Ole Miss

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Finally, another Overby Center program: Why religion was one big factor in vaccine wars

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Finally, another Overby Center program: Why religion was one big factor in vaccine wars

I have strong memories, to say the least, of the first Overby Center program in which I was able to participate, as a senior fellow for the center and as editor of GetReligion.

The topic was the role that religion would play in the 2020 presidential election. Religion-beat patriarch Richard Ostling was there and both of us stressed that, while journalists were pouring oceans of ink into coverage of (#TriggerWarning) white evangelicals, Catholic voters would play the pivotal role in swing states. I also noted the little-covered 2016 impact of Latino evangelicals and, especially, Pentecostal believers in Florida. I didn’t think to predict a starring 2020 role these Latino voters in Texas.

When was that program? Here’s a clue. As I drove home, I stopped for lunch in Jackson, Tenn. As I pulled back onto the interstate headed east, I heard a radio report noting that the mysterious virus that was causing havoc in Wuhan, China, had now been detected in Europe and, perhaps, in New York City.

Days later, the whole world turned upside down.

With social-distancing, masks and vaccines in mind, we recently gathered in Oxford for a forum addressing a logical topic — why religion was a key factor (but not the only one or even the dominant one) in America’s wars over COVID-19 vaccines. Click here to watch the event on YouTube.

In addition to Center founder Charles Overby, I was joined by three logical voices on this subject.

First, political scientist (and GetReligion contributor) Ryan Burge Zoomed in with several crucial charts full of relevant info. Take this post, for example: “Thinking about white evangelicals, COVID-19 vaccines and VERY popular headlines.” Then there was Marquita Smith of the University of Mississippi faculty, a journalist I came to know while she was teaching at John Brown University on the edge of the Ozarks. She is now the assistant dean of graduate programs at the Ole Miss J-school.

The final panelist was the Rev. Daniel Darling, who was recently named director of the Land Center for Cultural Engagement at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Fort Worth, Texas.

Then again, Darling may be better known in religion-beat circles because of this New York Times headline: “Fired After Endorsing Vaccines, Evangelical Insider Takes a Leadership Role.”


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Ostling in Mississippi, religion-politics 2020 and video of first GetReligion forum at Ole Miss

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Who knew?

In his long and distinguished career in journalism, GetReligion Patriarch Richard Ostling had never set foot in Mississippi. The Time magazine and Associated Press religion-beat scribe had covered events in 43 states across America, but had never made it into the land of William Faulkner.

Ostling was on hand, Tuesday night, for the first GetReligion-related public forum at the Overby Center at the University of Mississippi. The host, of course, was journalism educator Charles Overby — best known for his 22 years as CEO of the Freedom Forum, a non-partisan foundation focusing on the press, religious freedom and the First Amendment. Also, this was my first visit to the center as a senior fellow, after GetReligion’s move there at the start of 2020.

The weather was sketchy, but the crowd came loaded with great questions.

Our topic was the role that religion is playing, early on, in the 2020 race for the White House. I was expecting that to stir up lots of conversation about (all together now) the 81% of white evangelicals who just love Donald Trump. This forum was being held deep in the Bible Belt, of course. I also expected questions about liberal Democrats attempting to build bridges to voters in black churches.

But who knew?

The topic that dominated the night — starting with Ostling’s first salvo — was the role of centrist and pew-frequenting Catholics in the crucial swing states that will decide this year’s election. We are talking, of course, about the Rust Belt Midwest and Florida. (Click here for GetReligion’s typology on the four basic kinds of “Catholic voters.”)

Click on other to the next page of this post to see the video of the forum.


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Sin and scandal at Ole Miss, the sequel: USA Today digs into the faith and character of Hugh Freeze

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Last week we highlighted a haunted ESPN story on "How a phone call to an escort service led to Hugh Freeze's downfall."

We pointed out the glaring omission of certain words from the in-depth piece on the Ole Miss football coach's resignation.

Words such as Jesus, God, church and faith.

Now we are back with the same subject matter but fewer holy ghosts, courtesy of USA Today, which poses this question: 

Who is Hugh Freeze?

As we previously noted, it's impossible to answer that question without delving into his professed faith. Kudos to USA Today for recognizing that.

The religion angle figures up high — and throughout — the national newspaper's report:

OXFORD, Miss. — Hugh Freeze stood outside his house near a muscular dog earlier this week when a reporter approached.
“You better watch this dog,’’ Freeze said, and a moment later he added, “I can control him.’’
But less than two weeks after he abruptly resigned as head football coach at the University of Mississippi, the narrative of the once-charmed coach has spun beyond control.
Freeze, 47, was the devout Christian who beat Nick Saban and Alabama two years in a row, built a team that climbed to No. 3 in the polls and, at least in the eyes of the Ole Miss faithful, could do little wrong. A husband and father of three daughters, he often tweeted Bible verses or religious words of inspiration.
Another side has emerged, though. Before he resigned on July 20, Freeze was under scrutiny for alleged recruiting violations. Ole Miss has self-imposed several penalties, including a postseason ban, and an NCAA investigation continues.
His downfall was ultimately the result of what Ole Miss officials called a "pattern of personal misconduct," and the revelation that a phone call from Freeze's university-issued cell phone had been made to a number associated with a female escort.


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Sin and scandal at Ole Miss: This is what happens when outspoken Christian coach calls escort service

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Jesus. God. Church. Faith.

Read ESPN's in-depth, behind-the-scenes account of the Ole Miss football coach's resignation — titled "How a phone call to an escort service led to Hugh Freeze's downfall" — and you won't come across any of the above words.

"Sin," too, is missing from ESPN's 2,400-plus words.

Granted, nobody expects a deep exploration of theology by ESPN. Right? The fact that the story focuses on NCAA football is certainly expected and appropriate.

But — and this is a big "but" — it's difficult to give readers a full picture of Freeze and just how far his reputation has plunged without mentioning his outspoken Christianity. More on that in a moment.

First, though, ESPN's dramatic opening provides important background:

STARKVILLE, Miss. -- The man who helped take down Ole Missfootball coach Hugh Freeze is a lifelong Mississippi State fan who attended his first Bulldogs game 37 years ago and has the university's logo tattooed on his left hand.
But he insists he never set out to bring down the Rebels and their coach.
It just kind of happened that way.
When Steve Robertson was sifting through Freeze's phone records on July 5 as part of his research for an upcoming book he's writing, he discovered phone calls he expected to see. There were mostly calls to recruits and assistant coaches.
But when Robertson saw a phone number with a 313 area code, he was stunned by what he discovered in a Google search. A call made on Jan. 19, 2016, lasting one minute, was made to a number connected with several advertisements for female escorts. Robertson then asked his wife to read him the telephone number again to make sure it was correct. The escort service ads came up again.
Robertson called Thomas Mars, an attorney who is representing former Ole Miss coach Houston Nutt in his defamation lawsuit against Ole Miss. Mars had been introduced to Robertson through a third party he found while doing online research into Nutt's case. They've since developed a close working relationship, talking on the phone several times a day and sharing what they found in their investigations.
"He asked me to fill in some blanks," Robertson said.
When Robertson told Mars to enter the phone number in Google, Mars was silent for nearly a minute before yelling an expletive in excitement.
Ole Miss had unwittingly provided information that would lead to Freeze's resignation.

The rest of the story is worth a read if you have time before finishing the rest of this post.

But the closest the piece gets to any religion is a mention of "Sunday school" — and not the kind at my church:


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Southern-fried stereotypes? Surprise, but this faith-and-football story serves up real meat

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When I saw the headline on the Washington Post's in-depth feature on college football as a Southern religion, I braced myself for plenty of Belt Belt cliches and stereotypes.

To be sure, there's some of that in this 3,000-word sports opus.

But mainly, the writer, Kent Babb, weaves a fascinating tale full of colorful characters and compelling scenes. Along the way, he peppers the Southern-fried narrative with a diverse variety of voices, both pro and con.

Some of the meat-and-potatoes up high:

In this part of America, college football fits somewhere between pastime and obsession, and like church, it is more than a weekend activity. Nothing says more about a Southerner than the team he cheers on Saturdays and the church he attends on Sundays — “the two things we love the most,” says author Chad Gibbs, Auburn fan and Methodist. To many, the merging of cultural forces feels natural; to others, the most stark instances are uncomfortable — maybe even inappropriate.
Throughout most of the United States, church attendance is on the decline, but according to a “religion census” sponsored by the Association of Statisticians of American Religious Bodies, eight states in the South, including Mississippi, saw increases between 2000 and 2010 — in some cases dramatically


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