Catholic vote? Which Catholic vote?

The aging patriarch's hands and voice shook, but his moral vision was solid as a rock.

America's pilgrim president sat solemnly while Pope John Paul II waded into the tense debate over stem-cell research. This week's summit produced images that White House strategists hope will linger in the minds of Catholic voters, long after the divisive details have faded.

"A free and virtuous society, which America aspires to be, must reject practices that devalue and violate human life at any stage from conception until natural death," said the pope, condemning research on manufactured embryos. "In defending the right to life ... America can show a world the path to a truly humane future in which man remains the master, not the product, of his technology."

Millions of traditionalists will say "amen." The problem for President Bush is that millions of Catholic modernists will mutter curses about Rome kneeling with the religious right. And what about the less doctrinaire folks caught in between?

Politicians and pollsters are learning that there isn't one "Catholic vote." It's also too simplistic to say there is one "evangelical vote." Someday, it may even be hard to predict the actions of black Protestants and Hispanic Catholics.

But one statistic has politicos buzzing. Call it the pew gap.

Two-thirds of those who never attend worship services voted for Al Gore, while an almost identical percentage of those who say they worship each week voted for Bush. More than four-fifths of evangelicals who regularly attend church went to Bush. Catholics? Nearly three-fifths of those who frequently go to Mass voted for Bush.

"Issues of morality and faith are crucial," said John Green, director of the University of Akron's institute for applied politics. "The key is not what people say they believe, but the intensity with which they practice that faith."

Since the election, Green and a network of colleagues have been dissecting interviews with 4,004 voters, charting beliefs and votes. For example, nine out of 10 evangelicals who backed Bush said the Bible is the "inerrant Word of God," while only two-third's of Gore's evangelicals did so.

There were symbolic issues in other pews. While most Catholics affirm papal authority – to one degree or another – those who are migrating toward the GOP are much more intense about this conviction. These traditionalists were three times more likely to affirm private confession and nearly five times more likely to pray the rosary.

This is news, because of historic ties between Democrats and Catholics. But it's important to ask if the numbers of traditional Roman Catholics are growing nationwide, as opposed to those of "American Catholics" who reject church traditions or want to see them modernized. Politicians also haveto avoid offending the less-committed "centrists" who claim to cling to Catholic beliefs, but are unsure about most details.

"What if traditional Catholics are, slowly but surely, becoming statistically less numerous? Most polls show that they are," noted Green. "In that case, Bush's strategy of courting them may seem unwise. But what if, at the same time, these Catholic traditionalists are becoming more active politically and are swinging toward the GOP on moral issues? Which of these two trends do you choose to emphasize?"

Similar patterns can be seen in other flocks. Traditionalists are, by definition, those who defend creeds and institutions. Their activism is fueled by a fear of compromise on ancient truths. Thus, any compromise is a defeat. This breeds a unique sense of commitment.

The religious left yearns to update old creeds in the name of tolerance. But modernists face a unique challenge, noted Green. Those who rebel against religious structures rarely turn around and invest their time and money in building new ones. Try to imagine a Unitarian megachurch.

"Traditionalists do have structures they can depend on, structures they can use to have an impact in the public square. That's important," he said. "Nevertheless, you would have to say the direction of American culture is going against them. It's hard to see their numbers growing. ... Their approach to life is based on making moral judgments about what is right and what is wrong and most Americans don't feel comfortable doing that anymore."

Those online puzzles for churches

Creekside Church visitor cards contain all the data slots and questions one would expect at a seeker-friendly establishment in a wired Colorado suburb.

Newcomers can inquire about salvation, baptism, the Bible, youth activities or private concerns. A visitor may share his or her age, marital status and kid statistics. The candid can review the quality of the service. Next to a telephone number, a visitor can provide a home email address, a work email address and then another email address at work.

"It seems like almost everybody has two or three these days," said Teena Stewart, who helps buildlay ministries at the young congregation in Aurora, Colo. "It would be a full-time job just keeping up with them. ... If someone is going to do that, they have to have a passion for it."

An evangelical zeal for email addresses? The digital sea keeps getting bigger and, these days, scores of local religious leaders are trying to discover how to tame it.

It's easy to dream up idealistic proposals for using the Net. Everyone wants to help people with common concerns form bonds and meet each other's needs. Everyone wants to build a stronger church community and networks of smaller, personal groups inside that larger body. But matters get complex when real people try to nail the details.

A few months ago Stewart was convinced more congregations should start digital versions of their weekly or monthly newsletters. After all, "e-zines" are more timely and can offer savvy readers multi-media links to sermons, music, educational materials and other online resources. Stewart wrote about this in Leadership, a major ministry journal.

"Thus, CreekVision E-zine was born," she wrote. "The e-zine is working well. It's cheaper to produce than the usual printed versions most churches can afford. It's colorful. And we're in contact with our congregation."

But by the time that article came out, CreekVision was off-line. What happened?

For starters, it was hard to decide exactly what an e-newsletter was and exactly what it was not,said Stewart. One popular way to produce a digital newsletter is to store a file of well-produced pages of text, graphics, photos and media clips on a church website and then email subscribers a click-on link that connects their computers to those pages. Others send out packages of digital text and graphics that readers have to download using special software.

What about the cyber-challenged sheep in the flock? What about members whose low-rent or free email services cannot automatically link to the World Wide Web? What about the elderly who have tiptoed online with simple email devices that can't surf the Web? In the end, every innovation that includes some tends to exclude others.

"When we started thinking this through," said Stewart, "we realized that the big question was, 'Who are we really trying to reach?' "

An online publication that targets the unchurched needs to be written differently than one for active members or even those who have enrolled in "Creekside 101" to prepare for membership. A veteran might be miffed by entry-level emails. A newcomer might be offended by chatty material for insiders. Digital technology creates smaller and smaller niches.

Then there is the issue of privacy, especially with Web sites or email lists that allow readers to sign up online. It may be funny when a newsletter goofs and prints a funny typo, such as the classic, "Don't let worry kill you. Let the church help." But a print newsletter rarely travels far outside the pews. The Internet goes everywhere.

This isn't funny. The same technology that lets members of a church family share private concerns may, with a few mouse clicks, put sensitive info about events, names, addresses and telephone numbers into the hands of strangers lurking online.

Stewart doesn't think congregations should give up. It's amazing to be able to send out prayer requests to Sunday school classes or to blast out an urgent calendar change to 1,200 worshippers. This stuff can work.

"But it's tricky, even something simple like a newsletter, " she said. "The church is only getting started trying to think through all the technical, legal and even religious issues linked to the Net. It's all so complicated."

Listening to the voices inside China

Han Dongfang's passport says Hong Kong, but his voice says Beijing railway worker.

When mainland listeners hear Han on Radio Free Asia, they can tell that he spent years riding the rails, seeing first-hand the trials of workers across China. He sounds like a man who has suffered on the inside, even if theauthorities now force him to live on the outside.

"In China you can tell the truth or you can tell the lie," said Han, who in 1989 formed the land's first independent labor union since the triumph of Communism. "If you tell the lie, you climb higher. If you tell the truth, you are a threat to those whose power is built on lies."

Han paused. His English is excellent, but he still struggles to find the right words, especially when his Christian faith bleeds into his socialist convictions and his hopes wrestle with his fears.

"It is easy to get angry," he said. "There is so much injustice. ... But we must control our anger and not give in to hate. After all, Communism is built on anger and class struggle. God wants us to tell the truth. That will be enough."

When describing his work, Han stresses that he is labor activist focusing on workers' rights. He smiles, but visibly winces, when anyone calls him the "Lech Walesa of China." He publishes the monthly China Labor Bulletin, but does not consider himself a journalist. Short-wave broadcasts carry his voice across China, but he does not consider himself a professional broadcaster. He has declined appeals to slip religious messages into his radio work.

Whatever Han is today, it's easy to pinpoint the moment when he found his calling. It was in April 1989 that Han and his wife first noticed a rally in Tiananmen Square. Student leaders were pushing the common workers back into a corner and Han quickly found other activists who shared his concerns. Soon, he helped set up a broadcast booth and called the first meeting of the Beijing Workers Autonomous Federation.

After surviving the June 3rd military crackdown, Han refused to confess to wrongdoing. Then he contracted tuberculosis in prison. Faced with global protests, Chinese officials let him go to America in 1992. After all, he was almost dead.

Minus a lung, Han returned to Hong Kong the next year and made several futile attempts to enter China. Today, the 38-year-old activist, his wife and their two American-born children have settled in Hong Kong. Nevertheless, Han remains hard-wired into the mainland. The concept behind his radio work is simple. He uses telephone wires to build a bridge. When Chinese workers dial his Hong Kong office, he asks if he can tape their reports about local conditions. Then he airs the anonymous tapes, which generates new calls.

Han knows China's regional accents and he knows how to use telephone operators in remote areas to find the middle-management leaders and laborers who have stories to tell. Many appreciate that Han still talks about old values such as justice, "solidarity" and workers' rights. They have seen disasters, followed by cover-ups. They help him contact the families and friends of the dead and injured. There are many unheard voices.

"I get calls," said Han, at a recent Barcelona conference about faith, journalism and human rights. "The voice on the other end of the line says, 'I am a party official. I am a high party official. Do not ask me how high a party official I am. I cannot believe what I am seeing and I have to tell someone.' "

Then there are other calls that say: "Everything here is perfect. CLICK."

Han assumes that his telephone is tapped, so he focuses on simple, yet revealing questions about daily life. He refuses to air speeches about overthrowing the government. He could do entire broadcasts about religious liberty, but he has, so far, tried to avoid that explosive topic on the air.

"There is a great religious hunger inside China," he said. "This hunger is at the grassroots, out in the villages and it is spreading into the cities. Those voices will keep growing louder and louder and, soon, people will have to listen."

One TV, one family

The salesman at the electronics superstore smiled broadly, but his eyes revealed that he thought I was some kind of religious nut.

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

No matter what, I could not get him to realize that my needs were quite simple. As a journalist, I wanted several news channels and my family likes old movies. What I wanted was a digital system that connected a satellite mini-dish to my television.

"No problem," he said, patiently. Clearly, I wasn't well informed about my options. "You know, they make systems now that allow you to use your satellite dish with more than one television."

That's OK, I said. But I need to hook up one television, in one room.

Undaunted, he whipped out a brochure and proceeded: "Let me show you what everybody gets, these days. It really doesn't cost that much more to get a system that you can hook up two or three televisions. It used to be hard to do that, but not now."

No thank you, I said. I just want to be able to hook up one television set.

The salesman still didn't get the picture. "Don't you want to hook up your other TVs? You can get a system that hooks up to the sets in your bedroom and your children's rooms and everywhere else."

We don't own any other televisions, I explained. We just have one TV, in one room, in our one house, for our one family.

He regrouped. Now he knew what he was dealing with. I was in denial, still fighting the cultural gravity of modern life. I could hear him thinking: "This is one of those holier-than-thou types who think they're too good to watch TV."

I knew what he was thinking because I had to have this same chat with the cable TV people when I lived in Southern Appalachia. Next came this satellite guy in the Washington, D.C., area. I'm sure that I will soon have a similar talk with another eager envoy of the video principalities and powers now that we are moving to South Florida. We all live in the same mall.

Here is what I will say – again.

Actually, I don't have anything against TV. I teach mass media courses and I wouldn't be trying to teach students how to work in the world of news and entertainment media if I thought it was all rubbish.

Truth is, there's a lot of good stuff – brilliant, even – on TV. But there's a lot of garbage, too. So at the start of each week, we try to mark up the TV schedule, looking for programs we will want to watch as a family, or that I want to tape to watch later. We talk about this all the time.

In fact, I believe that more religious leaders need to take the time to praise the good, as well as urge parents to create practical media rules and then keep them. You know that old saying in the Book of Proverbs? "Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it."

Our family rule is that we strive to watch an hour a day on tape or a movie every few days. We also don't let our children watch alone – even the teen-ager. So we have one television and we keep it in a room that is used by the whole family.

Sadly, in most American homes the television is the true altar.

There are even more options, for better or for worse, once a family is hooked up to a cable or satellite service. We must face those decisions together. We owe that to our children, because we're their parents. We don't want to turn into distant relatives who end up sitting in separate rooms, watching different shows, on private TVs, speaking different languages and living in separate worlds.

If you stand firm, someone will listen.

So far, I have managed to buy a system that will connect one receiver to our one television set, in one room, in our one house, for our one family.