First person

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Hard question from Bob Briner: Why are there so few excellent Christian movies?

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Hard question from Bob Briner: Why are there so few excellent Christian movies?

Decades later, it's hard to remember how much "Chariots of Fire" shocked the Hollywood establishment, with soaring box-office totals and four wins at the 1982 Oscars -- including a Best Picture win for producer David Puttnam.

The film's focus on two legendary runners -- one Christian and the other Jewish -- also pleased believers who rarely applaud how faith is handled on screen.

That sent the late Bob Briner to London, seeking Puttnam's private office. Briner was an Emmy winner and global sports media trailblazer who worked with tennis legend Arthur Ashe, Dave Dravecky, Michael Jordan and many others.

"Naive soul that I am, I believed that the success of Chariots would trigger a spate of similar films," Briner wrote, in "Roaring Lambs," a 1993 book that was popular with college students and among media professionals. "It seemed to me that the movie moguls would see that a great, uplifting story … backed up by stirring music and produced on a reasonable budget would be a formula for success after success."

That didn't happen. A melancholy Puttnam had stacks of potential scripts.

"He was looking, but not finding," wrote Briner. During his career, Puttnam had "shown an affinity for producing quality, uplifting, affirming, even Christian-oriented movies, but no one was bringing him scripts of quality."

Briner, who died of cancer in 1999, was an articulate evangelical and supporter of Christian education and all kinds of projects in mass media, the fine arts, business and print storytelling. I met him through his efforts to meet journalists who were active in various Christian traditions, while working in mainstream news.

Now, the Briner Institute is publishing a new edition of "Roaring Lambs," while seeking discussions of the many ways the Internet era has changed the media marketplace, creating new ways for religious believers to reach mainstream consumers -- but also temptations to settle for niche-media Christian products.

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Flashback to 2011: Journalists need to hear the 'music' of religion

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Most editors and reporters would panic, or call their lawyers, if news executives asked religious questions during job interviews.

Yet it's hard to probe the contents of a journalist's head without asking big questions. And it's hard to ask some of the ultimate questions -- questions about birth, life, suffering, pain and death -- without mentioning religion.

William Burleigh carefully explored some of this territory when he was running news teams, both large and small. His half-century career with The E.W. Scripps Co. began in 1951, when he was in high school in Evansville, Ind., and he retired several years ago after serving as president and chief executive officer.

"I always thought that it was interesting to talk to reporters and editors about their education," said Burleigh, who remains chairman of the Scripps Howard board. "How many people in our newsrooms have actually studied history and art and philosophy and even some theology? ...

"I have to admit -- quite frankly -- I always showed a partiality toward people with that kind of educational background. I didn't do that because I am a big religious guy. I did it because I wanted to know if we were dealing with well-rounded people who could relate to the big questions in life."

Burleigh won some battles. For example, a few editors decided to let a religion-beat specialist try writing a column for Scripps Howard News Service, and I've been at it ever since. This week marks the "On Religion" column's 20th anniversary, and I owe Burleigh, and other editors who backed religion coverage, a debt of gratitude.

However, it's crucial to know that Burleigh -- a traditional Catholic -- didn't push this issue because he wanted editors to hire more journalists who liked sitting in pews. No, he didn't want to see newspapers keep missing events and trends that affect millions of people and billions of dollars.

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The new kind of threat to Alaska's historic Russian Orthodox cathedral

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The new kind of threat to Alaska's historic Russian Orthodox cathedral

The fire began in the early hours of January 2, 1966, and spread through the business district of Sitka, Alaska -- toward the historic St. Michael's Russian Orthodox Cathedral.

"Everyone in town ran to the church and started passing things out hand to hand in long chains of people," said Father Herman Belt, the cathedral's current dean. "They even carried out the chandelier, since you could lower it back then. They ran out with all the candlestands. They carried out the crosses. We lost one icon."

The rescued treasures included the bishop's throne carved by St. Innocent Veniaminov, the Siberian priest and missionary who in 1840 was sent to serve as bishop of "New Archangel," the island village that would become Sitka. The bishop translated the Gospels and Orthodox texts into several Alaskan languages and dialects and, later, served as Metropolitan of Moscow.

The bishop's staff of St. Innocent is in the rebuilt sanctuary, leaning next to the central doors before the altar. The cathedral -- designed by St. Innocent -- contains other links to six saints whose lives touched Sitka.

The original cathedral was completed in 1848, built with logs, clapboard siding and interior walls covered in sailcloth. St. Michael's was rebuilt using concrete, steel and fire-resistant materials, using 1961 drawings from the Historic American Buildings Survey.

Russian churches can handle winter. But snow isn't the problem, in a cathedral near the Gulf of Alaska. There are leaks along joints in the domes and the wooden floors squeak because of water damage. Bedrock under Sitka ends a block away.

"We're in the mush below that, then we've got the ocean, so all the rain and melt running down dumps into our basement," Belt explained. "If we get snow here, it isn't too bad. But we get lots of rain with wind, coming off the water."

Sitka averages 90 inches of rain a year, in this temperate rain forest. Seattle gets 40.

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As a hostage, journalist Terry Anderson's Catholic faith was tested -- to say the least

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As a hostage, journalist Terry Anderson's Catholic faith was tested -- to say the least

During his 2,454 days in captivity — between strategic moves among 20 or more hiding places in Lebanon — Hezbollah leaders often allowed journalist Terry Anderson to read a Bible.

Armed pro-Iran militants seized the Associated Press correspondent on March 16, 1985, then jammed him into the trunk of a Mercedes-Benz. This took place during a painful time in his personal life, and Anderson was already asking hard questions about his Catholic faith.

Anderson pleaded with his guards to get him a Bible. When they did that, he read it from cover to cover 50 times while in captivity. Early on, he also learned that a Catholic priest -- Father Lawrence Jenco -- was a hostage. During their time together, Jenco heard Anderson's first confession in 25 years.

"I still had plenty of questions about the Bible," Anderson told me, during a 1999 global conference for Christian journalists in Chichester, England. Then, after Jenco was released, "I was locked up with a seminary professor." That hostage was the Presbyterian missionary Benjamin Weir, from the Near East School of Theology in Beirut.

"I needed a priest and God gave me a priest," said Anderson. "I had Bible questions and God gave me a New Testament professor. … I realized that God had not abandoned me."

Anderson died this past Sunday (April 21) at age 76, after complications from heart surgery. While in captivity, he became the symbol -- for journalists worldwide -- of the nearly 100 foreigners seized by militants during what Time magazine called "the decade of hostages."

After his 1991 release, Anderson taught journalism at several major universities, while struggling behind the scenes with post-traumatic stress disorder.

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Into year 36: When it comes to religion news, many journalists are in a class of their own

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Into year 36: When it comes to religion news, many journalists are in a class of their own

After studying relevant police reports, Americans Against Antisemitism issued a 2023 document noting the obvious -- that rising numbers of Orthodox Jews were being assaulted in New York City.

The Orthodox, especially Hasidic Jews, were victims in 94% of the 194 antisemitic assaults between 2018-2022 reported to the city's Hate Crimes Task Force. Most of these crimes occurred in Jewish neighborhoods and some were captured on video. Only two of the criminal cases led to convictions.

Assaults on Orthodox men and women "ranged from spitting, to punching, to someone being hit in the face with a brick," noted Batya Ungar-Sargon of Newsweek, in her book "Bad News." The crime wave produced few news reports until a 2019 mass shooting at a Kosher supermarket in Jersey City and a machete attack on a Hannukah party in Monsey, north of New York City.

Then came COVID-19 and Orthodox Jews, along with others in close-knit ethnic and immigrant communities, were hit hard.

"Because the national news media saw that they could cast the Jews as the villains of the virus instead of its victims, they suddenly couldn't get enough of them," wrote Ungar-Sargon, an Orthodox Jew. "Every outlet began running pieces … blaming Orthodox recalcitrance to social distancing or mask wearing for spreading the virus, not just among their own communities but to their neighbors, too."

Many of these pandemic-driven stories were valid -- but packed with errors about Orthodox beliefs and traditions. Ungar-Sargon asked: Why did journalists jump into "hyperdrive" in this case, after downplaying all those antisemitic attacks? Why do many journalists see Americans they consider "less intelligent and uneducated" as "beyond salvation, irredeemable and filled with hate"? She has continued her work in a new book, "Second Class."

In the late 1970s, researchers began asking why journalists often struggle when covering religion stories or avoid religious news altogether. I wrote my 1982 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign graduate project on this topic and some of that work was published by Quill, the magazine of the Society of Professional Journalists.

This week marks the start of my 36th year writing this "On Religion" column. I also spent 20 years leading the GetReligion.org project, which closed in February, but its archive remains online for those studying religion and the press.

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The Rev. Pat Robertson: The prophet of the post-denominational age in America

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The Rev. Pat Robertson: The prophet of the post-denominational age in America

The Pat Robertson for President advance team made it clear that journalists were barred from its campaign rally in a church near Denver.

The candidate wanted friendly faces. As one volunteer said: "What Pat might have to say to a group of pastors … might not be the kinds of things he'd want mainstream Republicans to read in the press."

The faithful inside that 1988 event raised their hands in praise to God and sang familiar choruses with a true believer that they knew shared their embrace of miracles, prophecy and "speaking in tongues." That kind of trust fueled Robertson's media-driven career, which ended on June 8 with his death at age 93.

Yes, I was on the outside of that door, researching my very first syndicated "On Religion" column. Before Robertson arrived, supporters prayed for a "special anointing" of God's power on their candidate. There is the kingdom of heaven, and there is the kingdom of the earth, one man prayed. "We thank you for men of courage, like Pat Robertson, who are working to bring these two kingdoms closer together," he added.

Robertson avoided blunt faith language when facing the press during that high-wire political campaign. However, he kept blending subtle biblical references into remarks about economics, foreign policy and hot cultural issues. He knew fans of his daily 700 Club broadcasts could break the code.

"Robertson had his own program. He knew he could say whatever he wanted to say there," said Kenneth Woodward, known for decades of work at Newsweek and books such as "Getting Religion: Faith, Culture and Politics from the Age of Eisenhower to the Era of Obama."

On one level, "he didn't need to talk to the press because he could talk straight to his own people. But that doesn't always work in politics, when you need to reach other people in order to succeed," said Woodward, reached by telephone.

Once Robertson veered into politics, his critics paid closer attention to what he said, about almost anything. In an online First Things essay, Woodward noted that this included 700 Club prayers in which Robertson -- "his eyes squeezed tight for inward gazing" -- said he could sense that viewers were being healed.

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A lingering Theophany mystery: The 'holy water flowers' that refused to fade

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A lingering Theophany mystery: The 'holy water flowers' that refused to fade

After the Christmas season and before Lent, Orthodox priests have -- for centuries -- rushed to visit church-members' homes to bless them with prayers and splashes of holy water flung about with a foot-long brush or handfuls of basil.

Droplets of blessed water end up on beds and bookshelves, TVs and toys, potted plants and paintings, along with everything else.

"It's a chance to start over," said Father John Karcher of St. Nicholas Orthodox Church in Portland, Oregon. "We clean out the cobwebs of sin. … Then we make mistakes and muck it all up again. But we do this every year because God doesn't give up on us."

These rites flow out of the Feast of Theophany, which many Orthodox churches in America celebrate on January 6, or on January 19th for those using the ancient Julian calendar year-round. In addition to house blessings and liturgies, Orthodox clergy bless bodies of water -- rivers, lakes and oceans. In some parts of the world this requires man-sized holes cut into ice.

The feast's central message, said Karcher, is that "when Christ was baptized, he went into the waters and the waters didn't cleanse him -- it was the other way around. He blessed the waters and through them all of creation. … It's a beautiful thing. God responds to our prayers that he sanctifies the waters -- again."

In one rite, priests pray that the blessed water will provide "a fountain of incorruption, a gift of sanctification, a loosing of sins, a healing of sicknesses, a destruction of demons" so that worshippers will experience "the cleansing of souls and bodies, for the healing of sufferings, for the sanctification of homes and for every useful purpose."

The mysterious nature of these rites hit home a decade ago when Karcher led St. Innocent Orthodox Church in the Bay Area in northern California.

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Centuries of 'Holy Rus' church history behind the bitter Orthodox schism in Ukraine

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Centuries of 'Holy Rus' church history behind the bitter Orthodox schism in Ukraine

After the Soviet Union's collapse, Orthodox Christians throughout the Slavic world celebrated the slow, steady, construction of churches after decades of persecution.

In 2004, the poet Nina Borodai wrote a long prayer -- "Song of the Most Holy Theotokos (Greek for God-bearer)" -- seeking the prayers of St. Mary for the lands of "Holy Rus," a term with roots dating to the 988 conversion Prince Vladimir of Kiev.

"Mother of God, Mother of God / … All Holy Rus prays to you / And valleys and mountains and forests. … / Consecrate all the churches to you," wrote Borodai (computer translation from Russian). "Domes, domes in the sky are blue / I can't count the bells / The ringing floats, floats over Russia / Mother Rus is awakening."

Borodai's prayer of joy and repentance was an unlikely spark for an explosion of religious conflict inside Ukraine. Leaders of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church -- with centuries of canonical ties to Russian Orthodoxy -- face Security Service of Ukraine accusations of collusion with President Vladimir Putin of Russia. Some churches have been seized or padlocked as pressures rise for conversions to the rival Orthodox Church of Ukraine, officially born in 2019 with recognition by Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew I of Istanbul and Western governments.

In November, an OCU priest posted a video showing laypeople singing Borodai's poem after a service inside the Kiev Pechersk Lavra, the font of Slavic monasticism since its birth in 1051 in caves above the Dnieper River. Monastery critics made headlines by claiming the video proved the monks -- part of the historic UOC -- are disloyal to Ukraine. Lavra visitors, according to the New York Times, were "cheering for Russia."

Days later, security forces raided the monastery and, in the weeks since, officials have accused bishops and priests of aiding Russia. They released photos of Russian passports, theological texts in Russian and pamphlets criticizing the newly created Ukrainian church.

The UOC synod responded by pleading for fair, open trials of anyone accused, while noting: "From the first day of the invasion of Russian troops, the Ukrainian Orthodox Church has condemned this war and has consistently advocated the preservation of the sovereignty, independence and territorial integrity of Ukraine. Our believers, with God's help and the prayers of their fellow believers, courageously defend their Motherland in the ranks of the Armed Forces of Ukraine. … Memory eternal to all victims of this terrible war!"

This echoed waves of UOC statements condemning the invasion.

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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.”