popular culture

, , , , ,

Survey of Millennials and Gen Z: Many young Americans just don't get the Holocaust

, , , , ,
Survey of Millennials and Gen Z: Many young Americans just don't get the Holocaust

It was the kind of open-ended question researchers ask when they want survey participants to have every possible chance to give a good answer.

Thus, a recent 50-state study of Millennials and younger "Generation Z" Americans included this: "During the Holocaust, Jews and many others were sent to concentration camps, death camps and ghettos. Can you name any concentration camps, death camps or ghettos you have heard of?"

Only 44% could remember hearing about Auschwitz and only 6% remembered Dachau, the first concentration camp. Only 1% mentioned Buchenwald, where Nobel Laureate Elie Wiesel was a prisoner when the American Third Army arrived.

Another question: "How was the Holocaust carried out?" While 30% knew that there were concentration camps, only 13% remembered poison-gas chambers.

"That was truly shocking. I have always thought of Auschwitz as a symbol of evil for just about everyone. … It has always been the ultimate example of what hate can lead to if we don't find a way to stop it," said Gideon Taylor, president of the Conference of Jewish Material Claims Against Germany.

It was a sobering "wake-up call," he added, to learn that half of the young Americans in this survey "couldn't name a single concentration camp. … It seems that we no longer have common Holocaust symbols in our culture, at least not among our younger generations."

Popular culture is crucial. It has, after all, been nearly 30 years since the release of Steven Spielberg's "Schindler's List," so that landmark movie isn't a cultural reference point for many young people. And it's been 20 years since the original "X-Men" movie, which opens at the gates of Auschwitz, and almost a decade since "X-Men: First Class," which offered a variation on that concentration-camp imagery.

Old movies and school Holocaust-education materials, said Taylor, are clearly being buried in information from social media and Internet search engines.

, , , , , ,

Icons, heroes and even one superhero: Chadwick Boseman was an unusual film star

, , , , , ,
Icons, heroes and even one superhero: Chadwick Boseman was an unusual film star

Early in the coronavirus crisis, and this summer's wave of chaos in American streets, Rachel Bulman began paying close attention to the faces in news reports.

She also found herself thinking about a hero -- the Black Panther.

Born in the Philippines before being adopted, the Catholic writer has -- as a daughter, wife and mother -- lived her life in White America. As a child, she didn't look like her family. Now, her children are growing up "knowing that they just don't look like everyone else. … Our family has its own story," she said.

Bulman responded by hanging images of saints from Africa, Asia, Latin America and elsewhere in their home. There was St. Josephine Bakhita from the Sudan and an icon of St. Augustine with darker skin, since his mother was from North Africa's Berber tribe. There was St. Juan Diego of Mexico, who encountered Our Lady of Guadalupe, and Sister Thea Bowman of Mississippi, the granddaughter of slaves, whose cause for sainthood has been endorsed by America's bishops.

"I wanted my children to see all kinds of saints and heroes, including some with faces kind of like their own," she said.

Bulman had also become interested in the Marvel Comics universe and the symbolic role of King T'Challa -- the Black Panther -- for millions of Black Americans, especially children. She was stunned when actor Chadwick Boseman died at age 43 after a long, private fight with colon cancer. He endured years of chemotherapy and multiple surgeries while filming "The Black Panther" and related Avenger movies.

Searching through press reports, Bulman noted colleagues referring to Boseman as a "man of faith," a "beautiful soul" and someone with a "spiritual aura" about his work with others -- including children with cancer.

At a memorial rite for Boseman, his former pastor at Welfare Baptist Church in Anderson, S.C., said the actor remained the same person he knew as a young believer.

“He's still Chad," said the Rev. Samuel Neely. "He did a lot of positive things. … With him singing in the choir, with him working the youth group, he always was doing something, always helping out, always serving. That was his personality."

Digging deeper, Bulman said she "cried all the way through" a video of Boseman's 2018 commencement address at Howard University, his alma mater.

, , ,

Baseball history includes many spiritual parables that are part of the American story

, , ,
Baseball history includes many spiritual parables that are part of the American story

Fans who crack open baseball history books are sure to find photographs of Jackie Robinson stealing home and wreaking havoc on the base paths.

It's less likely they will learn about him teaching Sunday school classes.

Nevertheless, Brooklyn Dodgers President Branch Rickey saw a connection between those skills.

When they met in 1945 to discuss breaking major-league baseball's color barrier, Rickey quoted Jesus and the Sermon on the Mount while describing the challenges ahead: "You have heard it said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' But I say to you, do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also."

Rickey said: "God is with us in this, Jackie." In the movie "42," that thought turned into this memorable quip: "Robinson's a Methodist. I'm a Methodist. God's a Methodist. You can't go wrong."

This bond changed history. When broadcaster Larry King praised the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., as the "founder of the Civil Rights Movement," King responded: "The founder of the Civil Rights Movement was Jackie Robinson."

On one level, that's a baseball story. But it's also an example of how baseball has played a mythic, strangely spiritual role in American life, said Bryan Steverson, author of "Baseball: A Special Gift from God."

"Look at it this way. The object of baseball is to get home. And you are trying to make it home, safe. Sometimes, someone on my side may even need to make a sacrifice for me to get home, safe. Think about it," he said.

There's nothing new about scribes finding spiritual lessons in athletics, including numerous New Testament examples from St. Paul. But something about baseball's language and imagery encourages a special kind of reverence for many fans, said Steverson, a member of the Society for American Baseball Research. This unique role in the American story is especially obvious whenever baseball is missing -- due to a global pandemic or mere labor disputes.

Part of the appeal is the intricate nature of the sport's picky rules and even its structure, starting with what many scribes hail as the perfection of the diamond's 90-foot base paths. Steverson dedicated an entire book chapter to the practical and symbolic roles that the number three -- think Christian trinity -- plays in baseball.

, , , ,

Bad people, and good people, going to confession on movie screens -- for a century

, , , ,
Bad people, and good people, going to confession on movie screens -- for a century

Alfred Hitchcock knew a thing or two about complicated thrillers.

Having a murderer confess to a priest -- who couldn't betray this trust -- was already a familiar plot twist by 1953, when Hitchcock released "I Confess." Because of the seal of confession, this noble priest couldn't even clear his own name when police suspected that he was the killer.

Good prevails in the end. Shot by police, the killer makes an urgent final confession to the priest.

"It's natural for a Catholic filmmaker like Hitchcock to see the dramatic potential of confession, with its combination of mystery and holiness," said film critic Steven D. Greydanus, best known for his work for the National Catholic Register. "At the same time, Hitchcock thought 'I Confess' was a mistake, because he thought that his mostly Protestant audience in America just wouldn't get it."

The sacrament of confession is both sacred and secret -- facts known to Medieval playwrights as well as modern filmmakers. Thus, putting a confession rite on a movie screen is a "transgressive act" of the highest kind, said Greydanus, who serves as a permanent deacon in the Diocese of Newark, N.J. (Deacons do not hear confessions.)

"Voyeurism is an important theme in much of Hitchcock's work and he knew that using confession in this way was a kind of voyeurism. … He knew this was a kind of taboo."

Nevertheless, Hollywood scribes have frequently used confession and penance for everything from cheap laughs ("A League of Their Own"), to shattering guilt (Godfather III), to near-miraculous transformations ("The Mission"). In a recent 6,000-word essay -- "In Search of True Confession in the Movies" -- Greydanus covered a century of cinema, while admitting that he had to omit dozens of movies that included confession scenes.

The key is that filmmakers struggle to capture, in words and images, what is happening in a person's heart. The act of confession opens a window into the soul, since characters are forced to put their sins and struggles into words.

"Perhaps the very secrecy surrounding the sacrament of confession was part of what attracted filmmakers to depict it," wrote Greydanus.

, , , ,

Why did journalists skip over the inspiring final act of Orson Bean's wild life?

, , , ,
Why did journalists skip over the inspiring final act of Orson Bean's wild life?

Orson Bean answered the same question many times during his crazy ride from Broadway to doing every conceivable kind of work during his decades in Hollywood.

What was this funny guy trying to do, while embracing drugs, edgy politics, sexual healing, hippie communes, experimental forms of therapy and other diversions involving his body, mind and soul?

On one occasion, Bean said he was trying to become the "happiest son of a bitch alive." In another Los Angeles Times interview he added: "I did all this stuff, the drugs, getting my kisser on the tube, because I thought it would make me happy. But it didn't work. I didn't find happiness until I learned to surrender, to give up the crazy pursuit."

Surrender to what? The answer to that question didn't make it into the media tributes after the 91-year-old Bean's death on Feb. 7, when he was hit by two cars while walking in his Venice, Calif., neighborhood. However, the answer has hiding in plain sight in several cable TV interviews, his one-man stage show and an online testimony he wrote entitled "How Orson Bean Found God."

"For most of my life I didn't believe in God," noted Bean. "Who had time? I was too busy with things of this world: getting ahead, getting laid, becoming famous.

"For most of my adult life I've been at least somewhat famous. Not so famous that I had to wear dark glasses to walk down the street, but famous enough that head waiters would give me a good table. I didn't want to be famous for its own sake. I wanted to be famous so as to be happy."

What finally turned Bean's life around was a religious conversion. He went looking for the "Higher Power" in his 12-step program and eventually found peace.

Many Hollywood people who knew Bean were amazed that the final act in his wild life -- from Communist sympathizer to father-in-law of the late conservative raconteur Andrew Breitbart -- didn't make it into news reports.

, , , ,

Hollywood declines to ponder the work of Mister Rogers -- as a pastor

, , , ,
Hollywood declines to ponder the work of Mister Rogers -- as a pastor

During a dozen years of ministry, the Rev. Ted Giese estimates that he has performed 200 funerals and made 1,000 hospital visits to the sick and the dying. He also spends many hours in theaters, working on his movie reviews featured at The Canadian Lutheran website.

Thus, Giese knew exactly what was happening in a crucial scene in "A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood." In it, PBS legend Fred Rogers -- played by Tom Hanks -- arrives with a pie for the family of a dying father who has been struggling to heal a bitter rift with his journalist son.

Leaning over the deathbed, Mister Rogers whispers into the man's ear. Moments later, the son asks what he said and Rogers replies: "I asked him to pray for me. Anyone who's going through what he's going through must be very close to God."

Anyone who has served as a pastor, said Giese, will immediately recognize what happened in this encounter.

"That was a pastoral call," he said. "I don't usually bring an apple pie with me when I make this kind of visit, but I know what that scene is all about. I know what that feels like as a pastor. It's like you're part of the family, but you are also there to provide the kind of care that people count on pastors to provide."

This scene may have seemed strange for many moviegoers. The film makes it clear that Rogers is a deeply spiritual, even saintly man. He reads scripture and begins his day on his knees, praying -- by name -- for people he has met while doing his work.

But here's the strange part. This movie never mentions that Mister Rogers was also the Rev. Fred Rogers, an ordained Presbyterian minister. It never notes that Rogers went to seminary seeking the theological depth that he believed he needed to address tough issues -- life, death, disease, divorce, war, poverty, racism, loneliness -- in child-friendly words and images.

For Rogers, "neighbor" for was not a random word that, for 33 years, he inserted into television scripts. He was, show after show, making a personal statement that affirmed a kind of love demonstrated in the biblical parable of the Good Samaritan and its haunting question, "Who is my neighbor?"

, , , , ,

Phil Vischer of VeggieTales tries to tell the whole Bible story -- to kids

, , , , ,
Phil Vischer of VeggieTales tries to tell the whole Bible story -- to kids

The ancient Christian leaders who wrote the Nicene Creed never produced a scroll explaining the mysteries of the Holy Trinity to children.

This is not the language found in cartoons.

"I believe in one God, Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth, and of all things, visible and invisible. And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Only-begotten Son of God, begotten of the Father before all ages; Light of light, true God of true God, begotten not created, of one essence with the Father, through whom all things were made. … And in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Creator of life, who proceedeth from the Father, who with the Father and the Son together is worshipped and glorified. …"

There is more, of course. Phil Vischer of VeggieTales fame knew that he couldn't tell the whole Bible story without discussing the Trinity, somehow. Thus, he put this puzzle at the start of "The Laugh and Learn Bible for Kids," his new 52-chapter Bible storybook targeting ages 6-10.

In whimsical Vischer-speak, that sounds like: "In the beginning, there was God. Just God. Nothing else. No trees, no hummingbirds, no whales, no bats, no kids, no grown-ups, no grandmas or grandpas, no caterpillars, no lakes, no oceans, no horses, no elephants and no frogs. Not even tiny ones. Just God."

Wait for it: "There is one God, but there are three persons in God. God the Father. God the Son. God the Holy Spirit. … I told you it was tricky."

Vischer chuckled, trying to explain this challenge -- sounding a bit like the Bob the Tomato character loved by millions of video-watchers.

"You can't do it justice. There's just too much," he said. "You can't say what needs to be said, but you can tell kids something like: 'This is a mystery that we can't completely understand, but that's OK. This is part of a big story."

Vischer knew that he wanted to produce a book that would be rather strange, in terms of bookstore sales options.

, , , , , , , , ,

How do some young Americans remain believers while living in 'digital Babylon'?

, , , , , , , , ,
How do some young Americans remain believers while living in 'digital Babylon'?

Soon after the Internet boom in the 1990s, the Christian consulting firm WisdomWorks obtained software that could run automated chat groups -- allowing anonymous teens to ask candid questions.

Mark Matlock and his team called the project "Wise Intelligent Guide (WIG)."

Tech-savvy young people were careful, often repeating easy questions over and over to determine if the "bot" was truly autonomous, as opposed to being operated by hidden adults. A typical user would then probe with relatively safe questions -- like "Does God exist?"

Finally, there would be the "actual question the teen wanted to ask, usually about sex, depression, suicide, or abuse," noted Matlock and Barna Group President David Kinnaman, in their new book "Faith for Exiles." Typical questions: "How do I know if I am gay? What does God think about masturbation? What happens to people who commit suicide? I had sex with my boyfriend; what should I do?"

That was two decades ago. Today, most teens would use their omnipresent smartphones and take these personal questions straight to Google -- a secular oracle offering guidance on topics that religious leaders often avoid.

"The church has bubble-wrapped itself in an attempt to avoid thinking about the truly disruptive forms of technology that are everywhere in our world," said Kinnaman, reached by telephone. "Most church leaders think they can just use technology as a way of reaching people. … They aren't looking at the real impact of all this on their people. It's easier just to look the other way."

Meanwhile, practical decisions on tough lifestyle and religious questions often have long-term consequences.

Religious leaders have been forced -- after waves of Pew Research Center polling -- to acknowledge the surge in Millennial Americans (born 1981-1996) who now identify as atheists, agnostics or "nothing in particular" when asked about religion. In a 2019 update, Pew noted that 40% of Millennials are "nones."

The goal of the "Faith for Exiles" study was to find patterns among young Americans (18 to 29 years of age) who were raised as Christians.

, , , , , , , ,

Has there really been a 'truce' in all those bitter Protestant worship wars?

, , , , , , , ,
Has there really been a 'truce' in all those bitter Protestant worship wars?

If newcomers walk into a Protestant church on Sunday and hear an organ playing, and see hymnals, the odds are good that between 50 and 250 people will be in the pews.

If a church's attendance is larger than 250 -- especially if it's 1,000-plus -- visitors will usually see pop-rock "praise musicians" on stage, including a drummer. The hall will feature concert-level lighting and video screens displaying song lyrics. 

But here's a news flash from the front lines of what church leaders have, for several decades, called the "worship wars." According to a LifeWay Research survey, there's evidence of a "truce" between the "contemporary" and "traditional" worship forces. Then again, it's possible that church leaders have made up their minds and old debates inside many congregations have calmed down.

"We're not really talking about two enemies negotiating a cease fire," said Mike Harland, director of the LifeWay Worship team. "What I've seen happen in the 20 years that I've been part of this story is that the distance between the traditional and the contemporary churches has narrowed a bit. … People on each side of the divide have become more willing to compromise with the other."

This survey (.pdf here) was built on random telephone surveys of clergy in a variety of Protestant traditions during 2018, with the results weighted by church size and region, seeking balance.

A key finding was that only 15% of these American clergy said the biggest challenge they face linked to music and ministry was "navigating the varying preferences of members." A higher percentage (21%) said it was a bigger challenge to find vocalists and musicians to handle essential roles in worship.

When talking with individual pastors and worship leaders, Harland said he frequently hears them admit that their flocks simply don't contain members with the talents necessary to create a pop-rock band or "praise team" that can, week after week, perform contemporary Christian music at semi-professional levels. Thus, in many Protestant settings, individual talents -- not church tradition -- help shape a local congregation's worship "style."

Many pastors voice variations on this theme, he said. "We would love to sing all those new songs, but we don't have anyone who is talented on guitar and we don't have a drummer."

There is no question that, in addition to denominational worship traditions, some musical "style" questions are linked to church size.