Presbyterians

, , , , , , , , , , ,

Journalists might ask: Did fundamentalists actually win their debate with modernists?

, , , , , , , , , , ,
Journalists might ask: Did fundamentalists actually win their debate with modernists?

Countless sermons each weekend may prove inspiring for American churchgoers, but historians “will little note nor long remember” most of them.

One great exception, titled “Shall the Fundamentalists Win?,” was delivered 100 years ago this spring by the Rev. Harry Emerson Fosdick at New York City’s First Presbyterian Church.

Fosdick threw a bright spotlight on the “Fundamentalist-Modernist controversy,” both predicting and demanding that his fellow modernists would win the era’s theological war. The Presbyterian Church had been debating whether to expel biblical liberals since 1892 and in 1910 mandated what later became known as the “five points of Fundamentalism.”

Yes, some of the pioneers of the “fundamentals of the faith” were part of the old Protestant mainline.

Fosdick’s oration attacked three of these beliefs, including the necessity of belief in Jesus Christ’s literal Virgin Birth and Second Coming. But his third target was pivotal, the contention that as the inspired Word of God, the Bible is free of error on history as well as spiritual and moral teachings. Fosdick conveyed the canard that this meant God “dictated” the words to earthly stenographers and then championed “progressive” revelation as promoted by scholarly biblical criticism. (Along the way he remarked that rigid interpretation of the Quran was a similar “millstone about the neck” for Islam.)

A dictionary note is required here. Fosdick defended what he called “evangelical” religion, using the word to broadly signify Protestants of whatever theology. In the 1940s, conservative Protestant foes of the modernists began embracing that same word to distinguish themselves from the unpopular hard-line “fundamentalists.”

Got that? The label has stuck ever since, though some contend it now signifies a Republican political bloc more than a theological movement.


Please respect our Commenting Policy
, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Once again, journalists need to ponder this question: What is an 'evangelical'?

, , , , , , , , , , , ,
Once again, journalists need to ponder this question: What is an 'evangelical'?

THE QUESTION:

One more time: What is an "evangelical"?

THE RELIGION GUY'S ANSWER:

Last month the Public Religion Research Institute reported that its latest polling shows white U.S. Protestants who identify as "evangelical" are now outnumbered by whites who do not do so. That upended the usual thinking on numbers, and analysts raised doubts. The discussion led Terry Shoemaker of Arizona State University, writing for theconversaation.com, to again mull the perennial question of what "evangelical" means.

In the American context, this term essentially covers the conservative wing of Protestantism, a variegated constellation of denominations, independent congregations, "parachurch" ministries, media outlets, and individual personalities that is organizationally scattered but religiously coherent.

There are three ways of defining and counting U.S. evangelicals -- by belief, by church affiliation and by self-identification. Shoemaker's analysis (which is open to some nitpicking) started from the belief aspect and a four-point definition by historian David Bebbington in his 1989 work "Evangelicalism in Modern Britain." In summary, these points are:

(1) a high view of the Bible as Christians' ultimate authority,

(2) emphasis on Jesus Christ's work of salvation on the cross,

(3) the necessity of conscious personal faith commitments and changed lives (often called the "born again" experience) and

(4) activism in person-to-person evangelism, missions and moral reform.

Problem is, those four points overlap with the definition of "Protestant" or even "Christian."


Please respect our Commenting Policy
, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

This post really isn't about Mark Galli: Why reporters should know basics about Christian flocks

, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Back in the early 1980s, I worked at The Charlotte Observer during an interesting time in Presbyterian history. I am referring to the final crossing of the “t”s and the dotting of the “i”s that completed the union of the northern United Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A. and the southern Presbyterian Church in the United States to create the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), one of the “Seven Sisters” of liberal Protestantism.

At that time, Charlotte was a rare Southern city — in that there were as many, or more, Presbyterians than there were Southern Baptists. Thus, a “Presbyterian” merger was big news.

Ah, but trying to write about this story in a mainstream newspaper was a nightmare, due to the complexity of Presbyterianism in that region. You start with the churches that merged, the UPC and the PCUS. Then you add the PCUSA. For starters, do you also know the differences between the PCUSA, the ARPC (Associate Reformed Presbyterian), the CPC (Cumberland Presbyterian), the PCA (Presbyterian Church in America), the OPC (Orthodox Presbyterian) and the EPC (Evangelical Presbyterian Church)?

You couldn’t cover Charlotte back then without being able to handle this doctrinal alphabet soup.

This brings me to Mark Galli and the firestorm about his Christianity Today editorial (GetReligion “big idea” post here) asking for Donald Trump to be removed from the White House. At the moment, some journalists are acting like CT is part of the Religious Right, while Trump-ites are saying it’s now on the religious left. All of this, of course, is linked to confusion about how to define That Word — “evangelicalism.”

As you would expect, Galli — who is retiring as CT editor — has been in a hot spotlight.

So who is this guy? The Los Angeles Times offered a short profile (yes, the original headline called Galli an “evangelist” editor) that included this:

Galli was born in San Francisco and grew up in Santa Cruz — liberal hotspots and somewhat unlikely cities in which to develop strong evangelical influences. And yet Galli has spent much of his career at Christianity Today, which Billy Graham founded in the 1950s.

“When I was a teenager ... my mother had a conversion experience actually watching Billy Graham on TV,” Galli said.

During a difficult emotional time, Galli’s mother got on her knees in their home, in front of the the television, and accepted Jesus Christ, he said. A few months later, on Dec. 19, 1965 — 54 years, to the day, before Galli published this editorial — he too accepted Christ during an altar call. …

Like those evangelicals who support Trump, Galli shares their anti-abortion stance and support for religious freedom. But he said he doesn’t understand why Trump’s supporters seem to dig in their heels when defending what he considers the president’s immoral behavior. 

This sounds like a rather ordinary, West Coast version of an “evangelical” biography — but one that contains zero specific information about the editor’s denominational or theological background.


Please respect our Commenting Policy
, , , ,

In advance of Tom Hanks movie opening, AP goes to Pittsburgh and explores Mister Rogers' faith

, , , ,

Terry Mattingly is our resident Mister Rogers expert here at GetReligion.

Most recently, he posted — and talked — about the spiritual implications of the late Presbyterian pastor’s “neighborhood.” All the discussion is, of course, tied to Friday’s opening of “A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood,” starring Tom Hanks as Mister Rogers.

In tmatt’s recent post, he lamented a New York Times feature that “dug deep into the personality and career of Hanks and his take on Rogers — while avoiding key facts about faith and beliefs.”

Which leads me to today’s post on a lovely Associated Press story that incorporates Rogers’ faith at various points throughout the piece — including the headline, which declares:

Across Mister Rogers’ actual neighborhoods, his faith echoes

So yes, Rogers’ religion definitely figures in this retrospective profile — even if AP’s story by veteran journalist Ted Anthony doesn’t focus entirely on that angle.

Right from the top, the writing is lively and colorful:

PITTSBURGH (AP) — His TV neighborhood, was, of course, a realm of make believe — a child’s-eye view of community summoned into being by an oddly understanding adult, cobbled together from a patchwork of stage sets, model houses and pure, unsullied love.

Visiting it each day, with Mister Rogers as guide, you’d learn certain lessons: Believe you’re special. Regulate your emotions. Have a sense of yourself. Be kind.

And one more. It was always there, always implied: Respect and understand the people and places around you so you can become a contributing, productive member of YOUR neighborhood.

Fred Rogers’ ministry of neighboring is global now, and the Tom Hanks movie premiering this week only amplifies his ideals. But at home, in Pittsburgh, Mister Rogers moved through real neighborhoods — the landscape of his life, the places he visited to show children what daily life meant.

Did you catch that? “Fred Rogers’ ministry of neighboring …”


Please respect our Commenting Policy
, , , , , , , , ,

The Rev. Fred Rogers was a remarkably kind man. So is Tom Hanks. Any religion content here?

, , , , , , , , ,

It’s the big question journalists ask when investigating the life of the Rev. Fred Rogers, the ordained Presbyterian minister who became one of the most iconic figures in television history.

Was this man as stunningly kind and compassionate as he seemed to be when he gazed through a television lens and into the minds and hearts of millions of children? Was he real? This was, of course, the question at the heart of a brilliant 2018 documentary entitled, “Won't You Be My Neighbor?”

Now, only a year later, the same question is the hook for the plot of a new feature film entitled, “A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood.”

Further complicating matters is the fact that Mister Rogers, in this film, is played by actor Tom Hanks, an actor whose career — especially the second half of it — has been haunted by similar questions: Could Hanks truly be as nice, as kind and as sensitive as his coworkers say that he is? Is Hanks real?

These two questions come together in a long, first-person New York Times arts feature by Taffy Brodesser-Akner that ran under this rather meta double-decker headline:

This Tom Hanks Story Will Help You Feel Less Bad

Hanks is playing Mister Rogers in a new movie and is just as nice as you think he is. Please read this article anyway.

It’s a must-read story, even though it has — #Surprise — a massive God-shaped hole in the middle of it.

What role did faith play in the work of the seminary-trained Rogers? Apparently none.

What did Hanks — a churchgoer — think about the faith-driven side of Rogers life and work, a topic that Rogers talked about on many occasions? Once again, the answer seems to be — nada.

Are these questions relevant in a Times feature in which the pivotal moment, in the real story behind the movie plot, was Mister Rogers pausing to pray with a troubled journalist? Yes, we are talking about real, personal prayer. Here is a long chunk of the Times piece that is hard to edit or shorten:


Please respect our Commenting Policy
, , , ,

In a politically polarized era (think red and blue), what does it mean to be a purple church?

, , , ,

A daily Google email alerts me to headlines about “evangelicals.” Most days, at least one publication delves into some version of this question: Why do most evangelicals support President Donald Trump?

I know, I know: Haven’t we figured that one out yet?

On the flip side, the supposed “rise of the religious left” in response to Trump is a favorite storyline for some journalists and talking heads.

Ho-hum. Isn’t there anything new on the religion and politics beat?

For anyone as tired as I am of the same old, same old, NPR religion and beliefs correspondent Tom Gjelten’s recent feature on a “purple church” in North Carolina was a refreshing change.

What’s a purple church? It’s a congregation that draws members from both sides of America’s vast Grand Canyon between red and blue, as Gjelten explains:

At a time when Americans are moving apart in their political and religious views, worshippers at White Memorial Presbyterian Church in Raleigh, N.C., have learned to avoid some subjects for the sake of maintaining congregational harmony.

"You wouldn't run up to a stove and touch a hot burner," says DeLana Anderson, a church deacon. "So, I'm certainly not going to do that here."

White Memorial is thriving, with about 4,000 members, while other mainline Protestant congregations are struggling. Just as impressively, it brings together worshippers with disparate political views, both red and blue.

"Raleigh is a purple city. North Carolina is a purple state," notes Christopher Edmonston, the church's senior pastor. "Many of the people who have come to church here in the last 25 years are from other parts of the country, and they bring their ideas, their politics, their viewpoints, with them. So we almost have to be purple if we're going to continue to be open and welcome to any person that wants to come."

The news peg for the NPR report is a recent Barna Group report on the communication challenges that pastors face in a divided culture.


Please respect our Commenting Policy
, , , , , ,

Friday Five: #ExposeChristianSchools, Trump's Bible, buried lede, tmatt's future, Mariano Rivera

, , , , , ,

“Reporter Trolls Christian Schools” was the headline on a recent Wall Street Journal column after a New York Times reporter asked for feedback from people who had attended Christian schools.

A lot of conservatives saw the request — tied to the viral hashtag #ExposeChristianSchools that emerged after headlines over Vice President Mike Pence’s wife, Karen, teaching at an evangelical school — as a pretense for a looming hit piece.

In fact, the actual New York Times article published drew praise from some, including a Southern Baptist minister who called it “insightful reporting and not one-sided negative.”

Me? I didn’t find the piece terribly insightful, enlightening or revealing of Christian school experiences that I know about.

This will give you an idea of the tone: The Times starts with quotes from those who “struggled with bullying and depression” at Christian schools, moves to quotes from those who “experienced lasting pain and confusion” at Christian schools and finishes with — this must be the “not one-sided negative” part — those who “shared stories of love and acceptance of others” at Christian schools.

Got a different view of the article? Feel free to comment below.

Now, let’s dive into the Friday Five:

1. Religion story of the week: This is one of those weeks when a single story or issue didn’t really stand out. So let’s go with President Donald Trump’s tweet supporting Bible literacy courses in public schools.

I wrote an entire post about this subject earlier this week, and since I see our analytics, I know many of you missed reading it.

So here’s another chance to check it out.


Please respect our Commenting Policy
, , , , , , , ,

Think it through: Did you hear that there are more Wiccan folks in America than Presbyterians?

, , , , , , , ,

So, did you hear that there are now more Wiccan believers in America than there are Presbyterians?

If you’ve been on social media lately, there is a good chance that you have heard this spin on some Wicca numbers from — Who else? — the Pew Research Center.

If you are looking for a blunt, crystalized statement of an alleged story in American culture, it never hurts to turn to The New York Post. Here is the top of a recent story that ran with this trendy headline: “Witch population doubles as millennials cast off Christianity.”

If you were interested in witchcraft in 1692, you probably would have been jailed or burned at the stake. If you’re interested in witchcraft in 2018, you are probably an Instagram influencer.

From crystal subscription boxes to astrologist-created lip balm, the metaphysical has gone mainstream. Millennials today know more about chakras than your kooky New Age aunt. That’s why it’s no surprise that the generation that is blamed for killing everything is actually bringing popularity to centuries-old practices.

According to the Pew Research Center (click here for .pdf), about 1.5 million Americans identify as Wiccan or pagan. A decade ago, that number was closer to 700,000. Presbyterians, by comparison, have about 1.4 million votaries.

It would be interesting to know how this story hatched at this time, seeing as how the Pew numbers — which are certainly interesting — are from 2014.

No doubt about it, this is a story. However, this specific twist on the numbers depends on definitions of two crucial terms — “Wiccans” and “Presbyterians.” It’s an interesting comment on the age in which we live that the first term is probably easier to define than the second.

So let’s think about that for a second, with the help of a GetReligion-esque piece by Mark Tooley, over at the Juicy Ecumenism blog. Yes, that site is operated by the conservative Institute on Religion & Democracy. However, I think this discussion — centering on the challenge of defining denominational terms — will be of interest to all journalists who are about accurate, when using statistics and basic religious terms. Here is a crucial statement early on:

… Faddish stories can sometimes be ginned up based on old numbers.


Please respect our Commenting Policy
, ,

Early 2020 contender? Dream #NeverTrump candidate makes political waves with a new book

, ,

Nebraska Sen. Ben Sasse has a new book out called "The Vanishing American Adult: Our Coming-of-Age Crisis — and How to Rebuild a Culture of Self-Reliance." 

I'll pause for a second so you can catch your breath after that title ...

Yes, that was a childish thing to say. My apologies.

But seriously, Time is pretty certain the book marks a first step toward the Republican senator — whom the magazine dubs "the Anti-Trump" — making a White House run:

Nebraska Senator Ben Sasse is not yet running for President, and his new book, The Vanishing American Adult, is not about politics, policy or his own life story, all of which someone like him would normally write about if he were thinking about running for President.
"I'm pretty certain the President is never mentioned at any point in this book," Sasse, a Republican, told me when I asked him about Donald Trump as we recently sat outside a café a few blocks from the U.S. Capitol. "I want to move upstream from politics to have that conversation about all the things that we should want for our kids."
But jump-starting a postpartisan national conversation about what the nation should want for its children is exactly the sort of thing someone who is looking to run for President might do. And the solutions that Sasse proposes are, in many cases, precisely the opposite of the examples set by Trump or Hillary Clinton, both of whom Sasse has criticized for failing to behave like "you know ... an adult."
For Sasse, emotional and intellectual maturity is a lockpick for the nation's future. He speaks of an American crisis of loneliness and disconnection; he calls for parents to take back responsibility for their children's upbringing from schools and for children to resist consumerism, travel widely, work hard and "become truly literate," with a reading list that resembles a graduate-seminar syllabus. His personal canon contains unexpected choices for a conservative Republican: books by Aldous Huxley, Ralph Ellison, James Baldwin and Karl Marx, along with Augustine and Alexis de Toqueville.

Way back in August, GetReligion editor Terry Mattingly noted that Sasse is "a hero of religious and cultural conservatives" and "was the dream #NeverTrump third-party candidate after Trump's victory in the primaries."


Please respect our Commenting Policy