to it.)

I would argue that it’s impossible to understand the “outspoken” side of this man’s life — that word shows up over and over in coverage of his death — without understanding his faith. So what made it into the main Tennessean obit?


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Thinking with Ratzinger and Burge: Concerning sex, marriage, doctrine and church decline

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When historians write about the career of Pope Benedict XVI I predict that they will include a sobering quote that dates back to his life and work as Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger of Germany.

I am referring to that 2001 interview when — looking at trends in postmodern Europe — he put all of his hopes and fears on the record. I thought of this exchange during a Twitter dialogue the other day with GetReligion contributor Ryan Burge. Hold that thought.

Ratzinger had been candid before. German journalist Peter Seewald probed on this topic by noting an earlier quote in which Ratzinger said that the future church would be "reduced in its dimensions; it will be necessary to start again." Had the leader of Rome's Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith changed his views?

That led to this famous reflection by the future pope. This is long, but essential:

[The Church] will no longer be able to inhabit many of the edifices she built in prosperity. As the number of her adherents diminishes … she will lose many of her social privileges. … As a small society, [the Church] will make much bigger demands on the initiative of her individual members. …

It will be hard-going for the Church, for the process of crystallization and clarification will cost her much valuable energy. It will make her poor and cause her to become the Church of the meek. … The process will be long and wearisome as was the road from the false progressivism on the eve of the French Revolution — when a bishop might be thought smart if he made fun of dogmas and even insinuated that the existence of God was by no means certain. … But when the trial of this sifting is past, a great power will flow from a more spiritualized and simplified Church. Men in a totally planned world will find themselves unspeakably lonely. If they have completely lost sight of God, they will feel the whole horror of their poverty. Then they will discover the little flock of believers as something wholly new. They will discover it as a hope that is meant for them, an answer for which they have always been searching in secret.

And so it seems certain to me that the Church is facing very hard times. The real crisis has scarcely begun. We will have to count on terrific upheavals. But I am equally certain about what will remain at the end: not the Church of the political cult, which is dead already, but the Church of faith.


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Disturbing news trends in Turkey: What if Hagia Sophia returns to being a mosque?

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In recent years, Orthodox Christians around the world have watched as headlines kept appearing on obscure websites that mainstream journalists rarely visit.

Rumors grew that the famous Hagia Sophia sanctuary in Istanbul — a 6th Century wonder of Byzantine Christianity — would once again be claimed as a mosque, after decades of protection as a neutral-ground museum. Gradually, the rumors turned into symbolic actions by the Turkish government of President Recep Tayyip Erdogan suggesting that this strategic move might become a reality.

Recently there was this headline at OrthoChristian.com (all caps in the original headline, along with alternative spelling “Agia”):

‘TURKISH LEADER CALLS TO PAINT OVER SERAPHIM IN DOME OF AGIA SOPHIA, CONVERSION TO MOSQUE REPORTEDLY ALREADY UNDERWAY

The question, of course is this: Is this a news story? Other questions flow out of that: Is this a “religious” media story? Is it a “conservative” media story? One more: Is it a story for hard-news media in Europe, but not America?

Meanwhile, it would be hard — from the Orthodox point of view (I have twice visited Hagia Sophia) — to offer a more distressing overture than the top of that latest OrthoChristian.com report::

As Turkish officials await the court hearing on the possibility of converting the world-famous Agia Sophia Museum back into a mosque, preparations for the change are reportedly already underway.

In this vein, the leader of the Saadet Partisi Islamist political party, Abdullah Sevim, called for Turkey to immediately take action and paint over the faces of the seraphim in the dome of the 6th-century Orthodox cathedral-turned-mosque-turned-museum, reports the Orthodoxia News Agency.

“There’s no need to wait for the decision of the State Council. We’ve already purchased the lime,” Sevim wrote on his Twitter page, calling everyone to join in a Muslim prayer to be held at Agia Sophia by President Erdogan.


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Strange Nashville media storm: What to do when a 'prophet' advertises in your newspaper

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Residents of Nashville, Tennessee — the ones who still read a printed Sunday newspaper — received quite a shock when opening the June 21 edition of The Tennessean, a Gannett Co. newspaper not generally known for tabloid-style contents.

A full-page advertisement from a little-known outfit, “Future For America,” was clearly designed to stun readers.

“Dear Citizen of Nashville,” the ad’s text read. “We are under conviction to not only tell you but provide evidence that on July 18, 2020, Islam is going to detonate a nuclear device in Nashville, Tennessee.” The text went on to make a range of bizarre predictions, including an assertion that Donald Trump would be the “last” President of the United States.

Surprisingly — to this observer at least — the ensuing media coverage was, by and large, accurate, explanatory and helpful to readers. Journalists quickly put the fringe group in its context, and even though the advertisement mentioned the Seventh-day Adventist Church (a denomination of 21.4 million worldwide, whose membership includes this writer), the church was not associated with either the group or Jeff Pippenger, its “speaker.”

That’s largely because Pippenger had been disfellowshipped — expelled from Adventist membership — in 2015. The North American Division of the church disavowed the group, though not naming the individual in their statement.

“[T]here is no connection between the Seventh-day Adventist Church and this group and their teachings,” the statement read.

Also, the ad referred to “the backslidden Seventh-day Adventist Church,” which signals — to say the least — a kind of distancing from that larger faith community.

There was what had to be a mad scramble at The Tennessean to do damage control. Media reports indicated the switchboard lit up with subscription cancellations, and online comments on Facebook and Twitter were not positive.

The paper’s initial story spelled out the details:


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