Meet the new Barbie, same as.....

American youth culture doesn't get much safer than Britney Spears.

The former "Mickey Mouse Club" diva has sold about 20 million copies of "...Baby One More Time" and "Oops ... I Did It Again," mostly to pre-teen girls. The music is upbeat and the lyrics are flirty. The music videos are rather slinky and, come to think of it, Spears is being marketed as a PG-13 fantasy doll.

Surely nobody out there in Culture Wars territory is worried about Britney Spears? After all, she's a born-again Bible Belt Baptist and she sang "Jesus Loves Me" at the audition that landed her a recording contract. But she also seems to be a normal, All-American girl who grew up loving Madonna, "Dirty Dancing," MTV, "Dawson's Creek," Cosmopolitan, Jackie Collins novels and Abercrombie & Fitch.

Who is Britney Spears? All of the above.

She is a "confusing postmodern mix of spirituality and teasing schoolgirl sexuality" and that's one big reason why she is important, according to the Center for Parent-Youth Understanding in Elizabethtown, Pa. Most of all, stresses a research paper on the group's Web site (www.cpyu.org), her music urges children to follow their feelings.

"Spears pulls no punches when it comes to talking about her Baptist faith. She speaks of praying nightly and her love for God," argues this report. "But in true postmodern fashion, her verbalized commitment doesn't mesh with the sexual messages of her visual image. Granted, none of (her music's) lyrical content is overtly sexual – one reason Spears is a darling of so many parents. But Spears' does put forth a subtle and seductive image of female adolescent sexuality."

However, some critics believe the writers and producers who shape Spears' songs have slipped in a few naughty images. Her early song "Soda Pop" sounds innocent. But the singer tells a boy, "We might start riding to the music tonight... A wicked time to the end. ... We'll flex tonight until they break down the door ... And we'll go on and on until the break of dawn."

Spears told Rolling Stone that she did ask Swedish pop maestro Max Martin to edit "Born to Make You Happy," because it "was a sexual song. ... Because of the image thing, I don't want to go over the top." And in a British interview, she told her critics: "If I have on a short skirt, it doesn't mean that I have low morals. I have very high morals. I don't believe in sex before marriage. I don't believe in drugs or even smoking. I believe in God."

Meanwhile, rumors keep circulating. There are reports about who she is dating, what Christian college she may attend, what movie she will make, where she goes to church and what surgical steps she has or has not taken to improve her figure. All of this is vitally important for untold millions of consumers – literally around the world – between the ages of 8 and 14. How long will Spears be this hot? Does it matter?

"Britney's no monster, that's for sure. ... But bare midriffs and almost-sensual lyrics can leave the young confused," said Richard Ross, who teaches youth ministry at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Ft. Worth, Texas. He is best known as a strategist behind the True Love Waits movement, which urges young people to save sex until marriage.

The key, said Ross, is that parents must strive to stay informed about what is happening in youth culture, especially when it comes to knowing about the worldviews of the superstars who serve as today's mass-media role models.

The fact that Britney is a Baptist is interesting. But that seems to have little to do with her music. Meet the new Barbie, same as the old Barbie.

"Parents shouldn't trust a used car salesman ... just because he says he's religious and he sits in a pew near them at church. Right? I think the same thing is true with the media," said Ross. "Parents may be pleased when artists who are idolized by their children seem to hold values that are higher than the cesspool of today's culture. But that doesn't mean they should let those artists shape their children's values and lives."

When did J.S. Bach find time to pray?

Scholar Patrick Kavanaugh has heard oodles of baroque fugues and he swears that most of their composers were more interested in higher mathematics than in music.

The melodic lines spin out one on top of another, creating dizzying layers of notes, intervals and overtones. This is the musical equivalent of watching chess masters maneuver on a multi-level, three-dimensional board.

"There's an art to it, in terms of the logic and structure and the intricate patterns," said Kavanaugh, author of "The Spiritual Lives of the Great Composers." "But at some point you have to stop and say, 'Wait a minute. This is a piece of music. What does it sound like? What is it saying?' "

Then there is J.S. Bach, whose contrapuntal music continues to awe and intimidate performers, composers and scholars. This summer marks another Bach anniversary, with the 250th anniversary of his death in 1750. How big is Bach? Teldec is celebrating by releasing a complete set of his works – a suitcase containing 1,200 compositions on 153 CDs. This is a body of music so complex that some of its mysteries weren't discovered until the computer age.

But Bach doesn't offer complexity for the sake of complexity, stressed Kavanaugh, who leads the Christian Performing Artists' Fellowship in Haymarket, Va.

"It sounds almost ridiculous to have to say it, but Bach didn't just write complex, difficult music. He wrote gloriously beautiful music, some of the most beautiful music ever composed by anyone. ... His music is cerebral, it's spiritual and it's gorgeous. He did it all."

Most scholars – secular and religious – would even agree on why Bach wrote what he wrote. From all indications, the composer was a devout Lutheran and frequently annotated his manuscripts with initials such as "J.J.", for "Jesu Juva (Help me, Jesus)," and ended them with "S.D.G.", for "Soli Deo Gloria (To God alone, the glory)." Many of his masterworks were based on scripture, hymns and classic Christian poetry.

But Bach also used an ancient technique called "gematria," in which letters of the alphabet are assigned numerical values. This allows the composer to use intervals and the number of notes in a melody to make symbolic references to specific biblical words and doctrines. Bach also inserted music references to his own name.

Some examples of numerology in Bach's work are obvious, such as the 10 repetitions of the melody in "These are the holy 10 commandments." But then there are musical elements centering on the number three, for the Trinity, and four, for the New Testament Gospels. Patterns of five represent the five wounds Jesus suffered on the cross and, thus, the crucifixion. The number 12 represented the apostles. The list goes on and on.

"Some of these patterns are so subtle that you have to be a Sherlock Holmes to find them," said Kavanaugh.

Some scholars believe Bach was driven to do this by sheer talent and the sense of order in his imagination. His mind, in other words, was just wired that way. Others say this was a mental game, used to escape the boredom of his crushing workload – such as the task of writing one 30-minute church cantata a week.

Bach was astonishingly busy, especially when he was a civil servant charged with overseeing the music in four Leipzig churches. He was married twice, a widow once and had 20 children. He taught music lessons and Latin classes. He rehearsed and performed his own organ works and directed the local boys choirs. Yet the Bach-Gesellschaft company has published 65 volumes of music, even though experts believe at least half of Bach's works are missing.

Many scholars have asked: When did Bach find time to compose? But Kavanaugh is fascinated by another question: When did Bach find time to pray? Both questions may have the same answer.

"Perhaps all of these symbolic numbers and patterns were something Bach did as a kind of meditation," said Kavanaugh. "This may have been his own personal way of worshipping God. ... And in the end, it didn't matter if anyone else figured it all out. He was writing his music for a different audience. This was between him and the Lord."

A visual tower of Babel

Anyone who turns on a television or goes to the movies in India cannot help but see signs of America's cultural clout.

It's also easy to spot the deep influence of India and Eastern cultures in American entertainment, from Oprah to Disney, from "The Matrix" to "American Beauty." The screen stars keep finding the god or the truth that lies within, while striving to lose themselves in love and light sometime before their next reincarnation.

There are many paths to one eternal mystery and all viewers have to do is pick a channel and then get in touch with their feelings. It seems as if most of the seekers who shop in today's global mall have fiber-optic cables running directly into their souls.

The eyes rule.

That's entertainment. And that's spirituality, in the age of the visual.

"The medium of entertainment has become the shaper of a generation's way of thinking," said Christian apologist Ravi Zacharias, speaking at the Rev. Billy Graham's recent Amsterdam conference for itinerant evangelists.

"We are meant to see THROUGH the eye, but WITH the conscience. Instead, today we see WITH the eye and (are) devoid of the conscience," said the Indian-born philosopher, whose ministry is based in Atlanta, with offices in Toronto, Oxford and Chennai, India. "From the Far East to the Far West, our eyes are being tantalized by violence and sensuality. How can the soul not be plundered when such an assault is upon us? I believe we must pause and understand this, or we will lose the eyes and hearing of the world."

It was a complex message, but one that had implications for every evangelist in Amsterdam or, for that matter, any leader in any other faith that claims to be built on truths that transcend human experience and feelings. For here is the essence of Zacharias' message: this is an age in which the dominant forms of communications technology are hostile to the very concept of doctrine.

The lens and the screen are friendly to emotion, but they almost always undercut dogma. It's hard to use words to debate pictures. This is sobering news for anyone who steps into a pulpit knowing that he or she is competing with Star Wars and the X-Files, with MTV and Nike.

"If I were to take all that I have said and reduce it to one sentence, it would be this," said Zacharias. "How do you reach a generation that hears with its eyes and thinks with its feelings?"

Amsterdam 2000 was the third such gathering in the last three decades of Graham's career. This one drew 10,000-plus participants from 209 nations and territories, with organizers reporting that nearly two-thirds came from developing nations and the Third World.

The 81-year-old evangelist could not attend and remained at the Mayo Clinic for ongoing treatments for Parkinson's disease and a buildup of fluid on his brain. In a taped message for the finale, he told his evangelistic heirs to, "Light a fire of commitment to proclaim the Gospel ... to the ends of the earth, using every resource at our command and with every ounce of our strength."

In a final "Amsterdam Declaration," the assembled evangelists affirmed, among other goals, the need to "encourage new initiatives to reach and disciple youth and children worldwide; to make fuller use of media and technology. ... We pledge ourselves to work so that all persons on earth may have an opportunity to hear the Gospel in a language they understand."

But what if the language that unites the world is visual? What if visual entertainment continues to dominate education, science, news and faith?

"I am afraid some day we will wake up and wonder how we were so foolish to have missed this powerful influence," said Zacharias. "And we cannot run from it. We are in it. From the pictures that tell the story, to the music that is now visualized, we are in it. The sensations are being propelled through the eye-gate. ...

"The intellect will be seduced by the imagination. The tower of Babel could be built with one language – only it will be in pictures."

Sir Alec Guinness, convert

When Sir Alec Guinness began pouring himself into a new character, the first thing he focused on was the legs.

The goal was to discover how the character carried himself day, after day. Once Guinness had the walk right, he could ask why the man walked that way. This would then affect his stature, speech and mannerisms. If he could get the feet and legs right, the rest would follow.

This truth also could be applied to Guinness, 86, who died last week (Aug. 5). What, for example, would compel this most reserved and private of superstars to run through a London street and then fall on his knees?

In his autobiography, "Blessings in Disguise," the actor described one such scene: "I was walking up Kingsway in the middle of an afternoon when an impulse compelled me to start running. With joy in my heart, and in a state of almost sexual excitement, I ran until I reached the little Catholic church there ... which I had never entered before; I knelt; caught my breath, and for 10 minutes was lost to the world."

Guinness was at a loss to explain his actions. He finally decided it was a "rather nonsensical gesture of love," an outburst of thanksgiving for the faith of the ages. The actor dashed into that church not long after March 24, 1956, when he converted to Roman Catholicism and ended his pilgrimage from atheism to Christianity.

The actor liked to quote the witty British writer G.K. Chesterton, who said: "The Church is the one thing that saves a man from the degrading servitude of being a child of his time."

Public tributes to Guinness have emphasized his remarkable range in a 66-year career on stage and in film, from "Hamlet" to "Murder By Death," from "The Bridge on the River Kwai" to "Star Wars." Few have mentioned his conversion – including a faith-free 3,100-word New York Times obituary – or pondered its impact.

"Guinness didn't have to show off his faith. It had soaked in," said Joseph Pearce, author of "Literary Converts: Spiritual Inspiration in an Age of Unbelief."

"He just was who he was. All that we really know about Sir Alec Guinness – right down the line – is that he did not consider his life to be public property. ... He was particularly irritated when people would, literally, come up to him after Mass and try to talk to him about his movies."

Now there's a scene. Picture someone confronting Guinness, moments after he had knelt to receive Holy Communion, and asking about Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Guinness took his first steps to faith while playing Father Brown, Chesterton's great detective-priest. Shortly before work began on the 1954 film, which in America was called "The Detective," the actor's young son, Matthew, was stricken by polio. As Guinness walked home each night from the studio, he began visiting a Catholic sanctuary, to sit – alone.

Finally, he struck what he called a "negative bargain" with God. If his son recovered, Guinness vowed never to prevent the son from converting. Soon the boy walked, and then ran. The next year, Guinness made the first of many retreats to Mount St. Bernard Abbey. By 1957, father, mother and son were Catholics.

It's crucial, said Pearce, to note that Guinness converted in an era when a spiritual lightning bolt crackled through British intellectual life – affecting the faith and work of Chesterton, T.S. Eliot, Evelyn Waugh, C.S. Lewis, Dorothy L. Sayers, J.R.R. Tolkien, Graham Greene, Malcolm Muggeridge and many others.

"It would be wrong to try to see Alec Guinness in isolation," said Pearce, whose book covers this period and drew a letter of gratitude from the actor. "But Guinness was not as outspoken as some others. He did not wear his faith on his sleeve, like a Chesterton. He was not an evangelist. ... But his faith did affect his life and his work.

"For most artists who are Christians, there is just no way of disentangling the two – the life and the art. It's a meaningless question. That is, if the person was genuinely committed to practicing his faith, which Guinness most certainly was."

Building a faith-based prison?

Bill Robinson walked through prison doors many times in the 1960s, during the bad times when he bounced in and out of white-collar crime.

It was different the first time he did it as a free man.

"I didn't want to smell that smell, again, or hear that door slam," he said. "I only did it because I thought that's what God wanted me to do. ... Then I lead my first prisoner to Jesus and I've never been the same."

Scores of prison ministers across America can give the same testimony – men and women who found God and then dedicated their lives to reaching other prisoners. But Robinson's story has taken a unique turn, in part because of a dream born during a series of prison revivals in the mid-1980s.

What would happen, he wondered, if prison reformers, converted convicts, criminologists and clergy got together and built a prison? What if they hired Christian guards and counselors and developed a 24-hour-a-day, seven-days-a-week rehabilitation program that offered prisoners a chance to repent of their sins and pay restitution to their victims?

The principalities and powers in Texas prisons didn't like that idea very much back then and, apparently, they still don't today.

But Robinson hasn't given up and the team behind his latest drive to build a faith-based corrections facility includes some unusual players – from a former director of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice to the former warden of Fort Leavenworth Prison. Their goal is to convince officials in Texas and nearby states to push the "go" button and assign qualified inmates to a 624-bed unit that's waiting to be built in Coleman, three hours west of Dallas.

It also doesn't hurt that many politicians, including both White House candidates, have been calling for more church-state cooperation of this kind. Meanwhile, journalists have been dedicating lots of ink and air time to Texas prisons – for other reasons.

"We all know the system we have right now isn't getting the job done," said Charles Terrell, the former prison official whose effort to have his name removed from the dedication plaque at the East Texas death-row facility has made headlines. "I know this system inside-out. Look, I was chairman of the board of this system. ...

"We have to try something new. What this Coleman project can be is a tiny piece of frontier, a place where we can touch a few people right before they get out of prison. If you don't change a man's heart, then you haven't changed him. And if you don't teach him how to earn a living, then he's just going to go back to doing what he was doing before you locked him up."

Organizers stress that only medium- to low-security prisoners who are serving the last 12 to 30 months of their sentences and are eligible for release during that time can volunteer to be transferred to the prison managed by Born Again Incorporated. Inmates must agree to participate in intensive education, therapy and employment programs. This includes signing a contract to direct chunks of their salaries to pay some of their own room and board, support their families and pay restitution to their victims. Religious activities would be voluntary.

Hopefully, said Robinson, all kinds of religious leaders – not just evangelicals – will step forward to help meet today's prison crisis, in which more and more convicts, serving longer sentences, are being poured into a slowly growing pool of prison cells. While officials say the recidivism rate is about 50 percent, Robinson said insiders say it's 70 percent.

Believers must get involved, he said. Try to imagine America without all the hospitals that religious groups built after World War II. Now they should consider building prisons, even if this will unnerve all kinds of people.

"I don't know why this Coleman thing threatens some people so much," said Robinson.

Then he paused to think.

"Well, maybe I do. The other day a warden told me, 'If you guys are successful, we might have to close down some prisons.' I thought to myself, 'Dear Lord, now wouldn't that be something.' "