Out the church door

At the last church she attended before dropping out, Julia Duin was not impressed with the service opportunities available to her as a single woman.

She could do child-care work, greet people at the door or join the women in the altar guild. However, since her journalism work required frequent travel, Duin sought more flexible commitments. Perhaps she could play harp before services? Fill an occasional teaching role, using her seminary training or material from her books?

After several frustrating years, she quit going to church.

Soon she discovered that she wasn't alone, which caused the Washington Times religion-beat specialist to do what reporters tend to do. She started listening, reading and connecting dots. What she found was, as one researcher put it, a "spiritual brain drain" out of churches today.

"I found that a lot of people who were leaving were not necessarily new believers. They were the Baby Boomers who had been involved in all of this for 20 years," said Duin, speaking at the recent national Religion Newswriters Association meetings in Washington, D.C. These active, committed laypeople had "been there and done that. ... So you couldn't just say to them, 'Oh just try this. Oh just try that.' "

Many believers, she said, are sad or mad – or both. "They say, 'Listen ... I've done everything. Now I'm in the middle of a mid-life crisis and I'm not getting any answers.' These are the people who are saying, 'I'm out of here.' "

The result of her research is a new book, "Quitting Church," that pours painful experience over a foundation of troubling statistics.

It's important to stress that Duin – a longtime family friend – focused on active churchgoers, not the "backsliders, the slackers and the complainers" most church leaders think would quit.

Also, this is not another volume about the fall of the "seven sisters" of liberal Protestantism – the Episcopal Church, the United Methodist Church, the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), the United Church of Christ, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, the American Baptists and the Christian Church (Disciples). In recent decades, their membership totals have declined 20 percent or more – a trend shaped by falling birthrates, bitter doctrinal fights, an aging population and other factors.

Now, sobering statistics are showing up elsewhere. The Southern Baptist Convention, for example, has seen a steady decline in baptisms. While the nation's largest non-Catholic flock claims 16 million members, Duin noted that its 2007 report indicates that about 6.1 million people regularly attend worship services.

Gallup polls keep showing church attendance hovering at roughly 40 percent of the U.S. population. However, Duin noted that two other studies from 2005 cut that number down to 18 to 20 percent.

What's happening? Duin shows evidence of parallel and even clashing trends. Many people say they're too busy, some are burned out and others are mourning the loss of great churches they knew in their past.

There are paradoxes in this story, too. In recent decades, thriving megachurches have dominated the landscape, offering media-friendly services and chatty sermons in gigantic sanctuaries that give seekers a cushion of anonymity. But in 2007, the influential Willow Creek Community Church near Chicago found that many older members said they are now spiritually "stalled" or "dissatisfied."

Duin is convinced many evangelical churches are also struggling to deal with rising numbers of single adults and single-parent families. In 2005, a University of Virginia researcher found that 32 percent of married men and 38 percent of married women are churchgoers. But only 15 percent of single men and 23 percent of single women go to church.

There's another reality that is hard to put into statistics, said Duin. Many believers have grown tired of quickie services, PowerPoint answers and pop lyrics. Many "quitters" she interviewed were yearning for intimate, down-to-earth churches where pastors and people knew their names. They'd been born again. Now they wanted to know how to face the doubts and pains of daily life. They wanted real spiritual growth.

Many candid believers, said Duin, "are perplexed and disappointed with God" and they found that when they asked tough questions, they "were not getting meaningful answers from their churches. In fact, they were encouraged not to talk about their pain. ?

"The big questions are not going away and the answers can no longer be put off."

Gov. Sarah Palin, Antichrist

The punch line rocketed around the World Wide Web, inspiring smiles in pews friendly to Sen. Barack Obama.

The Rev. Jim Wallis of Sojourners saw a campaign button based on this one liner and, on the "Interfaith Voices" public radio show, said it was a fine response to Gov. Sarah Palin's jab at the work of "community organizers."

Donna Brazile – who ran Al Gore's 2000 White House campaign – saw the same gag and, on CNN, quickly linked it to the Bible's message that "to whom much is given, much is required."

But this cyberspace quip finally made the crucial jump to YouTube when U.S. Rep. Steve Cohen took to the House floor to remind conservatives "Barack Obama was a community organizer like Jesus. ... Pontius Pilate was a governor."

Cohen later emphasized that, "I didn?t and I wouldn't compare anyone to Jesus. ... What I pointed out was that Jesus was a force of change." But the apology came too late to douse the fiery rhetoric raging on talk radio and weblogs.

In particular, the soundbite used by Cohen and others captured the rising tide of religious tensions in this White House race. This conflict has been heightened by the powerful role played by religious liberals in Obama's groundbreaking outreach efforts in a wide variety of sanctuaries.

Obama is, after all, an articulate, proud member of the denomination – the United Church of Christ – that has in recent decades boldly pushed mainline Protestant to the doctrinal left on issues such as gay rights, abortion and the tolerance of other world religions. His running mate, Sen. Joe Biden, is an outspoken American Catholic whose progressive views have often placed him in dangerous territory between his political party and the Vatican.

Sen. John McCain, meanwhile, used to be an Episcopalian married to a beer-empire heiress, the very model of a mainline Protestant gentleman from the 1950s. Then he started visiting Southern Baptist pews while mending fences on the religious right. Finally, McCain shuffled the 2008 deck by naming Palin – an enthusiastic evangelical mother of five children – as his running mate.

This move rocked the pews on both sides of the sanctuary aisle, but Palin's ascension has caused an unusual degree of shock, anger, dismay and distain on the secular and religious left.

The political weblog Instapundit summed up the mood on the cultural left with this headline: "She's the freakin' Antichrist, I tell you!"

For author Deepak Chopra, a superstar in the spirituality marketplace, Palin is, quite literally, the anti-Obama. She is a living symbol of all that is wrong with small-town, parochial, ignorant, reactionary Middle America, especially with her "family values" code language that opposes expanding doctrines of civil rights.

"She is the reverse of Barack Obama, in essence his shadow, deriding his idealism and exhorting people to obey their worst impulses," he argued, at The Huffington Post. "In psychological terms the shadow is that part of the psyche that hides out of sight, countering our aspirations, virtue and vision with qualities we are ashamed to face: anger, fear, revenge, violence, selfishness, and suspicion of 'the other.' "

Obama, however, is "calling for us to reach for our higher selves," said Chopra.

The ultimate irony is the GOP's assumption that Palin will appeal to women just because "she has a womb and makes lots and lots of babies," argued religious historian Wendy Doniger of the University of Chicago's Divinity School.

"Her greatest hypocrisy is in her pretense that she is a woman," she wrote, in an "On Faith" essay for the Washington Post. "She does not speak for women; she has no sympathy for the problems of other women, particularly working class women."

But can anyone, in the current political atmosphere, top the Palin as Pontius Pilate smack down? University of Michigan historian Juan Cole, a specialist in Middle Eastern and South Asian affairs, offered Salon.com his best shot.

When it comes to faith and politics, he said, the values of McCain's "handpicked running mate, Sarah Palin, more resemble those of Muslim fundamentalists than they do those of the Founding Fathers. On censorship, the teaching of creationism in schools, reproductive rights, attributing government policy to God's will and climate change, Palin agrees with Hamas and Saudi Arabia rather than supporting tolerance and democratic precepts.

"What is the difference between Palin and a Muslim fundamentalist? Lipstick."

Define 'evangelical' – again

It's an election year, which means the folks in evangelical Protestant pews know exactly what will happen if they choose to talk to a political pollster.

The dispassionate telephone voice is going to ask about abortion and then about same-sex marriage. Finally, the pollster will want to know how crucial these wedge issues will be on election day. And is there any chance they might change their presidential options?

"There is this internal debate going on. ... Evangelicals are reluctant to say that they're focused on these two issues, even though all of the evidence shows that they still are," said David Kinnaman, president of the Barna Group in Ventura, Calif., which is known for its defining niches inside American Christianity.

"The key is that a rising number of evangelicals are adamant that they are not going to overlook social justice issues. They want to find a way to combine their concern about abortion and family issues with other moral and social issues that really matter to them. The question is whether that's possible in American politics, right now."

It's easy to see this dilemma in between the lines of recent surveys.

In a 2007 poll, the Barna researchers found that nine out of 10 evangelicals said abortion is a major problem, which meant that this issue was "still far and away" their most pressing concern, said Kinnaman. Meanwhile, nearly eight in 10 evangelicals said they were very concerned about issues linked to gay rights.

However, evangelicals who participated a new Barna survey split down the middle when asked if they thought their peers would focus primarily on the big two social issues when voting. On one side, 48 percent said it was true that evangelical votes would be driven by abortion and sexuality, while 45 percent disagreed. Meanwhile, 55 percent of non-evangelical Christians and 58 percent of non-Christians were convinced that these hot social issues would drive the votes of evangelical voters.

What about all of those news reports that some evangelicals – symbolized by the Rev. Rick Warren of Saddleback Community Church and a host of other label-shunning younger leaders – are trying to pursue a broader social agenda?

Kinnaman noted that only 28 percent of evangelical participants in the new survey thought that members of their tribe would give other social issues, like poverty and the environment, short shrift. In a sign that this wider-agenda debate has legs, 69 percent of evangelicals polled disagreed with that statement.

Outside the evangelical camp, 46 percent on non-evangelical Christians and 54 percent of non-Christians thought that evangelical voters would "minimize social justice issues." These same two groups were convinced – by 57 percent and 59 percent – that evangelical voters will continue to push American life to the political right.

Meanwhile, some Americans are getting confused and even angry about all of this, even though they admit that they know little or nothing about evangelicalism.

According to surveys by Ellison Research of Phoenix, 36 percent of Americans polled indicate that they have no idea "what an evangelical Christian is" in the first place. Only 35 percent of all Americans believe they know "someone very well who is an evangelical," while a stunning 51 percent are convinced they don't know any evangelicals at all. On the left side of the aisle, some critics have grown hostile.

One of the surprises of a new Ellison study is "how much abuse is aimed at evangelicals," noted company president Ron Sellers. "Evangelicals were called illiterate, greedy, psychos, racist, stupid, narrow-minded, bigots, idiots, fanatics, nut cases, screaming loons, delusional, simpletons, pompous, morons, cruel, nitwits, and freaks, and that's just a partial list. ...

"Some people don't have any idea what evangelicals actually are or what they believe – they just know they can't stand evangelicals."

For political activists, the reason all of this matters is easy to see. In the new Barna survey, 59 percent of American adults are convinced that the decisions made by evangelical voters will have a significant impact on the upcoming election.

"Many Americans are convinced that evangelicals are some kind of a political bloc," said Kinnaman. "If you look at things that way, then this really is all about politics instead of religious beliefs and doctrines. ... Some people think evangelicals are part of a political movement that is held together with religious rhetoric and that's that."

On the count of three – pray

At the first inauguration of George W. Bush as president, the Rev. Franklin Graham raised eyebrows by using an edgy word in his prayer.

"May this be the beginning of a new dawn for America as we humble ourselves before you and acknowledge you alone as our Lord, our Savior and our Redeemer," said Graham, the fiery son of evangelist Billy Graham. "We pray this in the name of the Father, and of the Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

Four years later, the word showed up again.

"Now, unto You, O God, the One who always has been and always will be, the one King of kings and the true power broker, we glorify and honor You," said the Rev. Kirbyjon Caldwell of Windsor Village United Methodist Church in Houston. "Respecting persons of all faiths, I humbly submit this prayer in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen."

Scholars who keep watch over the rites of American civil religion took note of the firestorms caused by these prayers. Clearly, it was becoming dangerous to use the J-word – the name of Jesus – in the public square.

But it's old hat for Republicans to use explicit God-talk. This year, Sen. Barack Obama and his team went out of the way to invite progressive and even mainstream Evangelicals to the Democratic National Convention – including taking a turn at the podium. This was cutting-edge prayer in an age of theological tolerance.

One lesser-known voice backed out at the last moment – Cameron Strang, the 32-year-old editor of Relevant Magazine and son of publishing magnate Steven Strang of Charisma magazine. Nevertheless, Strang the younger was willing to arrange for a rising star to take his place – Donald Miller, author of the spiritual memoir "Blue Like Jazz."

Miller ended his prayer with a call for unity within diversity, but also found a way to say "Jesus" without causing trouble.

"God we know that you are good. Thank you for blessing us in so many ways as Americans," said Miller. "I make these requests in the name of your son, Jesus, who gave his own life against the forces of injustice. ... Amen."

The key was that Miller stressed the word "I," making sure that his listeners knew he was claiming this was his own prayer – not asking them to share his embrace of the second person of the Christian Trinity.

Still, when it comes to church-state strategy, the most groundbreaking prayer was offered by the Rev. Joel Hunter of the giant Northland Church near Orlando – especially since his benediction ended the mile-high rally that included Obama's acceptance speech.

A self-identified "pro-life Republican," the preacher offered a conventional prayer that included appeals on behalf of infants, children, the poor, the persecuted and those who are enslaved, as well as for peace and for the environment. Then, at the end, Hunter paused to interject a unique "closing instruction."

"I want to personalize this," he said. "I want this to be a participatory prayer. And so therefore, because we are in a country that is still welcoming all faiths, I would like all of us to close this prayer in the way your faith tradition would close your prayer. So on the count of three, I want all of you to end this prayer, your prayer, the way you usually end prayer. You ready? One, two, three."

Hunter, on his own behalf, spoke into the microphone: "In Jesus' name, Amen." Meanwhile, 80,000 or so other people were free to name their own God or gods.

After fielding questions about his actions, the pastor stressed that it would be "taking the Lord's name in vain" if he created confusion in such a setting. The goal was ensure that participants did not believe they were being asked to accept a prayer that forced them to "compromise their core beliefs."

Thus, "I did not ask people to pray to another god; I asked them to finish a prayer according to their faith tradition," argued Hunter, on his church's website. "This may be a small point linguistically, but it is a huge point theologically. ...

"As you may imagine, I prayed long and hard before feeling like God had given me the precise words for this prayer. I believe that He in His sovereign way will use it to bring people to Himself."