Anglican World Wide Web wars, Part II

No one in the Episcopal Church hierarchy knows what will happen at Christ Church in Accokeek, Md., once push really comes to shove.

But everyone knows the bitter battle for control of the 303-year-old Colonial parish is a big story, perhaps even a pivotal one in the global Anglican wars over sex, salvation and the Bible. But it's getting hard to pin down the precise details.

What happened last week when parish leaders denied Washington, D.C., Bishop Jane Holmes Dixon access to their altar? How many parishioners worshipped inside? How many joined Dixon for her quick Mass on a nearby basketball court and how many of those were imported activists? Who heckled whom? How many bishops joined in this liturgical circus? And what in the world really happened when a parish officer collided with the bishop's husband?

The firebrand cyber-scribe David Virtue reported that, during chaos caused by a heckler, "junior warden Frank MacDonough stepped forward to take control of the situation. Immediately Dixon's husband David M. Dixon stepped forward and placed both his hands on the shoulders of the warden pushing him back. A verbal exchange ensued." MacDonough finally exclaimed, "You don't put your hands on me."

Virtue added: "I have been informed that there is every likelihood that charges will be pressed against both Dixons. The complaint against Jane Dixon is for trespassing and against David Dixon for assault."

That would certainly be news. However, an Episcopal News Service (www.dfms.org/ens) story about Accokeek didn't mention the shove in question and neither did the next day's Washington Post report.

Everyone has a story to tell. But, these days, the stories that are shaping life in the Episcopal Church and other religious bodies are often laced with conflicting plots and details.

The web is like that. Thus, some consider it a font of venom and warped information. Others believe it's opening doors that must be opened. After all, as St. Luke warned religious leaders: "Whatever you have said in the dark shall be heard in the light and what you have whispered in private rooms shall be proclaimed upon the housetops." A modern paraphrase might be: "Don't say things that you wouldn't want to see on the Internet."

"The big boys," said Virtue, "have always assumed that they get to control all of the juicy information in the church. Well, they can't do that anymore and they're freaking out."

The Accokeek battle is the kind of story that has sent rising numbers of Anglican readers – around the world – to the "Virtuosity" (www.orthodoxanglican.org/virtuosity) site for online reports. Virtue's critics have a name for this – propaganda.

"A lot of journalism in the Episcopal Church today ... is nothing short of muckraking. It's descended to that level," said Bishop Steven Charleston of Episcopal Divinity School in Massachusetts, speaking to the national Episcopal Communicators. "There's so much glop that goes on to email systems and into print that is considered to be news – it's just shameful."

Virtue and other web conservatives are not alone. The church's left wing has long looked for news and commentary in the sprawling site created at Rutgers University by Louie Crew (www.andromeda.rutgers.edu/~lcrew), founder of Integrity for Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgendered Episcopalians. He now sits on the national church's executive council. Other readers turn to AnglicansOnline.org and a host of establishment sites.

The bookish leader of the Episcopalians keeps trying to tame the Internet tornado.

Presiding Bishop Frank Griswold wants journalists who cover his church to "take the high road" and focus on "the work of reconciliation" while weaving together the "divergent dimensions of truth that exist among us." Sadly, he told a forum at the Episcopal Media Center, there is a lot of "dubious communication that is making its way round the church, serving highly partisan ends and serving ... causes of division and conflict, characterized by untruths and misrepresentations."

These are the kinds of Zen-like quotations that make Virtue cackle with glee and rush to his computer.

"Let me unspin all of that," he said. "The World Wide Web is driving these guys nuts, so they want to nail my hide to the wall."

Anglican World Wide Web wars, Part I

Soon after the Episcopal Church voted to offer "pastoral care" for those in "life-long committed relationships" outside of Holy Matrimony, Archbishop of Canterbury George Carey met with some American bishops who were worried about the future.

Once upon a time, views aired in a private Lambeth Palace gathering such as this may have been discreetly shared with other bishops or edited into a safe, uplifting press release.

Today? Forget about it.

"My motto is 'Take no prisoners,' "said evangelical David Virtue, a raging cyber-scribe who never uses a flyswatter when a baseball bat is available. "If I hear something, I'm going to put it out there and I don't care who gets mad."

Relying on a source inside the Lambeth meeting and others caught in the fallout, his "Virtuosity" (www.orthodoxanglican.org/virtuosity) email list reported that Carey was worried that the Episcopal Church's sexual agenda could cause a schism. Carey and these bishops were said to have shared their concerns with U.S. Presiding Bishop Frank Griswold.

Anglican Communion News Service editor James Rosenthal struck back, issuing a bulletin on Nov. 2 that quoted Carey saying that Virtue's report was "a bare faced lie."

But then the Church of England Newspaper confirmed key elements of Virtue's report. Then Carey's own staff asked that the Rosenthal bulletin be withdrawn. Lambeth Palace said the story containing the "bare faced lie" quotation "didn't emanate from here."

Journalists do not enjoy being called liars. Virtue wrote Rosenthal: "I expect a ... retraction or I will sue you. You have defamed me."

That is where this tempest in a British teapot stood until May 9, when Rosenthal released a public apology, conceding that his press release "lacked clarity and the content was inaccurate." He asked all news services, web pages and email lists to kill the story.

There is one big unanswered question: Where did the "bare faced lie" quote come from? At midweek, Lambeth press aides and Rosenthal's office had not responded to numerous inquiries about this issue.

What is happening? All over the ecclesiastical map, bishops and bureaucrats are learning that the wise crack is true – freedom of the press really does belong to people who own one. The web has given legions of people the ability to ship documents, speeches, transcripts, letters, statistics, fact sheets, opinions and embarrassing press reports into scores of pews and pulpits.

A Canterbury press release goes all over the world. But so does a Virtue email carving up a bishop's revealing remarks in a local parish forum that was captured on tape.

While only 3,000 users have signed up to receive his press reports, that number includes 30 or more traditional Anglican writers and editors – in Canada, Latin America, Asia, Australia and, especially, Africa – who forward his work to thousands of their own cyber-subscribers. Many of them click "forward" once again.

Virtue claims to have 80,000 readers. His critics on the Episcopal left dispute this and have conducted their own investigations, trying to undercut that statistic. Of course, those critics have their own web sites and email lists.

The official church press is no longer the only game in town. Ask the Presbyterians or the Baptists. Ask the United Methodists or the Greek Orthodox bishops. Ask just about anybody. The World Wide Web wars are turning up the heat in a growing number of religious sanctuaries. This, in turn, affects how the shepherds relate to their flocks.

After all, noted journalist Andrew Carey of the Church of England Newspaper, when Episcopalians read denominational press releases, it seems that their church is "in perfect health, and merely trailblazing for a more enlightened Christianity. The rest of the Anglican Communion will follow – you mark their words!" Yet when they open an email from Virtuosity or the Third World bishops, it seems the Episcopal Church and "other liberal provinces ...are on a downward spiral into hell, if they have not already arrived."

It does little good, he said, for clergy to moan about this. The web has changed the rules of the game.

Carey the journalist should know. His father is the archbishop of Canterbury.

Who is praying for McVeigh?

As every movie buff knows, condemned prisoners always get to say a few final words.

Some apologize, while others protest. Some repent. Some rant. All have a last chance to confess to an eternal judge.

A decade ago, an infamous killer in South Carolina quietly offered words of thankfulness and acceptance. When Rusty Woomer died in the electric chair, he was not the man whose Quaaludes-and-whiskey fueled binge had left four tortured and dead.

"I'm sorry," said Woomer, whose prison years included many acts of selfless service to others. "I claim Jesus Christ as my savior. My only wish is that everyone in the world could feel the love I have felt from him."

It's hard not to contrast this with the arrogance shown by America's greatest terrorist, said the Rev. Lee Strobel, a former Chicago Tribune legal-affairs reporter who is now a writer and teacher at the massive Saddleback (Calif.) Community Church. Nevertheless, anyone who takes Christianity seriously must pray for a moment of repentance and grace before Timothy McVeigh is executed by lethal injection.

"After he is declared dead, McVeigh will stand trial once more," said Strobel, before the now-delayed execution date. "This time, there will be no secrets, no defense attorneys, no legal maneuvering, not rationalizations, no excuses. And unless something happens before then, he will be found guilty once again and sentenced to a hellish eternity in a place utterly devoid of hope. ... This will not make God happy."

During his media offensive, McVeigh has said his last blast of political rhetoric will include lines from William Ernest Henley's "Invictus." In this anthem of defiant individualism, the poet briefly thanks "whatever gods may be," yet concludes:

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scrolls,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

That doesn't sound like a humble confession of sin. Strobel's sermon, entitled "What Jesus Would Say to Timothy McVeigh," noted that the bomber has refused to apologize and even called his youngest victims mere "collateral damage." Thus, McVeigh has become the soldier from hell – a poster boy for all that is evil. Can this man be saved?

"God is just, but God also is merciful," said Strobel. "So McVeigh's soul can saved. That is the word of hope that he needs to hear. ... There is always a chance that someone can repent and be forgiven. We are supposed to believe that, no matter what."

Debates about heaven and hell, salvation and damnation, become even more complex when linked to an issue as explosive as the death penalty. Strobel said he opposes the death penalty, in part because of the cracks in the justice system that he probed during his years in journalism. He also would agree with Pope John Paul II that nations today can efficiently fight crime "without definitely taking away the possibility of self-redemption."

Strobel said Christianity clearly teaches that McVeigh – whatever his legal fate – can repent and find salvation. So the most disturbing question is not, "Can McVeigh be saved?", but, "Why aren't more believers praying that he will be saved?"

Of course, there are "universalists" who don't believe in hell and, thus, believe that McVeigh will go to heaven with everyone else, no matter what. People who hold this belief tend to stay quiet during the days just before the execution of notorious criminals.

Meanwhile, other believers proclaim salvation by grace, but in practice this doctrine of radical forgiveness tends to make them nervous, said Strobel. Most people find it easier to imagine God forgiving their own "garden-variety sins," or those of a kindly neighbor, than God forgiving the likes of Jeffrey Dahmer, Karla Faye Tucker or, should he repent, McVeigh.

But sin is sin, said Strobel.

"If anyone ought to know how much he needs God and how much he needs to be forgiven, it ought to be Timothy McVeigh. But that doesn't mean we're supposed to be cheering as he dies and calling him the world's greatest sinner. Doing that only makes it harder for us to see the sin in our own lives and how badly we all need to be forgiven."

Mother's Day for the earth mothers

Few moments are as precious to mothers as the hushed rituals of bedtime.

Kristin Madden's memories include watching her 3-year-old son use the first personal altar he built on his father's old ironing board. He covered it with a blue cloth and added rocks, a baby tree, an earth flag and his hatching-dragon sculpture. Then the two of them would snuggle and talk about magic and the travels he would take in his dreams.

Finally, they would say a favorite prayer, such as: "Now I lay me down to bed. Great Spirit, bless my sleepy head. As I journey in my sleep, I know the Dragons my soul will keep. Mother Earth and Father Sky, watch over me here where I lie. Fairies please carry my love to all. Relations and loved ones, I do call."

Kristin Madden is a tutor in the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids. Pagan mothers say bedtime prayers, too. They also celebrate Mother's Day, which is natural since they focus their spirituality on nature and, literally, Mother Earth.

The pagan pantheon includes female and male deities and most rites are rooted in cycles of birth and death and the four seasons. Madden stressed that it's hard to make sweeping statements about the legions of groups in this complex and evolving movement. However, most Wiccan believers emphasize feminine and lunar traditions, as well as spells and witchcraft. Druids blend masculine and feminine symbolism and are more solar oriented.

This is certainly an interesting time for magical families, said Madden, who was raised in a single-parent pagan home in the heady 1960s and now lives in Albuquerque, N.M. The pop-culture powers that be are so fascinated with the occult that this has turned into a problem for many pagan parents, especially recent converts. Children often think that what's happening in movies and on television is real, she said. "You hear kids saying things like, 'Wow! Cool! You're mom's a witch? Can she cast a spell on someone for me?' "

In Hollywood, this is the age of "Sabrina the Teenage Witch," "Practical Magic," "Charmed" and "The Craft." Oprah Winfrey is leading Middle America in prayers to the spirit of the universe and covens can be found in many liberal Christian seminaries. Pentagon debates about pagan chaplains, naked worship and sacred daggers offer the first glimpses of another constitutional issue – the separation of coven and state in the age of faith-based initiatives.

Works friendly to neo-paganism, especially Wicca, fill shelves in mega-bookstores. In the wake of the New Age explosion, pagan publishers are producing waves of their own books, from "Astrology & Your Child" to "Secrets of Western Sex Magic." Madden is the author of "Pagan Parenting" and the "Shamanic Guide to Death and Dying."

And everyone is pondering the kid-culture earthquake triggered by You Know Who.

"The whole Harry Potter thing has just taken off and glamorized everything. It makes it seem like all of this is about spells and magic," said Madden, who has chosen not to read the J.K. Rowling books with her 5-year-old. "It can be hard to get children to remember that what we're about is faith and spirituality ... Many pagan parents consider Harry Potter a mixed blessing."

Pagan parents realize that they live in a culture dominated by a "lip-service" brand of Judeo-Christian values. The key, said Madden, is that the mainstream fears any form of rigorous faith that "isn't normal" and becomes counter-cultural. Thus, she is considering home schooling to avoid having to compromise her family's strong beliefs.

Ultimately, this entire neo-pagan revival is about choice, she said. More and more Americans are claiming the freedom to find their own gods and goddesses, their own rituals, their own truths and their own brands of spirituality. This revival is about believers insisting that they can be their own priests and priestesses.

"As a pagan believer, I am very hopeful," she said. "America is really coming along and becoming more open and tolerant. ... People are out there searching for a personal relationship with a god and with nature. They don't want dogma. They want new experiences and their own kind of spirituality. They are ready to try all kinds of things."

The Gray Lady's gospel crusade

Dr. Warren Hern had "just finished performing an abortion for the last patient of the morning" when he heard that James Kopp had been arrested in France for the 1998 murder of a Buffalo, N.Y., abortionist.

Readers of the New York Times learned this symbolic detail in an op-ed piece entitled "Free Speech that Threatens My Life" in which Hern attacked the fiercest critics of his late-term abortion practice in Boulder, Colo. His column followed an editorial restating the paper's unwavering support for abortion rights, which underscored a page-one story about the arrest.

This three-punch combination several weeks ago indicated that the Times wanted newsmakers and opinion shapers to realize that this was more than an abortion story. This was a parable about the meaning of life and truth. An earlier profile of the anti-abortion extremist in the newspaper's Sunday magazine made that absolutely clear.

"The question of Kopp's innocence or guilt is finally less absorbing than the consequences of his search for a higher good, sure and unchanging, to sustain him in a fallen world," concluded David Samuels. "It is a shared if unspoken premise of the world that most of us inhabit that absolutes do not exist and that people who claim to have found them are crazy."

So take that, Pope John Paul II. And you too, Billy Graham.

This remarkable credo was more than a statement of one journalist's convictions, said William Proctor, a Harvard Law School graduate and former legal affairs reporter for the New York Daily News. Surely, the "world that most of us inhabit" cited by Samuels is, in fact, the culture of the New York Times and the faithful who draw inspiration from its sacred pages.

"It is rare to see a journalist openly state what so many people at the Times seem to think," said Proctor, whose book "The Gospel According to the New York Times" analyzes themes in more than 6,000 articles from the past 25 years. "But it's true. They really are convinced that the millions of people out in Middle America who believe that some things are absolutely true and some things are absolutely false are crazy and probably dangerous, to boot."

Proctor, meanwhile, is absolutely convinced that this affects the newspaper's work on moral and theological issues, ranging from abortion to education, from the rights of unpopular religious minorities to efforts to redefine controversial terms such as "marriage" and "family."

But critics are wrong if they claim that the New York Times is a bastion of secularism, he stressed. In its own way, the newspaper is crusading to reform society and even to convert wayward "fundamentalists." Thus, when listing the "deadly sins" that are opposed by the Times, he deliberately did not claim that it rejects religious faith. Instead, he said the world's most influential newspaper condemns "the sin of religious certainty."

"Yet here's the irony of it all. The agenda the Times advocates is based on a set of absolute truths," said Proctor. Its leaders are "absolutely sure that the religious groups they consider intolerant and judgmental are absolutely wrong, especially traditional Roman Catholics, evangelicals and most Orthodox Jews. And they are just as convinced that the religious groups that they consider tolerant and progressive are absolutely right."

Naturally, believers in the flocks that are ignored or attacked tend to get mad and many try to ignore the Times. This is understandable, said Proctor, but precisely the opposite of what they should do. He urges the newspaper's critics to pay even closer attention to what it reports, while contrasting its coverage with a variety of other wire services and publications – across the political and cultural spectrum.

Trying to avoid the New York Times is like fighting gravity, said Proctor. It is the high church, the magisterium, for the artists, journalists and thinkers that shape popular culture.

"If people tune all that out," he said, " how are they going to know how to defend their own beliefs? People need information and they need discernment. The first part of that statement is just as important as the second part. ... What are you going to do, try to pretend that news and information don't matter?"