Exploring the Role of Media in Religious Identity-construction Among Teens

In my dissertation research on U.S. teens and religious identity, I explored two interrelated questions: what do teens mean when they say they are religious (or not religious)? And how do these identifications relate to their experiences with the visual media? To uncover answers to these questions, I interviewed over 100 members of families with teens, including five teen case studies with whom I spent time over a period of several months. In addition, I trained three of these five to serve as leaders of what I called peer-led discussion groups (focus groups organized and led by teens for which I was not present) and then directed three more focus groups with parents of teens.

I believe that what I observed through this research represents a generational shift, with particular reference to the role and attention to religious symbols. The first trend relates to the differences between teens and parents in their general approach to issues of religion. There were five overlapping but somewhat distinct themes that framed the answers to the question of what teens mean when they say that they are religious (or not) that then in turn frame their approaches to what they see in the media. First, religion is in many cases equated with religious institutions, and is identified with or rejected as a point of identification on that basis.

Second, religion is defined as the moral code, that which gives guidance to what is right and wrong in society. Identification may be based on whether or not one agrees with the particular (usually conservative) moral code one identifies with the religious institution.

Third, religion is seen as one category of a multidimensional life, representing the extent to which religion is seen as a personal choice. For those embracing a religious identity within this theme, religion was described as a sentimental feeling of goodness.

Fourth, religion is understood as a key aspect of racial/ethnic identity, particularly among those teens who identified with a religion other than Christianity.

Fifth, religion is understood as something related to the mystical and inexplicable, or supernatural, in life.

Interestingly, the teens did not mention several attributes of religion that were discussed among the parents of teens, such as the definition of religion as a source of ultimate meaning and purpose for one's life, or a source of history, tradition, social justice, and community. The teens definitions were by and large much more therapeutic and individualistic. While this is at least somewhat consistent with what we might expect developmentally from teens, it is worth noting that this generation of young persons has less experience with religious institutions and formal belief systems than any of its predecessors. While this may or may not be the case for the individual teen, it is certainly the case for the environment of their peers, in which context so much of religious identity occurs.

Therefore, there are few indications that teens, who may come to value these attributes mentioned by their parents, will actually equate them with religious traditions and institutions at some later point. I should note that most of the teens in my study had some religious affiliation, which makes these findings all the more interesting and provocative for current leaders of religious organizations.

Second, I observed that there is a flattening of religious symbols for teens. Rather than finding that most teens are reverential toward the symbols that represent what is most meaningful to them or even the symbols most closely associated with their own tradition, as Fowler asserts in his oft-cited argument of adolescent faith development, I found that teens actually approach all religious symbols more like what Frederic Jameson called bricoleurs. In constructing their religious identity, teens pick symbols from a variety of sources that may or may not be related to institutional religion, and may or may not be related to their specific institutional affiliation, if they have one.

Like other commodified symbols of the postmodern condition of late capitalism, symbols can and must be made useful. Perhaps the most pointed example of this process occurs among teens with little or no experience with formal religious institutions but who still self-identify as religious, such as 19-year-old Jodie.

When asked what television show was most like her own beliefs, she responded: It would have to be X-Files. Because, no matter what anybody says. My dad's a real science fiction freak, he's the one that kind of got me into that, thinking about aliens. Well, I've seen everything that everyone's compiled together about aliens. There's no doubt in my mind that we are not the only intelligent life...God was a higher being. How do we know he wasn't an alien? On X-Files, Mulder, he would say something like that, how do we know God's not an alien?

Jodie's comments illustrate a television practice which I believe represents a third interesting trend in media and religion among teens: a process I call regeneration. I use this term to refer to the way in which Jodie reads into the text a meaning that was not intended (at least, I believe that there is no evidence within the program that the character of Mulder has directly equated God and alien life).

Jodie draws upon an understanding of the character of Mulder as a doubter of metanarratives/believer in alien forces for her projection of what he would say about God. This is not only a negotiation of meaning, as it moves beyond interpretation strategies related to the text. When she employs the example to explain to me her own views and thus constructs within our conversation an element of her own religious identity, she is noting that the negotiated meaning contributes something to her larger belief system - even if what it contributes is less than coherent.

Yet even among teens with what they considered to be a significant affiliation with a religious organization, there was a sense in which teens see themselves as the ultimate authority over which religious symbols are or can be made meaningful. Like their unaffiliated counterparts, they approached mediated symbols as those that could become meaningful when given a religious context. This is why such seemingly contradictory mediated symbols as those emerging on science fiction programs like The X-Files may be just as useful in religious identity-construction as programs with overtly religious symbolism such as Touched by an Angel. Distinctions may be made by teens, but both types of programs still seem to exist within, as one teen termed it, a broad realm of beliefs: both of these programs, as well as other popular teen programs such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Sabrina the Teenage Witch, express some theme of divine (or at least supernatural) intervention into everyday life.

What will all of this mean for the future of religious identity and the role of the media in this process? Perhaps we will have to tune in to programs like The X-Files (and their audiences) to find out.

Crunch Time for American Catholicism

  In 1962, when Pope John XXIII convened the Second Vatican Council with a resounding call for aggiornarnento, few of the bishops in attendance imagined that the work of "updating" the Roman Catholic Church would become a constant preoccupation. Today, however, the "always reforming church" finds itself once again at a dramatic turning point in the U.S.

Gone are the halcyon days when priests staffed every parish, sacramental theology made sense to most laity, and an abundance of nuns educated and formed 5 million parochial school students. In 1960 U.S. Catholicism enjoyed the low-cost, labor-intensive dedication of 52,689 priests and 164,922 nuns. More than 30,000 young men filled diocesan and religious order seminaries. In addition to the 10,000 Catholic elementary schools and 2,400 high schools, there were 223 Catholic associations, movements and societies with an explicit educational purpose.

Since 1960 the Catholic population has grown from 40 to 60 million, but the number of priests and women religious has declined to 45,000 and 90,000 respectively as a result of resignations, retirements and thinning ranks of new recruits. The number of seminarians has dropped to about 5,500-hardly enough to replace the many who will soon retire, much less to keep up with the increasing size of the laity. Communities of women religious, who built and sustained the church's infrastructure for decades, are also aging dramatically and face an uncertain future.

Numbers and size alone do not guarantee the vitality or sanctity of a religious community, of course. Nor is the brick-and-mortar emphasis of the "golden age" of the Catholic parish, which extended roughly from 1920 to 1960, the norm for succeeding generations. Nonetheless, Catholics seek to share word, sacrament and God's reign in justice with as many people as possible, and therefore they ponder with dismay any signs of atrophy in their work. The elementary and secondary school system (to name just one Catholic institution affected by the drop in vocations) serves approximately half the number of students it did in 1960, despite the greater presence of lay teachers and administrators. Catholic hospitals and charities rely increasingly on professionals drawn from the secular world. Perhaps most disconcerting of all is the rapid increase in the ratio of parishioners to priests and nuns.

"The next five years is crunch time," warns Father Eugene F. Hemrick, director of research for the National Conference of Catholic Bishops. "Unless we address the personnel crisis effectively, we will lose our best chance to influence the direction of change."

Significant change is occurring already in the 2,000 Catholic parishes without a resident priest-10 percent of the total, and growing. Hundreds of these parishes are administered by women religious who act, in effect, as pastors without portfolio. In such settings the proclamation and preaching of the scriptures replaces the consecration of the Eucharist as the primary act of communal worship, thereby threatening the centrality of the sacramental tradition. Although considered a stopgap measure, the introduction of parish administrators means that Catholics are becoming accustomed to compassionate, gifted women acting in quasi-priestly roles. When the parish phone rings in the middle of the night, bearing news of a family crisis, the church still answers faithfully, but the bedside prayers and communion may be offered by Sister, not Father. In time the laity may not care to observe the distinction between the new Christ-bearers and ordained priests, despite the Vatican's "infallible" teaching that the former are forever excluded from the ranks of the latter.

The shifting Catholic demographics are documented in Full Pews, Empty Altars, a controversial study of the priest shortage by the late Richard Schoenherr. Whether or not the trend is irreversible, as Schoenherr argues, it has begun to transform the relationship between priests, women religious, the new pastoral administrators, permanent deacons and lay ministers. This new configuration challenges the basic ways Catholics have thought about themselves and articulated their mission. It also raises daunting organizational questions, especially regarding the future of seminary education and the allocation of resources for lay ministry training and certification. Also in doubt is whether the church's financial structures can provide both retirement benefits for a graying clergy and a living wage for full-time lay pastoral associates who have families to feed.

The priest shortage, coupled with Pope John Paul II's refusal to ordain women or to reconsider the blanket requirement of priestly celibacy, limits the maneuverability of the U.S. bishops. Few of them can feel heartened by the popularity of the newly promulgated rite that was initially called Sunday Worship without a Priest-SWAP(!). Fewer still care to force a no-win decision between fidelity to Rome and the pressing pastoral needs of a burgeoning Catholic population.

Understandably, therefore, the bishops have yet to develop 4 coherent response to the personnel crisis. They disagree over the meaning and practical implications of studies like Schoenherr's which project continuing decline in vocations well into the next century. Cardinal Roger Mahoney, the archbishop of Los Angeles, has declared defiantly that the Holy Spirit, not the sociologists, will decide the ftiture of the Roman Catholic Church.

Archbishop Elden Curtiss of Omaha, Nebraska, likewise pledges that the church "will remain faithful to her apostolic mandate by continuing to nurture and call candidates to a male, celibate priesthood and to a vowed religious life." Young people, he argues,

"do not want to commit themselves to dioceses or communities which permit or simply ignore dissent from church doctrine." Hoping for a Spirit-inspired "vocation renaissance," archbishops such as Denver's J. Francis Stafford and St.Louis's Justin F. Rigali are bringing seminary education more directly under their control and concentrating financial resources there rather than in lay ministry training. They refuse to be "moved off track by the prophets of doom and those people who have their own agendas for the church," as Curtiss puts it.

Other Catholic leaders, however, read the Holy Spirit's intentions differently and make a virtue of necessity. "A pastoral challenge exists today to call more people to use their ministerial gifts and talents in new forms of leader-' ship," says Seattle's Archbishop Thomas Murphy. In the same vein Father Phil Murnion, director of the National Pastoral Life Center in New York, acknowledges that "the future is a Catholic ministry that is shared." He believes that the ordained priesthood, its authority undermined by the widely publicized scandals involving sexual misconduct, must relearn its role in relationship to others in church ministry, including the 20,000 laypeople who are now serving on parish staffs.

The shortage of priests and women religious has become acute at a time when Catholics need unified and vigorous pastoral leadership more than ever. Consider the scope of the challenges and opportunities that present themselves in the 1990s.

Evangelization and the Hispanic community. Although 63 percent of the 10 million Hispanic Catholics in the U.S. are native-born, neither they nor the immigrant populations from Mexico, the Caribbean and Latin America have been fully integrated into American Catholic life. Individual pastoral success stories abound, but a common Hispanic-American identity has yet to be forged. The greatest obstacles to unity may exist within the multicultural Hispanic community itself.

Last summer in San Antonio 500 leaders in Hispanic ministry -- clergy, religious and laity -- from 110 Catholic dioceses gathered to discuss their situation and pledge their commitment to a new evangelization of the professional world. The participants in "Convocation '95" dedicated themselves "to sharing with the entire church in the United States the progress brought about in Hispanic ministry." In November the U.S. bishops issued a statement responding enthusiastically to the meeting and celebrating the virtues of the Hispanic ethos, "the fruit of the inculturation of the Catholic faith through the tremendous encounter with Iberian, Native American and African spiritualities." The bishops called Hispanics to ' lead the church in recalling its mission "to preserve and foster a Catholic identity in the midst of an often hostile culture."

But there is a gap between rhetoric and reality. Though the Mexican-American population exhibits a, strong popular religiosity, it lacks clergy. And ministry to second- and third-generation Hispanics requires a specialized approach, since the English-speaking younger generations still want to express their faith via Latino cultural forms. Complicating the task of evangelization is the dearth of hard data about the Hispanic-American world. Catholic leaders also worry that evangelical Protestants, especially Pentecostals, are malting inroads into Hispanic neighborhoods.

Ethnic and racial diversity is nothing new for U.S. Catholics, of course, but the legacy of pastoral care is being put to the test not only by Mexicans, Cubans and Puerto Ricans, but by a generation of Filipino, Korean and other Asian immigrants.

Social outreach and public service. Let us imagine the labors of a future historian engaged in the thorny task of interpreting the fortunes of American Catholics in the 1990s. In the official documents he will find compelling evidence of an impressive network of agencies and institutions engaged in the service of the common good and the pursuit of social justice.

Perusing the index of Origins, the weekly publication of representative documents and speeches compiled by Catholic News Service, our imaginary historian will note, for example, the following initiatives undertaken at the national, diocesan and parish levels in 1994-95: providing alternatives to abortion; staffing adoption agencies; conducting adult education courses; addressing African American Catholics' pastoral needs; funding programs to prevent alcohol abuse; implementing a new policy on altar servers and guidelines for the Anointing of the Sick; lobbying for arms control; eliminating asbestos in public housing; supporting the activities of the Association of Catholic Colleges and Universities (227 strong); challenging atheism in American society; establishing base communities (also known as small faith communities); providing aid to war victims in Bosnia; conducting Catholic research in bioethics; publicizing the new Catechism of the Catholic Church; battling child abuse; strengthening the relationship between church and labor unions; and deepening the structures and expressions of collegiality in the local and diocesan church.

These items (selected alphabetically a through c) merely suggest the direction of Catholic energies. They do not include, for example, Catholic Charities' extensive network of 1,400 charitable agencies serving 18 million people; the Catholic Health Association's 600 hospitals and 300 long term care facilities serving 20 million people; or the Campaign for Human Development's efforts to organize and empower the poor, with 200 local antipoverty groups working to improve policies, practices and laws affecting low-income people.

But these impressive data mask concerns about the gradual depletion of the resources and personnel needed to maintain these programs. No doubt our sharp-eyed historian will also note that a relatively small percentage of the Catholic population actually participates in or contributes to the range of services and pastoral initiatives celebrated in the official documents. Enormous financial and personal resources in the broader Catholic community remain untapped.

Detachment of the laity. Digging deeper, the historian will consult the literature on Catholic giving, which reached a new low in the 1990s. For more than a decade, giving as a percentage of income to all mainline churches, Protestant as well as Catholic, has declined. Yet Catholics have fared much worse than any of the Protestant congregations studied, including those supporting private schools. A 1992 study of 330,000 Catholics households from 280 Catholic parishes, for example, found that whereas the average family income was $41,000, the average annual contribution to the parish (not including school tuition) was $276.51-less than 1 percent of total income.

Furthermore, "the sense of personal ownership of the charities of the church has declined," reports Mary J. Oates in her 1995 study The Catholic Philanthropic Tradition in Anw7ica. "A paradox faces Catholic philanthropy. By adopting secular standards in organization and fundraising, and by relying heavily on extra-ecclesial funding, [the church] has vastly expanded its capacity to assist the poor and to offer high-quality services. Yet in critical ways these strategies compete with primary religious values."

By other markers as well, increasing numbers of lay Catholics seem detached from the central beliefs, religious practices and everyday ministries of their church. Less than one-third of the U.S. Catholic population regularly attends weekly mass. A 1993 Gallup poll found that, of those who do, only 30 percent believe they are actually receiving the body and blood of Christ in the Eucharist, and only 21 percent under the age of 50 so believe. One-fourth of Catholics agree that Christ becomes present in the bread and wine only if the recipient believes this to be so. One need not be a stickler for orthodoxy to find such attitudes toward the doctrine of the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist-one of the central affirmations, if not the central affirmation, of the worshiping Catholic community-to be cause for alarm.

Andrew Greeley has observed that "Catholics stay Catholic because they like being Catholic" -- they like, that is, the stories, symbols and practices which convey the rich, analogical Catholic religious imagination. One can agree and yet wonder if there isn't more to being Catholic and if younger generations of Catholics are even absorbing and wrestling with these inherited symbols and stories. Sr. Janet Baxindale, who lectures around the country on the spiritual potential of Catholic traditions like the Liturgy of the Hours, comments, "Among the adults I -teach, more often than not, a simple presentation of the theology of the liturgy and the role of all the baptized in the liturgical prayer of the church is greeted with 'I never knew that."' Most Catholic educators have had similar experiences.

In her study of Catholic philanthropy, Oates contends that the challenge facing Catholics today "is how to retain the obvious benefits of central organization while at the same time widening significant personal involvement.' That goal requires Catholic leaders to confront honestly the alienation of the laity. Is the poor record of mobilizing resources attributable to a lack of generosity on the part of the great mass of baptized Catholics? (Given the historical record, this seems doubtful.) Have catechetical programs in the postconciliar era failed to inculcate a sense of institutional loyalty? Do lay Catholics demand greater participation in the financial decisions of the local church? Do policies on ordination lend credibility to feminists’ charges of an inherent sexism in the church? Do pastoral leaders readily welcome a diversity of gifts from the laity-including intellectual leadership at the parish and diocesan levels?

Trivialization of the sacred. Catholic leaders-like Protestant Christians, Jews, Muslims and other Americans of faith-must contend with a culture that trivializes religion. The consumerism, crass materialism and moral relativism of Madison Avenue, Hollywood and the World Wide Web are much lamented, but ideological forces within the religious communities themselves may ultimately be more erosive of religious loyalty and identity. On the left the glorification of tolerance as the primary democratic virtue leads some ersatz Christian ecumenists to downplay the countercultural moral norms and scandalous truth claims of Christianity; on the right, fundamentalists in various religions reduce those transcendent norms and claims to political instruments, litmus tests for orthodoxy, or exclusive criteria for group membership. Both extremes compromise religion's unique power to nurture both priestly and prophetic modes.

Like other religious folk, American Catholics are susceptible to these patterns. U.S. culture combines an unfocused spiritual hunger and an eclectic approach to spirituality with a troubling focus on self-gratification. Conservative Catholics offer a biting critique and scold liberals for their seeming indifference to the "culture of radical pluralism" which inflates New Age experimentation and self-help therapies into authentic forms of religiosity. Conservatives also complain that peace-and-justice Catholics forget what separates the church from other charitable organizations: the conviction that eternal salvation depends upon participation in the sacred mysteries of the Catholic faith, not upon the quest for temporal justice. Liberal Catholics respond that conservatives have missed the point of Vatican IIs "turn to the world" and accuse them of playing their own divisive brand of right-wing politics, often within the church hierarchy as well as in secular politics.

Yet those on both sides who translate faith commitments into ideologies unintentionally advance secularization by reducing religion to a sociopolitical identity within a litigious, politicized public order.

Politicization of the faith. Catholic leaders in the 1990s recognize that the trend toward political engagement is a double-edged sword. Religiopolitical activism is a faithful and indispensable response to gospel imperatives; it is also a potential source of confusion and manipulation. Numbering close to 30 million, Catholic voters constitute approximately 28 percent of the electorate. In November 1994 they broke with tradition by giving Republican congressional candidates a majority of their votes. The growing influence of the Religious Right in the Republican Party provokes anxiety among Catholics lobbying for social and economic justice. The U.S. bishops, in particular, are concerned about the diffusion of the Catholic voice when movements and groups claiming the name "Catholic" issue political statements at odds with the bishops' own positions. Bishop Howard Hubbard of Albany, New York, recently accused the newly established Catholic Alliance, an arm of the Christian Coalition, of attempting "to split Catholics from their bishops."

Ironically, the bishops may have contributed to this development. In their widely publicized pastoral letters on the economy and the arms race in the 1980s, they acknowledged that people of good will, including Catholics who share the bishops' basic theological assumptions and moral principles, have a right to disagree on the prudential application of those principles in formulating specific public policies.

Complicating the situation further is the fact that the Catholic bishops advocate many of the same positions taken by the Catholic Alliance/Christian Coalition, including strong opposition to abortion, and the selective return of power to state and local governments. Both oppose a creeping secularism, advanced by many policymakers who operate as if the Constitution's guarantee of religious freedom means freedom from religion. Finally, much of the criticism of the Religious Right takes the form of an attack on any religiously inspired participation in the political debate. As one Catholic official puts it, "The rhetoric and arguments aimed at marginalizing the Religious Right might one day be turned against us."

Nonetheless, most bishops fear that any de-centering of the Catholic voice will contribute to a de facto democratization of the church. Both Catholics for a Free Choice, a small activist group on the left whose influence is exaggerated (and thereby enhanced) by the media, and the Catholic wing of the Religious Right suggest by their very existence that a variety of political perspectives may be considered "Catholic." "Just as Catholics for a Free Choice and other such groups suggest to the general public that not all Catholics agree with positions adopted by their bishops on birth control, abortion and in-vitro fertilization, so will the Religious Right serve to suggest that not all Catholics accept the positions of church leaders in social justice matters," writes Richard J. Dowling, executive director of the Maryland Catholic Conference. "The Christian Coalition gives Catholic dissenters on the right a place, politically, to go."

One might sum up the state of Catholicism as follows. On the one hand, a broad range of ministries and social-action programs involve informed, dedicated and faithful Catholics in almost every aspect of local, regional and national society. The impressive public witness of American Catholicism, disputes notwithstanding, reflects a clearly defined set of principles by which to pursue the common good. These principles, set forth in a striking series of postconciliar pastoral letters, have been critically received and generally acclaimed not only by the vigorous and able company of Catholic intellectuals but also by influential segments of the non-Catholic elite.

In its pastoral life the church embodies compassion, sustains a gentle sense of irony, and offers a remarkable witness to the possibilities of holiness in everyday life. Priests, sisters and lay ministers continue to baptize, confirm, educate (and be educated by) a bewildering variety of Catholics drawn from dozens of racial and ethnic backgrounds. Most remarkable, perhaps, they balance loyalty to a universal church and its pontiff with the demands of a lay population often unrealistic in its expectations of the clergy merely indifferent, distracted by a culture of self-absorption.

On the other hand, one finds a thin layer of dedicated professionals at the pinnacle of the Catholic organizational pyramid, a sizable gap between the professional elites and the people in the pews, and thus an increasingly unstable base of operations. The church is relatively ineffective in mobilizing resources not only politically and socially, but pastorally and ecclesially.

Despite the efforts of individual bishops, the church may also be criticized for turning a deaf ear to the expressions of pain and frustration voiced by faithful women, many of whom have no desire to be ordained, who are working as diocesan social action directors, parish-based directors of religious education, parish administrators, and in a host of other critical capacities. Many of these women are isolated by their lack of status within the institutional church. For example, in most dioceses, parish administrators are not regularly included in presbyteral conferences and pastoral planning meetings.

Leadership styles set the tone for the official church. Some bishops have an open attitude, while others circle the wagons and adopt a siege mentality. Significant morale problems exist among segments of the presbyterate who feel closed off from the decision-making process, and failures in catechesis, perhaps to be expected in the wake of a world-shaking event like Vatican II, have left vast portions of the laity barely literate in the fundamentals of the faith.

The liturgy, as always, is the contested site of Catholic identity. "In my opinion and the opinion of many others, the church in the U.S. today is experiencing a retreat, a falling back to an era that has passed, the era that preceded the Second Vatican Council," said Bishop Donald Trautman, chairman of the U.S. bishops' Committee on Liturgy, in 1995. "Those who seek a return to liturgical life as it was prior to Vatican II offend the teaching of that very council, which calls us to a full, conscious and active participation." Trautman encourages liturgists "to avoid onesided simplistic approaches such as traditionalism with its emphasis on the Latin Mass, clericalism with its noncollaborative ministry, congregationalism with its forced isolations from the broader church, radical feminism with its blurring of distinctions for sacramental ministry, biblicism and the like."

The centrifugal forces in U.S. Catholicism may seem overwhelming to those who are seeldng to resist them. It is unclear, however, whether such forces represent a creative de-centering or simply fragmentation.

If this diagnosis seems a tale of woe, let us recall that the church has found itself in far trickier situations. Colonial-era Catholicism on the East Coast adjusted to a potentially hostile cultural environment and overcame centrifugal tendencies by relocating the sacred from church building and public square to home, extended family and a "domesticized piety." Priestless parishes thrived in Maryland, Pennsylvania and New York in the early years of the Republic when independent laymen stepped forward with the resources and talent needed to sustain Catholic identity during a time of organizational immaturity. And the late 20th century is hardly the first time that ethnic diversity, competing claims to Catholic orthodoxy, and overwhelming numbers threatened to eclipse the best pastoral efforts of the relatively few "professional Catholics."

Today's challenges require their own specific responses, but the basic solution remains the same: Catholics, in the words of Sister Mary Collins, O.S.B., "must be able to name where and how the mystery is at work among us." "Naming the mystery," in turn, entails identifying and empowering the people and ideas capable of generating creative Christian responses to the perennial problem of human suffering. If Catholics are to rediscover the source of their strength in God's hidden presence, two concrete reforms must be enacted.

First, the collaborations already under way must increase dramatically if Catholics are to march rather than meander toward the next millennium. Collaboration between the academy and the church, for example, has produced pastorally useful studies of the priesthood, the permanent diaconate, the seminaries, and the cultures of Hispanic, Asian and African American Catholics.

The church is fortunate indeed that mediating institutions like the Lilly Endowment have brought people together for such collaborative enterprises; now it is time for Catholic leaders to move the process to the next stage. The church needs to cultivate a long-range vision of unity, to be realized in part through systematic efforts to promote, support and extend the "Catholic intelligentsia," those self-consciously Catholic lay intellectuals and professionals who are strategically positioned in the universities, media, governments and cultural centers of the nation. A renewed partnership of church and committed Catholic laity in the university, business and professional worlds would create communal pride, a rallying point for concerted action, and an impetus for talented young people aspiring to a career in service to others.

Greater collaboration is necessary in several other areas of church life, such as urban ministry. After a period of retreat from the inner city, there are signs that religious orders, universities, Catholic business leaders and other potential members of a new "Catholic partnership" are willing to rededicate themselves to the work. The Jesuits recently announced the opening of a new high school in Chicago, and Georgetown University announced plans to purchase $1 million in stock at a new bank designed to serve low- and moderate-income neighborhoods in the District of Columbia. Said Jesuit Father Leo O'Donovan: "This is a chance for us to make a social investment aimed at rehabilitating the distressed neighborhoods in the District."

The second concrete "reform" involves a mystical element: a renewal of eucharistic faith. American Catholics have always located the real presence of Christ in the sharing of the consecrated bread and wine of the Eucharist-even in times when the Eucharist itself was scarce. Pope John Paul II, speaking of Christian unity, has suggested that "it is mainly through the Eucharist that the millennium will actuate the power of the redemption." Yet the sharing of communion, "the very place where we are most clearly expected to be one, is a sign of division, a scandal to the world and to us, " laments Father James Moroney, chairman of the national Federation of Diocesan Liturgical Commissions. That is "precisely why the development of a real collaboration among all segments of the church is so urgent today."

Renewing a shared faith in the eucharistic presence of Christ requires the leadership's actual collaboration and genuine communion with all baptized Catholics, including those who feel excluded from equal participation in the life of the church by virtue of their exclusion from priesthood, their racial or ethnic background, or their incomplete formation in the practices and ethical norms of the tradition.

As the church faces another critical moment in its complex history of self-reform, its members therefore seek greater unity through open communication -- through listening and speaking to one another in mutual respect and without fear of reprisal. Such communication, it is hoped, "will become the essential Catholic "practice" of the new millennium.

 

 

Ecology and the Church: Theology and Action

As the destruction wrought by pollution and human disregard for nature increases, churches are beginning to explore what their role is in protecting the environment. Though some are already addressing environmental issues, they will need to adopt a more urgent theological stance and course of action if we are to avoid the prognosis offered by M. K. Tolba, director of the United Nations Environmental Program: "We face by the turn of the century an environmental catastrophe as complete, as irreversible, as any nuclear holocaust" if present trends continue.



Church leaders worldwide are spurring their congregations on to ecological action, and the resulting enthusiastic support is fast approaching the dimensions of the 1960s civil rights movement in America. But this ministry needs a theological foundation, biblical support for which may not be quite as obvious as support for some other issues. As Quaker writer and environmentalist Marshall Massey asks, how do we reconcile wilderness protection with Jesus' assertion that "my Kingdom is not of this world"? An increasing number of religious thinkers are rising to this challenge.



For example, Philip N. Joranson of the United Church of Christ justifies environmentalism with creation centered theology. A forester, evolutionist and geneticist, Joranson, along with Ken Burigan, edited the book Cry of the Environment: Rebuilding the Christian Creation Tradition (Bear, 1985), a significant religious and ethical resource for dealing with environmental issues. Contributors to the book include Bernhard Anderson of Princeton Theological Seminary, Conrad Bonifazi of Humboldt State University, Ralph Wendell Burhoe of Meadville/Lombard Theological School, and G. Ledyard Stebbins of the University of California at Davis. Joranson has studied genetics, process philosophy, Teilhard de Chardin's theology, Zen and Shinto. In 1979 he and colleagues from the Graduate Theological Union Center for Ethics and Social Policy, and the University of California at Berkeley, developed a course in creation centered theology.



Cry of the Environment challenges our present environmental policies with a visibility and appropriate action. Although the dominant Christian tradition has often regarded the nonhuman creation with disinterest, if not outright hostility, this tradition does contain some vital, constructive elements, which Joranson and Butigan attempt to retrieve and transform. Their book celebrates the cosmos, develops a spirituality of care and collaboration between nature and humanity, and outlines harmonious and reverential social policy and action.



Theologian Nelson Reppert summarizes the tenets of creation-centered theology. Creation, he says, is the primary revelation of the Creator, the primary scripture and the primary locus of divine-human communion. In this scheme, salvation, characterized by both deliverance and blessing, is the process of imaging wholeness and unity (imago Dei). Jesus' incarnation is the archetype of the divine presence and agency dwelling in the midst of all reality. The continuing creation, with emphasis on both its dependence upon God and humanity's responsibility as cocreators in God's image, is moving toward eternal fulfillment.



Speaking from the Roman Catholic tradition, Matthew Fox, O.P., director for the Institute in Culture and Creation Spirituality at Holy Names College in Oakland, California, has contributed much to creation-centered theology. He established the Bear Publishing Company to distribute books on environment and religion, including his work Original Blessing (1983). In his popular creation spirituality workshops, he teaches that the environment is a divine womb, holy and worthy of reverence and respect. He honors the natural world as a most profound expression of the divine. In Fox's theology, salvation is not an individual matter, but a healing of God's people and the cosmos. Fox would replace fall/redemption theology with this concept, because, he writes, it presents "new possibilities between spirituality and science that would shape the paradigms for culture, its institutions, and its people. These paradigms would be powerful in their capacity to transform" (Original Blessing, pp. 11, 12).



The Quaker tradition also points toward the towering spiritual dimension of the human relationship to the environment. In his book The Defense of the Peaceable Kingdom (Religious Society of Friends, 1985), Marshall Massey refers to John Woolman's approach of testing against the Light every commonly accepted idea and custom. We need to apply this scrutiny to the social conditioning behind environmental abuse, he contends. To support environmentalism Massey uses various New Testament themes, including the nurturing of the helpless, respect for the interrelatedness of life, and stewardship.



While all current eco-theology encourages action, the EcoJustice Working Group of the National Council of Churches has focused on it. Coined in 1972 by a Baptist planning group, the term "ecoJustice" promotes the protection of a healthy environment and justice for all people. These two concerns are neither arbitrary nor separable; rather, the economic and the ecological are two facets of the same concern for the earth and its creatures. At the group's consultation last December keynote speaker William A. Gibson said that "theologies of creation must not neglect the liberation of people. Creation includes humanity. Nature and the poor are both victims of oppression. They will be liberated together or not at all. The term ecojustice is not to be understood as in any sense turning away from concern for justice in the social order but rather as combining justice for people with justice to the rest of creation."



The consultation sought to forge working partnerships between church groups and major environmental organizations like the Sierra Club and Friends of the Earth. The EcoJustice group wanted to affirm its common cause with secular activists while raising their awareness of related social justice concerns. For instance, the EcoJustice group supported the environmental groups' proposed legislation on acid rain (the NCC itself also supported that legislation, which has nor been passed), but also urged finding a solution that would take into account the coal miners who would be hurt by tougher anti pollution laws.



Most ecologists welcome the EcoJustice group's perspective. David Baker, director of Friends of the Earth, urges: "The churches need to tell environmentalists that ecological issues are social justice issues at heart. We need to talk about right and wrong. I am getting very tired of arguing that it is in the 'self-interest' of people to work for a cleaner and safer environment."



Many churches have made some statement or encouraged action on environmental issues. According to William A. Gibson, strongest thus far in its institutional stance on environmental issues is the United Methodist Church, which addresses ecology concerns primarily trough its Department of Environmental Justice. The United Methodist bishops' strong statement on nuclear war, "In Defense of Creation," is being adapted by MacGregor Smith, director of the Institute for Environmental Ethics in Miami, Florida, for teaching and action on environmental questions. Presbyterian and Episcopal laypeople are urging their denominations' administrators to make environmental concerns a greater priority. And in the Catholic Church, the American bishops' pastoral letter on the economy mentioned the need to care for the environment. This statement echoed the document "Strangers and Guests," prepared in 1980 by 72 bishops in mid-western dioceses. The bishops used the biblical image of human beings as strangers and guests on the earth to emphasize our responsibilities to the biosphere.



The Catholic Campaign for Human Development (CHD) is contributing funds to many conservation efforts around the country. Among these are the Missoula (Montana) People's Action, a multi issue community organization particularly concerned about water poisoning in the Missoula area; the Citizens Clearinghouse for Hazardous Wastes (headquartered in Arlington, Virginia); the Vermonters Toxic Education Project, which helps local groups clean up toxic sites around the state; and the Kentucky group, Save Our Cumberland Mountains, which fights the environmental destruction caused by openpit mining.



Jews, also, are active in the environmental movement. For example, the World Jewish Congress has been working with the worldwide Fund for Nature to consider a joint project. Individual Jews are involved in virtually every major environmental group, and Israel has a very active environmental organization, the Israeli Group for the Preservation of the Environment.



Christians are confronting ecological concerns in interdenominational organizations as well. Vincent Rossi, director of the Holy Order of MANS (Eastern Orthodox Church), formed the Eleventh Commandment Fellowship in 1979 to integrate spirituality into concern for the environment. "The eleventh commandment," says Rossi, is: "The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof; thou shalt not despoil the earth, nor destroy the life thereon." Chapters in over 20 cities strengthen the Fellowship's influence. Members are encouraged to follow a seven point program which promotes a personal and public environmental ethic.



The recently organized North American Conference on Christianity and Ecology (NACCE) is attempting to interest as many churches as possible in ecology. Its upcoming conference in August at North Webster, Indiana, an ecumenical event involving at least two dozen denominations will focus on an "Implementation Document" that can be adapted by any church to reflect its theological and local situations. Upon completion the document will be circulated to as many individual congregations as possible. NACCE is also developing a hemispheric corps of field representatives and planning a conference to address major ecological questions from a religious perspective.



Despite many churches' burgeoning interest in environmentalism, ecological activists both inside and outside church circles express dismay that Christians, confronted by impending environmental disaster, are not doing more to shift from a historical "sin and salvation" focus to an ecological one. For example, some have suggested that Pope John Paul II missed an opportunity to speak out on behalf of threatened tropical rainforests when he visited Brazil last year.



But Karen Bloomquist, assistant professor of church and society at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, points out that Christianity has a strong hierarchical tradition which has "legitimized and fostered domination over people and nature." This "anti egalitarian, patriarchal, nature dominating theology" set up a hierarchy with God at the top, followed by men, women, children, animals and plants in that order, says Bloomquist.



"The undeveloped key to the environmental crisis," writes Fred Krueger, national director of the North American Conference on Christianity and Ecology in San Francisco, "is to tap the power inherent in the churches. No other body has the potential to fire the conscience into renewed activity on behalf of the earth.….As a people, we've been commissioned 'to replenish the earth' (Gen. 1:28). What other justification or incentive do we need to begin?"

 

Toward an Earth Charter

An earth summit will take place next June in Rio de Janeiro. Organized as the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development (UNCED), the summit will gather world heads of state who are expected to propose strategies for stemming the riptide of environmental degradation and fostering sustainable development. One envisioned outcome is an Earth Charter. If successful, this document will be something of a Magna Carta for the Earth. It would expand the Universal Declaration of Human Rights to encompass the conditions of a threatened planet and provide the moral framework for nudging the community of nations to take collective action. Also anticipated is "Agenda 21," a tally of issues needing urgent attention as the world lurches toward the 21st century. With luck and some hard preparatory work, nations will face these issues at Rio and sign conventions on climate change, forests, biodiversity and biotechnology.

Given the public's growing awareness of environmental peril, the historical moment for the Earth Summit is right, as is linking development and environment. That linkage is the work of the Bruntland Commission and its report Our Common Future, which advanced the idea of "sustainable development." In the report, that notion remains too general: in its words, sustainable development "meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs." The task, however, is immensely important: economic activity must somehow be reconciled with the dictates of environmental sustainability.



Perhaps as significant as the Earth Charter, Agenda 21 and work on sustainable development is the unprecedented step UNCED has taken to encourage global village participation by way of a parallel conference of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) including religious communities. NGOs have become material actors on the world scene of late, and have held conferences parallel to other UN events. This time, however, they will be invited as full participants in the UN working groups themselves.



What will the religious communities say at Rio, and the churches in particular? They can certainly urge national governments to sign the Earth Charter, thereby helping to create the political will for the world community need by Reinhold Niebuhr in 1944 as the reality to "which all historical forces seem to be driving us" humankind's 'final possibility and impossibility." But aside from generalizing about a new world community, what will the churches actually say about the ecocrisis?



The horrible novelty of the ecocrisis was articulated by Gerald Barney, one of the scientists at this year's Canberra Assembly of the World Council of Churches:

For the first time in the history of creation, the life support systems of the Planet Earth are being destroyed by human activities...Throughout history humans have caused locally significant damage to the environment, but never before have human numbers and actions combined to threaten the integrity of the entire planet.

In light of this shocking reality, it seems clear that the ecocrisis is about cosmology and ethics: Who are we in the scheme of things, anyway? How do we cultivate a way of life that does not violate the integrity of creation? The Rio meeting will not advertise itself as a UN meeting on cosmology and ethics, but it will be. The question posed to the churches, then, is this: Can they contribute anything of theological and moral substance to the lifeanddeath discussions in Rio?



Guidance for confronting this question might be discovered in sonic of the documents and discussions of the WCC's Canberra Assembly. Sometimes explicitly, at other times implicitly, the Assembly spoke often of the church's responsibility for creation. Out of the diverse voices represented there, several theological models may be discerned which can help orient religious groups in their responses to the cosmological and ethical dimensions of the ecocrisis.



The model of dominion is on the skids in the public debate generally, as it was in Canberra. So even mentioning it may seem out of season. Yet it continues to live in the only place that counts, in practice. Social arrangements, especially the busy structures of economic life, still reflect its assumptions: the earth is a resource to be exploited; reality is a collection of objects to which we give shape and purpose; we are the artisans of a world of our own making. Earth exists for us. Few press the theological case for this model with much conviction anymore, however, and only an occasional echo could be heard in Canberra.



Many who were raised on the model of domination have stepped across the threshold to the biblical steward model. In this view human beings are oikonomoi, trustees and keepers of the oikos (creation pictured as a single public household). But today's version of this model has changed in ways that reflect the modern world's altered relationship to nature. Humans are recognized as wielders of an extraordinary cumulative power that can affect all of life in fundamental and unprecedented ways. We now possess the knowledge to build and destroy on a mass scale. Our knowledge is outstripped only by our ignorance and its dangers: the steward's moral quest, then, is for a just and sustaining use of unprecedented knowledge and power.



This new sobriety was evident in discussions of earth stewardship at Canberra. With support from Asian, African, Latin American and Pacific Islander Protestants, Orthodox delegates emphatically affirmed the stewardship model. By contrast, many Europeans and North Americans were fearful that "steward" too easily backslides into the familiar domination model. While all parties were ready to reject interpretations that supported Western domination, the Orthodox and their supporters insisted at the same time on the distinctive prominence of humans in creation.



Power relationships and their history are no doubt as crucial as exegetical ones in this instance. But the exegesis probably was also on the side of the Orthodox and their supporters on this matter. Both the Jews and early Christians understood "image of God" and "dominion" as a message of cosmic dignity that affirmed human agency and responsibility. From the perspective of the less powerful at Canberra, to be named by God the custodians of creation is an empowering word. The steward model empowers such people to recognize themselves as created in the image of Godthe subjects, not the objects, of history.



But sensitivity to context and power will not settle one sticking point of the steward model's affinity for anthropocentrism. The Assembly, the majority of whose delegates represented the majority of the world, namely the poor, quite naturally affirmed the dignity of the human person and gave central place to the suffering of millions, even billions, of people. These delegates had nothing in common with those environmentalists (mostly romantic, mostly white, mostly rich) for whom the most pristine picture of the world is one in which homo sapiens are nowhere to be seen only sunny, harmonious nature.



That said, there is still an anthropocentrism about the steward model that troubled many. These delegates called for a reassessment of traditional Christian theology which would decenter human beings, recognizing them "as one species among others in a planetary world that is itself one." Such views were voted down, however, on the grounds that they offended the biblical dignity of human beings and their high stewardly calling. The anthropocentrism of the steward model was reaffirmed at Canberra.



A variation on the steward model which attracts those who reject anthropocentrism yet affirm human dignity is the partner model. This model suggests that since creation is an interdependent whole, humans must accordingly exercise their considerable power with care. Other creatures are cosiblings, even joint agents, of creation in the drama of a shared life, so we must make every effort to listen to what the earth is sayingeven learn to "think like a mountain." We are part of nature, never above or outside it.



While St. Francis may be the Western patron saint of this model, developments at Canberra suggested that Asian Christians and the Christianity of indigenous peoples may give it new life. Plenary speaker Chung Hyun Kyung advocated a shift "from anthropocentrism to lifecentrism," and expressed the sense that nature is inclusive of all things; we ourselves are but wondrous microcosms of the macrocosmos.



It remains to be seen whether the partner model will follow Franciscan and Asian religious traditions in the ways of asceticism. An asceticism that loves the earth fiercely in a simple way of life is required at least among the wealthy of the world and among others addicted to unnecessary consumption and a wasteful lifestyle. Perhaps Asians, whose deep religious and cultural traditions relate voluntary poverty to their comprehensive view of nature, may provide ecumenical leadership in this ancient discipline.



Sacramentalism as a model for Christian environmental responsibility has gained popularity both among lay people and scholars. This model is rooted in diverse and archaic cosmologies from pre-Augustinian Christianity along the Mediterranean to Celtic Christianity in more northerly climes. Orthodox Christianity from its earliest stages has consistently understood the sacraments as dramatizations of nature's transfiguration. Humans, as "priests of creation," refer the creation back to the Creator in acts of liturgical doxology. Sometimes called panentheism, this sacramentalism recognizes the divine in, with and under all nature, ourselves included. The creaturely is not identified as God, however (the error of pantheism). The infinite is manifest in the finite: the transcendent is immanent; the sacred is the ordinary in another, numinous light. Sacramentalism, not stewardship, constitutes Orthodoxy's most genuine contribution to Christian reflection upon the ecocrisis.



At Canberra, sacramentalism was endorsed not only by the Orthodox, but even more powerfully by indigenous peoples. They burst forth upon the Assembly's stage, often literally dancing, and demonstrated once again in their words and actions that the primal vision of peoples of the land is invariably sacramentalist. For them the cosmos is the sacred community, and life should be lived with the care and respect due the sacred. That is their simple but profound message for the Earth Charter.



As with the steward model, sacramentalism is not without its historical distortions. An ageold faulty assumption persists within sacramentalist ethics that a harmony of social interests exists somewhere below the surface, and that a soft, nurturing process will bring this precious flower to bloom. The metaphors of sacramentalism have commonly been "organic" ones for both society and church, or, in the Orthodox version, "symphonic" ones. But organisms and symphonies don't expose the corrupted power relations among humans, nor between humans and other creatures. They mask the fact that struggle and conflict are the status quo. "Healing," rather than fundamentally reordered relationships, becomes the cure for sin in much sacramentalist theology. It is as if the basic problem were illness or bad tuning, not injustice. Indigenous peoples, the poor and many women know that sacramentalism is empty as an ethic if there is no commitment to a political agenda, and that political commitment entails organized action along hard paths as well as soft ones. Healing is needed, and is itself a powerful metaphor, but so is coercion en route to reconciliation. To make marginalized peoples truly angry, one steals their spirituality without joining their political struggle.



"Ecofeminism" has not yet found its full voice in the WCC, and likely won't in Rio, either. But it may eventually make the greatest contribution and impact of all, not least because its potential constituency is huge and because earth consciousness and woman consciousness so often go together. Furthermore, ecofeminism discloses a profound understanding not only of the earth's suffering, but also of the social and sociopsychological causes of this suffering. In its Christian version ecofeminism represents twin streams of sacramentalism and liberationism flowing together. In Canberra this development was eloquently expressed when women from around the world -- South Africa, the U.S.S.R., Palestine, Sweden, Egypt, Nicaraguatold stories of their struggles and of God's presence in adversity. As each finished her story she placed a branch of green on the large wooden structure lying at the rear of the stage.



The structure's dead wood quietly greened as the stories of suffering and hope, death and life, punctuated the session. When all the tales were told, the women together hoisted the heavy beams upright. It was a cross, become the tree of life.



The greening of the cross, it turns out, is an ancient Armenian Orthodox tradition, recalling early Christian symbolism. Ironically, the general Orthodox intransigence concerning women and ministry has concealed the extraordinary parallels between Orthodox spirituality and feminist spirituality, just as it has made it so difficult to recognize common ground between the two in creation theology. But undoubtedly women in the ecumenical movement will continue to give voice to the sacramentalist possibilities in cosmology and ethics.



Finding a fitting label for the prophet teacher model is difficult. Its devotees are not much interested in the metaphysics that good cosmologies require, nor are they very patient with the careful work required by good ethics. Perhaps ecoprophetism is less a cosmology than an urgent moral call compelled by Christian consciousness in the face of threatening planetary conditions. Whatever the case, it is a stance prominent in WCC circles, and it can be seen in a strikingly wide range of documentation, which decries nuclear and environmental threats to life and massive public suffering caused by political and economic machinations. This prophetic voice seeks to grab people's attention before it is too late, and calls for conversion, a real turning to God and away from destructive ways of life. The prophet also becomes teacher when explanations for the root causes of planetary threats are proposed and alternative paths are mapped out. The prophet teacher model cuts across the entire ecumenical world; interestingly, evangelicals who have gotten the message that there is only one world and that earth is our home bring a special prophetic fervor to the ecumenical forum.



Canberra's role as a guide to religious reflection about environmental responsibility would be incomplete without recognition of the invaluable contribution made by scientists. Through their expertise, scientists can supply us with more exact information about what is happening to the planet. As a result of their own experience, many of them identify with the growing ranks of sacramentalists. In a passage that echoes the views of native peoples, 34 internationally renowned scientists led by Carl Sagan and Hans Beche stated in an extraordinary "Open Letter to the Religious Community":

As scientists, many of us have had profound experiences of awe and reverence before the universe. We understand that what is regarded as sacred is more likely to be treated with care and respect. Our planetary home should be so treated. Efforts to safeguard and cherish the environment need to be infused with a vision of the sacred.

Scientists have added their own voice to the ecumenical debate. With their detailed attention to environmental degradation they acknowledge a set of ethical issues to which few have attended. Their evolutionary model points out that human wellbeing Lions and habits will have to be radically adjusted in order to avoid even worse consequences. The evolutionary model best accounts for the technical nature of the ecocrisis. The ecocrisis is not a synonym for environmental degradation. The latter is but a consequence of the former. The cause of the ecocrisis is twofold: 1) We are living in ways that outstrip nature's capacity to regenerate itself on its own time cycles and terms. 2) We are forcing changes in natural systems themselves changes inhospitable even to species with considerable adaptability. This is why "sustainability" is the crucial minimum criterion for all forms of life.



From the perspective of scientists who study ecosystems closely, the ecocrisis poses very hard ethical choices within the human community, and between the human community and the larger network of life upon which we are utterly dependent. In the face of this challenge from science, Christian ethics must discern which religious model or models will contribute most in making these hard choices. Might not a sacramentalist model, one which subordinates human time to God's grand evolutionary scheme best generate the numinous vision and moral courage needed to surmount the conflicts between humankind's wellbeing and the wellbeing of the cosmos? Even though it may not be well represented in the pews of American churches, an evolutionary sacramentalist cosmology may offer the richest conceptual resources for meeting the demands of the environmental crisis. If infused with a profound earth oriented asceticism, the persuasiveness of such a model would be that much greater.



That said, the foregoing models should not be viewed as goods to choose among, like plucking one or another brand from the shelf. They are more like living streams than mere conceptual types, and they often flow together. Several models frequently find champions in the same circles. Further, this brief discussion does not begin to detail the full range of living cosmologies and moralities in the world church. 'The point, rather, is to pester all of us to give serious thought to what we will bring to the discussions of an Earth Charter. As one earth citizens, we have been invited to its drafting. What would we have it say?

New Dynamics in Theology: Politically Active and Culturally Significant

For better than two decades the consensus in theology and ethics has been that we have no consensus. Roger Shinn announced this fact before most people had noticed it ("The Shattering of the Theological Spectrum," C&C, September 30, 1963), but the years since have borne him out. At the American Theological Society’s plenary session last year, one panelist described the current landscape as the "Balkanization" of theology -- even, in a careless bit of exaggeration, its "Beirutization." If this is the lay of the land in the United States, how much more fractured is the theological terrain of the world church!

Yet something is afoot. "Consensus" is premature, and not quite the word, but shared dynamics and converging themes are visible. The themes number a baker’s dozen, though only a few can be uncovered here. Even those have to be seen in light of shared dynamics; so we begin there.

A Double Movement. We are on the forward edges of widespread religious renewal that is politically active and culturally significant. It may be happening in Islam with an intensity not yet matched in Christianity, but it is happening in Christian circles, and Jewish, nonetheless. We cannot foresee the outcome, but we can describe the effective forces.

The dynamics are not new. Ernst Troeltsch, writing at the turn of the century, saw them at work in the early church and watched them erupt now and again throughout church history. What is new is their currency for us.

The forces at work are characteristics of two movements that usually go their separate ways. One movement is the development of a dynamic, community-creating religion among lower socioeconomic classes or other marginalized groups. Here an urgent sense of clear, stark, human need is joined to a faith full of feeling and energy. This is an empowering religion with a common home among subjugated and disempowered social groups. It is marked by the exhilarating experience of divine power as the power for "peoplehood," and for making a way where there is no way.

The other movement is the conceptual and ritual revisioning of inherited traditions in times of deep, often bewildering, change. Cultivated criticism, bold theological reflection, and constructive exploration both in thought and in liturgical enactment are its trademarks. It is the ardent search for the new, powerful God-talk that Bonhoeffer yearned for, but thought would be forthcoming only after a period of necessary silence and renewal (at least in those quarters where Christianity was most acculturated and where the experience of the Holocaust and two World Wars shattered the confidence of both Western religious streams and alternative humanisms).

When these two movements come together, new religious vitalities are sometimes loosed upon the world, shaking things up and giving them new direction at the same time. The outcome is never unambiguous; it always caroms between new social unities and strengthened new social factions. The political expressions may be revolutionary, reactionary with a vengeance, or reformist. For certain, nothing is the same.

Crossing Over

The movements must join forces, Troeltsch noted, if religious, cultural, and social transformation is to occur. Intellectual and ritual "re-visioning" without the base communities doesn’t go further than the addresses of scholars writing books and articles for one another, or small clusters of the faithful engaged in "experimental worship" And community-creating religious movements without bold thinkers and practitioners who come from, or join, their ranks never escape the social backwaters and lagoons long assigned them.

Ours is a moment when these two movements are converging. Many in the U.S. haven’t taken full account of this yet, because we’ve not noticed that Christianity has shifted decisively from the religion of the rich to the faith of the poor. The poor have exercised a preferential option for the church, of all things! And the vitality of Christian faith has passed from the European and North American world to peoples in Africa, Latin America, and Asia, to the women’s movement most everywhere, and to the communities in our own midst who are most in touch with these.

More and more, Christianity is a faith of struggling peoples who are recasting it amidst those struggles. The one future trend we can be most sure of -- the doubling of the world’s population in the next fifty years, with most of the growth happening in poor countries -- will intensify this. The most dramatic church growth, the starkest human needs, and the most aggravated social struggle relevant to a rather confident secular and scientific age, will share much the same geography.

If this double movement is the dynamic, what common themes break the surface of theological reflection?

Emergent theologies are all socio-critical theologies in which reflection arises from group experience and identity. They are by no means identical: left and right evangelical and Pentecostal; Latin American, black, and feminist theologies of liberation; Native American, African, and Asian theologies of creation and culture. But they strike a common profile: shared group experience is the material of critical reflection; and theology is done as a communal process from a self-consciously defined and particular perspective. This process is no longer even within hailing distance of the Enlightenment quest for both universalism and individualism in one rationally coherent world, and for a nonprovincial theology and morality. (Who speaks any longer of the Christian doctrine of man’’?) Reflection emerges from shared experience and proceeds with a view to common identity and struggle, trying to grasp existence theologically and socially in the same moment, using it to consolidate and empower the group, and to further efforts at social change. This is a far cry from liberal theology’s effort to adapt Christianity to the modern world and make sense of culture on terms relevant to a rather confident secular and scientific age.

Massive, public suffering is the material reality addressed in much theological reflection; and the suffering and hidden God comes more and more to the fore. The character of this suffering moves theological attention to the social systems that shape our lives -- economic, political, cultural -- as well as to public events themselves (the Holocaust, programs and policies of economic austerity, military intervention, terrorism, ethnic nationalist expression, struggles for survival and freedom). Reflection characteristically happens from the underside of society itself, or with a view to reality as experienced there, thus reinforcing theology’s socio-critical character. Attention still includes the common events to which religion has always been party -- birth, rites of passage, death, and the cycles of days and seasons which give order and meaning to an otherwise chaotic, or sometimes vacuous, history. But the shift of emphasis to public suffering and to exposing the public dimensions of private pain, is decisive.

Poltics; Liberation

Two streams of reflection merit special comment. One is political theology in Europe, chiefly Germany, which is best characterized as the voice of the bourgeoisie questioning its own religious and cultural assumptions and its own economic and political systems. It arose from the collective experience of mass public evil and suffering: not only the World Wars, but especially the Holocaust. The Holocaust was theologically even more troubling than the international conflict itself because it was the genocidal effort of one self-proclaimed people of God to extinguish another. Elie Wiesel’s comment that "all the victims were Jews, and all the perpetrators Christians" is not factually precise in either clause, but the truth is much too close to deny. In any case, the Holocaust, the single most demonic reality in the single most deadly

century to date, together with increased attention to "North/South" economic issues, "East/West" peace issues, and threats to the global environment, have all found a voice in European theology. After the Holocaust any credible God-talk must be able to take account of burning children, and any credible theological ethic has to show it is determined to head off such atrocities at their very beginnings, deep in the habits of hearts and minds and in public policies. The conciliar project of the World Council of Churches -- "Justice, Peace, and the Integrity of Creation" -- nicely names the broad theological agenda (not simply the moral one).

The second stream of theological reflection is the explosive emergence of liberation theology, whether of class (the poor). race (black), geography and culture (Asian and African), or gender (feminist) and sex (gay-lesbian). While each begins with identifiable group experience and each is a major new voice, none ends there. Any group’s experience makes no sense apart from its relationship to others’.

All liberation theologies represent what Michel Foucault has called "the insurrection of subjugated knowledges," and all insist that justice is the moral test of God-claims and spirituality. They are profoundly oriented to public life, and they push for the kind of Christian faith that would help end massive suffering.

The God of much current reflection is the suffering and hidden God. This is not Aristotle’s self-sufficient God. Nor is it the great God, immaterial and changeless, of all the "omni’s" of centuries of Christian allegiance (omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent). Nor is it the timeless and impassible divine being who is known through the mind alone, and who was the keystone of Christian apologetics in its most formative encounter of all -- with classical culture. Neither is this the God of the mighty acts of intervention in human history, the crashing force from without. This is the agitated, but hushed, God of the cross; a God found, as Luther said, "not in speculative thought but in suffering experience." A God of pathos, compassion, and mercy.

Kosuke Koyama’s opening in Mount Fuji and Mount Sinai speaks for many. He relates a harrowing childhood experience -- the fire-bombing of Tokyo. One of the huge bombs screamed past his head and thudded into the earth just in front of him. The bomb, a dud, disappeared into the earth as Kovama leapt over the crater and continued to run from one shelter to the next in search of his familv.

Koyama says of it all: The slow assimilation of the traumatic events of l945, which only gradually yielded their theological implications, has moved me toward the emotive region of the cross of Christ. The theology of the cross, as the core of the gospel message, gives me the fundamental orientation in which to engage in theology while living in a world dangerously fragmented by violent militarism, racism, and nuclearism.

Heightened human power and greater public suffering have moved millions into ‘the emotive region of the cross. God is a suffering God whose power is hidden in weakness. But it is a power for hope and joy there, and sober moral responsibility. It is a power for life.

Grabbing Our Existence

A third theme has already been intimated, the ethical qualification and intensification of all Christian symbols. Ours is a time of "ethical theology," rather than ethics as an implication trailing at some distance after a presentation of beliefs established on other grounds. Ethics is part of grabbing our existence theologically. Moral problematics precede and accompany dogmatics.

General reasons for ethical intensification are not hard to come by. The great issues of our time are moral: the uses of power; wealth and poverty; human rights; the moral quality and character of society; loss of the sense of the common good in tandem with the pampering of private interests; domestic violence; outrageous legal and medical costs in a system of maldistributed services; unprecedented developments in biotechnologies which portend good but risk evil; the violation of public trust by high elected officials and their appointees; the growing militarization of many societies; continued racism; the persistence of hunger and malnutrition; a still exploding population in societies hard put to increase jobs and resources; abortion; euthanasia; care for the environment; the claims of future generations. The list is endless. With more and more attention necessarily riveted on matters of morality and ethics, it is hardly a surprise that we ask about moral content as a measure of the meaning of any God-talk, and test the potency of faith claims by the difference they make for human well-being and the well-being of the wider creation.

"Ethical" theology has become so commonplace that we easily forget how often it has not been so. The function of religion in most times and places has been to render the world meaningful for people who didn’t have the power to do much of anything beyond what had been assigned them by fate. Kings and peasants, rich and poor, masters and slaves, would always exist. Men were by nature suited to some tasks, women to others. Plagues and famines were "acts of God." Religion was there to offer some cosmic meaning for the natural order of things, and some cosmic consolation when people suffered because of it. This fatedness is gone for many now. It runs full grain against the ethos of modernity and another legacy of the Enlightenment -- human agency for the democratic transformation of society.

Simply put, the world can be different, it ought to be, and we are the agents of its transformation. This fact pushes socio-ethical and political-ethical issues into prominence. That almost all the new voices in theology are voices of emerging peoples who are driven to toss off the heavy layers of fate and circumstance, and who press justice as a matter of faith, only intensifies this theological trend. If the preoccupation of early Christian centuries was to give creedal expression to Christian faith in a way that would make intellectual and metaphysical sense in a Greek world, and the preoccupation of the Reformation was the status of the guilty sinner before God, the attention in our time has turned to the moral and ethical dimensions of making history.

This includes an ethical qualification for any serious faith claim. If the way in which we understand and talk about Jesus Christ permits or fosters anti-Semitism, then that way is rejected. If our interpretation of Scripture perpetuates the oppression of women, or racism, then that exegesis is disqualified. If Christian symbols mask and sanction imperialist relationships, then a nonimperialist rendering must be found, or the meaning of the symbol transformed.

Human power is on the agenda of virtually every creative impulse in theology today. The reasons are two: heightened power in some quarters and the quest for power in others. The former is in keeping with what is perhaps the distinctive mark of our age -- the quantum leap in human power to affect all of life in truly fundamental and unprecedented ways. Human power, largely through modern technologies, has a novel range of impact, novel objects, and novel consequences. The human capacity to author life and skip all over the genetic alphabet raises theological questions, just as does the human capacity to destroy life on a grand scale and actually put ourselves, for the first time, in a position to be uncreators. Even someone so cautious as James Gustafson says: "The ordering of all life is shifting in a sense from God to humanity and doing so more rapidly in this century than in all the previous centuries of human culture combined" (Ethics from a Theocentric Perspective, vol. 1).

Yet the capacity to split genes and atoms, and to effect the environment on a new scale and in grave ways, is only one reason human power -- and its relation to divine power -- has become a theological preoccupation. The other is the strong theme of empowerment in the theologies of subjugated but spirited peoples. The theme of empowerment does not first appear with the question of decisions and strategy. (What now do we do?) It is a component of the most fundamental theological notions themselves -- power and the presence of God, power and the vocation of humanity, power and the work of Jesus Christ and the Spirit, power and conversion, salvation, transformation, liberation, the life of prayer, the meaning of the Scriptures and of the Sacraments, etc. As with the enhanced human capacities to create and destroy, so too here reflection is about the relationship of human agency to divine agency in a new era. How God’s power is imaged in relation to human power is a matter of much present exploration. What is clear is the rejection of monarchical and hierarchical images of power as "power over."

The preoccupation with human power will likely continue, both for reasons of the enhanced impacts of human power in a shrinking world, and growing social conflict. The history of the world is written around emerging peoples’ quest for land and other resources, and established populations’ defense of them. In a world where it is easier and easier to annihilate people but more and more difficult to conquer and subdue them social conflict will likely increase.

Jesus

A radically theocentric Jesus with a decidedly human face emerges from many, and very different, quarters in present theological scholarship. The volume of attention is itself phenomenal. David Tracy has said that "more has been written about Jesus in the last 20 years than in the previous 2000." That is not a claim anyone would even want to try to verify, but it does point up extraordinary interest.

One would expect interest in Jesus from a pride or two of biblical scholars; they get paid for stalking Jesus and visiting old Christians. Yet their interest is hardly solitary. One of the premier liberation theologians, Juan Luis Segundo, has said that "Latin American theology has been mainly interested in going back to the primitive circumstances where, in the proximity of Jesus of Nazareth, Christians began to do theology."

Segundo wants to start fresh in large part because so many understandings of Jesus Christ have functioned as important elements in the pieties of dominant and exploitive groups. Armed with the fruits of a century of developing biblical scholarship and tools, Segundo expects -- and finds -- that the historical Jesus undercuts many long-held understandings of Christ. He finds a radically theocentric and socially radical Jesus, a Jesus who means major revisions in Christian notions, at least those regnant since Constantine.

Others are newly intrigued by Jesus for other reasons. Christians engaging in inter-religious encounter may seem an unlikely group, since Christianity has long attached a centrality, uniqueness, and exclusivity to Jesus, claiming there is in fact no other name under heaven whereby we might be saved. Yet it turns out that the historical Jesus now haunting the world of scholarship may just be the best thing going in inter-religious dialogue. It is a Jesus who does not well support Christianity’s triumphalist claim and a Jesus who keeps nudging a major shift, from a Christocentric theology to a theocentric Christology. Which is to say: God, not Jesus, is the power at the center of things, and a God-centered life is precisely what we see in Jesus. A theocentric Christology is far more ecumenical in the religiously plural world than is a Christocentric theology with its exclusivist absorption of all of God into the Jesus of Christianity.

One of the parties to inter-religious dialogue is the community of Jewish scholars. They have also shown new and extensive interest in Jesus. They share with others the discernment of a theocentric and radical Jesus who looks very different from later claims about him. Their contribution is more than the ever-necessary reminder that Jesus was a Jew and not a Christian, that he lived a Jewish life that he understood in a Jewish way, and that the movement gathered immediately around him was a Jewish one involved in Jewish renewal. Jewish scholarship goes on to let us distinguish Jesus the Jew and his movement from the communication of him and his message in the non-Jewish and sometimes anti-Jewish ways that are already present in early Christian writings. In doing so, it reinforces the shift from a Christocentric theology to a theocentric Christology.

Christian biblical scholars have also shown a vibrant new interest in the historical Jesus, much of it utilizing an approach to Christologv "from below," i.e., an understanding that begins with the humanity and ministry of Jesus, who, precisely as a figure embedded in history, moves toward God and lives as one wholly centered in God. Over and over again the Jesus found is a compelling disclosure of the suffering and compassionate God. Since Jesus has now become "the man who belongs to the world" (Jaroslav Pelikan, Jesus through the Centuries), and since most of the Christian world now lives in the Third World, we will likely hear more of this radical, theocentric, and suffering Jesus with a very human face.

These five themes -- socio-critical and group-identified theology; public suffering and a suffering God; the ethical qualification and intensification of faith claims; a preoccupation with human power; and the unsettling lure of the historical Jesus -- are only a few of the converging concerns in current theology. They give witness to a more cohesive sentiment and promise than "Balkanization" lets on. Most of these themes, though not all, reflect the dynamics of the double movement of renewal and revision. Together with the responses they invoke, they portend the recasting of much of Christian faith. That recasting will continue.

Faith-based Politics

Book Review:

Of Little Faith: The Politics of George W. Bush’s Faith-Based Initiatives.

By Amy E. Black, Douglas L. Koopman, & David K Ryden. Georgetown University Press, 368 pp., $49.95; paperback, $26.95.

A Revolution of Compassion: Faith-Based Groups as Full Partners in Fighting America’s Social Problems.

By Dave Donaldson and Stanley Carlson-Thies. Baker, 208 pp., $14.99 paperback.

A Limited Partnership: The Politics of Religion, Welfare, and Social Service.

By Bob Wineburg. Columbia University Press, 320 pp., $62.00; paperback, $24.50.

The Invisible Caring Hand: American Congregations and the Provision of Welfare.

By Ram A. Cnaan. New York University Press, 320 pp., $60.00; paperback, $20.00.

Saving America? Faith-Based Services and the Future of Civil Society.

By Robert Wuthnow. Princeton University Press, 352 pp., $29.95.

 

In his 2003 State of the Union Address, President Bush gave Christian conservatives a wink and a nod: "For so many in our country -- the homeless and the fatherless, the addicted -- the need is great. Yet there’s power, wonder-working power. in the goodness and idealism and faith of the American people. . . I ask you to pass both my faith-based initiative and the Citizen Service Act, to encourage acts of compassion that can transform America one heart and one soul at a time" (emphasis added).

The nod was to the view that social problems are not caused by institutional defects in the government or marketplace but by individual irresponsibility -- hence the solution is to change hearts and minds one by one. The wink was to a conservative, evangelical moral vision of transformation. Anyone who has ever attended a camp meeting knows that the "wonderworking power" is in "the blood of the Lamb."

As promised, Bush expanded the Charitable Choice provisions encoded in the 1996 Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act. Under that law, religious groups can apply as contractors without having to suspend their religious character. If they wish they can limit their hiring to co-religionists, pray with those they are serving or read scripture to them, and keep religious signs or symbols on the walls. They cannot, of course, use government funds overtly to evangelize or proselytize because that would constitute "establishment of religion."

The 1996 law, enacted under the Clinton presidency, applied only to one specific pool of welfare money. Bush extended its legal principles to other programs and created faith-based suboffices in several cabinet departments. The federal government now encourages and supports faith-based participation by a wide range of organizations. However, Congress has lagged far behind the executive branch in embracing this shift, and the courts have not made a firm ruling on the issue.

Those who are interested in the nuts-and-bolts of the faith-based movement should read Of Little Faith: The Politics of George W. Bush’s Faith-Based Initiatives. It is a detailed account of legislative, executive and judicial processes, naming all the players and highlighting inside-the-beltway deals alongside public pronouncements. Those accustomed to reading analysis of faith-based reforms by sociologists, theologians and social workers can learn much from the political science perspective.

The real question facing the faith-based initiatives is not, as the media imply, whether government can fund religiously affiliated social services. Government at all levels has long given billions of dollars to contractors like Catholic Charities and the Salvation Army. Catholic Charities USA’s Web site says that in 2000, 67 percent of the organization’s $2.7 billion budget came from government sources. The question is whether sectarian organizations -- congregations, not just religiously affiliated non-profits -- can use government finds to deliver social services that promote faith-infused transformation. If the answer is yes, then congregations have considerable new latitude. But even congregations with no intention of applying for such funds are affected by the outcome, since this new way of framing the issue contributes to a public expectation that social-service delivery is the primary mission of churches. There is a growing sense that social service is what congregations can, want and are supposed to do.

After 1996 scholars and policy analysts were quick to note that African-American congregations, many of which already were providing direct social services, would be most likely to benefit from these changes and most likely to apply for public funds. These scholars and analysts warned from the outset that evidence about the effectiveness of "transformative" faith-based programs was scant. They worried that policy was being made on the basis of rhetoric rather than data. During the past eight years data has trickled in, but its analysis inevitably has been politicized.

Dave Donaldson and Stanley Carlson-Thies’s A Revolution of Compassion is a case in point. It is not merely politicized; it is a manifesto. Donaldson and Carlson-Thies note that poverty is rising despite the hundreds of billions of public dollars spent to fight it. "What has gone wrong in this wealthy, well-educated nation?" they ask. "Topping the list of answers is the decline in personal responsibility of many Americans and the reluctance of too many churches to serve their needy neighbors as they should." Those irresponsible Americans need "not only help,. but also hope." The reluctant church -- especially the evangelical church -- must begin a "slow recovery from its near abandonment nearly a century ago of social concern in its fight against the social gospel and theological liberalism." To recover, the church must "seize today’s opportunity to collaborate with businesses, charities, and government. America needs a revolution!"

Donaldson and Carlson-Thies intentionally preach to the Christian conservative choir. They tell evangelical churches to be above reproach in their dealings with public money, but they also chastise them for providing too little social service. They dare them to "stand up to carping critics who have nothing real to object to but are just nostalgic for the old secularist days."

It is tempting to pass this book off as propaganda, but no one should underestimate Carlson-Thies, who in 1992 began working, from his position at the Center for Public Justice, for the passage of Charitable Choice. Carlson-Thies literally wrote the book on implementation, providing guidelines currently used by prospective faith-based contractors around the country. He was briefly an assistant director of the White House Office of Faith-Based and Community Initiatives.

Revolution is clear about what the law should be: "As long as people have a choice about where they go for help, then it should not be a problem if the government funds a program in which a person . . . becomes a good citizen, employee, and family member through religious transformation." The book asks. "What if giving their hearts to Jesus is the way certain people stop giving their lives to alcohol or drugs? In that case, if the government funds the program, is it funding religion, which it shouldn’t, or an effective social service, which it should?" Revolution argues that government should ignore civil libertarians’ resistance and fund the service, Unfortunately, in the eyes of the authors, "the courts have not progressed as far as they should in this matter."

Wineburg claims that the conservative, residual definition has captured the public square through its proponents’ superior use of the media. Congregations -- especially mainline Protestant congregations -- were forced by Reagan-era budget cuts to get more actively involved in providing services. As churches did more, conservatives pointed to this activity as evidence that they could do more. This led to the 1996 reforms meant to encourage sectarian groups to participate fully.

Wineburg’s jagged movement between national issues and local cases is occasionally hard to follow, but he provides bullet-point summaries at the beginning of each chapter. And his mix of the particular and the general is crucial to his conclusion that "as a society we would be better off focusing on partnerships in the indigenous local systems of service so that the voluntary spirit that drives a good portion of the system can be nurtured." He wants to draw attention to the local and particular, where he believes policy decisions should be made, but he refuses to take his eye off the national, where policy decisions are in fact being made,

Ram Cnaan’s The Invisible Caring Hand is less overtly political or prescriptive. It gives the most complete summary yet of the many benefits congregations provide to American society. Cnaan’s research involves multiple cities, though he does not use identical methods in studying them. He examines several models of ministry and estimates the total value of congregations’ contributions, taking into account not only money but also volunteer, clergy and staff time spent on community issues, the donated use of space and facilities, and the like.

Born in Israel and trained in the European model of social work, Cnaan is astounded by the amount of social-service work American congregations perform. His first book, The Newer Deal (Columbia University Press, 1999), examined the American partnership between social work and religion with fresh and astonished eyes. That book’s impressive lists of church contributions were seized upon by faith-based reformers to show how much weight the religious sector could carry. Wineburg was a contributing author to that book. The serious cautions in his own book stem directly from his concerns about the confluence of conservative political activism with the optimistic pronouncements of scholars like Cnaan and John DiIulio, who was briefly the White House’s director of Faith-based Initiatives.

Cnaan’s optimistic view of congregational capacity directly challenges sociologist Mark Chaves’s often-cited finding that most congregations are small and not especially involved in providing social services. The congregations Cnaan studies are much larger and contribute much more toward social services than the ones Chaves identified. Methodological details aside, Chaves said that congregations allocate approximately 3 percent of their total budgets to social-service and community programs. Cnaan, taking a much broader view of contributed "value," claims the figure is almost 23 percent. He believes that his extended interviews revealed multiple indirect contributions that Chaves’s telephone interviews failed to note. Congregational leaders will be significantly affected by the manner in which this issue is framed, since policymakers and activists make decisions based on what they think congregations can do. Chaves is right that many congregations do very little social-service work and that their direct financial contributions toward social-service delivery are relatively small. But Cnaan is right that anyone counting only official congregational social-service programs and specific budget allocations misses much of what churches do.

Pastors and laypeople sometimes wince when their contributions are underappreciated, but they should be equally wary of seeing their capacity for social-service delivery overestimated. Cnaan does not make the claim that congregations can do more. Indeed, he continues to believe that "state-run social service is the preferred method of social care." He celebrates congregations for providing a safety net in a society that has "a general antipathy toward the poor and an emphasis on self-reliance." But the big numbers he puts up will delight those who believe that congregations can and should shoulder a larger share of the load. Taking all factors, cash and noncash, into account, Cnaan estimates that the average congregation contributes $184,000 per year to the community. Prudent people understand that most of this comes in the form of volunteer time and noncash support, that the majority of congregations provide far less, and that social need greatly overflows this crucial safety net. But some people will multiply $184,000 by the approximately 300,000 U.S. congregations and mistakenly conclude that the church can contribute roughly $55 billion to fixing the problems of needy individuals.

Wuthnow moves beyond congregations to talk about religion’s broader effect on volunteering, service recipients and social and human capital. He discusses important differences between congregations and other faith-based service organizations, not only because the latter spend much more money on social service than churches do, but also because their faith component is much more difficult to pinpoint. Most faith-based nonprofits have fully adopted a service-provider model, while most congregations hold to a religious-transformation model.

Few academic books provide such an Archimedean perspective because few scholars have such wide expertise. But even this broadly based, data-driven book concludes with an analysis of the conservative-liberal struggle embedded in the debate. Wuthnow draws the subtle distinction that "rhetoric about faith-based programs has had one kind of impact on civil society while the reality of these programs has had quite a different effect." The rhetoric promotes diversity and is especially attractive to conservative Christians and African Americans who feel their social programs have suffered from discrimination. "If diversity and the representation of diverse interests is good for democracy, then the discussion of faith-based service programs has apparently served America well," Wuthnow states.

But the actual functioning of these programs is quite different. With greater government funding comes ever greater demand for uniformity. As a result civil society becomes even more homogeneous. "There is little evidence that government funding is an effective tool for promoting greater diversity or inhibiting the march of uniformity." Homogeneity may be inevitable and perhaps even desirable for the faith-based nonprofits already in the service-provider mold, but Wuthnow joins the chorus of those warning congregations to "jealously guard their freedom" by being "wary of government support." He ends, as Wineburg and Cnaan do, by arguing for religious organizations to do their part alongside other private organizations, while government does its part. He fears that "coming generations of community leaders" may be less committed to congregations’ unique role in civil society; consequently, faith communities will have to be "even truer to their mission than they have been in the past."

Wuthnow is most concerned about how the hegemony of government standards eventually erodes the freedom and particularity of congregations -- just as standardized tests have eroded the freedom and particularity of schools. He fears a society in which everything is prepackaged and "choice" is ephemeral, where outcomes-based efficiency becomes the lowest-common-denominator criterion. Because he, like Cnaan, does not frame the issue as a struggle for political power, he sees this homogenization as the greatest threat to civil society.

Wuthnow seriously underestimates conservative activists who have defined this issue as a struggle for political power. Activists such as Carlson-Thies and Amy Sherman welcome outcome-based efficiency as the standard because they are confident that sectarian programs with significant spiritual content do a good job. They believe that pure proceduralism -- stripped of liberal moral content -- will actually protect the rights of religious conservatives to lead people to Jesus, so long as their programs are shown to have objective outcomes as good as or better than secular programs.

Christian conservative activists would say they are not asking the government to have morally conservative values; they are just asking it not to have liberal ones. If a Baptist children’s home is using government funds to get the job done well by objective standards, why should government care if the Baptist home doesn’t choose to hire women, Jews, African Americans or gays and lesbians? What difference does it make if kids find the answers they need in religious transformation? The liberal answer is that if all of us, in the form of taxes, are paying, then contractors’ programs must exhibit the government’s values of fairness and equal opportunity. Conservatives say that if the goal is efficiency, then values -- sectarian or not -- are not the issue. If transformation works, why not pursue it, as long as everyone has the option to choose a nonsectarian provider? (It remains to be seen whether this proceduralism will be applied to prison ministries conducted by the Nation of Islam, for example.)

At stake is defining the proper relationship between government and its thousands of nonprofit contractors. Liberals want government to say. "Service providers can pursue any religious or moral ends with their own money, but when they use public money they must follow the rules government follows. Even if their transformative methods work, they constitute an example of government establishment of religion." The conservatives reply, "Public money is as much ours as yours. Government pays religious providers to get results, not to establish religion. And those providers will get results because they know what people really need."

Beyond the issue of civil liberties lies a more prosaic political point: the possibility for a greater alliance between African-American Christians and white evangelicals. This potential is not lost on the Bush administration. Even if such an alliance is a long shot, a president who received less than 10 percent of the African-American vote has little to lose by emphasizing the increased availability of funds for black church social-service programs. When the president touts his faith-based initiatives for the camera, he is usually surrounded by African-American pastors.

When Bush called forth the "armies of compassion," he asserted that they could get results that secular service providers, including government, could not. From that moment, scholars and analysts began asking whether the evidence supported his claims. The books reviewed here provide some early attempts to collect and consider that evidence. But the more careful scholarly efforts, especially Cnaan’s and Wuthnow’s, may be drowned out by political rhetoric. As Wineburg has warned, conservative activists are driven more by their vision of what policy should be than by an analysis of community infrastructures. Since these activists believe the most crucially needed transformation is individual, they have argued for religious transformation as a legitimate means of doing government-funded social work. They have portrayed congregations as alternative, and ultimately preferable. social-service providers.

This mischaracterization of congregations has two unfortunate consequences. First, it creates unrealistic expectations of what congregations are and what they do. Most congregations are involved in some form of social-service delivery, but that is not their only, or even their primary, mission. Those who judge congregations solely by the social services they deliver miss the enormous public benefit they provide by building character. Faith communities make one kind of contribution when they do good as organizations; they make a different, and even more important, contribution when they nurture virtuous, committed people who live out their values in many different kinds of organizations.

An even worse consequence of misreading congregations is that it sets up a model of competition where a model of cooperation might have stood. When congregations are described as alternative service providers, they are pitted against secular agencies and even faith-based nonprofits. The question then becomes, "Who transforms individuals more effectively?" It would be preferable to consider the ecology of the entire community, and the way different organizations -- congregations, governments and secular and religiously affiliated nonprofits -- each play a different but complementary role.

Communities, especially at-risk communities, do not benefit from the ways in which congregations have been mischaracterized and welfare reform has been politicized. Unless the scholarship in these books informs political opinion in ways that generate political action, policies will be set and institutions will be remodeled not by those with the most carefully considered arguments but by those who drew the battle lines and set out to win.

Can Churches Save the City? A Look at Resources

Can churches save America's cities? That question has been frequently posed in recent months, and the implicit answer has been "yes" or at least "maybe." Newsweek ran a cover story (June 1) on the inner-city ministry of Eugene Rivers in Boston and asked, "Can religion fight crime and save kids?" The article itself was titled "Savior of the Streets." Writing in the New Yorker a year earlier, (June 16, 1997), Joe Klein touted Rivers's work in an article headlined "Should Washington let the churches take over the inner cities?" The Chronicle of Philanthropy (December 11,1997) addressed the issue and mused in its headline, "Faith-based charities to the rescue?" And a cover story in U S. News and World Report (September 9, 1996) asked simply, "Can churches save America?"

Though all these articles admit that we don't know what public policy lessons can be drawn from congregation-based ministries, the authors suggest we have lots to learn from the direct, hands-on, self-sacrificing approach of urban congregations and their dynamic pastors.

Meanwhile, experts on urban issues such as Princeton professor John DiIulio and Robert Woodson of the National Center for Neighborhood Enterprise have been calling for foundations and governments to channel resources to congregations. Their effort got a boost this year when the Department of Housing and Urban Development established an office to work with faith-based organizations. Although it is not dispensing funds, HUD is providing technical assistance and staff support in what it calls a "new partnership" to "match the real strength of nonprofit and faith-based groups with the needs of America."

In light of all the favorable attention being given to inner-city ministries, we should stop to ask: What do we really know about congregation-based ministries? Are the subjects of these magazine articles representative of larger trends? The number of times Rivers is mentioned by journalists makes one suspect that their information on inner-city ministries is limited and anecdotal. Rivers is doubtless a fine person with a vibrant ministry, but is his work at the Azusa Christian Community representative of inner-city churches?

A second set of questions arises: What kinds of churches and pastors are involved in community development? If churches are to save America, which ones are capable of doing so and which ones are even trying? Newsweek refers to a "new breed of cleric," but its examples do not exactly span the religious spectrum. Most of the pastors cited are young and well educated and serve well-established churches. Does this "new breed" exist equally in Catholic and Protestant circles, in mainline and evangelical congregations, in black and white settings?

A third set of questions concerns the resources available to urban congregations. How many people can they actually reach Are they really poised to save America's cities?

Some research has been done on congregational resources. A report to Partners for Sacred Spaces estimated the "net congregational contribution to society" as $144,000 per year for the average congregation in its study. Of that amount, $33,500 was in direct financial support; the remaining contributions took the form of volunteer time, staff time, donated space and in-kind donations. But another survey, taken of churches in the Washington, D.C., area for the Urban Institute, estimated that each congregation spends only $15,000 per year on community services and programs. These two studies used different methods, surveyed different kinds of congregations and involved different cities, so we should not be surprised that the results differ. The discrepancy shows, however, that we have very little solid information about congregational resources.

Recent research by the Polis Center in Indianapolis underscores the problem of generalizing about congregational resources. Our study showed that most congregations aren't spending $15,000, let alone $35,000, on community services.

We studied 100 congregations in six urban neighborhoods, and found their average total budget to be $150,000. The Partners figure of $33,500 in direct financial support to community services would, in that case, amount to over 20 percent of the average congregation's budget. If' figuring in all items, the congregation was spending $144,000, then it would be devoting 95 percent of its total annual budget on community services. Most congregations would be surprised to learn they are donating that much to the community

We found that the Partners study focused exclusively on congregations housed in properties of historical and architectural significance. Twenty-five Indianapolis congregations were included in that study. Three-quarters of them were either Catholic or mainline Protestant. But only one-quarter of all Indianapolis congregations are Catholic or mainline, so the sample is not representative of all congregations (in fairness, it was not meant to be).

The Urban Institute's $15,000 figure raises concerns, too. In its study, the average congregation had 400 members; in our study, based on door-to-door fieldwork, we found that the average congregation has only 200 members. The institute's study was based on a survey. Many small and even medium-sized congregations do not have enough staff to answer the phone or respond to mail surveys, however. Research that relies only on surveys will be biased toward larger churches.

When the media use these reports, they tend to be quick to generalize. The Indianapolis Star, for example, began an editorial about the Partners study with a vignette about Tabernacle Presbyterian Church, an inner-city congregation that is supported by a suburban population. The editorial described the many vital programs at Tabernacle, then went on to say that "on virtually every corner with a religious congregation in Indianapolis, the same kind of activity goes on seven days a week without any public fanfare or recognition." According to the Star, this "average" congregation supports at least four permanent programs that serve people in need. Among those who benefit from those programs, the nonmembers outnumber members seven to one. And this congregation spends $144,000 a year to subsidize its community programs.

It's important to note that the congregations in the Partners study really are like the one described above. But one cannot move from these congregations to a claim about what is happening on "virtually every corner."

Many people in Indianapolis, as in other cities, are serious about helping congregations to provide more community service. The city has an office that does locally what HUD's new office does nationally. It has a juvenile court judge who is contracting with congregations to provide case workers for youthful offenders. And the Coalition for Homelessness Intervention and Prevention recently received $500,000 to support partnerships with congregations. It would be disastrous if these groups were to operate under the assumption that the typical congregation annually spends $140,000 (including in-kind contributions) on community services.

Public policy initiatives are proceeding on other suspect assumptions. In 1996 former HUD chief Henry Cisneros praised the Mid-North Church Council of Indianapolis, an ecumenical coalition, for its social services to the Mapleton-Fall Creek neighborhood, a poor, primarily black area in the inner city. He held up churches in the council as role models for urban ministry. But Cisneros failed to recognize that there is not another neighborhood in the city with similar circumstances.

The congregations of Mapleton-Fall Creek are many times larger than average urban congregations. Their members are largely middle-class people who live primarily in the suburbs. These are white churches in a black neighborhood and wealthy churches in a poor neighborhood. Their activities are admirable, but do we really want to tell other poor neighborhoods that what they need are some big, wealthy, mainline churches full of suburbanites?

What about the "new breed of clerics"? While some of the inner-city pastors seem to be young, the average pastor in Indianapolis is 50 years old. Does this matter? What about the absence in churches of bureaucratic control? This is widely touted as a virtue for churches, yet the Catholic Church and the Salvation Army are two rigorously bureaucratic groups that continue to lead social service efforts. And what about location? While many Protestant churches are turning toward a parish model that emphasizes the importance of location, Catholic parishes are beginning to loosen their geographic boundaries. How tightly are congregations linked to their neighborhoods, and how tightly should they be linked in the 21st-century city?

Perhaps the most important distinction of all is between those congregations that see social service as part of their mission and those that do not. Of the 1,200 congregations in Indianapolis, only a small fraction have any established community programs other than an ad hoc food pantry. Most small churches simply do not engage in social service. Anyone estimating the capacity of congregations to provide such services must take into account the readiness of those congregations.

Other congregations are deeply concerned about their neighborhood but dislike the "social service" metaphor. Some activist congregations are more interested in community empowerment that is linked to neighborhood organizing à la Saul Alinsky and the Industrial Areas Foundation; they are less interested in alternative welfare programs. Are these the groups that policy-makers hope to enlist to save the inner city?

Our research at the Polis Center leads us to be suspicious of much of what we hear about available resources or the kinds of churches doing urban ministry. Perhaps more than anything else, it has taught us to be wary of anecdotes about inner-city saviors.

Indianapolis has its own Eugene Rivers: Shedrick Madison, a maverick Pentecostal pastor with a mission to save young boys. A physically imposing man, Madison wrestled professionally for several years to support his ministry. Known locally as Big Red, the Wrestling Preacher, Madison is taken very seriously by local media, clergy, city hall and many young men.

Big Red's ministry is established. Civic and business leaders who work with him sing his praises. Yet there is no way to measure Big Red's accomplishments. His programs are haphazardly timed and his record-keeping is nearly nonexistent. Is Big Red the hope for the inner city? He may be, but will governments, large foundations and individuals really give bundles of money to urban pastors who find it difficult and cumbersome to write effective grant proposals or conduct program evaluations?

The methods of men like Rivers and Madison are ad hoc and deeply personal. A local program evaluator was aghast when she learned that some of the boys in Big Red's flock sleep at his church and at his house. In a visit to Indianapolis, Rivers revealed that people have voiced similar suspicions about him -- as though only a pedophile could care so much about these street children. His brand of tough love may be precisely what is required, but are institutions prepared to take the required risks?

In any case, Big Red Madison is one of a kind. There are a few others in Indianapolis who might qualify as the "new breed of cleric," but only a few. It is unfair and unwise to make these men stand as examples of a new generation of leaders.

Congregations are making important contributions to their communities. Secular organizations do have much to learn from men like Rivers and Madison about how personal, intense interaction based on core beliefs changes lives, especially the lives of at-risk children.

But the people who are pushing for congregations to shoulder more of the burden of urban development need to be honest about church realities and capacities. In the long run, congregations could be damaged by shifting too much attention to community development and away from their many other ministries, both internal and external. The more immediate danger is that many needy people will go unserved if we assume that most congregations are doing or could do something that they cannot.

 

Faith-Based Action

President Bush has quickly followed through on his promise to preach the message of faith-based solutions to social problems. He wants to expand "charitable choice" far past its original 1996 parameters. While experts warn against exaggerating how much religious groups can do, the turn to faith-based groups is a fact of life. Federal and state governments are turning to congregations as well as other religious non-profits to lead community development and deliver social services. Foundations are investing considerable sums in faith-based activities and in research about them.

There is no evidence yet to substantiate or refute the claims of those who are pushing the faith-based initiatives, nor will there be for some time. But even with hard data it will be difficult to judge the success because the many interested parties have very different goals. I realized this most clearly when, long before the election, I invited several Indianapolis community leaders, including local clergy of all races, to discuss congregations’ capacities.

The meeting was interrupted by clergy from a local black Baptist alliance, who were angered by my claim that black churches, along with many other groups, were having trouble writing effective grant proposals or administering and evaluating social programs.

I was tempted to dismiss their concerns as political. They just wanted to get some of the new money, I thought, whereas I was approaching the issue administratively, and as a social scientist. But I realized that the issue of getting government funds is inherently political, and that it’s crucial to understand the perspective of different constituencies.

To the black Baptist pastors, the new reforms provided an opportunity to bring resources earmarked for the African -American community under African-American control. They had labored long for a chance to help allocate the money coming from government and foundations. Now that the chance had arrived, they did not appreciate someone from outside the community questioning their capacity to administer the money.

In a much-quoted study, University of Arizona searcher Mark Chaves found that African-American churches are five times as likely as white churches to say they would apply for public funding if it were available. Based on the evidence in Indianapolis, one can predict that African-American churches are also more likely actually to apply for such funding. In a recent grant competition meant to solicit religious participation, nearly two-thirds of all the congregations applying were African-American, even though African-Americans make up only 20 percent of the area’s population.

This high level of interest fits the historical role of the black church, but it also fits personal beliefs. In a recent survey of Indianapolis residents, African-American respondents were 40 percent more likely than white respondents to describe themselves as "very religious or spiritual." They were more than twice as likely 63 percent to 30 percent to say that the Bible should be taken literally as the word of God. This higher degree of religiosity translated directly into beliefs about religion’s role in secular affairs. On every question about economic or political decisions, from general influence on public policy to specific influence on the minimum wage, between 75 percent and 85 percent of African-Americans said that religion should be involved. On the same battery of questions, whites answered affirmatively only 45 percent to 55 percent of the time.

Answers to a direct question about welfare reform were true to form. Three-quarters of African-Americans said that religious groups should receive state and federal financial support to extend existing social welfare programs or to start new ones. Only 54 percent of whites said the same.

When President Bush says money should be channeled through the faith community, many African-Americans hear a very specific political promise. They hear the offer of an opportunity for the black church to control more of the resources hitherto handled by federal and local government. They see a chance to assume responsibility for development and services that affect their community.

The Bush administration is well aware that shifting funds toward black churches provides a unique opportunity to reach out to African-Americans, only 9 percent of whom voted for him. While some liberals may be alienated by the focus on faith-based programs, they are not Bush supporters anyhow.

The range of perspectives on faith-based programs can be classified not only in terms of race or ethnicity, but also with respect to people’s various agendas. In this regard, I would distinguish four groups. The first of these is made up of economic conservatives whom we might call the shopkeepers. They would like to get government out of the welfare business because they believe smaller, more local organizations will do a better job. They like privatization and they advocate subsidiarity.

Despite the worst fears of liberals, no serious religious or political leaders are arguing that government should simply let the churches take over. Neither John DiIulio, who now heads the White House Office of Faith-Based and Community Initiatives, nor Stephen Goldsmith, the former Indianapolis mayor who will lead the Corporation for National Service, has ever argued for total privatization of community development and social services, though both strongly advocate a new mix of public and private in which congregations figure more prominently.

When the aforementioned shopkeepers hear Bush’s message, they imagine a world full of mediating institutions -- some religious, some secular -- that link civil society with government, the former getting larger while the latter gets smaller. The shopkeepers support faith-based reforms as one promising type of privatization.

A second group is made up of social service and foundation professionals whose job is to promote the common good. We can call this group the servers. Most servers do not ultimately care about the issue of privatization so long as people’s lives improve. They care about efficiency and are interested in better outcomes, and they believe that the faith community offers new ideas and solutions. The servers hope that faith-based services will offer positive moral content, attract new volunteers, and draw on the firsthand knowledge of local communities. It is worth noting that some predominantly secular service organizations with religious roots -- Goodwill is a prime example -- are trying to recover those roots in order to partner with congregations.

When the servers hear the message of faith-based reform, they imagine a bold social experiment to be measured by its objective outcomes. The leader of Indianapolis’s premier homelessness coalition falls into this category. When he received a grant to encourage congregational partnerships to provide transitional housing, he saw it as a chance to merge his agenda with that of the churches. He was surprised to learn that some churches saw it as a chance to further their own mission goals with a new source of funds. He was further surprised to learn that a few churches balked at the idea of being evaluated by objective measures. They especially resisted the administrative urge to quantify their efforts, though "outcomesbased assessment" demands nothing less.

A third group of hearers is the separatists. When they hear talk of faith-based initiatives, they imagine the walls between church and state being dismantled. They foresee public money being used for sectarian purposes, and a world in which the provision of services is linked to religiously approved belief or conduct.

The faith-based reformers tell the separatists not to worry, that secular alternatives are required by law to be available. What they do not tell them, however, is that in the juvenile division of Marion County Superior Court, parents have been encouraged to choose faith-based counseling over services from secular social workers. Those parents, often poor and undereducated, have no institutional power. Faced with the prospect of a child headed for detention, they must essentially invoke their right to secular counseling in order to receive it -- an act that takes some nerve under the circumstances.

The fourth group of hearers is made up of salvationists, who imagine faith-based initiatives will offer a multitude of new opportunities to lead people to religious truth. Like the servers, they believe good character and moral conduct are essential to changing individual lives and transforming communities, but they know full well that values do not float free from specific ideas and practices. And they know which ideas and practices change lives.

Many evangelical Christians shy away from partnership with the secular social services and staunchly avoid any entanglement with government. But a different kind of evangelical sees in faith-based reforms an opportunity to press a Christian mission agenda with money from government and foundations. They know that the liberal servers and the conservative shopkeepers who hold the purse strings share some of the separatists’ discomfort, but these salvationists are determined to see how far they can push the envelope.

The 1996 charitable choice legislation specified that religious groups are allowed to display religious symbols and discriminate in hiring while receiving public funds, but cannot evangelize or prosletyze. More explicit interpretation of these guidelines has not yet been established, but salvationists know what they want. Amy Sherman, who has studied charitable choice and who is also a strong supporter of the program, has said that "the courts have not yet decided what is allowed and what is proscribed under Charitable Choice, but Christians should hope for as broad an interpretation as possible."

Even within relatively strict interpretations, salvationists are prepared to maneuver. In Indianapolis, when the mayor’s office sponsored a grant program for summer youth programs, some congregations proposed using the money for religious activities that the earmarked dollars (at the time outside the scope of charitable choice) could not legitimately fund. Some of the applicants were informally encouraged to consider programs wherein the government funding paid for the secular program from 9 A.M. to 3 P.M., while their own funds paid for a separate program that ran from 3 P.M. to 5 P.M. and might include religious content. Each program would honor the letter of the law, keeping church and state separate, despite the fact that most parents would need to enroll their children in both programs to get adequate child care.

In many ways, the African-American activists who support faith-based reforms represent one large subset of salvationists. Whether white or black, salvationists see in faith-based reforms a chance to forward their mission goals. Each believes that they, more than secular social workers, have what the dispossessed in their communities most need. Each is part of a larger tradition that includes many who distrust public entanglement. Each is apt to measure results not by statistical outcomes, but by one lost sheep at a time.

Faith-based welfare reform is a potential winner for President Bush because it appeals to salvationists, shopkeepers and servers. Separatists balk, and are relying on the courts to buttress the wall between church and state.

Non-Christians might also be excused for casting a wary eye. If enough money flows to Christian providers, it is possible that the quality of secular or non-Christian alternatives will gradually decline, not as the result of central planning or bad intentions, but as the unintended consequence of thousands of individual decisions to choose Christian alternatives. The legal requirement that secular services be available may slowly lose its teeth if those services become demonstrably inferior due to shifts in the funding stream.

For the moment, at least, many groups hear something they like in the promise of faith-based reforms, but for very different reasons. If the evidence in Indianapolis is any guide, those different reasons are likely to be divisive. Some salvationists are uncomfortable with the outcomes-based standards that are essential to the servers. A few chafe under requirements that they keep burdensome records, saying their real work is person-to-person, not administrative minutiae. They sincerely believe that the world is made better when hearts are changed one heart at a time.

No one in government, foundations or traditional service agencies disputes the value of changed hearts, but they are accustomed to managing thousands of cases within the boundaries of limited funding. Utility is evaluated by measuring the good accomplished at specified per-capita costs. Government agencies, especially, cannot afford the luxury of saying that any cost is justified so long as one lost sheep is found. They must evaluate outcomes rationally and bureaucratically.

The servers will never be comfortable with the underlying theological motives of the salvationists. The shopkeepers, many of whom have a libertarian streak, are stuck. They have no problem with salvationists, white or black, pressing their own religious agendas with their own money. However, even the most ideological among the shopkeepers realize that for the foreseeable future churches cannot do the job with their own money alone. Government must continue to subsidize social work and community development being performed by private groups. Some shopkeepers are hesitantly willing to put public money in private hands, but are uneasy about funding the evangelical missions of the salvationists.

Each of these groups is, of course, an ideal type, and most people fall into more than one category. Politics does make strange bedfellows. We might consider whom we will wake up beside when the dust kicked up by President Bush’s armies of compassion begins to settle.

Government Partners: Navigating ‘Charitable Choice’

In 1998 Sue Hill, an administrator with the Department of Human Services in Peoria, Illinois, was trying to help find jobs for several adults whose families were on welfare. Under the new welfare laws, the families would lose their cash benefits (called Temporary Assistance to Needy Families, or TANF) if the heads of the households didn’t find work soon. The department was not able to give these families the time-intensive support and attention they needed. So Hill decided to turn to the town’s faith community.

Through her "Adopt-A-Family" initiative, Hill matched 25 clients with three churches and two faith-based nonprofit organizations. The goal was to put a web of support around these families, getting the mom into the workforce, and helping her to retain her job for a minimum of three months. "I handpicked the clients and the faith-based groups because I wanted this to be successful," Hill recalls. And it was -- all 25 clients found employment and were able to leave the welfare rolls.

Hill’s turn to the religious community was in sync with Washington’s new attitude about church-state collaboration. In 1996 a "Charitable Choice" section was added to the federal welfare reform law, establishing new rules for collaboration between government and religious institutions. The law prohibits public officials from discriminating against religious social-service providers that seek to compete for government contracts. And it protects the religious integrity and character of faith-based organizations (FBOs) that accept government dollars by granting them the right to retain authority over their mission and governing board; to maintain a religious atmosphere in their facilities; and to select only staff who agree with their religious beliefs. The Charitable Choice section also seeks to protect the civil liberties of the people receiving services. FBOs must not use governmental funds for purposes of "Sectarian worship, instruction, or proselytization," and they must not discriminate against beneficiaries on the basis of religion or require them to participate in religious practices. In addition, if a client objects to receiving social services from a faith-based provider, under Charitable Choice the government must ensure that the person obtains assistance from another organization.

After three years on the books, Charitable Choice has produced a notable, albeit modest, number of new financial relationships between FBOs and government. Sue Hill’s department now holds financial contracts with two of the groups involved in the earlier, nonfinancial ‘Adopt-A-Family" program -- Blame Street Baptist and the (Roman Catholic) Southside Office of Concern. Both groups run formal job training programs for TANF recipients, help place participants in jobs and provide church mentors to help them retain those jobs. The contracts are "performance-based": the church receives one payment per client upon job placement and a second payment when the client reaches her 90-day anniversary on the job.

The Peoria partnerships are part of a small but growing movement to engage congregations and religious nonprofits in the lives of families making the transition from welfare to work. For two years I studied government collaborations with religious groups in nine states (California, Illinois, Massachusetts, Michigan, Mississippi, New York, Texas, Virginia and Wisconsin) and identified 84 financial partnerships like the ones Sue hill pioneered. (Only those contracts that involved public funding streams regulated by Charitable Choice -- namely, the TANF block grant and the Department of Labor’s Welfare-to-Work block grant -- were counted in the study.) Of these partnerships 43 percent involved small contracts (under $25,000); but 18 percent involved amounts exceeding $100,000 and 7 percent involved amounts over $500,000.

In several localities across the country, therefore, welfare recipients can choose from a more diverse array of services. Through these 84 initiatives, they are participating in publicly funded, explicitly faith-based programs in job training, mentoring, transportation, and drug rehabilitation.

And other collaborative efforts are under way in other states. FaithWorks Indiana is a late 1999 initiative to help the state’s working poor families. Overseen by the Division of Family and Children of the state’s Family and Social Services Administration, FaithWorks provides assistance to faith-based organizations in applying for state and federal grant dollars to support new or existing programs geared to helping people attain self-sufficiency. North Carolina has appointed a "Program Director for Community Partnerships" in the state Department of Social Services to reach out to churches and other FBOs; Pennsylvania has had a staff member in such a position for the past three years. New Jersey held a statewide conference in 1999 for religious groups, and Governor Christine Dodd Whitman’s Faith-based Community Development Initiative gave away $3.6 million in grants to 37 churches and FBOs to help them support new social programs. Maryland. Minnesota and Ohio have also established new financial relationships with FBOs in the wake of welfare reform.

These concerns are all legitimate. But thus far, the data suggest that the worst fears are not being realized. Wacky cults have not secured any government social-welfare dollars under Charitable Choice, and are unlikely to. This is because Charitable Choice is not a pot of federal money set aside for religious groups. Charitable Choice is simply a set of new guidelines for governments’ purchase of services, guidelines that make for a level playing field. Prior to 1996, many religious groups were shut out from that competition simply because they were too religious or "sectarian." Now if state or local officials decide to bid for services, they cannot tell FBOs that "they need not apply."

But in order to obtain any money, FBOs must win the competition, demonstrating that they can effectively deliver the services they are promising, respect clients’ civil liberties, and account for every penny of public money. Contracts are monitored through reports and on-site visits; public officials can interview clients about their experience; fiscal audits occur. Information about these relationships is also publicly available. In short, many safeguards are in place to help prevent incompetent and disreputable groups from securing government welfare dollars.

Religious groups in the nine states I surveyed also registered few complaints about their government partners. The vast majority reported that the church-state question was a "nonissue," that they enjoyed the trust of their government partners and that they had been straightforward about their religious identity. Since clients’ participation in their programs was voluntary, these FBOs felt free to "be religious" since clients were free not to participate. Pastor Tim Criss of the Blame Street Baptist Church in Peoria commented, "Our program is unabashedly religious and nothing in our contract prevents our identity as a faith-based organization."

A few interviewees from the faith community, though, voiced uncertainty as to "how far they could go" in integrating spiritual ministry into their social-service programs. This lack of clarity arises from Charitable Choice’s own guidelines. On the one hand, language at the beginning of the Charitable Choice provision makes it clear that the rules are intended to protect the religious character and autonomy of the organizations receiving government funds. On the other hand, the end of the section includes wording prohibiting religious groups from using government contract funds for purposes of "sectarian worship, instruction, or proselytization." This creates a balance beam for FBOs to walk on.

Obviously, there are differences of opinion as to what constitutes "sectarian instruction." I would argue that Charitable Choice’s back end ought to be interpreted via its front end. That is, if a Jewish FBO runs an hour long, publicly funded computer skills training class that includes a one-minute prayer by the instructor at the beginning of class, that FBO is not engaging in "sectarian instruction"; it is simply being true to its character as a religious organization. If "sectarian instruction" is defined so broadly as to include that one-minute prayer, then Charitable Choice’s alleged protection of the religious identity and character of FBOs is a sham.

In an attempt to give religious groups some guidance in navigating between Charitable Choice’s front and back ends, some religious organizations have begun work on a "Code of Conduct" by which FBOs accepting government funds regulated by Charitable Choice would pledge to operate. This approach displays the faith community’s desire to be above reproach in its dealings with government.

Still in draft form, the Code of Conduct commits signatories to faithful compliance with Charitable Choice; to straightforward and consistent communication about their religious identity among their volunteers, service beneficiaries, donors and government partners; to refraining from using government funding for "confessional activities"; to winsome and gentle witness; to love of neighbor; to freedom from religious coercion; to nondiscrimination toward program participants; to faithfulness to their mission; to credible and objective evaluation procedures; to avoidance of "turf wars" with other FBOs and nonprofits; and to rigorous financial accountability.

One step that would help FBOs follow these principles is the use of vouchers. A voucher for specific social services, provided directly to clients by the state, could be redeemed by clients at an organization of their choice -- and that organization could be as secular or as religious as it wanted to be without raising any constitutional difficulties. Unfortunately, no state is using vouchers now, though Texas -- by far the most progressive state in implementing Charitable Choice -- is considering it. It should be noted that vouchers have been in use since 1990 for low-income families needing daycare, and these vouchers allow families to place their children in church- or synagogue-sponsored daycare centers.

In Ventura County, California, a secular organization plays the role of intermediary. Oxnard College (a community college) won an $80,000 contract from CalWORKS (California’s welfare reform agency) to serve 200 TANF recipients with job training and mentoring. Oxnard College then subcontracted with City Impact, an evangelical nonprofit, to recruit mentors from the faith community.

In Los Angeles, Goodwill Industries holds a $5 million contract with the local Department of Social Services, and has subcontracted with an FBO called Mobilization for the Human Family to provide mentoring for job retention. The Mobilization, as it is called, recruits, trains and supervises volunteers from various houses of worship to serve as mentors to recently employed TANF recipients.

In these arrangements, the FBO is distanced an additional step from a direct financial relationship with government, which, in the words of the Mobilization’s director. Richard Bunce, "feels safer" in terms of protecting the Mobilization’s religious character. Bunce and others involved in indirect partnerships also report that their intermediaries typically require less cumbersome paperwork than government agencies.

When government and churches (or FBOs) engage in a direct financial contract, smooth navigation between Charitable Choice’s front and back ends seems best achieved when the FBO remains true to its religious character -- offering clients what it regards as a holistic ministry -- yet agrees to compartmentalize its programming. For example, an FBO may offer a job training program for TANF recipients that involves biblically based classes on life skills led by clergy, computer training class taught by a church volunteer, and job placement assistance by the FBO’s staff. The FBO can make it clear to government and to potential participants that its program contains these three elements and competes for a contract to underwrite the computer class and the job placement work. Clients’ participation mn the life skills class -- funded separately -- is encouraged but not mandatory. The computer teacher is free to offer a short prayer at the beginning of class, but ought not spend half the time on a study of the Torah when the students should be learning Microsoft Excel. The jobs placement counselor might invite clients to a church-sponsored jobs fair or let them know about a new "single moms support group" forming in the parish, but shouldn’t promise that "just surrendering their lives to Jesus" will land them good jobs.

If the potential benefits of Charitable Choice are to be fully realized, government entities, religious organizations and nonprofits must each do their part in precisely implementing the legislation. Government leaders must educate employees about the specifics of the Charitable Choice guidelines. (In many of the collaborations I studied, the contracts used standard "boiler plate" language that did not include a detailed listing of the protections that Charitable Choice affords both FBOs and program participants.) Public officials need also to review their internal rules governing procurements and revise any rules that are contrary to the Charitable Choice guidelines (e.g., rules prohibiting faith-based contractors from discriminating in their employment practices on the basis of religion).

Sophisticated nonprofit organizations can help move Charitable Choice forward by serving either as fiscal agents for smaller FBOs -- especially those new to public-private partnerships -- or as direct subcontractors with FBOs.

Some religious groups may choose to in-crease their collaboration with government and even compete for public funds; others may determine they are uncomfortable with government funding despite the new protections afforded by Charitable Choice. In either event, religious leaders and FBOs need to make informed decisions, neither rushing haphazardly into new public partnerships without weighing the pros and cons, nor simply dismissing such collaborations without any thought about what their social responsibilities might be. Moreover, FBOs and houses of worship that decide to work closely with government and accept public funding must learn to value highly the pedestrian, behind-the-scenes work of tracking expenditures and documenting their case work. They should take pride in having administrative systems that are as good or better than secular organizations receiving government funds. Financial irresponsibility cannot be tolerated; groups that fail to maintain excellent standards of financial accountability with their government contracts may jeopardize the potential for other religious groups to secure funding.

Even more important, faith groups must clearly discern and articulate their mission and pursue it faithfully -- with or without government funding. The availability of new funding sources should not drive their outreach endeavors; rather, they must know what they are called to do and then assess whether a relationship with government would complement and facilitate their community work. FBOs must communicate clearly their understanding that they are accountable to God, to the poor constituents they seek to serve, and to the public -- specifically, to the government entity through which they receive funding. Their conduct must be above reproach, seeking a constructive engagement with government through which they faithfully comply with the law; serve the needy with compassion, vigor and dedication; and remain true to their religious faith, identity and calling.

New Politics and Not So New Politics

The Soul of Politics, by Jim Wallis. Orbis Books and the New Press, 275 pp. $19.95

 

A few weeks ago I wound my way through the narrow alleys of a public housing project in Detroit guided by Mary Jackson in her old station wagon. Jackson, a 50-something black woman, moved into "the projects" over a decade ago. A devout Christian, Jackson believed God was sending her to love the children there. She quit her job, sold her house and took up residence next to a drug dealer.

Jackson has heard bullets fly through her front door; lost sleep due to the noisy drug-dealing going on nearby; shared her small apartment for months at a time with children taken from crack-addicted mothers; calmed hysterical young women beaten by their drunk boyfriends; wept at the funerals of young boys; and battled obstinate government bureaucracies to get a swingset for the rusty and littered "playground" at the center of the Smith Homes. She is, to put it mildly, intimately acquainted with the ghetto. And she navigates the multilayered policy discussion of "the underclass" as adroitly as she guides her lumbering Ford past the sootstained, monotonous yellow buildings.

One of the best things about Jim Wallis's book is that it calls us to listen to people like Mary Jackson when reflecting on the woes of the inner cities. One of the worst things about the book is that Wallis seems unwilling to hear all that people like Jackson have to say.

Wallis asserts that The Soul of Politics outlines a new, spiritually based politics beyond the confines of the Republican and Democratic parties. He discusses the inadequacies of both conservatives and liberals. Conservatives, Wallis says, continue to ignore structural injustice (his complaint would be stronger if he adequately defined "structural injustice"). Liberals, he laments, have become "captive to large distant institutions and impersonal bureaucracies that are more concerned with control than caring, and the result [is] more dependency than empowerment." Even more important, liberals lack the "moral values" which must undergird "any serious movement of social transformation." Hence, Wallis proclaims the need for a new politics that will transcend liberalism and conservatism, The tenets of this new politics, he says, come from the grass roots-from unconventional, innovative moral activists on the frontlines of

the battles against crime, violence, drugs, poverty and hopelessness. The political morality of folks like these, Wallis explains, grows directly out of their practical experiences and daily lives. They demonstrate personally the moral values of responsibility, compassion and justice, and their approach to problems is nonideological. These people recognize that society's problems are rooted in both personal sin and structural injustice. And their strategies do not rely exclusively on either calls to personal morality or demands for government assistance. Their approach is, in short, refreshing, prophetic, practical.

It's also working. Wallis cites a few examples-most notably the work of several churches in Boston that have spearheaded a ten-point plan to decrease urban violence and misery. The plan calls upon churches to, among other things, "adopt" street gangs and allow troubled youths to use church properties as safe havens; intercede for youth in the juvenile court system; provide vocational training to inner-city residents; organize capital for micro-enterprises; develop educational curricula heralding the achievements of blacks and Latinos; initiate neighborhood crime watch groups; and establish counseling programs for battered women and the men who abuse them. Unfortunately, Wallis doesn't provide as many specific stories of such initiatives as the introduction promises.

While conducting research on inner-city churches I've had the privilege of meeting many of the kinds of people Wallis exalts, and they are making a notable impact. In urban neighborhoods where these church-based activists are living and working, exceptional things are happening: marriages among blacks are increasing; drug-dealing is declining; houses are being rehabilitated; streets are being cleaned up; at-risk kids are graduating from high school and going on to college; mothers are getting off welfare; people are being trained to run their own businesses; neighborhood crime watch patrols are being organized; relationships between inner-city residents and local police forces are improving; prostitutes are getting saved in church; and drug abusers are in recovery programs that work. Wallis is undoubtedly correct to argue that the people accomplishing these kinds of miracles are precisely those who can teach us a "new politics."

In describing such "micro-level" realities, Wallis has a certain credibility since he has personally lived in a Washington, D.C., ghetto for over 20 years. From this position he can accurately paint the despair felt by many young blacks. In a particularly poignant passage, Wallis writes, "When children talk about their favorite kinds of caskets instead of bikes or cars, it is a sign we can no longer ignore."

Wallis also tells us about a new spiritual awakening going on in the nation's cities. He describes at some length his experiences at the 1993 National Urban Peace and justice Summit (the "Gang Summit") in Kansas City. There, he reports, gangsters admitted that they had "some habits only God can cure." "Most importantly," Wallis writes,

these gang youths' understanding of the problem [of the ghetto] went deeper than their reaction to unjust social conditions. They began to speak of the personal and spiritual roots of their situation as well. Though they all felt abandoned by the religious community, the young gang members spoke of their need for that community to reach out to them now. "We need spiritual power," they kept saying. "We can't do this by ourselves."

Wallis is correct to note this increasing spiritual awareness in the inner cities. It is leading to repentance and expressing itself in a willingness to expose and challenge moral and cultural problems.

Take Mary Jackson, for instance. She complains that most of the Smith Homes residents "don't want to be bothered" with walking with her in her fight for a better environment for the neighborhood children. Most of the welfare mothers, she says, are "too lazy" to walk the few blocks to a neighborhood community center where free educational and recreational programs are offered for parents and children. She says the residents "think somebody owes them something," and complains that they spend money on expensive hairstyles, makeup and leather coats but won't pay a token fee to send their children to a weeklong summer camp program her church runs for the benefit of inner-city youngsters.

Other grass-roots activists (mostly from black churches) in Baltimore, Detroit, Phoenix, Chicago, Washington, D.C., and Birmingham with whom I've spoken say the same sorts of things. Wallis, however, is not so candid. He repeatedly affirms the need to address issues of personal morality, and he was impressed by the gang members' admission of the moral and spiritual factors underlying the ghetto's ills. Nevertheless, while calling for a new politics that addresses personal moral failings as much as structural evils, Wallis talks endlessly about the latter and little about the former.

When Wallis does address personal sin, as in his compelling chapter on consumerism titled "I Shop, Therefore I Am," he seems to find it only in the middle and upper classes. He asserts that the social pathologies noticeable in the underclass are there because "there are no ethics at the top of society." If it were not for white-collar crime and the violence of U.S. militarism overseas, Wallis appears to believe, we would have fewer problems in the inner cities.

Wallis's indictment of the excessive materialism of American culture is certainly on target, and this theme needs to be sounded again and again. Wallis thinks our TV- and advertising-dominated culture saturates kids with unrealistic, unsustainable consumer desires. Many of the inner-city activists I've met agree wholeheartedly. One youth pastor challenged his youth group to turn off their televisions for a month and to fast during the times they'd normally be watching TV in order to combat the barrage of advertisements to which they are exposed.

These church workers also recognize structural obstacles to black achievement: poor schools; the lack of business investment; and a welfare system that breaks up families, fosters dependency and strips recipients of their dignity. Many of these activists think black sociologist William Julius Wilson is correct to argue that structural changes in the U.S. economy have led to a mismatch of the labor and job supplies: residents of the inner city are unable to win the types of jobs that are available in the city, and they can't get to the jobs that are available to them in the suburbs.

But these activists are candid as well about the individual sins that keep some poor people poor. Most important, they believe that blacks can succeed within the American economy, despite its structural flaws-perhaps because two-thirds of blacks have already done so. "It doesn't matter where you come from," one woman told me, "you can succeed." These inner-city workers understand the "victim mentality" and "entitlement mind-set" they encounter in the devastated communities where they live, but they do not let such attitudes go unchallenged, and they expect great things from their neighbors despite those neighbors' disadvantaged circumstances.

Wallis in contrast, argues that "we have no right to be shocked" when underclass youth behave like violent, selfish materialists, because of the "moral pollution of rampant consumerism" the culture pumps into them. He also treats blacks principally as victims of an unjust, racist society and a pernicious, oppressive global capitalist system.

Wallis says that we should "take a strong stand against the criminal behavior of looting, all the way from the top to the bottom" of society. But this call is drowned out in the book's pervasive "it's-the-system's-fault" approach.

Wallis's frequent comments on the international economy exacerbate his unbalanced approach. It is clear that Wallis believes that Third World poverty is "the system's fault." And in his view America's poor are also victims of the unjust international system. In the international realm, Wallis's new politics is not new. He simply repeats the basics of dependency theory: the poor are poor because the rich are rich.

One searches in vain for signs that Wallis is aware of the multiple, competing hypotheses which have emerged in the past decade concerning the continued stagnation of the less-developed countries (LDCs). For example, Lawrence Harrison's and P. T. Bauer's assertions that continued stagnation can be explained partially by cultural or "worldview" barriers to development are not mentioned. The now-dominant school of neoliberalism-which finds the principal reasons for Third World poverty inside the LDCs (their monetary, trade, fiscal, investment, legal and regulatory regimes) rather than in the external conditions LDCs face in the world economy- does not come into Wallis's purview. Not even the groundbreaking work of Peruvian scholar Hernando de Soto on the problem of LDC mercantilism is noted.

Wallis retreats to tired leftist phrases about the obscene inequalities perpetuated by capitalism. He also lifts up the tattered banner of an economic "third way." Strangely, Wallis seems enthusiastic about market-friendly micro-enterprise projects when he talks about restoring the inner cities, but when discussing North-South issues he proclaims that capitalism has failed. This inconsistency apparently escapes him.

The biggest problem with Wallis's blanket denunciations of the world economy and his vague proposals for a "third way" is not that they are out-of-date or leftist but that they hinder the fight against poverty here and abroad in three ways. First, they ignore the fact that every country that has graduated from LDC status and reduced absolute poverty, or is on the way toward doing both, has adopted a market-friendly system.

Second, Wallis's claim that capitalism and socialism have both failed is unfounded. There have been all sorts of calls for a "third way" between socialism and capitalism, calls which promise to help the poor, but by and large they have worsened conditions for the poor. The main "third way" the world has seen is statism-as exemplified by many African and Latin American countries. It has brought government corruption, debt, massive underemployment, economic stagnation, agricultural chaos and sometimes even famine. The Philippines under Marcos and Nicaragua under Somoza are examples of statist "third ways," as was Peru under its military governments and Tanzania under Julius Nyerere. Why opt for such unpromising, downright harmful "third ways" when market- friendly models of development, such as those employed in Singapore, Malaysia, Chile and even Botswana, have achieved notable success in reducing absolute poverty?

Third, Wallis's interpretation of North-South relations assumes that a poor country's involvement in the global economy makes it worse off. History shows the opposite to be true: countries that most aggressively pursue trade and investment with the outside world prosper more than inward-oriented nations. Wallis is pointing poor countries away from the very path that can help improve their economic well-being.

Wallis's global condemnation of the international economic system also draws attention away from the very specific, unjust aspects of North-South relations that need serious reform. For one example, the West's foreign-aid system should be radically restructured: money should be channeled principally through nongovernmental organizations and private businesses rather that through corrupt LDC governments. For another, citizens concerned about the plight of the poor, should, vigorously lobby the industrialized countries to lower their protectionist trade walls against LDC exports. Wallis does not offer such concrete suggestions for reform; he simply prophesies against the current order. But "just saying no" to the global economic system is not going to improve that system to the benefit of the poor.