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Bitter clash between LGBTQ orthodoxy and Orthodox Christianity? Press should ask about that

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Over the past week or two, I have probably received more emails about the bitter divorce and custody case surrounding a 7-year-old child in Texas than any other topic.

The father, Jeffrey Younger, calls his son James. The child’s pediatrician mother, Anne Georgulas, has transitioned to the name “Luna,” since she believes her child has sent clues that, while identified as male at birth, “Luna” has shown evidence of gender dysphoria and should begin transitioning to life as a female.

The topic has roared through social media for some time now, as trans cases involving young children tend to do.

In the emails I have received, quite a bit of attention has been focused on the mother’s very Greek name — Georgulas. The question many are asking is quite simple: Is this a battle inside an Eastern Orthodox family?

I have delayed writing about this case, since I was waiting to see what would happen when it broke out of social-media and into elite media. Now the New York Times and the Washington Post have spoken.

The bottom line: The fact that the father, and his supporters, think that Christian faith is relevant in this case isn’t an viewpoint that is worthy of discussion. This case is rooted in politics, law and modern medicine. And that’s that. This is all about fake news.

Thus, here is the double-decker headline at the Times:

Texas Father Says 7-Year-Old Isn’t Transgender, Igniting a Politicized Outcry 

A bitter custody battle grabbed the attention of Gov. Greg Abbott, Senator Ted Cruz and other conservative lawmakers.

That fits perfectly with the overture:

A bitter custody battle in Dallas that centers on the gender identity of a 7-year-old child provoked an outcry among conservatives this month. 


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Only The Atlantic dares call out the Kanye West–Donald Trump–Jesus Freak axis

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Spencer Kornhauber has turned in a glibly critical review of Kanye West’s new film, Jesus Is King. He is not obliged to like West’s music now more than anyone had to like it before West’s deepened focus on the person of Christ. (West recorded “Jesus Walks” 15 years ago.)

As Kornhauber describes it, Jesus Is King sounds nearly as tedious as Goddfrey Reggio’s Koyaanisqatsi, except that West’s film is 35 minutes, compared to 86 minutes of unsubtle imagery about the evils of using technology to ease our quotidian lives.

Still, there are some clunkers here that suggest an inattention to detail. In two paragraphs, Kornhauber makes the humorous point that having one’s hair dyed is an odd moment for a spiritual awakening:

West replied that his come-closer-to-Jesus episode happened around April, when he got his hair colored purple. “I remember when the hair dye was placed on my head the morning before Coachella,” he said. “It felt cold. I didn’t like it. I had an aversion to it. And then when the guy was dyeing it, I didn’t even like how it came out.”

As far as the beginnings of awakening stories go, this one’s definitely new. Bob Dylan had a cross thrown at him by a fan and then was visited by Christ in his hotel room. Kanye West got a bad dye job — and then what? Dunno. West changed the subject to the decline of manufacturing jobs in the United States.

Hold the phone: a fan threw a cross at Dylan? What part of his body was the target? His head? His heart? His butt?

A simple click of the link provides the same language Dylan has used about this incident since the late 1970s: the fan tossed the small cross onto the stage. There’s no indication of its proximity to Dylan, much less where the fan had aimed.

Here’s something more substantial. Kornhauber writes:

The film made me think of funky, stucco mid-century churches, and the way they can seem like campy architectural artifacts today. It made me think of Jesus Freaks, and Hillsong, and all the other revival movements aimed at hipping up Christ.


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What does faith have to do with it? Romney is on a moral crusade, for some vague reason

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When you hear the name Mitt Romney, what are the first two or three things that pop into your head?

I mean, other than the fact that he’s from Utah and he speaks French.

Come to think of it, why does Romney speak French? Did he have a special reason to learn that language at a specific point in his life?

Oh, one more question. If you were writing a feature about tensions between Romney and one Donald Trump — that thrice-married New York City playboy — what major influence on the life and squeaky-clean image of the Utah senator that you would have to struggle to avoid mentioning?

This brings us to this weekend’s think piece, a McKay Coppins feature in The Atlantic that ran with this double-decker headline:

The Liberation of Mitt Romney

The newly rebellious senator has become an outspoken dissident in Trump’s Republican Party, just in time for the president’s impeachment trial.

Remember that the focus on this piece is on Romney’s willingness to stand in judgment of Trump’s character and moral fiber, or lack thereof. So how in the world did it avoid any discussion of his strong and very public faith as a leader, for many years, in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints? Were editors scared to use the “M-word,” in light of recent labeling changes in this faith?


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After haunted obit, AP produces solid piece on black church's role in Rep. Elijah Cummings' life

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I wrote last week that The Associated Press’ obituary on Congressman Elijah E. Cummings of Maryland was haunted by religion ghosts.

I pointed to the strong role of faith in Cummings’ life and noted that publications such as the Washington Post and Cummings’ hometown Baltimore Sun reflected it.

I voiced hope that AP would recognize that angle in its later coverage.

As the Rolling Stones put it, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”

But hey, sometimes you can.

AP produced a solid piece out of Detroit this week on how the “Black Baptist church shaped Cummings’ commitment”:

DETROIT (AP) — To many black clergy, Maryland Rep. Elijah E. Cummings was more than a formidable orator, civil rights champion and passionate public servant, he was also one of them — in practice, if not profession.

His upbringing, as “a preacher’s kid” gave him a comfort level with ministers and clergy to the point they “almost regarded him as a preacher,” said the Rev. Charles Williams II, senior pastor of Detroit’s Historic King Solomon Missionary Baptist Church.

Cummings, the son of a sharecropper and pastors who died last Thursday at 68, was among a generation of lawmakers, civil rights leaders and social justice advocates who grew up under the influence of the African American church. From Martin Luther King Jr.’s Ebenezer Baptist Church to Birmingham’s 16th Street Baptist Church, the black church is intertwined in African American history and the struggle for equality. It was the primary institution for organizing demonstrations, providing training and selecting leaders. Part of the role was instilling in those leaders a commitment to speaking for those who could not speak for themselves, giving one’s life in service to the community and standing against injustice.

Black pastors and historians alike remember Cummings, who will be buried in Baltimore Friday, as a man who absorbed the lessons of the church and exemplified its teachings in serving his constituents.


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When it comes to John MacArthur, Beth Moore and Russell Moore, let's ask tougher questions.

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By now, many of you may have heard of the harsh comment that the Rev. John MacArthur, an extremely conservative evangelical pastor, made about Beth Moore, possibly the most famous woman in Southern Baptist life today.

MacArthur, who is very old school even among evangelicals, has led Grace Community Church north of Los Angeles for 50 years. To say he dislikes women preachers would be an understatement.

There are a lot of people out there protesting his unkind comments, including Relevant magazine, which produced an article listing several leaders across the theological spectrum critical of MacArthur.

MacArthur, by the way, has been even more scathing about charismatics over the years, so the Beth Moore crowd may be getting an idea of what the Pentecostal/charismatic crowd has been putting up with for a number of years.

First, according to Religion News Service, here’s what MacArthur said.

During the “Truth Matters Conference,” held Oct. 16-18 at Grace Community Church in Sun Valley, California, where he is pastor, MacArthur and other panelists were asked to give their gut reactions to one- or two-word phrases.

Asked to respond to the phrase “Beth Moore,” the name of a well-known Southern Baptist Bible teacher, MacArthur replied, “Go home.”

Sounds of laughter and applause could be heard in response during a recording of the session, which was posted online.

MacArthur — a leading proponent of Reformed theology and of complementarianism, the idea that women and men have different roles to play in the church and in society — was apparently responding to a controversy this past summer when Moore noted on Twitter that she spoke at a megachurch on a Sunday morning.

Her tweet led to accusations that Moore was undermining Southern Baptist teaching, which bars women from holding the office of pastor in churches.

One voice that has been absent on this latest flare-up has been the Rev. Russell Moore (no relation to Beth) who is the head of Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission, the public policy arm of the Southern Baptist Convention. The last interview with him that I saw occurred in August when Newsweek’s Nina Burleigh called him the “rebel evangelical.”

It was a very weak, even clueless, interview. The questions were vapid and Moore, who is no fool, slid past them with little difficulty. Most of the questions were about racism and sex abuse within the SBC, but they weren’t tough questions by any chance.

Meanwhile, is Russell Moore really a “rebel evangelical?” For that matter, so is Beth Moore? Are we talking about doctrine here or politics?


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Washington Post keeps following 'Uncle Ted' McCarrick story -- into Newark and New York

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The Washington Post religion desk, to its credit, continues to dig into the long, complicated story of all of the sexual abuse accusations against former cardinal Theodore “Uncle Ted” McCarrick.

This is fitting, since he was a national media figure during his years as archbishop in Washington, D.C. You can get the gist of the latest revelations from the story’s long headline: “At least 7 more people told the Vatican they were sexually abused as boys by Theodore McCarrick, according to sources.”

What is really interesting, at least to me, about this must-read Post story is the degree to which it tells a story that centers on events in Uncle Ted’s career in and around New York and New Jersey.

For me, this raises an interesting question. Readers with detailed memories will recall that the McCarrick meltdown kicked into overdrive with a story in The New York Times. Remember this Gray Lady headline from July 16, 2018? “He Preyed on Men Who Wanted to Be Priests. Then He Became a Cardinal.” That story was driven by accusations filed with investigators, including laypeople, with the Catholic Archdiocese of New York.

So here is my question: Why are readers seeing chapter after chapter of the McCarrick drama unfold at The Washington Post, if the key events took place in zip codes near The New York Times?

Just asking.

So let’s go back to praising the Post. Here is the overture of the latest story:

Theodore McCarrick, a former D.C. archbishop and cardinal who was defrocked this year amid allegations that he sexually abused two minors and sexually harassed seminarians, is facing new accusations that he abused at least seven boys from about 1970 until 1990, according to three sources, including a person with direct knowledge of the claims U.S. church officials sent to the Vatican in January.

In addition, six allegations of sexual abuse by seminarians and former seminarians also were sent to Rome, according to this last person.


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Might even 'Trump's Court Artist' (per The Atlantic) have a sense of humor?

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Here’s a tug of the LeBlanc beret for Jennifer A. Greenhill for “Trump’s Court Artist” in The Atlantic. Being described as a court anything to President Trump qualifies as apostasy among his snarkiest critics. Consider, for example, historian John Fea’s frequent designation of “court evangelical” on his weblog, The Way of Improvement Leads Home.

Greenhill, professor of art history at the University of Southern California, concentrates her remarks largely on McNaughton’s full-barreled support of Donald Trump and his pointed depictions of Bill and Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, even Woodrow Wilson.

I have lived through the past several years without realizing that McNaughton does so much to provoke the cultural left, including art critic Jerry Saltz of New York magazine. Saltz, as Greenhill mentions, called one McNaughton painting (of a glowering President Obama holding a burning Constitution) “bad academic derivative realism,” “typical propaganda art, drop-dead obvious in message” and “visually dead as a doornail.” (Props to the TV affiliate CBS DC for seeking his thoughts.)

Greenhill too quickly moves on from McNaughton being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (his attending Brigham Young University is one clue). This is the one church that teaches the most exalted perspective on the nation’s founding.


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Try telling this NBA player's story without mentioning his faith? Actually, The Ringer did

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God talk silenced on the sports page?

No, it’s nothing new.

But still, it can be jarring. Especially when a journalist attempts to profile an athlete for whom faith is a crucial part of his story — without ever, you know, mentioning his faith.

Such is the case with The Ringer’s recent feature on Jrue Holiday of the New Orleans Pelicans.

For those familiar with Holiday, the story’s compelling opening seems to hint at the holy ghosts that become clear by the end:

If you ever need to borrow $25,000, Jrue Holiday is your man. It’s a running joke between his wife, Lauren, a retired midfielder for the United States women’s national team, and her former teammates: If they were in a pinch—say, a quarter-of-a-hundred-grand kind of pinch—they’d just ask her husband. Holiday wants to help, always. Help you, help me, help his teammates on the Pelicans. He’d say yes in a heartbeat, the joke goes. Holiday is the mom of his friend group, the hype man for his family. “The supportive one,” Lauren said. A $25,000 loan is a bit hyperbolic, sure. At least, I’m assuming it is. That’s the joke. This is the point: Jrue, I’m told, will always come through. It’s his campaign slogan, should he ever run for office. But that’s the other thing about Holiday, the thing that assures me he’d never want to run for any office of any kind: Jrue Holiday does not want this—does not want anything—to be about Jrue Holiday.

“I like to assist people,” he told me in his backyard by the pool. It was August and 87 degrees in Santa Rosa Valley, California, where the Holidays spend the offseason. He leaned back into the patio chair, squinted at the sun, and smirked. “That was a pun. But no, I like to assist people.” Holiday is a starting combo guard for the New Orleans Pelicans. His game is often described in terms of what he does for others. Lobs and dimes, help defense and spacing, deflections and blocks. Assistance is where Holiday earns a living. And for the past six years, superstar Anthony Davis was his main beneficiary.

The Ringer touts Holiday as “the NBA’s Best-Kept Secret.”

The reader who shared the link with GetReligion wondered, though, how The Ringer managed to keep Holiday’s Christian faith a secret.


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Reporters delve into Dallas judge giving Amber Guyger a Bible and urging her to read John 3:16

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The judge did what?

I posted last week about the “hug seen around the world” — that of 18-year-old Brandt Jean embracing the ex-police officer convicted of murdering his older brother, Botham Jean.

But I acknowledged surprise about the other stunning development in that Dallas courtroom.

I wrote:

I wonder if there’ll be a letter in the mail soon from the Freedom From Religion Foundation. And honestly, I’d love to hear from legal and constitutional experts on that exchange. It’s fascinating to me.

That letter came quickly, and so did a number of news stories delving into whether what the judge did was appropriate.

Before I get to those stories, I’ll jump ahead and note that The Associated Press has a must-read interview with the judge herself that was published today.

My biggest takeaway from the AP story: The judge’s actions didn’t come in a vacuum. As Judge Tammy Kemp explains it, she opened up about her Christianity and gave Amber Guyger a Bible only when the convicted murderer herself discussed questions of faith and forgiveness.

From AP:


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