No need for Orthodox pickles

Week after week, Eastern Orthodox hierarchs guide their flocks through the incense-shrouded rites that define their ancient faith.

Bishops also become experts at another intricate ritual – banquets.

So Metropolitan Philip, the Antiochian Orthodox archbishop of North America, was not surprised when he was asked to make a few remarks at the final banquet of the 2004 Clergy-Laity Congress of the Greek Orthodox Church in New York City. He was surprised when Greek Archbishop Demetrios indicated that this was more than a polite request.

"I reminded him that when I speak, I tell it like it is," said Philip.

What happened next caused shock waves that reached all the way to Istanbul, even if the archbishop's words would have seemed mild to outsiders who could not break the Byzantine code.

Philip addressed the delegates as Americans – not Greeks.

The Lebanese-born archbishop said it was time to challenge the ties that bind the new world to the old. He said what he has been saying since 1966, when he assumed control of a diocese that has grown from 66 to 250 parishes on his watch.

Philip brought greetings from Patriarch Ignatius IV in Damascus and his ancient church founded by Peter and Paul. Then he ventured into an ecclesiastical minefield, offering greetings from the 1000 Antiochian Orthodox delegates who, days earlier, had voted unanimously to approve what many Greek lay people have long demanded – a constitution granting them control of their own church in North America.

The delegates burst into applause. Philip plunged on.

"I told them that if I could sum up this new constitution, I would begin with the words, 'We the people,' " he said. "The hall erupted again. I told them we cannot ignore this truth – Americans are infested with freedom. We cannot ignore that our churches are in America and we are here to stay."

That was all Philip needed to say. Nikki Stephanopoulos, the veteran press officer for the Greek archdiocese, described the scene this way: "It would be accurate to say that he received an enthusiastic response."

The response was different in Istanbul. According to the National Herald, the Greek-American daily newspaper, Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew criticized Demetrios for allowing Philip to "spread his propaganda in favor of establishing an autocephalous," or independent, "Orthodox Church in America!" When Demetrios said that Philip spoke as vice president of the Standing Council of Canonical Bishops in the Americas, Bartholomew reportedly exclaimed: "You should have stopped him!"

Months later, Metropolitan Philip continues to travel from altar to altar and banquet to banquet, offering his own people an even blunter version of the sermon he preached to the Greeks. This past week he was in West Palm Beach, Fla.

The archbishop continues to tell familiar stories about life in the Middle East. He still asks second- and third-generation Arab children if they can speak Arabic.

But Philip said Eastern Orthodox Christians must embrace Americans who seek ancient roots in the confusion of modern times. This will mean learning from converts who are not afraid to use words like "missions," "tithing" and even "evangelism." A symbolic sign of change: One of his newly consecrated bishops once taught biblical studies at Oral Roberts University.

Change will be difficult, but bishops must realize that they are called to spread their faith to others, not just to "to preserve it for ourselves," he said. The heart of Orthodoxy must stay the same, but it is not enough to "put our faith into pickle jar and preserve it. We have enough pickles in America already."

Orthodox leaders will find a way to save the traditions of their homelands, said Philip. But the clergy and laity must realize that their own children and grandchildren are Americans who need a faith that is stronger than old music, familiar foods, folk dancing and traces of an ancient language.

"I believe in Orthodox unity, with diversity," he stressed. "We will not melt into the Greek archdiocese and the Greeks will not melt into our archdiocese. ... But we must have a united synod that speaks to this country. We must speak to America, not as Arabs and Greeks and Russians and Romanians and Bulgarians. We need to speak with one Orthodox voice on the issues that affect our country and our country is America."

Pope John Paul II: What's the lead?

Theologian George Weigel needs a Global Positioning System transmitter on his wrist so journalists can keep track of him.

As author of the 1008-page "Witness to Hope: The Biography of Pope John Paul II," his life has been hectic since the news flash that the shepherd of the world's 1 billion Catholics had been rushed to hospital, gasping for breath.

Weigel said a network-news reporter recently called and asked, " 'Where are you going to be tonight, in case something happens to the pope?' Well, I said, 'I'm going to church and I'm going home and eat dinner with my family. That's what we do on Ash Wednesday. Is that OK?' "

Reporters are trying to cover their bases. The panic also may have been fueled by another reality. This pope's life is impossible to capture in a few dramatic images, a three-minute sound-bite blitz and a sentence or two about the length of his tenure (second longest ever) and the number of nations he has visited (125 so far).

Journalists must ask: What is the lead on this story? Thus, I contacted a circle of commentators and asked that question. Here is a sample of what I heard.

* Catholic Internet scribe Amy Welborn said she would focus this question: "Has this pope "permanently redefined the papacy?" Will it be possible for future popes to be anything other than "a big-thinking world traveler?" Many Catholics admire wonder if "management-related issues have suffered" with this emphasis on travel and media.

* Steven Waldman, CEO at Beliefnet.com, began with: "Pope John Paul II, who perhaps did more than any other person to end communism ..." Who can forget when Lech Walesa signed the labor agreement at Gdansk shipyard, incarnating the Solidarity movement that helped trigger the collapse of the Soviet empire? Walesa used a pen topped with an image of the Polish pope.

* Baptist scholar Timothy George, part of the 1994 "Evangelicals and Catholics Together" coalition, cited both John Paul's hunger for church unity and his writings, especially "Veritatis Splendor (The Splendor of Truth)." Nevertheless, George said he would lead with: "The pope has advocated the sanctity of life in a century suffused with the smell of death, whether that is the stench of the Holocaust ovens or the abortion clinics or innocent victims of terrorism and military conflict. ... He is certainly the greatest pope since the Reformation."

* Adoremus.org editor Helen Hitchcock emphasized the pope's "Theology of the Body" reflections – gathered from Wednesday public audiences – on what it means to be human, male and female, and how this affects marriage, children, the elderly, the unborn and the sick.

While liberal Catholics complain about a "reign of terror," Hitchcock said many conservatives also have concerns about John Paul's legacy. "Some believe that he has been very strong on proclaiming the truth, but weaker when it comes to defending the truth. ... After all, he appointed all of our bishops. They are his. That is the reality."

* Russell Chandler, the retired religion writer for the Los Angeles Times, said he isn't ready to write a lead yet. After all, this pope has appointed all but three of the 120 cardinal-electors who will choose his successor, including waves of red hats from Third World nations.

"I think it is not clear that the so-called John Paul II era – the Pope for the World – is going to be over," said Chandler. "Pope John Paul II is dead. Long live the Pope. Is this era ... going to continue? Watch for the smoke signal at the Vatican chimney."

Meanwhile, Weigel is convinced reporters do not need to rush to judgment. Based on his personal contacts, he is convinced that the pope's health is actually quite sound for an 84-year-old man who is suffering from arthritis and Parkinson's disease.

"This whole idea that the next breath of wind that comes along is going to blow him over is just wrong," said Weigel.

"The truth of the matter is that he is going to have his ups and his downs. We may see six or seven of these episodes in the next year or two or longer. So are we going to go crazy every time? That is going to get old fast."

Baylor, Bibles, boots and education

Soon after David Solomon arrived at Baylor University in 1960, he realized that one of his new friends had a problem – this rancher's kid had spent his life in boots.

"That's all he had," said Solomon, a philosopher who leads the Notre Dame Center for Ethics & Culture. "We went out and he bought his first pair of lace-up shoes. ... That's what Baylor was about, back then. Baylor was supposed to take Baptist kids from small-town Texas churches, knock the dust off them and hit them with the Enlightenment. You know, civilize them."

Texas has changed. But anyone digging beneath the headlines about the Waco wars over faith and learning will find that the past has power. The old assumption was that students arrived rooted into a brand of faith that was rich and rigid. Thus, Solomon said most of his professors set out to "shake everybody up" and teach students a more complex, progressive set of beliefs than what they learned at home and church.

Baylor life was baptized in faith, symbolized by chimes that played hymns as students – like me, during the 1970s – walked to chapel.

But in the classrooms, most professors assumed that piety was a good thing, but had little to do with the wisdom in secular textbooks, said Solomon, who has stayed active in debates at his alma mater. Thus, the world's largest Southern Baptist school was a "university with a Christian atmosphere," but not a "Christian university" that blended ancient faith and modern learning.

This worked for decades, until reports about sex, drugs and nihilism pushed millions of parents to hunt for distinctively Christian campuses. As the Wall Street Journal recently noted, enrollment in the 105 members of the Council for Christian Colleges and Universities – an organization in which I teach journalism – soared 60 percent between 1990 and 2002, while numbers at public and secular private schools edged up or stayed level.

Recently, Baylor has steered toward "Christian university" status, led by its regents and an academic team headed by a brash president named Robert Sloan.

The result was Baylor 2012, a controversial plan calling for a larger endowment, a 36 percent tuition hike, more scholarships, 230 new faculty positions and a wave of construction, most noticeably a $103 million science building. Sloan's team also began asking prospective professors – Protestants, Catholics and Jews alike – to explain how faith affected their teaching and research. This was a direct challenge to the "Christian atmosphere" tradition, with its separate zones for faith and learning.

Sloan fought for a decade, before the Jan. 21 news that he will step down to become chancellor. Baylor's civil war had become national news, especially when combined with a tragic basketball scandal.

While Sloan made painful mistakes, Baylor 2012 provoked a public statement of support from an ecumenical coalition of Christian educators – including Solomon – from Notre Dame, Yale, Harvard, Duke, the University of Chicago and elsewhere.

"Baylor has charted a bold course," it said. "It has strengthened the mission entrusted to it by its founders, preserving its Baptist heritage while making it intellectually relevant. ... In matters of faculty hiring and curricular innovation Baylor has assumed a leadership role among the remaining Christian colleges and universities."

News reports have often linked the Baylor controversy to decades of conflict between Southern Baptist "moderates" and "fundamentalists." But what Sloan and the regents say they want is a "big tent Christian orthodoxy" that transcends Baptist politics, according to Robert Benne of Roanoke College.

These are fighting words to many Baylor loyalists.

"Above all, traditional Baptists disagree with Sloan's contention that Christianity has intellectual content," argued Benne, writing in the Christian Century. "In the view of Baylor's new leaders, faith is more than atmospheric. There is a deposit of Christian belief that all Christians should hold to. On the basis of that belief they should engage the secular claims of the various academic disciplines."

This attempt to wed soul and intellect encouraged, or infuriated, many educators in postmodern America, said Solomon.

"We can no longer assume that our students know much at all about the faith once delivered to the saints," he said. "It's a new world, even for church kids. The days of bringing boys in off the farm are gone."

Hell through the Hollywood lens

LOS ANGELES – Hell looks really cool, when seen through a Hollywood lens.

The good guys in the upcoming thriller "Constantine" do comment on the sulfur smell in the hell edition of Los Angeles and it's a pain coping with all those extra tortured, brainless, flesh-eating demons on the 101 Freeway. But the city still looks like Los Angeles, even after an eternity of hurricane-force firestorms.

The other place can't compete, when it comes to entertainment value.

"The reason why heaven isn't shown as much in these kinds of movies, honestly, is that no one knows how to depict it in a cool way," said screenwriter Frank Cappello, after the film's press screenings.

"Audiences love to see hell. They want to see demonic images. But if you show them angelic beings, if you show them the light ... it's like they say, 'Oh, gosh.' "

So it's no surprise that "Constantine" offers a mere glimpse of a heavenly reward, before its chain-smoking, hard-drinking, cussing antihero is yanked back to his life as a rock 'n' roll exorcist. The John Constantine character was born in stacks of "Hellblazer" comic books and, as played by the neo-messianic Keanu Reeves, is part Dirty Harry and part Indiana Jones, channeling "The Matrix" and "Men in Black."

How dark is this movie? The angel Gabriel gets ticked off at humanity and decides to cue the apocalypse.

The director and writers agreed that their movie raises big questions about salvation and damnation, sin and repentance, fate and free will. It will raise eyebrows among the 81 percent of Americans who, according to a 2004 Gallup Poll, believe in heaven and the 70 percent who believe in hell.

"I'm a skeptic, myself," said director Francis Lawrence. "For all I know, you die and rot in a box and that's it."

This response was par for the course, as the "Constantine" cast and crew fielded questions from critics and reporters, including a room full of Catholic and Protestant writers. One after another, the Hollywood professionals said they wanted their movie to inspire questions, but remain agnostic about answers.

A Catholic priest among the press agreed that it doesn't make sense to expect coherent doctrine from a horror movie, even one this packed with references to Catholic rituals, relics and art. Yet "Constantine" is precisely the kind of pop-culture event that may cause young people to ask questions.

"It's based on a comic book and looks like a video game," said Father Joe Krupp of FaithMag.com and Lansing (Mich.) Catholic High School. "Like it or not, you just know that the kids are going to be talking about this and we need to pay attention. ...

"This movie is messy, but it does say that there is a heaven and a hell and it says that our choices are powerful and matter for eternity. It also says that each of us was created by God for a purpose. It says that several times."

Spiritual warfare is quite literally the key, with the antihero fighting to earn his way into heaven. At one point, Constantine chants Latin prayers and threatens to send the demonic Balthazar to heaven instead of hell in a brass-knuckles version of Last Rites. But just before he pulls the trigger – on a shotgun shaped like a cross – he reminds his adversary that he must "ask for absolution to be saved."

Constantine knows how to get to heaven, stressed Cappello. He is simply too angry and cynical to obey. Seek God's forgiveness? Forget about it.

"His pride gets in the way of him asking to be let off the hook," said Cappello. "It's basically, 'I'm going to do it myself.' "

Yet Reeves urged moviegoers not to judge his world-weary character too harshly, because he does muster up one act of self sacrifice. In the "secular religiosity" of this film, that is enough.

"That's what, you know, gives him a chance of going upstairs," said Reeves. "But ... did he make the sacrifice so that he could go to heaven, or does he really mean it?" In the end, "the man upstairs knows, just like Santa Claus, if you're telling a lie or if you're really nice. He knows."

And all the people said: Whoa.