evangelicals

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Escaping that 'comfort zone': Press keeps missing obvious religion news at '22 World Cup

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Escaping that 'comfort zone': Press keeps missing obvious religion news at '22 World Cup

The World Cup in Qatar continues to roll along into the semifinals. So far, the premier soccer tournament — and arguably the planet’s biggest sporting event — has showcased skill, drama and even some upsets. 

What the tournament has also generated are plenty of different kinds of storylines for news reporters and sports writers to focus on. As is the case with sporting events in general there are lots of storylines connected to religion that have gone unnoticed. 

It should come as no surprise that sports writers, and very often their editors back in the newsroom, don’t “get” religion. Go-to websites such as Fox Sports and ESPN, for instance, have failed to cover obvious stories in the past. They’ve also failed to do it in regards to the 2022 World Cup. For starters, think location, location and location. Why? Click here.

There are a few faith storylines — on and off the field — that did get coverage. Some of that coverage was great; some not so great.  

An example of a very good piece came via The New York Times. The newspaper found a way to discuss Qatar’s use of migrant workers to build stadiums and other infrastructure projects related to the World Cup in a new way.

The feature, which ran on a Sunday during Advent, looked at Qatar’s only Catholic church, located on the outskirts of the capital city Doha — in an area in which the government sanctions eight houses of worship, from Anglican to Eastern Orthodox. This feature, written by John Branch, is one of the rare times when a sports writer left his or her “comfort zone” and ventured outside the bubble of stadiums and press conferences to cover a story. 

Here’s the key section, showing why this story matters: 

Qatar is a nation deeply rooted in Islam. Calls to prayer can be heard five times a day throughout Doha. World Cup stadiums have prayer rooms for fans, and some staff at the games will stop what they’re doing to kneel in prayer.


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Season 2 of 'The Chosen' arrives on TV screens on Easter. Where was the news coverage?

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Season 2 of 'The Chosen' arrives on TV screens on Easter. Where was the news coverage?

Back in the day when I was covering religion fulltime, I always knew I could score a front page story if I prepared a large feature for Easter Sunday. That was always the day that my editors were looking for “something religious” to please the church-attending readers. Other reporters did this as well, as it was one of the few days in the year that our work could shine.

Lots has changed, obviously, judging from the front pages of some of the newspapers I perused this past Easter Sunday. My former employer, the Houston Chronicle, had nothing local. Ditto for the Los Angeles Times, Seattle Times, Oregonian and even the Salt Lake Tribune –- usually reliable to at least run something Latter-day Saint related — came up short.

One bright light: Up river from the Oregonian, the Vancouver Columbian ran a huge spread Easter Day on St. Luke Productions, a Catholic theater company (that I’ve written about here and here) that’s based in southwest Washington and travels the country doing amazing portrayals of Catholic saints. See, it can be done.

A few outlets ran a pope-observes-Easter wire story from the Associated Press, but that was it. I looked at the Washington Post, which had a bit more, including a story about a local church opening up for the first time since COVID-19 started plus a piece on how pandemic-ravaged Italy is observing Easter.

The New York Times ran a mishmash of opinion pieces, including one from an English prof who wasn’t sure if Jesus had resurrected or not and one from a prof from Wheaton College urging readers to remember Easter is more than a spring celebration. There was a jewel of a piece on Jesus’ wounds and — in the Times wedding section — a beautifully photographed story about a Nigerian-American couple whose first kiss was on their wedding day. The story was snark free; a true Easter miracle.

I know it’s a challenge to come up with original Easter (and Passover) story ideas year after year, but it can be done and many of us did it.

Most of the religion content I saw yesterday was relegated to the opinion pages and kept away from news content, which is a troubling shift from religion-as-news to religion-in-the-realm-of-feelings. There’s plenty of the former available, but where’s the will to dig out those stories, especially the biggest one that happened yesterday that no one reported on?

That was the premiere of Season 2 of filmmaker Dallas Jenkins’ very successful “The Chosen” TV series. It’s the first multi-season TV series about the life of Christ, and 74,346 people raised $10 million for Season 1, which came out last year. That amount made “The Chosen” the largest crowdfunded media project –- ever.


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Who knew? Who cares? Well, there is no such thing as the 'Catholic Church of Illinois'

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Week after week, I get emails from ticked-off readers who have seen run-of-the-mill mistakes in stories about religion. A few times a year I write posts about these cries for help.

The typical writer tries to imagine, to cite one example, a newspaper publishing a story containing a reference to the St. Louis Cardinals playing in the American League, as opposed to being one of the most famous franchises in the National League. Or how about a story that said the Illinois State Capitol was located in Chicago, instead of Springfield.

Now, let’s say that there was a story containing an inaccurate statement about a major religious group and it was published by the “daily paper of a town that's just *slightly* Roman Catholic — St. Louis, Missouri,” noted reader Michael Mohr.

That story in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch would have a headline stating: “Catholic Church of Illinois releases phased plan to reopen churches.” Then the overture, containing the same mistake, would look like this:

CHICAGO — The Catholic Church of Illinois … published a plan to begin reopening its churches later this month. The church reached an agreement with Illinois Gov. J.B. Pritzker, according to a letter from the Archdiocese of Chicago.

Catholic churches in Illinois have been closed since mid-March amid the coronavirus pandemic. …

The two-phased plan delegates many decisions for how to reopen to individual churches once they complete various training and certifications, and the Catholic Church will continue to work with the state government, according to the news release. After training during the week of May 18, all parishes across the state could open by May 23, but only to offer baptisms, weddings and funerals limited to 10 people.

What’s the problem?

Mohr (this guy sounds like a professional editor to me) put it this way:


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

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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.


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Whoa! You mean Southern Baptist 'messengers' are not of one mind on Trump-era life?

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Well now. It appears we have a 2018 Southern Baptist Convention angle that will draw news coverage, maybe even from TV networks, since many newsroom managers weren't interested in America's largest Protestant flock wrestling with domestic violence and sexual abuse.

In other words, the Donald Trump angle has arrived -- with Vice President Mike Pence's appearance at the gathering in Dallas. And here is the shocker! It appears that not all Southern Baptists are united when it comes to baptizing their faith in partisan politics. You mean there are divisions among evangelicals in the age of Trump? 

There must be, because I read it in The Washington Post. But hold that thought, because I have a bit of picky religion-beat business to handle first.

If you've covered SBC life for a couple of decades, you know that SBC leaders really need to post a sign over the press facilities at this event that screams: "HEY! The people at this convention are MESSENGERS, not DELEGATES! Please get that right."

Why is this particular burr under the journalism saddle bother Southern Baptists so much? 

The bottom line: The Southern Baptist Convention is a convention, not a denomination. It exists when it's in session, with "messengers" from its rather freewheeling local congregations. In other words, this "convention" is not a formal "denomination" structured like those dang (Baptist speak there) Episcopalians, Presbyterians, United Methodists and what not.

There's even a FAQ book to help reporters handle these kinds of questions, for sale right here. Item No. 1? 

Who are the messengers? They are the folks who actually compose the convention when it meets. Why “messengers” and not “delegates”? Read the book. 

A decade or so ago, Baptist Press published an "Understanding the SBC" piece that noted:

Southern Baptist churches meet annually in convention. They do so by electing “messengers” who attend the Convention, and participate in the business of the Convention. In Southern Baptist parlance, representatives from churches are “messengers,” not “delegates.” Theoretically, they bring no authority from the churches over the Convention, and they take no authority from the Convention back to the churches. ...

Each Southern Baptist church can send as many as ten messengers to this annual convention meeting. The cap on the number of voting messengers is intended to ensure equality of small and large congregations alike.

Now, back to what really matters these days -- Trump-era political shouting. The headline on the relevant Washington Post piece proclaims: "Why Southern Baptists giving Mike Pence a platform is so controversial."


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Here we go again: New York Times says White House door wide open for all 'evangelicals'

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Before we dive -- yes, it's time to try again -- into another example of "Gosh, all those evangelicals sure do love Donald Trump" coverage, let's pause to, uh, separate the sheep from the goats.

If you understand that image, the odds are good that you are an evangelical or some other brand of Christian who has cracked open a Bible more than once.

Whatever. A few months ago, Sarah Pulliam Bailey of The Washington Post tweeted out a fun little link to a MereOrthodoxy.com "Are you an evangelical?" quiz that is kind of fun. Click here to take the test. (Or click here for her original tweet, which has some interesting comments.)

So I took the test, as a former Southern Baptist preacher's kid from the Jesus Movement era, and scored 10 out of 31. The site's judgement:

Spiritual but not religious: You are definitely not evangelical, but you might still have feelings that you associate with Jesus in some way when you are standing on a mountaintop or contemplating the ocean. 

Well, at least I know where I stand when writing about the press and its struggles to realize the complexities of evangelical identity in this day and age. I would have done better if it included a question asking how many Bruce Cockburn CDs are in my collection (I think I own every note the man has recorded).

Anyway, the New York Times recently (pre-National Prayer Breakfast) weighed in with another report on you know what. The headline: "Evangelicals, Having Backed Trump, Find White House ‘Front Door Is Open’." Once again, readers are told that all "evangelicals" backed Trump and, today, all of them are welcome at the White House." I am sure that will come as a shock to many.

However, this story is slightly better than that headline. At the very least, it acknowledges that even the early, core evangelical supporters of The Donald are a bit more complex than many would think. Hold that thought. First, here is a solid paragraph on why evangelical poll numbers remain high, when it comes to this White House. It starts with the prayer breakfast crowd, saying that the president stood:


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Evangelical rebel Jen Hatmaker deserved more from Politico than a puff piece

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Up until recently, I'd never heard of Jen Hatmaker, an evangelical wunderkind who is a one-woman columnist, book-writing machine, conference speaker and all-around mom of five kids and pastor's wife. This has been a winning combo in terms of book deals and speaking engagements for some time. 

Maybe it's because she inhabited a corner of Christianity that most of my single, childless or married-to-a-guy-who-isn't-into-God-at-all female friends could never enter. This is not a criticism of Hatmaker, as none of us were into Beth Moore, either. These Christian superstar women inhabited a universe that us lesser beings couldn't hope to aspire to.

Plus, I wasn't writing about women like her. I was more after cutting-edge Christianity that sent people to India or led then to share all their possessions in a Christian community or do chain-themselves-to-the-clinic-doors activism against abortion clinics. 

Hatmaker is an ordinary person who got where she is by monetizing her life experiences into an evangelical Christian paradigm. Her more recent foray into politics -- linked to her shift on issues linked to sexuality and marriage -- got discovered by secular media, most recently by Politico, which published the following profile:

Last fall, Jen Hatmaker, a popular evangelical author and speaker, started getting death threats. Readers mailed back her books to her home address, but not before some burned the pages or tore them into shreds. LifeWay Christian Stores, the behemoth retailer of the Southern Baptist Convention, pulled her titles off the shelves. Hatmaker was devastated. Up until that point, she had been a wildly influential and welcome presence in the evangelical world, a Christian author whose writings made the New York Times best-seller list and whose home renovation got its own HGTV series. But then 2016 happened, and, well, of course everything changed.

Then it tells how she came out against Donald Trump some time in 2016. This might have been a minority opinion, but she was hardly alone in it and she was not the only person taking heat for it (or even the only woman in that niche).

A lot of evangelicals were unhappy with Trump, whom they saw as crazy, but who was up against Hillary Clinton, who they saw as evil. The fact that 81 percent of evangelical Christians said they voted for Trump doesn’t mean that all of them liked doing so.

So what was the key factor in the Hatmaker story?


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When it comes to Roy Moore, the reality on 'evangelical' opinion is just as complex as ever

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Right now, it's hard to pause the raging waterfall of news (almost all of it, methinks, justified) about Roy Moore and his U.S. Senate candidacy long enough for rational thought. Good grief, just image the amount of ink he'd be getting if he was a married senator accused of hiring under-aged prostitutes or obtaining visas for his various girlfriends?

However, as always, there are interesting issues to discuss linked to a much abused and increasingly worthless religious label now used many times every day in American politics -- "evangelical."

The inspiration for this post on this familiar subject? That would be the recent Washington Post "Acts of Faith" headline that said: "Some Alabama evangelicals see Roy Moore as a man of Christian values. Others are torn."

Suffice it to say, "Alabama evangelicals" probably means white churchgoers on the doctrinally conservative side of the evangelical spectrum.

But never mind. That Post headline -- by noting a wide division among evangelicals, when it comes to Moore's fitness as a candidate -- is already miles ahead most of the chatter that I have seen on this issue in print and television coverage.

Sure, the piece opens with the usual more and more Moore shenanigans, when it comes to religion and courting his base. But there is also this:

Other evangelicals, though, feel the allegations force them to make an uncomfortable decision.


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Washington Post skips key questions in covering doctor's transgender surgery dissent

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Pullman, Washington, doesn't get much attention: Trivia buffs might know the city was named for railroad industrialist George Pullman, in the hope that he'd run a rail line through the city. (It went to Spokane instead.) Those deep in the weeds of President Donald Trump's cabinet might know that Secretary of Defense James Mattis was born in Pullman. Apart from those who know that Washington State University is there, Pullman is pretty much under the radar.

Comes now The Washington Post to help change that. Pullman, you see, has jumped into the vanguard of sex-change surgery, technically known as "Vaginoplasty," in which a male's genitals (and nerve endings thereof) are rearranged into a, well, you know.

I'll cut to the journalistic chase: The Washington Post has effectively decided who's right and who's wrong in this story. We can tell from the headline: "A small-town doctor wanted to perform surgeries for transgender women. He faced an uphill battle." Read the opening paragraphs, and the "angle" should be clear:

The surgeon had spent several years preparing -- reading medical journals, finding someone to train him, practicing on cadavers -- until only one hurdle remained: getting permission for the medical procedure he wanted to bring to this small community on the Washington-Idaho border.
“Vaginoplasties,” Geoff Stiller remembered telling the CEO of Pullman Regional Hospital, referring to the surgical construction of vaginas for transgender women. “I want to do them at your hospital.”
Nine months later, Stiller looks back on that conversation as a final moment when his request still seemed like an easy one. Nobody yet had cited Bible verses or argued that culture was blurring the line between men and women. Another doctor at Pullman hadn’t yet sent an email to eight co-workers, who forwarded it around the hospital, with the subject line “Opposition to Transgender Surgery at PRH.” The hospital hadn’t yet received hundreds of letters from the community. Stiller hadn’t yet lost 20 pounds from the stress, nor had he yet anticipated that his request might turn for him into something more -- a fight not just over a surgery, but over what he’d later call a “moral issue.”

This is a long article, even by Post standards.


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