books

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Norm Macdonald: Wisecracks about big, eternal questions while his clock ticks louder

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Norm Macdonald: Wisecracks about big, eternal questions while his clock ticks louder

Comedians frequently take shots at taboo targets, but that wasn't what Norm Macdonald was doing when he addressed Down's Syndrome while solo recording what became the new "Nothing Special" on Netflix.

"I love people with Down Syndrome," said Macdonald, in a no-audience performance packed with his familiar pauses and bemused expressions. "I wish I had Down Syndrome, and I'll tell you why. They're happy. You know what I mean? …

"What's wrong with that? … People get mad at them … and they pity them. Now, who's the bad person in that scenario?"

The former Saturday Night Life star -- who died September 14 after a secret nine-year fight with cancer -- recorded nearly an hour of material during the coronavirus pandemic, before yet another operation in the summer of 2020. He said he "didn't want to leave anything on the table in case things went south."

This Netflix finale offers fresh musings on mortality and morality that, with Macdonald's blunt language and haunting images, evolve into meditations on how modern people deceive themselves. The X-factors in his art were religious faith and his love of literature ranging from Mark Twain to Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

"Macdonald showed respect for basically everyone, with the exception of himself and people like O.J. Simpson and Bill Clinton," said Rich Cromwell, a television professional and essayist for The Federalist. "He was not a Christian comedian -- that's clear. But that was part of who he was, and he treated faith with respect. …

"This Down's Syndrome material is a perfect example. He didn't turn that into an overt argument about abortion, but it's clear that he is saying all life is worthy of respect, even if some people don't judge that life to be worthy. He's saying people with Down's Syndrome are God's children, no matter what."

"Nothing Special" ends with an A-list reaction panel -- David Letterman, Adam Sandler, Conan O'Brien, Dave Chappelle, David Spade and Molly Shannon -- who knew Macdonald as a friend and colleague. This special was full of "third-rail stuff," noted O'Brien.

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Lessons from Kansas plains: Hall of Men in Wichita mixes books, beer, prayer and more

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Lessons from Kansas plains: Hall of Men in Wichita mixes books, beer, prayer and more

WICHITA, Kan. — The Hall of Men fits the name, with meetings offering beer, cigars, an open bar, some kind of guy food (think pizza) and lots of chatter around a giant wooden table.

But then there are the evening prayers, icons, Bible readings and lectures about authors whose portraits hang in this “Christian speakeasy.” The names include C.S. Lewis, Flannery O’Connor, W.H. Auden, Dorothy Sayers, Fyodor Dostoevsky, J.R.R. Tolkien and many others. Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan are there, as well.

This group has met twice a month for a dozen years and most of the faithful are Orthodox, Catholic and Lutheran, with plenty of evangelicals at special events. The authors honored are selected after an informal process that usually starts during fellowship before and after lectures, with men talking about books that have touched their lives.”

The whole thing is affected by having that bookstore right next door,” said Pastor Geoff Boyle, a Missouri-Synod Lutheran long active in the project. “The man behind the front counter is used to having these conversations and obviously knows all about the books the guys are talking about. The books are right there and, if they’re not, they will be soon.”

“That bookstore” is Eighth Day Books, which draws customers from across the nation to an old three-story house with 46,000 new and used books — 27,000 titles — shelved and stacked anywhere that will hold them, including the basement “Hobbit Hole” packed with children’s literature. The white-haired man behind the counter is owner Warren Farha, an Orthodox believer with family ties to Lebanon.

This isn’t a “Christian bookstore” complete with knick-knacks, inspirational posters and religious self-help books — but “Eighth Day” is a reference to the Resurrection of Jesus.

Farha created the store in 1988 and selects all the books, with the help of an ecumenical network woven into the Eighth Day Institute and its conferences, newsletters, podcasts and groups such as the Hall of Men and the Sisters of Sophia.

“My goal has always been to be fair to the great traditions,” said Farha, in his office in the bookstore’s attic. “We have classics in history, literature, poetry, church history, theology and philosophy — Christian writings through the ages. … I’m always listening to people who GET the template for what we’re doing here.

“Great books from different traditions are on the shelves right next to each other, even if they clash in ways that we need to discuss.”

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Listening to Naomi Judd: She tried to be honest about her angels and her demons

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Listening to Naomi Judd: She tried to be honest about her angels and her demons

Naomi Judd thought she understood the ties that bind country-music stars and their audience -- then one aggressive fan went and joined the Pentecostal church the Judd family called home.

"It really burdened me," said Judd, after signing hundreds of her "Love Can Build a Bridge" memoir back in 1993. "I just don't sign autographs at church. The best way I can explain it to children … is to say, 'Honey, Jesus is the star.' "

After a year of this tense standoff, Judd became concerned and wrote the fan. "I said, 'I want you to really get away by yourself and read this letter and answer this question honestly: Do you come to church to see The Judds or do you come to church to see God?' She never came back to church. But she was in the autograph line today."

Through it all, Judd and her brash daughter Wynonna have talked openly about their triumphs and their struggles. Many fans identified with their failures just as much as the messages about faith and family.

At the time of that 1993 interview, Naomi Judd had battled through waves of anxiety attacks to address some dark realities -- such as rape, crisis pregnancy and her deadly battle with hepatitis C that retired the The Judds.

What she hadn't discussed was the sexual abuse in her childhood that led to treatment-resistant depression. Judd's April 30th death, at age 76, focused new attention on blunt passages in her 2016 book "River of Time," in which she said had been tempted by suicide. "I wanted to be completely honest that if someone took out a gun and killed me on stage, they would be doing me a favor," she wrote.

The Judds were inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame the day after Naomi's death and her shaken daughter Ashley Judd told the crowd, "I'm sorry that she couldn't hang on until today."

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After 'Born Again': What were the Big Ideas woven into the work of Chuck Colson?

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After 'Born Again': What were the Big Ideas woven into the work of Chuck Colson?

As a D.C. Beltway power player, the late Charles W. Colson worked with a "Thank God it's Monday" attitude that meant his colleagues always knew they could contact him about hot topics and decisions.

But there was one exception -- visits by his autistic grandson Max.

"If Chuck was with Max, his phone was turned off," said Dave Carlson of the Colson Center for Christian Worldview. "Max could stop him in his tracks."

This bond was rooted in a conviction that shaped the Nixon White House strategist's work after his 1973 born-again Christian conversion and guilty plea for Watergate crimes that put him in federal prison, said Carlson, who spent two decades as a Colson aide and editor. This same conviction led Colson to create the global Prison Fellowship ministry in 1976.

"It didn't matter if you were in prison or what kind of crimes put you there. It didn't matter if you were missing a chromosome or were autistic," he said. Colson believed "we are all humans made in the image of God -- Imago Dei. He was passionate about that until the end."

The 80-year-old Colson died on April 21, 2012, felled by a brain hemorrhage moments after a speech about rising threats to religious liberty. His colleagues marked the 10-year anniversary by rebroadcasting that speech during a BreakPoint radio commentary.

"What we're witnessing in our culture … is but the tip of the iceberg. It's the latest visible manifestation of a growing hostility towards Christianity mainly because -- this has always been the case -- government officials feel threatened by the power of the church because we all worship a king higher than the kings of this earth," said Colson.

Cultural issues are bigger than mere politics, he stressed.

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How can churches fight sexual abuse? Denhollander has practical, spiritual advice

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How can churches fight sexual abuse? Denhollander has practical, spiritual advice

In this age of small-group ministries, most pastors would know how to handle a crisis that affected significant numbers of believers in their pews.

"If you had one in four members of your congregation actively battling cancer or one in four members … experiencing being widowed or losing a spouse, chances are that you would have some level of intentional ministry to those individuals," said Rachel Denhollander, in a recent Trinity Forum event focusing on how churches respond to sexual abuse. "Maybe you would have a support group or a Bible study for them. You would have meal trains to help provide for their physical needs."

But many sexual-abuse victims hesitate to speak out, she said, because churches act as if they don't exist. Thus, they have little reason to believe the sins and crimes committed against them will be handled in a way that offers safety and healing. Far too many religious leaders act as if they haven't grasped the magnitude of this crisis.

"There is an astonishing perception gap and it's really inexcusable at this point in time," she said, speaking to victims, clergy and activists online -- including participants in 24 nations outside the United States. "We've had the data, literally, for decades. … Even what we know is dramatically undercounted.

"The statistic has stayed right around one in four women, for sexual violence, by the time they reach age 18. … The rate continues to rise and there really isn't any excuse, at this point in time, for not knowing that data. But sometimes, it's emotionally easier to not know that data and all of us have that intrinsic desire to not have to see the darkness that's around us."

Sexual abuse is a hot-button issue everywhere, from small fundamentalist flocks to the Roman Catholic Church. Revelations from #MeToo scandals have rocked the careers of A-list players in entertainment, politics, sports, academia and business.

Denhollander is an attorney, activist and author who is best known as the first female gymnast to publicly accuse Larry Nassar -- team physician for U.S.A. Gymnastics -- of committing sexual abuse during physical-therapy sessions. When telling her own story, she stresses that she was also abused in church, at age 7.

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The complicated story of C.S. Lewis becoming a convert -- on screen, in his own words

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The complicated story of C.S. Lewis becoming a convert -- on screen, in his own words

While historians argue about what C.S. Lewis did or didn't say, it can be stated with absolute certainty that the Oxford don never patted down his rumbled, professorial tweed jacket before exclaiming, "Where's my phone?"

That line occurs at the start of "The Most Reluctant Convert," as actor Max McLean enters a movie set preparing for the first scene. Seconds later, the camera follows him into the real Oxford, England, where Lewis was a scholar and tutor at Magdalen College.

At first, the famous Christian writer explains how he became an atheist. When he walks into the real White Horse pub, he orders two pints of beer, with one for the viewer. Soon, scenes from his memories spring to life, with Lewis striding through them as a narrator.

"Lewis is in his imagination. He's personified in his thoughts. … I do think that the structure emerged out of the fact that Lewis had a lot to say," said McLean, laughing.

Thus, director Norman Stone -- a BAFTA winner for BBC's "Shadowlands" -- let the "voice of Lewis articulate his struggle, his passion. He is one of those rare individuals where one's intellect, one's emotions and one's spirituality are completely intertwined," said McLean.

All of this is second nature to McLean since the film covers much of the same territory as his own "C.S Lewis Onstage." This was a one-man show at the Fellowship for Performing Arts in New York City, an off-Broadway company McLean founded and guides as artistic director. It has staged other Lewis works, such as "The Screwtape Letters" and "The Great Divorce," drawing warm reviews from The New York Times and other major publications.

The first-person narration, explained McLean, was primarily drawn from Lewis' autobiography, "Surprised by Joy," and the many volumes of his personal letters.

The jump from stage to screen, of course, allowed the film's creators to seek permission to film in some of the most important sites linked to Lewis' life. In addition to the White Horse, viewers follow Lewis into the historic Magdalen College library, a tutor's campus suite and, most importantly, The Kilns -- the home where Lewis lived for decades with his older brother Warren and, briefly, with his cancer-stricken wife, the American poet Joy Davidman.

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The gospel according to post-theist Episcopal Bishop John Shelby Spong

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The gospel according to post-theist Episcopal Bishop John Shelby Spong

Newark Bishop John Shelby Spong never stuck "Why Christianity Must Change or Die" on the doors of Canterbury Cathedral, since it was easier to post a talking-points version of his manifesto on the Internet.

"Theism, as a way of defining God is dead," he proclaimed, in 1998. "Since God can no longer be conceived in theistic terms, it becomes nonsensical to seek to understand Jesus as the incarnation of the theistic deity."

Lacking a personal God, he added, it was logical to add: "Prayer cannot be a request made to a theistic deity to act in human history in a particular way."

Spong's 12-point take on post-theism faith emerged after spending years on the road, giving hundreds of speeches and appearing on broadcasts such as "The Oprah Winfrey Show" and "Larry King Live." While leading the Episcopal Diocese of Newark, within shouting range of New York City, he did everything he could to become the news-media face of liberal Christianity.

By the time of his death at the age of 90, on Sept. 12 at his home in Richmond, Va., Spong had seen many of his once-heretical beliefs -- especially on sex and marriage -- normalized in most Episcopal pulpits and institutions. However, his doctrinal approach was too blunt for many in the mainline establishment, where a quieter "spiritual but not religious" approach has become the norm.

Spong called himself a "doubting believer" and said he had no problem reciting traditional rites and creeds because, in his own mind, he had already redefined the words and images to fit his own doctrines. He also knew when to be cautious, such as during Denver visit in the late 1980s -- an era in which the Diocese of Colorado remained a center for evangelical and charismatic Episcopalians.

After a lecture at the liberal St. Thomas Episcopal Church, I asked Spong if he believed the resurrection of Jesus was an "historic event that took place in real time."

"I don't think that I can say what the disciples believed they experienced. I'll have to think about that some more," he said, moving on to another question.

The bishop answered a decade later, in his memo calling for a new Reformation:

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What shaped the mysterious mind (and soul) of comedian Norm Macdonald?

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What shaped the mysterious mind (and soul) of comedian Norm Macdonald?

While debating heretics, early Christians used the Greek term "hypostasis" -- meaning "substance" and "subsistence" -- to help define their belief in the Incarnation of Jesus as one person, yet with divine and human natures.

This "hypostatic union" is not the kind of subject a comedian typically raises on a TV talk show while chatting about mortality with a Hollywood legend. Then again, Norm Macdonald -- who died on September 14 after a secret nine-year fight with cancer -- wasn't a typical funny man. He openly identified as a Christian, while making it clear that he didn't consider himself a very good one.

During an episode of "Norm Macdonald has a Show," the former Saturday Night Live star asked Jane Fonda -- who at one point briefly embraced evangelical Christianity -- this question: "Are you a religious person?"

"I have faith," said Fonda. The host quickly asked, "In Jesus Christ?" Hesitating, Fonda called herself "a work in process," saying she accepted "the historical Jesus."

Macdonald responded: "But do you believe in the hypostatic Jesus?"

When Fonda said "no," he added, "So, you're not a Christian. But you believe, you believe in something."

Raised vaguely Protestant in Canada, Macdonald didn't discuss the brand-name specifics of his faith, even as he wrestled with his own demons -- such as habitual gambling. Yet he could be stunningly specific when addressing criticisms of Christian beliefs. As a judge on NBC's "Last Comic Standing," he quietly shot down a contestant who trashed the Bible, before praising the Harry Potter series.

"I think if you're going to take on an entire religion, you should maybe know what you're talking about," said Macdonald. "J.K. Rowling is a Christian, and J.K. Rowling famously said that if you're familiar with the scriptures, you could easily guess the ending of her book."

The result was a public persona laced with paradoxes, an edgy, courageous comic who often seemed unconcerned if his work pleased the public or his employers.

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When facing vaccine-doubters in pews, trust is crucial (as opposed to shame)

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When facing vaccine-doubters in pews, trust is crucial (as opposed to shame)

Donald Trump had to know it was coming, even if -- to use a Bible Belt expression -- he was preaching to his choir.

"You know what? I believe totally in your freedoms," he said, at a rally in Cullman, Ala. "You got to do what you have to do, but I recommend: Take the vaccines. I did it -- it's good."

Videos of this August 21 event make it clear that quite a few people booed this request by the former president.

Truth is, the longer a health crisis lasts, the more pollsters will find that anti-vaccine citizens have "turned into true believers" who are rock-solid in their convictions, said political scientist Ryan Burge of Eastern Illinois University. He is co-founder of the Religion in Public website and a contributor to the GetReligion.org weblog I have led since 2004.

"At this point, the holdouts are the only people that (pollsters) have to talk to. … They've heard everything, and nothing is moving the needle for them," he said. "In fact, it seems like whatever you say to try to change their minds only makes it worse. These hardcore folks are digging in their heels all the more."

When exploring the most recent Data for Progress poll numbers, it's hard to nail down a religion factor in this drama. As summer began, 70% of non-evangelical Protestants had received at least one shot of COVID-19 vaccine -- but so had 62% of both evangelical Protestants and Catholics. As the author of a book entitled "The Nones: Where They Came From, Who They Are, and Where They Are Going," Burge found it significant that only 47% of the religiously unaffiliated reported receiving at least one shot.

"Religion may be a factor, for some people, but it's not the main thing" causing Americans to be reluctant, he said. "Age is clearly the No. 1 factor, even when you factor in politics. Young Republicans and independents are the same. …

"So how do you reach these people? I mean, independents trust authority even less than Republicans do these days."