On Religion
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What shaped the mysterious mind (and soul) of comedian Norm Macdonald?

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What shaped the mysterious mind (and soul) of comedian Norm Macdonald?

While debating heretics, early Christians used the Greek term "hypostasis" – meaning "substance" and "subsistence" – to help define their belief in the Incarnation of Jesus as one person, yet with divine and human natures.

This "hypostatic union" is not the kind of subject a comedian typically raises on a TV talk show while chatting about mortality with a Hollywood legend. Then again, Norm Macdonald – who died on September 14 after a secret nine-year fight with cancer – wasn't a typical funny man. He openly identified as a Christian, while making it clear that he didn't consider himself a very good one.

During an episode of "Norm Macdonald has a Show," the former Saturday Night Live star asked Jane Fonda – who at one point briefly embraced evangelical Christianity – this question: "Are you a religious person?"

"I have faith," said Fonda. The host quickly asked, "In Jesus Christ?" Hesitating, Fonda called herself "a work in process," saying she accepted "the historical Jesus."

Macdonald responded: "But do you believe in the hypostatic Jesus?"

When Fonda said "no," he added, "So, you're not a Christian. But you believe, you believe in something."

Raised vaguely Protestant in Canada, Macdonald didn't discuss the brand-name specifics of his faith, even as he wrestled with his own demons – such as habitual gambling. Yet he could be stunningly specific when addressing criticisms of Christian beliefs. As a judge on NBC's "Last Comic Standing," he quietly shot down a contestant who trashed the Bible, before praising the Harry Potter series.

"I think if you're going to take on an entire religion, you should maybe know what you're talking about," said Macdonald. "J.K. Rowling is a Christian, and J.K. Rowling famously said that if you're familiar with the scriptures, you could easily guess the ending of her book."

The result was a public persona laced with paradoxes, an edgy, courageous comic who often seemed unconcerned if his work pleased the public or his employers.

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Lisa Beamer at Wheaton: The hard spiritual lessons learned in media frenzy after 9/11

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Lisa Beamer at Wheaton: The hard spiritual lessons learned in media frenzy after 9/11

For those who lived through Sept. 11, 2001, the drama of Todd Beamer and the heroes of Flight 93 has become an essential part of many anniversary rites.

Everyone remembers the final act, with Beamer aboard the hijacked plane, patched through to a telephone operator for a clandestine13-minute call. After learning about the World Trade Center attacks, Beamer and other passengers decided to try to seize control of the plane.

Finally, Beamer said: "Let's roll." That was the end of the call, moments before the plane – now believed to have been headed to the U.S. Capitol – crashed into a rural field near Shanksville, Pa.

That wasn't the whole story, of course. The young software salesman had also asked operator Lisa Jefferson if he could be connected to his wife, Lisa Beamer, and, if not, he shared a final message to her and their two sons.

"I was trying to get as much information from him as I could, and he told me to say the Lord's Prayer with him," said Jefferson, in a transcript of her talk days later with Beamer's wife.

"He wanted you to say the Lord's Prayer with him? … And you guys completed it?", asked Lisa Beamer.

"Top to bottom," said Jefferson. "He just said, 'Oh God, help me. Jesus could you please help me.' … He wasn't upset at all. He was very peaceful."

The details of the Flight 93 passenger revolt were soon made public – a story of courage and sacrifice welcomed by a stunned nation.

"Todd became a hero, within 72 hours of his death," said Lisa Beamer, during a Wheaton College chapel service marking the 20th anniversary of 9/11. "I can only describe what happened next as divinely orchestrated chaos, and I do believe that.

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Big question from COVID-tide: Should church leaders trust Facebook and Big Tech?

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Big question from COVID-tide: Should church leaders trust Facebook and Big Tech?

There are 2.4 billion Christians in the world today, according to most estimates.

Then again, nearly 3 billion people have Facebook accounts. Nearly 70% of U.S. adults use this social-media platform, which recently passed $1 trillion in market capitalization.

"I will use Facebook to reach people, because you almost have to do that," Father Andrew Stephen Damick, chief content officer for Ancient Faith Ministries, a 24-hour source for online radio channels, podcasts, weblogs, forums and more. The ministry was born in 2004 and is now part of the North American archdiocese of the ancient Orthodox Patriarchate of Antioch.

Facebook remains, he noted, "the No. 1 social-media platform in the world – by a lot. You can't ignore all those people. … We knew this before COVID, but the pandemic made it impossible to deny the obvious. Everyone had to go online, one way or another."

Facebook Live became a way to stream worship services online, even if all a pastor could do was mount a smartphone on a stand. Even small congregations began holding online religious-education classes, support groups and leadership meetings.

As for worship, it was one thing for Protestant megachurches to stream TV-friendly services built on pop-rock Christian music and charismatic preaching. The online options were more problematic for faiths in which worship centered on the smells, bells, images and tastes of ancient liturgies.

Then, in early June, images began circulating of a Twitter message introducing "Prayer Posts" allowing Facebook users to "enable group members to ask for and respond to prayers" with a few clicks in a page's control settings. Participation could be as simple as a user clicking an "I prayed" button linked to a prayer.

This isn't a totally new idea. The Facebook "Prayer Warriors" group already has 865,700 active members, a flock larger than the average of 518,000 Episcopalians that attended services on an average Sunday in 2019, according to the denomination's statistics.

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Lou Grant failed in his attempt to hire a new religion reporter: But who cared?

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Lou Grant failed in his attempt to hire a new religion reporter: But who cared?

If anyone ever writes a book about the history of religion news in the mainstream press it will need to include a photo of the glowering, and often smirking, mug of Lou Grant.

Lou Grant was a TV character, of course, played by the Emmy-winning actor Ed Asner, who died on Sunday (August 29) at age 91. But for millions of Americans, he provided – in "The Mary Tyler Moore Show" and the sequel "Lou Grant" – an archetypal image of what old-school journalism was all about.

One 1977 "Lou Grant" episode certainly captured some of the attitudes I encountered while interviewing journalists for my 1982 graduate project at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign, which focused on why few newsrooms made serious attempts to cover religion events and trends – unless they were linked to politics.

Quite a few editors sounded like Lou Grant.

In this episode, entitled "Sect," the city editor of the mythical Los Angeles Tribune was wrestling with two problems at the same time. The problems seemed to be unrelated.

First, the Trib had lost its veteran religion editor. Grant searched and searched, but no one was interested in filling that empty desk. After all, what self-respecting journalist wanted to be stuck with the religion beat?

Problem number two was how to get rid of lazy, often-drunk, no-good reporter Mal Cavanaugh. All through this episode the newsroom's leaders had been searching for a way to get Cavanaugh to resign. Then came a spark of inspiration. The printed script is simple:

LOU: Well, Mal, you've been with this paper a mighty long time. As you say, this is your family.

CAVANAUGH: (All that humility) Aw, well, it's nice to be appreciated.

LOU: And I think I've found a place where we'll be able to use that special, sweet style that is Mal Cavanaugh.

CAVANAUGH: (Those eyes are getting moist; he sees himself getting a column) What's that, Lou?

LOU: Congratulations, Mal. You're the Trib's new religion editor.

(Lou sits back beaming. The information seeps in a bit slowly on Cavanaugh, who blinks at Lou.)

CAVANAUGH: Religion editor?