Worship Wars 1998

She likes pipe organs, chants, kneeling, candles and incense.

He wants to sway in the aisle with his hands lifted while the praise band plays a rock anthem from the Contemporary Christian Music sales charts.

He likes a preacher who stands in a pulpit and, for 40-plus minutes, dissects a biblical passage to reveal each and every nuance. She likes someone who strolls about, with a wireless lapel microphone, chatting about how God touches people's daily lives and dreams. The children want to visit a new church that has a comedy team and the preacher shows lots of movie clips.

Welcome to what researchers call the "worship wars." Religious groups are struggling to reach people who live in the niches created by satellites, multi-media computers, music superstores, multiplex theaters and the omnipresent mall.

Everyone says they want to "worship." If they belong to same congregation, then the pastor, or bishop, or deacons, or worship committee eventually has to decide who will be happy and who will be mad. If a church makes major changes, many older members will vote with their checkbooks. If a church stands pat, younger members vote with their feet.

"Some people want a more liturgical service, with a sense of awe and a connection to the past," said the Rev. Dan Scott, pastor of the Valley Cathedral, a charismatic megachurch in Phoenix. "Some people want a more contemporary feel, with a sense of celebration and release and joy. Some people want all of that at the same time."

Many seek the traditions of the apostles and saints of early Christendom. Others prefer traditions from recent centuries – bookish eras in which people regularly spent hours listening to orations on public life, morality and doctrine. Meanwhile, many in today's electronic-media-saturated culture think of a "tradition" as anything older than the World Wide Web.

These groups clash whenever worship is put up to a vote. Meanwhile, others ask if the goal of worship is to please people in pews or God in heaven. And what about the past? Do the saints get to vote? The legendary Catholic apologist G.K. Chesterton once stated the issue this way: "Tradition means giving votes to the most obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead. Tradition refuses to submit to the small and arrogant oligarchy of those who merely happen to be walking about."

It's crucial to study the past with open eyes, argues Scott, in his book "The Emerging American Church." A generation of older American church leaders – especially in pulpit-driven Protestant churches - has failed to see the big historical picture. It isn't normal for believers to sit quietly in pews, as if in school, he said. For centuries, worshippers actively participated in grand liturgical dramas and offered ecstatic praise.

"People don't want to just sit there," he said. "So what is disappearing is the middle ground between the liturgical and the contemporary. That's the safe, middle-class, lecture-driven worship that so many people think of as 'traditional.' ... You can't just lecture to people, anymore. That's gone."

Scott's church has about 4,000 people who join in its worship services. The key word is plural – "services." The Valley Cathedral is one of a growing number of congregations that offer several approaches to worship and its ministry team ranges from a pastor who once prepared for the Catholic priesthood to those who grew up in Pentecostalism. One service is rooted in high-church rites and liturgies, while another offers an "old fashioned" gospel style that pleases many older members. A high- energy, "contemporary" service appeals to many Baby Boomers.

What holds this church together, said Scott, is that all new members study the same catechism that teaches what it means to be a believer and how their church is trying to find its niche in Christian tradition. Everyone learns the ancient Apostles Creed.

"What we are seeing is a struggle between three very different generations - each of which rejects the others' approach to worship," he said. "This is distressing, to say the least. At some point, you have to find some source of unity."

What if Clinton was a famous pastor?

Try to imagine what would have happened if Bill Clinton was a world-famous pastor.

What if he led a thriving evangelical megachurch, was the author of Christian bestsellers and the key to TV-ministry ratings? Or what if he was the bishop of a prestigious diocese, a prophetic voice for social justice and crucial to a progressive power structure?

Then it happens. Someone claims this leader has had a sexual affair, perhaps even with someone under his pastoral care. But the scandal hasn't been made public. Or, perhaps there is some doubt whether he is guilty. So the ministry board meets behind closed doors and someone asks the big question: Should we force him to resign in shame?

It says a lot about America's divisions over sex, gender, marriage, sin and repentance that many themes aired in these religious debates echo those in the national shouting match over Clinton's sins. Sin is sin, but power is power.

The leader's defenders always note that he is crucial to the church's future and, besides, his flock still loves him. What would happen to the budget? Who could replace him in the pulpit? Isn't this just a conspiracy? Where is the proof? What about the woman's motivations?

Critics always ask: Is the sinner's repentance real?

In Clinton's case, there have been two "inadequate reactions" to his plea for forgiveness, said the Rev. Gordon MacDonald of Lexington, Mass., preaching soon after joining the president's private trio of pastors.

"One has been to engage in the offer of cheap, swift grace, a forgiveness that comes so quickly and freely that it provides no justice nor healing and spiritual redemption," he said. The other has been to automatically dismiss his plea, assuming "it is a matter of political theatrics. ... If the president's repentance is false or short-termed, that will show in time, and we will have to swallow hard and admit that we were taken in. It wouldn't be the first time nor the last that the Christian community extended its hand of grace and had it bit off."

The ultimate question is the same: Does he stay or does he go? Many are convinced the leader's departure is essential. Others believe a fallen leader can repent, be healed and find accountability - in private, while keeping his job.

MacDonald has been a crucial figure in these debates. Twelve years ago, he was ensnared in a scandal that rocked evangelicalism. But he repented, sought his wife's forgiveness and, years later, put the lessons he learned into a book called "Rebuilding Your Broken World" - which the president is said to have read twice.

Ironically, Clinton's critics praise MacDonald's path to restoration. They note that he resigned as leader of a major missionary group and sought two years of therapy with his wife, before returning to ministry. MacDonald has urged repentant leaders to go on retreat, stop blaming their critics and, if and when they return to public life, to restrict their duties and embrace strict disciplines. A retreat, he wrote, is no time for "plotting what the politicians call a comeback."

Critics want to know if MacDonald is preaching a softer sermon to the president.

In an open letter to MacDonald, another pastor reminded him that Clinton grew up with the language and symbolic gestures of Southern religion. The result can be an "Elvis syndrome" in which emotions are more important than actions, noted the Rev. William Smith, writing in World magazine. This condition allows sinners to "stand around the piano at Graceland and sing gospel songs with tears in our eyes, then to go upstairs to fornicate, and persuade ourselves in the morning that our real person is the hymn-singing one," wrote Smith.

But, MacDonald told his flock that critics should ask themselves why they keep assuming the worse of this president. For now, he accepts that the president's confession of sin came from "genuinely contrite heart," he said.

"I have seen his private tears, heard his personal words of remorse. And I have chosen to embrace this man as a sinner in need of mercy. I have received him as I would try to receive any of you should you find yourself in a similar circumstances."

Hey reporter! Are you a believer?

Before he answered the Los Angeles Times' questions, the Rev. Oral Roberts wanted to ask some questions of his own.

The mid-1980s were turbulent times for televangelists and veteran religion writer Russell Chandler was probing the state of his ministry and finances. So Roberts wanted some details about the journalist's life and beliefs and he wouldn't settle for a summary of his academic and professional credentials.

"Are you a Christian?", he asked, as the tape rolled. "Do you believe on the Lord Jesus Christ? ... I'm not playing games."

Chandler said that he didn't divorce his faith from his journalism. But, as a professional, he said he preferred to be judged on the quality of his work. Did Roberts need an answer before the interview could proceed?

"You bet I do! This is private property. We have freedom of religion just like you have freedom of the press," he said. "I've been beaten, kicked around a lot and my product is up there for you to see. So I'm waiting for your answer. ... We're either Christian brothers or we're not."

There was a long pause. Eventually, Roberts accepted Chandler's assurance that they could discuss their Christian convictions in an appropriate setting.

Every religion writer I know has faced this question or some variation on it. Once, when I was covering a fiery Pentecostal service, the preacher pointed down at my pew and bellowed: "Brother! Are you with us?" Holding up my notepad, I said: "I'm taking notes!" This was true, although it's hard to take notes when people are speaking in unknown tongues.

I have been grilled by New Agers, United Methodist bishops, legions of Episcopalians, every manner of rabbi, assorted Calvinists and Baptists, both northern and southern. A public relations pro in Salt Lake City once assumed I was a Mormon because I have a strange beard and kept waving away the waitress with the coffee pot.

The other day, the Tennessee Association of Churches informed me that it wants to salute me for my writing. Since my teaching schedule won't allow me to attend their Oct. 22 meeting, I thought I'd take this opportunity to say "thank you." But I also want to make the following comment, since I'm sure that some in this group had, yes, planned to ask where I worship.

I propose a moratorium on asking journalists the church question. Instead, any religious leader who wants to size up a reporter should ask: How long have you covered religion news?

There isn't a really good answer to the church question. In fact, one of the worst answers a reporter can give is: "Yes, as a matter if fact I go to YOUR church. Now, could you please tell me why OUR church wants to modernize the creed?" At this point, the reporter usually receives a sermon on why he or she shouldn't betray THEIR church. Few people love traitors.

It may not help to say you attend another church. Some people will then assume you're an apostate or that you'll be prejudiced against their church - or both. If you decline to answer, this also makes some people mad. This says, in effect, that the interviewee has to open up his or her soul, but interviewer does not. And it doesn't work to say that it doesn't matter which church you go to, or whether you believe anything at all, because you are a professional journalist and, thus, you'll be fair to everyone. This causes believers to roll their eyes, because the news media have a history of botching religion stories.

Plus, saying that it doesn't matter whether a reporter has any personal interest in religion at all comes very close to saying that centuries of doctrine and tradition don't matter. As a rule, apathy about eternal issues isn't a sign of intellectual interest in this subject – the kind of interest that produces accurate reporting. Few editors hire sports reporters who don't care about sports.

So, how do I answer the big question?

For years I have used a response that goes like this: "Yes, I am an active churchman and I take my faith very seriously. Thus, I understand that you take your faith very seriously. That's why I want to do everything I can to report your words and viewpoints accurately. Now, can I get out my notebook?"

Can today's church veto the saints?

Just because the early church taught that certain doctrines were true doesn't mean the modern church can't change and preach something else, according to the Arkansas bishop who is a key figure in a global Anglican dispute.

The early church had opinions about truth. Now, the modern church has opinions of its own, said the Rt. Rev. Larry Maze, preaching recently to a regional gathering of Integrity, the Episcopal Church's official gay-rights lobby. But opinions, even ancient ones, remain opinions and it would be wrong to let people who cling to opinions from the past veto those who embrace the present.

"There are those who speak as though they know the mind of God and, with startling clarity, they tell us what pleases God and what displeases God," he said. "They speak of certainty as the hallmark of faithful people. Yet, some of us continue to experience God as the one who chooses to live in the midst of our tensions, in the midst of our ambiguities ... always drawing us to truths greater than the truth of a given moment."

The Arkansas bishop has been in the news this year because of clashes with the newborn St. Andrews Church in Little Rock, which was formed by traditionalists who reject his views on the Bible, marriage, sex, salvation and many other doctrinal issues. When the bishop refused to allow the mission's priest to serve in Arkansas, Father Thomas Johnston had his credentials transferred to the Diocese of Shyira, Rwanda. Ever since, the priest's African bishop has been under pressure to abandon his Little Rock flock.

There's more to this story. Anglicans from Africa and other Two-Thirds World churches regularly use appeals to the past while attacking modernized doctrines in the First World. During this summer's Lambeth Conference in Canterbury, traditionalists stressed that they were defending biblical truths, handed down through the ages.

Maze said that the real split is between those who believe their faith is based on ancient, unchanging truths and modernists who accept ambiguity and change. Ultimately, it is the search for truth that matters. Traditionalists, he said, should admit that they possess opinions – not truths and certainties – about sexuality, abortion, family, life and death.

"Opinions that have for generations been layered in sanctified language are, nonetheless, opinions," said Maze. "May God grant us the grace to not deify our own opinions."

Maze isn't the only mainstream Anglican airing variations on this theme. Preaching recently at New York's Grace Episcopal Church, Presiding Bishop Frank Griswold said all churches will need to surrender some traditions in order to join in an ongoing search for new truths. Some ancient traditions may in fact be evil, he argued, noting that St. Paul said, "Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light" to deceive believers.

"And what is the shadow side of our own particular traditions? ... Some of our singularities and seeming ecclesial virtues may, in actual fact, be impediments to the realization of God's desire," said Griswold.

Meanwhile, a Canadian bishop openly says that one ancient doctrine that the modern church should shed is "Christian exclusivism," which teaches that salvation is found only through faith in Jesus. Historically, this stance has been closely linked with belief in the literal truth of creedal doctrines such as the virgin birth, the resurrection and the Second Coming of Jesus.

The early church's dogmatic "exclusivism" makes it hard to affirm that God saves souls through all of the world's religions, not just Christianity, writes the Rt. Rev. Michael Ingham, in "Mansions of the Spirit: The Gospel in a Multi-Faith World." This doctrine offends non-Christians.

The bishop doesn't mince words. Traditionalists who defend "Christian exclusivism" and other judgmental ancient dogmas may, in fact, worship a different god than the interfaith deity who inspires modern pluralists, he said.

This will not be an easy rift to close.

"The problem with exclusivism is that it presents us with a god from whom we need to be delivered, rather than the living God who is the hope of the world," writes Ingham. "The exclusivist god is narrow, rigid and blind. Such a god is not worthy of honor, glory, worship or praise."