A mere ripple in the pews

Sometimes the number is 38 percent and sometimes it's something like 41.

For decades, Gallup Poll researchers have asked people if they attended worship services in the previous week. On rare occasions the percentage may soar to 48. It has been known to dip to 35. But that's about it. There are seasonal ripples in the pews, but few big waves.

Then came the events of Sept. 11.

"Everybody started hearing all kinds of things from people all over the country," said Mike Vlach of Church Initiative, based in Wake Forest, N.C. This evangelical support network (www.churchinitiative.org) has about 5,000 churches on its mailing list.

"It seemed like we were talking about sizable changes in the spiritual landscape of the country. ... We immediately started calling churches and asking, 'What are you seeing out there? What are people asking? What are you doing in response?' "

Media reports joined the chorus, citing this return to faith as a ray of light in the darkness. Then the late September Gallup Poll (www.gallup.com) came out and the number was 47 percent, up from 41 in May. That was a rise, but not shockingly higher than the normal post-summer lift.

Vlach kept placing his calls and the news was good. Pastors said they were seeing larger crowds, including many inquisitive visitors. The atmosphere of uncertainty was lingering. "People have a heightened sense of alertness," said a pastor in Indianapolis. A Chicago-area contact reported: "We have noticed a heightened desire in people to put their spiritual lives in order."

The anecdotes were wonderful, but Vlach said he could not find strong evidence of lasting impact. Most church leaders were comforting their anxious flocks and welcoming any visitors who happened to walk in on their own. But few churches had tried to reach out to the un-churched.

Pastors preached one or two sermons linked to Sept. 11 and, perhaps, organized a memorial service. But that was about it, said Vlach. Few churches made sustained attempts to talk about life and death, heaven and hell, sin and repentance.

"I'm not sure that many churches even saw this as an opportunity to deal with these kinds of issues," he said. "I'm not sure many church leaders are trained to think like that."

By mid-November, the Gallup number was back to 42 percent.

Yes, 74 percent of Americans said they were praying more than usual, 70 percent said they had wept and 77 percent said they were being affectionate with loved ones. As the Gallup team said, Americans were seeking "spiritual solace." But the data suggested that they were flying solo.

The evangelical market analysts at the Barna Research Group (www.barna.org) did a wave of national polling starting in late October, looking for statistical signs of revival. They found that worship statistics were following familiar patterns. Participation in prayer circles and Bible study groups "remained static." Even among born-again Christians, they found a slight decrease in the number of believers who were sharing their faith with non-believers.

"After the attack," said George Barna, "millions of nominally churched or generally irreligious Americans were desperately seeking something that would restore stability and a sense of meaning to life. Fortunately, many of them turned to the church. Unfortunately, few of them experienced anything that was sufficiently life-changing to capture their attention."

These seekers found comfort, but were not motivated to change their beliefs and lifestyles. The most stunning statistic was that the percentage of Americans saying they believe in "moral truths or principles that are absolute," meaning truths that don't change with the circumstances, actually declined – from 38 to 22 percent. In fact, only 32 percent of born-again Christians said they still believe in the existence of absolute moral truth.

"Our assessment," said Barna, "is that churches succeeded at putting on a friendly face but failed at motivating the vast majority of spiritual explorers to connect with Christ in a more intimate or intense manner." The Sept. 11th tragedy offered congregations a unique chance to "be the healing and transforming presence of God in people's lives, but that ... has now come and gone, with little to show for it."

The Devil and Harry Potter

There's nothing like a hot quote about Satan to grab a reader's attention.

"I think it's absolute rubbish to protest children's books on the grounds that they are luring children to Satan," said Harry Potter creator J.K. Rowling, according to an email message that keeps circling the globe. "People should be praising them for that! These books guide children to an understanding that the weak, idiotic Son Of God is a living hoax who will be humiliated when the rain of fire comes ... while we, his faithful servants, laugh and cavort in victory."

Truth is, Rowling never said that. This email alert – with its YOU MIGHT WANT TO SHARE THIS WITH YOUR FLOCK headline – claims that Rowling bared her soul in a London Times interview. Actually, this bogus quotation is a cleaned-up snippet from a satire published by the wicked pranksters at TheOnion.com.

So stop and think about the Zen-like nature of this cautionary tale. What we have here is a case of humor-impaired Harry Potter critics circulating – as fact – bites of a satire making fun of how humor-impaired many Harry Potter critics are getting these days. Got that?

Life will only get more complicated for culture warriors now that "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" has rolled into 3,672 motion-picture sanctuaries.

"Christians are now spreading this parody on the Internet with their own scriptural commentaries on how we need to stand for truth," said youth pastor Connie Neal, author of "What's a Christian to Do with Harry Potter?" Naturally, journalists are howling because the "people who are spreading it haven't checked it out to even make sure it's true!"

Meanwhile, believers who are using Potter-mania as a chance to rip into each other should get out their Bibles, said Neal, in a BreakPoint.org interview. They should turn to St. Paul's letter to the Galatians, in which a passage that condemns sorcery also condemns strife, anger, selfishness, enmity and jealousy. And lying remains a sin, as well.

It's time to lighten up, she said. There are anti-Potter mothers who have stopped talking to pro-Potter mothers.

"It is one thing to say, 'I personally choose not to read Harry Potter because to me, this equates to real witchcraft and therefore I want nothing to do with it,' " said Neal. "But we step over the line when we say, 'Because I think the Potter books equate to real world witchcraft, I insist that everyone else adopt my interpretation – even though the author has made it clear that she did not mean it as real-world witchcraft.' "

Meanwhile, Rowling remains a member of the Church of Scotland and keeps saying, "I believe in God, not magic." She also has stated that the magical elements in her books come from her studies in British folklore. This means she is trying to tap some of the same wellsprings as C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and even Charles Dickens.

Last year, Rowling told a Canadian reporter that she is a Christian and that this "seems to offend the religious right far worse than if I said I thought there was no God. Every time I've been asked if I believe in God, I've said, 'yes,' because I do. But no one ever really has gone any more deeply into it than that and, I have to say that does suit me. ... If I talk too freely about that, I think the intelligent reader – whether 10 or 60 – will be able to guess what is coming in the books."

Scores of believers – on the left and right – unapologetically adore Rowling's work. Others have offered cautious praise, even as they worry about witchcraft's rise as a force in popular culture. There are a few who consistently attack all works of myth and fantasy.

There are valid issues to debate. But things are getting nasty, as issues of power, fundraising and institutional survival take over.

If this debate must continue, noted Douglas LeBlanc of Christianity Today, "We should argue honorably, neither caricaturing each other's interpretations nor ignoring Rowling's treatment of the occult. And if advocates on either side grow frustrated they should try something truly daring: Writing better stories."

Songs for souls in hard times

The powers that be made sure the Country Music Association Awards started with fireworks, red-white-and-blue streamers and star-spangled guitars.

But it was Alan Jackson who stopped the show with a post-Sept. 11 anthem that had the faithful drying their eyes. "Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)" jumped from pangs of doubt to hugs in pews, from tuning out Hollywood trash to dusting off the family Bible.

The man in the white hat wrapped his grief and grit around a chorus that would turn an MTV programmer into a pillar of salt.

"I'm just a singer of simple songs. I'm not a real political man. I watch CNN, but I'm not really sure I can tell you the difference in Iraq and Iran," sang Jackson. "But I know Jesus and I talk to God and I remember this from when I was young. Faith, hope and love are some good things he gave us, and the greatest of these is love."

No one really needed to prove that real country music could handle hard times. After all, the year's hot song was a 1913 flashback that opens with the cry: "I am a man of constant sorrow, I have seen trouble all my days."

"Country music goes through cycles like everything else and we've seen lot of sanitized music in recent years," said Gene Edward Veith of Concordia University-Wisconsin, co-author of "Honky-Tonk Gospel."

"Right now the pendulum is swinging back toward the traditional side of things. That means we're hearing more music that – one way or another – says suffering is a part of real life. This is music about living and dying and joy and sorrow. When you start talking about things like that out in normal America, you have to use the language of faith."

Some people say traditional folk music kept the flame of old-time music alive, while others credit the late Bill Monroe and his bluegrass believers. There's blues, tin-pan jazz and English balladry in there, too. But most of all, said Veith, there is the gospel music that serves as a backdrop to everything else.

Country music is about people messing up and then trying to make things right – sin and salvation. American popular culture knows how to handle the sin part, said Veith. But most of the people who rule Hollywood and the pop charts haven't got a clue about how to handle repentance, grace and salvation.

At its best, country music delivers both sides of this sobering equation.

"Christianity is not a matter of moralism or positive messages," wrote Veith and Thomas Wilmeth. "Rather, it is about the salvation of people who need salvation. Country music, unlike other popular art forms, has a way of acknowledging the sinfulness of sin. And though it sometimes goes too far in wallowing in that sin, at some point it has a way of acknowledging the power of the Gospel."

Country music does do its share of wallowing as well as worshiping. Anyone who has punched more than two jukebox buttons knows that country musicians have always had as much to say about Saturday night as Sunday morning. But even those "cheatin' and drinkin'" songs tend to reveal some moral roots, said Veith.

Many a barstool classic has included a big role for a real Satan who tempts real people with real sin that leads to a real hell. Also, country songs often portray alcohol as a futile way of dealing with moral failure. One thing this music almost never does is deny that the pain and brokenness is real. Meanwhile, it's hard to imagine many rock 'n' roll divas singing songs about adultery, because the institution of marriage is irrelevant in that context.

Country music isn't perfect, said Veith. Neither is real life.

Perhaps Johnny Cash put it best, when he described his taste in music: "I love songs about horses, railroads, land, judgment day, family, hard times, whiskey, courtship, marriage, adultery, separation, murder, war, prison, rambling, damnation, home, salvation, death, pride, humor, piety, rebellion, patriotism, larceny, determination, tragedy, rowdiness, heartbreak and love. And mother. And God."

That covers most of the big issues – from Genesis to Revelation.

Finster – hip, hick & holy

It's hard to miss the Big Idea when an artist puts it right on a painting in bold letters.

"He That Believeth Not Shall Be Damned. Not A Crown But Hellfire And Brimstone," wrote Howard Finster, using his unorthodox spelling and grammar. "If You Only Had One Sweet Son And You Gave His Life To Save Ten Wicked Men. And They Returned And Denied That You Gave Your Only Son For Them And Said You Child Never Exist No One Died For Us."

There's more, written on the centerpiece of a 1990 exhibit in Washington, D.C. "Please Go Right Now And Call You Child To You. And Measure You Love For Him And Turn And Look At The Most Sinful Man You Know And Think If You Would Trade Your Presus Son For Him. God Is Love."

That seems clear. Nevertheless, the curators posted a sign to reassure troubled patrons. Thus saith the Smithsonian: "The historical, popular and biblical subjects of Finster's portraits embody his concept of the inventor as someone whose creative process will provide the world's salvation."

Funny, the preacher from northwest Georgia thought he was saying, "Repent!"

"Probably some people mean different kinds of salvation. I'm talking about the salvation of Jesus Christ. That's what you gotta have," Finster once told author Frederica Mathewes-Green.

"My vision right now is to lead the world to the Bible," he said. Many are not "looking for a piece of art, they're looking for a message."

So that's what Finster offered – a message. He spent four decades as a revival preacher and jack-of-all-trades repairman. Then, at age 60, he had one of his visions. He was fixing a bicycle when a blob of white paint on his hand formed a face that said: "Paint sacred art."

This didn't make much sense, but Finster did it. By the time of his death on Oct. 22nd, the 84-year-old evangelist had produced 47,000-plus signed works.

This folk-art phenomenon shocked all kinds of people. To the modern-art elite, he was a force of nature. Yet no one could deny that Finster had a knack for touching tired, jaded souls. Meanwhile, some Christians couldn't figure out what he was doing playing banjo on the Tonight Show and painting album covers for rock superstars. He was guilty by association.

"Finster was always a showman and the world of serious art considered him a kind of naive clown," said painter Ed Knippers. "But under that show, there was a very wise man. ... What he was doing was putting little artistic time bombs out in the living rooms of the very people who tend to be the most critical of Christianity."

Over time, Finster let his art do the talking. Some of his messages were, after all, offensive to the people he wanted to reach as customers and converts. One Washington art gallery reportedly dropped him when the owners got tired of being called "infidels."

So Finster learned some manners and mastered the art of being colorful on cue. But he never changed his message. The artist's fundamentalist style was "so in-your-face it was almost campy," said Knippers. His sermons in paint also intimidated the many Christian artists who insist that the key to mainstream acceptance is avoiding explicitly religious symbols and themes.

"Finster's art was a two-edged sword. The art world didn't know what to do with him and neither did the Christian world," Knippers said. "His work cut both ways. ... That is always a sign of a true prophet who is managing to get a message across out in the real world."

What was that message? Here is Finster, once again, working with words instead of paint.

"We all have the image of God in us and we belong to him, even if we're sinners," he said. "Like the Bible says, 'God is love.' It means, if Hitler went to hell, God still loves him, and the way he got to hell was going over God's love. And if you die today and go to hell, even if you're in hell he still loves you. His love never stops, but you've got to do something about his love. When you get saved and accept Him, you're alright."