GetReligion
Thursday, April 10, 2025

Nashville

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Heeding the Nashville shooter's own voice: Do journalists want the 'manifesto' released?

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Heeding the Nashville shooter's own voice: Do journalists want the 'manifesto' released?

Once again, we return to that mantra from old-school journalism — “who,” “what,” “when,” “where,” “why” and “how.”

When covering the murders at Nashville’s Covenant Presbyterian Church private school, journalists already know that the shooter wanted the public to know the answer to the “why” question.

Moments before shooting open the school’s doors, the person previously known as Audrey Hale, who chose the name “Aiden” in social media, sent a haunting and strategic message to a friend. Some timelines suggest that the shooter sent this message while parked in the church’s parking lot.

The contents of the message are highly relevant to news coverage of the shootings. Readers: Have you seen these words quoted in your local, regional and national news sources? Hale wrote:

“This is my last goodbye.

“I love you (heart) See you again in another life Audrey (Aiden)”

Later, Hale added:

“My family doesn’t know what I’m about to do

“One day this will make more sense. I’ve left more than enough evidence behind

“But something bad is about to happen.”

Public officials have made it clear that the shooter left behind a “manifesto,” as well as highly detailed plans for the attack on the school (school leaders have said Hale attended 4th and 5th grade there). The manifesto text is almost certainly what Hale was describing with the words, “One day this will make more sense. I’ve left more than enough evidence behind.”

Under normal circumstances, journalists would be doing everything that they can to answer the “why” question in this case, including calling for the release of Hale’s manifesto text and other materials linked to the attack. But these are not normal circumstances.


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Loretta Lynn: A tough, trailblazing woman whose edgy art included doses of grit and faith

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Loretta Lynn: A tough, trailblazing woman whose edgy art included doses of grit and faith

If you know Nashville, then you probably know that there is nothing new about major country music stars also being Christian believers. In fact, it’s probably worthy of a headline or two if and when superstars send signals that they’re NOT at home in the Bible Belt.

That being said, I am still amazed when journalists produce stories about country artists and edit out the details in their lives and music that point toward faith. It happens all the time.

I’m not just talking about musicians putting a gospel song or two in their set lists when touring, as a kind of music-history exercise. I’m talking about reporters missing revelations in autobiographies, social-media statements to fans or mini-sermons on stage. I’m talking about passing up chances to talk with pastors who have known performers for years.

This brings me to the death of honky-tonk angel herself, Loretta Lynn — the matriarch for a generation or more of female artists in guitar town. As you would expect, the obits following her death stressed — with good cause, let me stress — her daring hit songs about blue-collar American life, with strong doses of reality about hard times, troubled homes, cracked marriages and lots of other sobering subjects.

Which is why, to cut to the chase, it’s even more important that this legend turned to Christian faith as an adult, in the midst of all that gritty stuff. Hold that thought. Here is a chunk of the Associated Press report that will appear in most American newspapers:

The Country Music Hall of Famer wrote fearlessly about sex and love, cheating husbands, divorce and birth control and sometimes got in trouble with radio programmers for material from which even rock performers once shied away.

Her biggest hits came in the 1960s and ’70s, including “Coal Miner’s Daughter,” “You Ain’t Woman Enough,” “The Pill,” “Don’t Come Home a Drinkin’ (With Lovin’ on Your Mind),” “Rated X” and “You’re Looking at Country.” ...

Lynn knew that her songs were trailblazing, especially for country music, but she was just writing the truth that so many rural women like her experienced.

“I could see that other women was goin’ through the same thing, ‘cause I worked the clubs. I wasn’t the only one that was livin’ that life and I’m not the only one that’s gonna be livin’ today what I’m writin’,” she told The AP in 1995.

All true.


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Plug-In: Has Nashville become the 'new frontier' of today's religion news universe?

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Plug-In: Has Nashville become the 'new frontier' of today's religion news universe?

Twenty years ago, I moved to Nashville, Tennessee, to work for The Associated Press.

I spent less than a year in Music City before transferring to Dallas, but oh, what a fun 11 months for a religion reporter (and country music fan).

I covered the fight over a proposed Tennessee lottery and a prayer service on the night the Iraq War began, but some of my favorite stories were less weighty:

• A profile of a man who paid children $10 each to learn the Ten Commandments (until 15,000 “memorization affidavits” from across the nation flooded his mailbox after my story ran).

• A feature on Gospel Music Week, when some of Nashville’s most popular bars and nightspots traded lying-and-cheating songs for hymns about prayer and redemption.

• An interview with the 104-year-old widow of a famous Black traveling evangelist.

Blame Liam Adams, The Tennessean’s religion reporter, for this trip down memory lane.

In a fascinating deep dive published this week, Adams and his colleague Cole Villena delve into “Williamson County, the suburban ‘new frontier’ for American evangelical Christianity.”

“An already heavily Christian area is on track to become a capital of evangelicalism in the U.S.,” the story asserts, referring to the fast-growing county south of Nashville.

I pointed out to Adams on Twitter that my family lived in Williamson County — Spring Hill, to be precise — in our brief time in the Nashville area.

“All religion reporting roads lead through greater Nashville apparently,” chimed in Christianity Today’s Kate Shellnutt, herself a former Nashville resident.


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Podcast: Now what, after SBC 'messengers' have waved their yellow voting cards?

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Podcast: Now what, after SBC 'messengers' have waved their yellow voting cards?

Here’s a warning to reporters who are preparing for future national meetings of the Southern Baptist Convention: Never call these folks “delegates.”

They are not delegates at some kind of political event. They are “messengers” from their local autonomous churches. You see, this isn’t some kind of cocktail-hour mainline Protestant denominational whatever, and many Baptists don’t like the word “denomination,” either. This is a “convention” and it only meets for three days each year.

Use the wrong language and Southern Baptists will give you a steely gaze and then say something nasty, like “Well, bless your heart.”

Quite a few journalists attended this year’s SBC meeting because there were headline-worthy — from their editors’ point of view — topics on the agenda, like clergy sexual abuse, Critical Race Theory and an election to determine if some new-breed conservative “pirates” (that was their term from 2021) were going to wrest the wheel of the ship away from the allegedly “woke” establishment conservatives.

As you would imagine, host Todd Wilken and I dug into all of this during the “Crossroads” podcast this week (CLICK HERE to tune that in). One of the big themes was that the hard-news coverage of this convention — especially by “Location, location, location” pros from major SBC centers, like Houston and Nashville — was top-notch.

Veteran GetReligion scribe Bobby “Positive” Ross, Jr., will offer pages of URLs in his Plug-In feature this week, so I will not try to do that (I’ll post a link when it goes public). But this is what happens when major newsrooms send religion-beat professionals to cover a major event. Readers don’t have to agree with every single thing that they saw in the #SBC2022 coverage, but what we had here was a tsunami of serious coverage from professionals, backed by the skilled Baptist Press team running the on-site newsroom.

With that in mind, let me note a Big Ideas from this podcast.

* If you study attendance numbers at previous “hot” SBC meetings, you will notice a logical trend linked to a map of the Bible Belt. In this online list, note the 1985 Dallas convention drew 45,519 messengers and the 1986 Atlanta convention drew 40,987.

Yes, these were the pivotal years in the historic “conservative resurgence” in SBC life. But, truth is, those numbers also reflect how far ordinary messengers can drive in one day jammed into the buses or vans owned by “ordinary” SBC congregations.


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Podcast: Those hellish SBC sexual-abuse stories? They may be coming to a zip code near you

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Podcast: Those hellish SBC sexual-abuse stories? They may be coming to a zip code near you

There’s an old saying in the real estate business about properties that get hot and then sell quickly: “Location, location, location.”

That’s precisely where we are right now with the sexual-abuse scandal that looms over the core institutions of the giant, complex, sprawling Southern Baptist Convention.

Where is the story heating up right now? Where is the story going in the future? The answer to both of those questions is: “Location, location, location.” This is true with current events (and events yet to come) and it’s also true with the must-read coverage of this big story. We focused on both sides of that equation during this week’s GetReligion podcast (CLICK HERE to tune that in).

First, let’s talk about the journalism behind this story, which has been building for several years now (see this Bobby Ross, Jr., “Plug-In” update for a starter). Everything begins in Texas and Tennessee and reporters there who are doing the heavy lifting — in Nashville and Houston, to be specific. You can see this, ironically, in this Washington Post story: “How two Texas newspapers broke open the Southern Baptist sex scandal.” Here is the overture:

Houston Chronicle city hall reporter Robert Downen was on the night shift one evening in 2018, just a few months into the job, when something caught his attention.

Scrolling through an online federal court docket, he spotted a lawsuit that accused Paul Pressler, a prominent former judge and leader of the Southern Baptist Convention, of sexual assault. While the case had been previously reported, newly filed documents painted an even more damning picture, including the revelation that Pressler had previously agreed to pay his accuser $450,000. Downen, then 25, probed more deeply and discovered other survivors of church abuse, who made it clear to him, he recalled, that “if you think this problem is confined to one leader, we have quite a bit to show you.”

Downen’s ever-growing spreadsheet of cases soon inspired a larger reporting effort to quantify the scope of sex abuse within the massive Protestant denomination. Journalists at the Chronicle and the San Antonio Express-News teamed up to create a database of cases involving nearly 300 church leaders and more than 700 victims for their landmark 2019 “Abuse of Faith” series.

A wave of outrage in response to the series rocked the Southern Baptist Convention, prompting its Executive Committee to hire an outside firm to investigate.

Sexual-abuse accusations against Pressler had been rumbling for decades behind closed doors and in locked-tight legal proceedings. I first heard about them in the early 1980s, through a well-placed contact at CBS News, when I first hit the religion beat at The Charlotte News. There was smoke, but no one could get to the fire. The fact that this SBC giant’s accusers were young males only added to the tension.

If you know SBC life — I grew up as a Texas Baptist preacher’s kid and my whole family has Baylor University ties — then you may know this old saying: Texas is the wallet on which the SBC sits.


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Naomi Judd: Press reports covered the dark nights of her life, but not the Sunday mornings

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Naomi Judd: Press reports covered the dark nights of her life, but not the Sunday mornings

Journalists tend to remember symbolic details from many of interesting interviews — whether they are with superstars of various kinds or ordinary people who have seen remarkable things.

Exhausted after signing hundreds of copies of her “Love Can Build a Bridge” memoir back in 1993, Naomi Judd retreated to her tour bus parked behind the bookstore. She apologized for heading to the back room to get out of one of her famous stage dresses and into something from her farm outside of Nashville. The ground rules: no photos, but all questions were fair game.

At point in her life, she had already talked about some dark days and nights — from rape to a crisis pregnancy and beyond. But she hadn’t dug deeper into her childhood and the abuse that created the deep pools of depression that would eventually take her life.

But this was a woman who was driven to talk about her angels, as well as her demons. My favorite quote from that interview didn’t make it into the “On Religion” column that I wrote pre-Internet, but stashed deep in my file cabinets with pages of notes and transcripts.

Naomi Judd stressed that if people — journalists included — want to understand country music, and the relationship between the musicians and their fans, they need to remember that it’s normal, in a country music show, “to sing about Sunday morning, as well as Friday and Saturday nights.”

That’s what I went looking for in the coverage of her death and then the ceremony in which The Judds — Wynonna and Naomi — entered the Country Music Hall of Fame. Here’s the top of the Nashville Tennessean report on that event, as it ran in USA Today:

As Grammy-winning duo The Judds were inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame Sunday evening, Wynonna Judd addressed the passing of her mother Naomi just one day earlier.

Following brief remarks from her younger sister Ashley, Wynonna spoke for roughly four minutes.

"It's a strange dynamic to be this broken and this blessed. … But though my heart is broken, I will continue to sing," she said.

Wynonna said Naomi Judd, 76, passed away at 2:20 PM, and that she kissed her mother "on the forehead and walked away." She also stated that the last act she, Ashley and unnamed other family members did together was praying the Bible's 23rd Psalm. The crowd in attendance all recited the Psalm in unison with Judd to complete her speech.

That’s solid and hints at the atmosphere during the ceremony.

Truth is, Hall of Fame member Ricky Skaggs — who knew the Judds from the days before their rise to fame — took the audience to church, as he struggled to control his emotions through the entire speech-sermon.


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New podcast: Those Southern Baptist sex-abuse battles are not just about Southern Baptists

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New podcast: Those Southern Baptist sex-abuse battles are not just about Southern Baptists

The Southern Baptist Convention’s ongoing fights about how to handle sexual-abuse claims against ministers and other church personnel and volunteers is a perfect example of the kind of story that drives newspaper editors crazy.

It’s big and complicated and it seems like something crazy or important (or both) happens every other day. But it also seems like it’s impossible to yank a big, dramatic headline out of this sprawling, complicated story.

The story never seems to end and the amount of background material needed — in story after story after story — makes it impossible to cover this stuff in tidy 500-word stories. But if a newsroom skips a few of the major developments, that makes it even harder to get back in the game and explain to readers what is happening. Oh, and did I mention that newsroom managers pretty much have to assign a reporter to this story full-time or near full-time? That’s expensive in this day and age. Obviously, this reporter has to have religion-beat experience and speak fluent Southern Baptist.

At the same time, in my experience, there will almost always be one or two editors who say (or think) something like this: “I know the SBC is huge and there are billions of dollars involved and we have lots of Southern Baptist churches (and maybe a college) in our news territory, but … I don’t ‘get’ why this story really matters to average readers. I mean, it’s not about sports or politics or something important (to me).”

As a Charlotte editor once told me, when I was poised to break a national-level SBC story in the early 1980s: Nobody reads this stuff but fanatics and every time you write about it we get too many letters to the editor.

This brings us to this week’s “Crossroads” podcast, which focuses on why the SBC’s struggles with sexual-abuse are important, and NOT just to Southern Baptists (click here to tune that in). The key is to identify major stories LINKED to sexual-abuse scandals that involve ethical, moral, legal and theological issues that can be seen in religious groups of all kinds (and many secular nonprofits and organizations as well). To illustrate this, let me tell you a story about an important evangelical counseling pioneer — the late Dr. Louis McBurney, founder of the Marble Retreat Center in Colorado.


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New podcast: Indie fundamentalist near Nashville shows how to punch Washington Post buttons

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New podcast: Indie fundamentalist near Nashville shows how to punch Washington Post buttons

For decades, I have felt a strange mix of anger and mild amusement whenever I heard news consumers, when complaining about something that upset them, say that journalists write and print “bad” stories “just to sell newspapers.”

“Bad,” of course, meant stories that they thought were biased, inaccurate or simply silly, perhaps something that in our digital age would be called “clickbait.” Of course, clickbait is clickbait because there’s digital evidence that readers consistently click on certain types of stories, which increases traffic and that helps the newsroom generate money (sort of like selling more newspapers).

Produce enough stories that please the faithful readers of a given publication — down South we call this “preaching to the choir” — and you can turn those readers into digital subscribers. That’s the Holy Grail, the ultimate goal, in the business-model crisis that has dominated American journalism for a decade or more.

This brings me to this unusual Washington Post headline that I saw the other day: “Evangelical pastor demands churchgoers ditch their masks: ‘Don’t believe this delta variant nonsense’.”

Now, was this pastor the leader of an important congregation somewhere in Beltway-land? Well, the answer is “no.”

If he wasn’t local, was he a prominent member of a major, powerful evangelical Protestant denomination or network of megachurches? Again, “no.” Was he connected, somehow, to an influential evangelical college, seminary, publishing company or parachurch ministry? A third time, “no.”

In other words, to ask the question that drove this week’s “Crossroads” podcast, why did editors decide that this story worthy of coverage by a reporter at the Post? (Click here to tune in this episode.)

Well, I think it’s safe to say that this stereotype-packed piece of simplistic, shallow, clickbait was produced because it punched all kinds of buttons that pleased digital niche-audience Post subscribers. In other words (I feel guilty typing these words), they did it to sell newspapers. Here is the overture:

Since the early months of the coronavirus pandemic, Greg Locke, the pastor at a Nashville-area church, has repeatedly called covid a hoax, undermined emergency mandates and refused to comply with guidance from public health officials.


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Nashville 2021 revisited: For Southern Baptists, sermons are part of how their work gets done

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Nashville 2021 revisited: For Southern Baptists, sermons are part of how their work gets done

Whenever the Southern Baptist Convention gathers in times of trials and turmoil, one thing is certain – someone will preach a sermon that makes a difference.

That's how Southern Baptists do what they do. These sermons may not produce as many headlines as SBC elections or fiery debates about hot-button social issues. But the sermons matter.

The big sermon during the 2021 convention in Nashville came at a logical moment – when SBC President J.D. Greear gave his farewell address, just before tense voting to elect his successor.

In this "defining moment" address, the leader of the Summit Church in Raleigh-Durham, N.C., offered a stinging quote about an elephant that has camped in the SBC fellowship hall.

"We have to decide," Greear said, "if we want our convention primarily to be a political voting bloc or if we want it to be a Great Commission people. … Whenever the church gets in bed with politics, the church gets pregnant, and the offspring does not look like our Father in heaven."

America is important, he stressed. But America is not the whole picture for believers striving to build churches around the world. "God has not called us primarily to save America politically. He has called us to make the Gospel known to all," said Greear.

Southern Baptists can agree that "no compromise should be tolerated" on crucial social issues, he said. And no one wants to stop defending the inerrant truth of the Bible.


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