by Nicole Neroulias

Until Apple founder Steve Jobs died on Oct. 5, after his long bout with pancreatic cancer, most people had no idea that the man behind the Macbook, iPod and iPhone was a devout Buddhist.

But why would they? Not only did Jobs keep his private life fairly private, even as the unwitting spiritual leader of the Cult of Mac, but Buddhism seldom makes headlines in the United States. Unless the story's about the Dalai Lama or the occasional celebrity citing Buddhism as their inspiration for aspiring to better behavior, the belief barely makes a blip in a typical Google News search. Coverage of the role of Buddhist monks in Myanmar's ongoing political evolution is the rare exception to this rule.

Yet it's a major world religion with more than 400 million adherents – 30 times the number of the world's Mormons or Jews, two groups that get far more coverage. Not just a dominant faith in Asia, Buddhism is a growing belief system in the United States, through Asian immigrants, American converts and their children. The Association of Religion Data Archives (ARDA) estimates there are about three million Buddhists in the United States, roughly the same number as belong to the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) and more than adherents of the Episcopal Church, the Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod, or the combined Eastern Orthodox churches.

So why so little coverage? My theories:

–Follow the leader: There's no obvious spokesperson. The Dalai Lama only speaks for Tibetan Buddhists, a minority branch. The other popular Buddhism expert is Columbia University's Robert Thurman, an attractive option for journalists who hope quoting Uma Thurman's dad may attract more readers. But he's also a Tibetan Buddhist.

–Size matters: There's no clear measure of how big this faith is, either globally (due to religious freedom issues in China) or domestically. The best we have are wide-ranging estimates. Muddying the waters further, the Buddhist worldview easily combines with other faiths, giving rise to “Bu-Jews” like Robert Downey Jr. But how are they counted?

–Lost in translation: Language barriers make it difficult to cover this predominantly Asian faith, although some American-born Buddhists have been ascending the spiritual leadership ranks in the most recent generation.

–No more drama: Aside from the Free Tibet movement and Tiger Woods' sex scandal, Buddhists come across as a fairly “live and let live” group. In America, there aren't any Buddhist governors or senators – and just two in the House of Representatives – or even any on the President's Advisory Council on Faith-based and Neighborhood Partnerships. Without conflict, political or personal, there's not much Buddhism in the news.

But expect to see more U.S. coverage of Buddhism in the next six months. For starters, it's a major religion in China, home to our money and manufacturing, and there are young Tibetan Buddhist protesters setting themselves on fire over there.

When the Dalai Lama dies or names a successor – though the septuagenarian maintains this won't happen for at least another decade – it would be helpful to have some idea of what that transition means.

Buddhism has factored into the Occupy Wall Street protests, and readers have started to take notice. After all, the Buddha was once in the one percent, before giving up his title and wealth to join the 99 percent.

The Buddhist holiday of “Bodhi Day” in early December – the first observance since Japan's devastating earthquake, tsunami and nuclear disaster – will prompt renewed spiritual reflections on the tragedy and faith-related angles on the recovery efforts.

And we haven't heard anything about Tiger Woods's reconnection to Buddhism since last year. But, if he starts winning again – or has another meltdown, professionally or personally – who knows?

On a final note, the ARDA counts Buddhist enclaves in far-flung places like Yemen, Iceland and Uruguay. What's that like? We should expect to see more U.S. coverage of Buddhism over the next six months, with several obvious angles for journalists to explore regarding Buddhists at home and abroad.

Nicole Neroulias is a correspondent for Religion News Service, a secular news and photo service devoted to unbiased coverage of religion and ethics. A graduate of Cornell University and the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, she has previously written for the New York Times and other media outlets. She also writes the Belief Beat blog at Beliefnet (@BeliefBeat on Twitter).

by Jennifer Hahn

Zombies are everywhere this week. They're occupying Wall Street, devouring the competition on TV and bloodying the pages of an award-winning author's latest novel. Should we simply chalk up the ubiquity of the undead to the advent of Halloween? Or might zombie mania reveal something important about the current state of the American psyche?

Colson Whitehead, whose zombie-apocalypse novel Zone One debuted this week to massive media interest, coyly told The Atlantic that he has “no idea” why zombies are all-the-rage at the moment. But in describing what personally draws him to the genre, he provided some insight into the larger cultural trend. “For me, the terror of the zombie is that at any moment, your friend, your family, your neighbor, your teacher, the guy at the bodega down the street, can be revealed as the monster they've always been,” he said.

Maybe that helps explain why some of the Occupy Wall Street crowd (who, like the survivors in Colson's novel, are attempting to reclaim lower Manhattan) recently dressed up like “corporate zombies” to make a point about the ethical vacuity of today's captains of finance. As one protester put it, “My reason for being dressed as a corporate zombie today is to say that there is a soullessness that goes along with selling yourself to the pursuit of money.”

Perhaps the biggest zombie headline this week was that AMC's “The Walking Dead” opened its second season with off-the-charts ratings, pulling in 7.3 million viewers, quite the coup for a cable show (it even beat out such network stalwarts as “House” and “The Biggest Loser”). The show is consistently brilliant – but the season-opener had a poignancy that makes it hard to ignore the potential wealth of meaning lurking behind the zombie trope.

The show's hero, Rick, is a former cop who is trying to protect his family and a small band of survivors after an epidemic has turned most of the world into “walkers,” dead bodies whose brain stems have mysteriously come back to life. In the middle of a zombie attack, a child goes missing. Rick takes a moment out of the search to go into an abandoned church (well, except for a few lingering zombies) to petition a statue of Jesus for help.

“I don't know if you're looking at me with, what–sadness?” Rick says. “Scorn? Pity? Love? Maybe it's just indifference. I guess you already know I'm not much of a believer. I guess I chose to put my faith elsewhere. My family mostly. My friends. My job. The thing is we – I could use a little something to help keep us going. Some kind of acknowledgment. Some indication that I'm doing the right thing.”
 
Just moments later, Rick thinks he has received this sign of encouragement when he watches his awestruck son encounter a deer in the forest. But, out of nowhere, a bullet pierces the deer and the boy, potentially giving this nudge from God a whole different meaning.

Perhaps the significance of this scene was best parsed on “The Talking Dead,” AMC's talk-show entirely devoted to the series. Guest James Gunn, writer of 2004's Dawn of the Dead reboot, joked that the scene was “AMC's way of saying they think there's no God.” To which comedian Patton Oswalt replied, “It's AMC's way of saying that God is an ironic hipster dick.”

Whatever your spiritual inclination, the current prominence of the zombie-apocalypse theme arguably represents a sort of pop culture theodicy–an attempt to come to terms with the realities of seemingly mindless evil. As the Occupy Wall Street-ers consistently point out, times are perilously tough, and the prospects for 99 percent of us aren't likely to get better any time soon. Whom or what can we blame for the current crisis? On the one hand, if you believe heedless consumption is our bugbear, there's no better metaphor than a ravenous army of the undead. Or if you're more inclined to have your fears and misfortunes personified in a villain, who better to stand in for the bad guy than a zombie, whose head you can chop off without remorse?

That's the fascinating thing about successful pop culture tropes: they can capture the aspirations or anxieties of disparate groups–like, say, the Occupy Wall Street crowd and the Tea Party movement–that otherwise have little in common. Or perhaps they have more in common than their partisans realize. That's the sort of storytelling nugget that reporters can dig up when they realize that, deep down, the ore of politics, popular culture and even economics all come from intersecting spiritual veins.

Jennifer Hahn is a graduate student in religious studies at the University of California, Santa Barbara and holds a master's degree in specialized journalism from the University of Southern California. She thanks her partner, Domingo Rossitto, for his contributions to this blog.

by Brie Loskota

It's about that time again.

Not for a new social-protest movement to pop up, or for someone to remember that the Latter-day Saints Church has some pretty important politicos in it, or for us to belatedly acknowledge black contributions to our culture (the new MLK memorial on the National Mall, highlighting the work of our most significant public theologian, is also the first such monument to an African-American). Nope, it's time for doomsday á la Harold Camping, part deux.  

Camping's last prediction about the end of the world was widely reported in May, and he's back again with a “no really this time, it's all going to end” angle on October 21. The story goes that Camping was right–the Son of God did return on May 21–but his interpretation of events surrounding that return took the warnings in the Book of Revelation too literally. The opening act of the End Times was stealthy rather than spectacular, with the real fireworks happening 153 days later.

The second time around it's even easier to poke fun at the man, the message and the missing messiah. But there are still interesting and even important stories to be mined about why the prophesy-and-apocalypse narrative captivates, time and time again.

On its first go-around the story's popularity was the main draw for journalists. Camping was trending #1 on Google, in large part due to self-promotion and the $100 million billboard campaign launched by Camping and his followers.

Why does the story seem less sensational–and thus, for better or worse, less newsworthy–this time around? In a way the answer is obvious: The first time a new prophet ventures a concrete prediction about the mythical event that fired the Puritan imagination, stokes the passions of millions of modern-day believers and threads through our supposedly secular popular culture, the news media feed on the frenzy. But you only get to be wrong once. Unless, like Camping, you're a doomsayer straight out of central casting, in which case the last time you were wrong wasn't the first time you were wrong. Time heals wounds and credibility with equal ease.

Still, there's plenty here that merits closer examination. On this blog in May, J. Terry Todd reminded us that the more interesting way to approach the story wasn't to ask “Is Camping a kook–yes or no?” but to dig deeper into the motivations of his followers and frame their stories in the larger context of social upheaval. Reporters could thereby shed some light on issues beyond the snark.

So, as with the May event, today's Camping story by itself isn't the headline. One layer down there are those who continue to follow him despite–or perhaps because of–his recent history. How do they talk about their continued trust in a man whose prophesies seem to miss the mark? On the other hand, who has moved on and what did they move on to? Jaweed Kaleem of the Huffington Post has tugged a little on this thread, but there's still much more to be said.

For example, the assumptions that underlie reporting on this story reveal a fundamental misunderstanding about how religions work. The subtext of much of the coverage of Camping, post-May, is that authentic prophets, real religion and assertions about ultimate truth are never wrong. Camping is framed as a false prophet, in part, because he predicts the unpredictable and then ventures to reinterpret his prediction in light of actual events. While he may seem like a kooky outlier, it's worth pointing out that Camping is engaging in an essential and universal component of religious practice–the reinterpretation of “revelation,” either experiential or textual, in light of material reality.

Ironically, reporters who subject religions and their self-avowedly literalist adherents to a strict “fact-checking” test can come off as more literal-minded than their sources. It's also worth noting that when they're covering politicians rather than prophets, reporters often lose their interest in analysis of any kind. In either case, journalists overlook the fact that if religious movements didn't cultivate a capacity to continually reinterpret failed prophecy, most would have died in the decade that birthed them. Probing the particulars of that capacity is one of the keys to understanding the worldview of believers. For the only thing more enduring than our ability to outlast predictions of the End Times is our desire to believe that right religion is never wrong.

by Chris Tokuhama

Over the weekend, there was much ado regarding Rev. Robert Jeffress' assertion that Mormonism was a cult, with editorials and articles appearing across news media outlets. Although the contention at the heart of the matter is whether Mormonism is, in fact, a form of Christianity, that dispute is a live issue mainly for a relatively small but tremendously vocal minority: conservative evangelicals who are active in the Republican primary process.

There are few crusades to dissuade Mormons from calling themselves Christians in other contexts–something that mainstream news media audiences might be forgiven for not knowing, but information that news organizations may be reasonably faulted for not providing. In a gesture toward deeper analysis, there has been some back-and-forth over the distinction between “religion” and “cult.” But even this somewhat wider narrative frame privileges the point of view of the religious conservatives who want to control the parameters of current political debate.

The more intriguing line from Jeffress at the Value Voters Summit was, “Do we want a candidate who is a good moral person, or do we want a candidate who is a born-again follower of Jesus Christ?” Of course, the two categories are not mutually exclusive, but reporters missed a great opportunity to probe the meaning and intention behind the assertions of the kind of source who is accustomed to having his sound-bites go unchallenged.

Another recent wag-the-dog moment was heralded with headlines like: “Cantor Doesn't Believe Religion Should be Factor in 2012.” Besides being wildly at odds with the prevailing culture of Cantor's own political party, this assertion is hardly consonant with narrative that unfolds in the body of the article. We know from reports like those from the Pew Research Center for the People and the Press that religion does impact voting, so why pretend otherwise? Furthermore, news media have an obligation to explain to voters why religion matters in the political process and how religious values will likely shape culture and policy in 2012 and beyond.

Another opportunity that most journalists missed was Jeffress' assertion that Romney is a “fine family person” but still not a Christian. Given that Jeffress was speaking to a crowd ostensibly gathered to support of family values, shouldn't this statement have prompted reporters to question the complex relationship of religion, values and politics more thoroughly? Until reporters are willing to press sources at a politically-charged religious gathering as rigorously as they would interviewees at a city council meeting or a high-profile court case, they are failing their audiences and allowing others to dictate the stories they tell.

Chris Tokuhama is a doctoral student at the USC Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism, where he studies the relationship of personal identity to the body. Employing lenses that range from Posthumanism (with forays into Early Modern Science and Gothic Horror), the intersection of technology and community in Transhumanism, and the transcendent potential of the body contained in religion, Chris examines how changing bodies portrayed in media reflect or demand a renegotiation in the sense of self, acting as visual shorthand for shared anxieties. Read up on Chris' pop culture musings or follow him on Twitter as he tries to avoid the Flavor Aid.

Judging by last week's reviews, The Way, Emilio Estevez's new film about pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago, is the latest Rorschach test for journalists who aren't sure what to do with religion if it's not tied to politics. In the 35 years since Jimmy Carter's election, reporters have learned to knead and flatten believers' concerns while spinning leaders' positions into political dross. The only saving grace is that no one's spared. Just ask Obama, Palin or even John McCain.

But if it's not serving as a political freak show, religion gives most reporters the heebie-jeebies. Case in point—most news outlets gave less space to reviewing an elegant if understated meditation on what it means to be human than to a mediocre robo-scifi beat 'em up or a disappointing teen road trip.

The Camino de Santiago has been a pilgrimage site for at least a millennium. Its terminus, the Cathedral of Santiago in Santiago de Compostela, was said to be St James' burial place, and pilgrims believed that walking the route would bring forgiveness for their sins. In recent years, the trek has attracted men and women of all faiths (or none) who see that the journey itself—450 miles in Spain alone—as a spiritual calling.

Estevez conceived of The Way as a vehicle for his father, but he also wanted to explore spirituality in a contemporary context where a dark night of the soul might culminate in a small-town Spanish jail. The movie tells the story of Tom Avery, a California ophthalmologist who travels to France to pick up the remains of his son, who died on the Camino. Surprising even himself, Tom decides to make the trip with his son's ashes. He is accompanied by a quirky entourage whose not-so-endearing tics remind him that hell, and maybe even heaven, is other people.

Making a movie about the small interior shifts that occur during a long, arduous hike could be a recipe for disaster. It's easy to imagine directors who might externalize the spiritual process with lurid visions, haunting ghosts and moody weather. But Estevez trusts in his actors, the scenery, an apt musical score and the depiction of minute changes over time—a knowing glance, a shared drink, a soft word—to convey the opening to self and others that occurs en route.

The film offers no easy answers or pat resolutions, and its quiet dignity underscores the authenticity of its subject. Most spiritual struggles are solitary, and many epiphanies are humble. There's no raging conflict, no tumultuous changes and not a burning bush in sight, just a quiet awareness that one can be a little more than what seemed initially possible and that all we have is each other. (This is a spiritual film, not a religious one.)

The Way ought to be judged on its own terms—not seen as “a personal project” or an “inspirational” film or a small movie. It's a smart and thoughtful attempt to depict the ineffable and to remind viewers that—headlines notwithstanding—real news occurs every day in the small gestures of each individual life. Now try reporting that.

Diane Winston

by Marcia Alesan Dawkins

From church pews to synod hierarchies, Christians have a long history of social discomfort with and moral conflict about same-sex relations. But news media coverage of recent cultural shifts in mainline denominations and of conservative opposition to same-sex marriage has offered a glimpse into how that history has been evolving. Before the 1980s, news stories generally framed LGBT life as a categorical perversion. More recently, however, reporting has begun to reflect the changing landscape of our cultural discussions. Two important features of this landscape are the upcoming ordination of Scott Anderson as a teaching elder at the Covenant Church in Madison, Wisc., and the move by the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) toward accepting same-sex relationships.

Though Anderson's story broke in the Minneapolis Star Tribune last week, the broader context goes back to early July, when the PC(U.S.A.) voted to allow openly gay people to serve as clergy. In an MSNBC interview on gays and lesbians in the Ministry, gay minister Paul Mallory described the new policy as a victory even though hundreds of churches left the denomination. Meanwhile, the Christian Post reported that the PC(U.S.A.) seems headed for a split as nearly 2,000 conservative Presbyterians gathered in Minneapolis to create a “new Reformed body.” Despite such sociopolitical turmoil the Covenant Network of Presbyterians, a progressive organization within the denomination, maintains that Anderson's ordination is a reason to “rejoice.”  

The coverage of Anderson's upcoming ordination and the intra-denominational rifts it has revealed reflects many of the themes in broader debates about same-sex relations in sacred and secular circles alike. For instance, while many mainstream newspapers such as the New York Times covered the state of New York's legalization of same-sex marriage in June primarily as a political matter, Christianity Today explored objections based on “the order of nature itself.”  And, in the wake of the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell, when the Pentagon decided that military chaplains may perform same-sex unions it was reported that some members of Congress objected based on the 1996 Defense of Marriage Act.

But at its root this story–or group of stories–is about far more than nature, politics or sexuality. For many people engaged in these interconnected matters, the relevance of religion itself is at stake. And the angles that typify current news media coverage–a view of same-sex relations as a social menace, on the one hand, and acceptance of LGBT people as the fulfillment of the Christian mandate to “love thy neighbor as thyself,” on the other–add deeper dimensions to stories about religion. For if, in the past, journalists almost always framed LGBT issues in negative terms, they also tended to see religion and religious institutions as unchanging monoliths. 

As stories related to sexuality and religion continue to develop, reporters would be wise to continue giving voice to those who rejoice as well as those who oppose–and to those whose beliefs place them somewhere in between. In so doing they will enhance their profession's ability to illuminate evolving religious opinion and its deep connection to other forms of cultural change.

Marcia Alesan Dawkins is a visiting scholar in Ethnic Studies at the Center for the Study of Race & Ethnicity at Brown University. She is a columnist for Truthdig, Cultural Weekly and Huffington Post and the author of Clearly Invisible: Racial Passing and the Color of Cultural Identity (Baylor University Press, 2012) and Eminem: The Real Slim Shady (Praeger, 2013).

by Richard Flory

New internet sensation Alessio Rastani, a self-identified independent trader, bluntly predicted in an interview on the BBC what he says most other savvy capitalists are anticipating: impending global economic meltdown. The news media response to Rastani's comments, beyond the initial shock that the BBC interviewers showed in response to his unalloyed glee at the prospect of making a mint off the misery of others, was disbelief (see variations on the he-must-be-a-prankster theme at Forbes, the Washington Post, CNBC, ABC and NPR).

Turns out he's no prankster–unless you consider leveraging the apocalypse a prank. In that vein, the Wall Street Journal found the whole affair a bore. What's so radical about surfing the trough of a long bear market?

Meanwhile, young people around the world–from the “Arab Spring” movements to similar uprisings in Britain, Israel, Spain and elsewhere–represent a completely different response to the economic crisis and the inability of governments to adequately address the demands of their citizens. Curiously, these demonstrations against the Establishment are reflected by agitators in the U.S., but it's a distorted reflection, like an image in a fun-house mirror. The Tea Party, whose members rally to the call to “take back” their country, has found refuge in a larger political faction that is underwritten by industrialists and financiers who profit from the status quo. And the beleaguered group that's currently “occupying” Wall Street is barely a blip on the radar of most mainstream media consumers (see examples of alternative media coverage here, here and here).

Why is protest here motivated mainly by increasingly conservative, even libertarian interests, while in other parts of the world the corresponding impulse is expressed in terms that would be considered far left of center in the U.S.? In part this has to do with the strand of radical individualism that is tightly woven into the fabric of American culture and politics. But there's an important religion angle as well.

As Diane Winston recently observed at Religion Dispatches, in our history religion is the engine that pulls the rest of the train, despite what the mainstream news media tend to assume about the relationship between religion, politics, economics, foreign policy and the other components of American culture. This state of affairs is apparent in the recent Baylor University religion survey, which shows that those who believe that God has a particular plan for their lives (a solid majority of those surveyed) are more likely to believe that government “does too much.” Moreover, the group also opposes unemployment benefits for healthy people who could be working and believe that hard work makes it possible to achieve pretty much anything in life.

What is it about this particular religious view that makes people think that government–rather than those “too big to fail” banks, General Motors and the billionaires who fund our political parties–exert too much influence over their lives? Some have suggested that Max Weber's “Protestant Ethic” thesis provides the answer; however, a belief in individual hard work as an act of service to God hardly explains this paradox. Indeed conservative Christians in the U.S., who are the dominant voice in the national political conversation, have apparently found Rastani completely un-newsworthy (a search on FoxNews, CBN and the American Family Network's OneNewsNow yielded no hits on his name). Why are “Obamacare” and gay marriage greater worries for this group than minions of Mammon who are gaming global calamity?

In part, the difference between anti-establishment protest in the U.S. and other parts of the world reflect the degree to which market-capitalism has been integrated into the worldview of conservative Christianity since its emergence in the U.S. in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. In this, it is instructive that Lyman Stewart, one of the fathers of the Bible Institute of Los Angeles (now Biola University) and patron of The Fundamentals, was also the founder and longtime Board Chair of Union Oil of California. This kind of symbiotic relationship between conservative religion and free-wheeling market-capitalism has not developed in the same way or to the same degree in other parts of the world. Thus, while in Europe throngs of protesters have taken to the streets to denounce corporate greed and what they see as the state's dereliction of duty to its citizens, in the U.S. those Wall Street occupiers are almost completely ignored by the news media and the consumers whose interests shape coverage. This is why Rastani's revelations barely raise an eyebrow at the Wall Street Journal, FoxNews and other outlets that serve the political and religious right.

While populist protest movements in the U.S. have not echoed the concerns of those in the Middle East and Europe—it remains to be seen whether they ever will—this comparison is a bigger story, with more potential angles, than most journalists have realized to date. And because religion shapes how people respond to the continuing global economic crisis, reporters should be prepared to probe this angle too.

Richard Flory is associate research professor of sociology and Director of Research in the Center for Religion and Civic Culture at the University of Southern California. He is the co-author of Growing Up in America: The Power of Race in the Lives of Teens (Stanford, 2010) and Finding Faith: The Spiritual Quest of the Post-Boomer Generation (Rutgers, 2008).

by Sandi Dolbee

Am I the only one tiring of the same old single-dimensional tweets, stories and blogs about how the line between politics and pulpits is becoming increasingly blurry?

Journalism is like driving a car. You need to spend most of your time looking forward and understanding what's around you. But you also have to keep an eye on the rearview mirror. In other words, put some past in your present and you just may find there's more to faith-based politicizing than initially meets the eye.

I was reminded of this problem as I watched the media circus around the now legendary prayer rally in Houston that showcased Texas Gov. (and current presidential hopeful) Rick Perry. Perry urged the 30,000 or so evangelicals attending the event to ask God to cure what ails this country. But from what I saw and read, the stories woefully lacked the layers that a little attention to our history of church-state tension could provide.

Not to be outdone, President Obama has garnered media attention for a pre-High Holy Days conference call with about 900 rabbis from around the country. He wished them a happy Jewish new year–and lobbied for support of his jobs bill, knowing that synagogues will soon be packed with worshipers observing Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

One of the most interesting pieces about that conference call was written by Tevi Troy, who worked for President George W. Bush as a liaison to the Jewish community. Troy's commentary in the Wall Street Journal did a good job of pointing out that this kind of faith-based outreach isn't new (his former boss held a Hanukkah party at the White House). Obama, he wrote, is simply “taking advantage of an existing proclivity toward political sermonizing.” Still, Troy didn't go far enough.

The current spate of oh-my-gosh we're-headed-toward-theocracy stories has been going on since the 1980s, first with the Moral Majority, who mobilized the great right hope, followed by the Christian Coalition, who stepped up the surge of evangelical voter power. In the 1990s, the new media covered Christian Coalition leader Ralph Reed as if he were a rock star. Time magazine put Reed on its cover with this declaration: “The Right Hand of God.” The balance in these reports came from scholars, ministers and others who said these groups were tearing down the wall that separates church and state and suggested that the evangelical voters under the spell of these charismatic movements would move lock step into the voting booth without thinking for themselves. Even with this “balance,” something–namely historical perspective–was still lacking.

Journalists should look back to the 1950s, and the change that banned churches from taking partisan stands, to help frame their coverage. Until then, preachers often used their bully pulpit to share opinions about the Good Book and the ballot box without running up against government regulation. But in 1954, as the story goes, a Texas senator named Lyndon Johnson almost lost an election because of opposition by a couple of tax-exempt charities. So Sen. Johnson proposed a change in the IRS tax code that would ban tax-exempt charities from supporting or opposing candidates (of course, they were still free to discuss issues and take stands on them). The bill passed, and 501(c)(3) was born. Churches, synagogues and other houses of worship all fell under this 501(c)(3) prohibition.

Going over this history raises complex questions about churches' distributing faith-based voter guides and holding rallies that flirt with violating the IRS code. One such question: Why don't religious organizations who sincerely believe their voices need to be heard in partisan races simply withdraw from their tax-exempt status? Other questions: What would be the financial fallout from such a move? How about the spiritual fallout? Public opinion fallout?

And speaking of the general public, what do they think of tax-exempt status for churches?
Covering faith-based rallies, conference calls and voter registration drives is important, but it's not a complete conversation. The news media, at their best, offer continuing education for readers and viewers–including the history of the issues and the tough questions that the past raises about the present and the future.

In the meantime, Americans United for the Separation of Church and State counsels citizens to think before they leap. “Non-profit organizations receive tax exemption because their work is charitable, educational or religious. That tax benefit comes with conditions. One requirement is that tax-exempt organizations refrain from involvement in partisan politics. This is a reasonable rule, since tax-exempt groups are supposed to work for the public good, not spend their time and money trying to elect or defeat candidates.”

How does this assessment square with the current political scene? Sally forth, my fellow reporters, and find out.

Sandi Dolbee is the former religion and ethics editor of the San Diego Union-Tribune. Nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for her beat coverage, she also is a two-time recipient of Religion Reporter of the Year, the Religion Newswriters Association's top award. She is a past president of the RNA, which represents reporters who cover religion in the secular media, and has received fellowships to study religion and ethics issues at USC, the University of Maryland, New York University and the University of Cambridge in England.

by Lee Gilmore

Recent tweaks to collective American anxieties around the shifting of our cultural, spiritual and sexual sands provide an opportunity revisit some persistent and emerging religious narratives.

The military's official repeal of DADT earlier this week may have progressives wondering what took them so long (and leave conservatives at pains to problematize that development), but cultural divides around marriage equality continue to generate passionate debate. Religious communities representing a variety of perspectives in North Carolina are already speaking out in advance of an impending referendum next spring that would amend the state's constitution to ban same-sex marriage. While the measure certainly has the array of supporters one might expect, conservative religionists do not seamlessly adopt a right-wing political stance on this issue. There is also a growing and increasingly vocal faith-based advocacy movement among those who defend same-sex marriage rights. Such dialogues and debates reveal a lot about where political and religious rifts lie these days, with all sides seeing it as a moral imperative to speak out on this issue.

Inter-religious divisions over same-sex marriage expose a wider and deeper gulf between those who stick to doctrinal traditions and the growing numbers of believers who create meaning in their lives in unorthodox ways. This important but slow-growing development often leaves journalists struggling to make fresh news out of old stories. For example, a number of outlets, including the Huffington Post, the Washington Post and USA Today, picked up Religion News Service coverage of a recent Barna report that offers prognostications about the future of religion in the United States. Barna's view of the American cultural horizon trades on a familiar anxiety once known as “Sheilaism.” Based on research conducted by Robert Bellah and his colleagues back in the 1980s, “Sheilaism” became a handy buzzword to describe those who would “make their own religion,” and continues to be invoked as a way to make sense of the growing numbers of spiritually inclined Americans who claim no formal religious identity.

Even more troubling for some–see the North Carolina story above–are the growing numbers of nominal Christians who profess quite traditional religious identities, but nevertheless shape their rituals and practices in dramatically idiosyncratic ways.

Despite the anxieties provoked by “Sheilaism” and other forms of religious nonconformity, heterodoxies and subtler differences of opinion are nothing new in American religious life. Religious histories are in fact characterized by a ceaseless push and pull between dissent and orthodoxy, which ultimately drives the engine of religious innovation. Dissenters push the boundaries of faith, sometimes embracing exotic new religious flavors and practices, which then breed new orthodoxies over time. In turn, conservatism also evolves in response to changing times, as traditionalists likewise retrench and retool their messaging to cope with new and challenging social circumstances.

Thus debates about the meaning and utility of the phrase “spiritual but not religious” will continue to generate public buzz. While some find both the term and the concept tedious and facile, others are more willing to grant deeper and more serious intention to those who pose the questions implicit in the idea of “the seeker.” But like poor old anonymous Shelia, the explanatory power of this catch phrase has almost been wrung dry. These tropes, like religious orthodoxies, also seem to run their course.

What's next? How can journalists peer beyond the familiar ground of “Sheilaism” or “spiritual but not religious?” Frequencies: A Genealogy of Spirituality is a new attempt by academics to embrace and understand this ongoing spiritual churn. It's a useful attempt to reflect on and contextualize this growing sense of shifting and bleeding boundaries, though it may also seem a bit too diffuse and esoteric to serve the immediate storytelling needs of most journalists.

What can we take away from all this? Debates within Christianities, lately brought into sharp relief by anxieties concerning sexuality, are a contemporary manifestation of a deeper pattern of diversity and dissent within our religious history. While some among the faithful worry about the seemingly shallow theological inclinations of the “spiritual but not religious” trend, why shouldn't those who stubbornly embrace spiritual independence mirror the broader and long-standing social push towards authenticity? Journalists would be wise to keep abreast of these intersecting currents. The flux itself may not be news, but future news-making events will inevitably arise from the flux.

Lee Gilmore teaches in the American Studies and Religious Studies programs at San José State University. Her recent book, Theater in a Crowded Fire: Ritual and Spirituality at Burning Man (University of California Press), explores the cultural and religious significance of the Burning Man festival and why many participants describe it as a spiritual and transformational event.

by Becky Garrison

In the Washington Post, Muslim scholar, writer and activist Yasir Qadhi debunks five myths many Americans still believe about Islam ten years after the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. In particular, he notes that Americans continue to harbor misunderstandings related to jihad and Sharia law.

Journalists looking for a quick study on Sharia law should check out the Muslim Bar Association of New York and read the Muslims for Progressive Values' adaptation of scholarly writing on this subject. Also, the Revealer prepared a list of articles by scholars, journalists and academics to weigh in on what Sharia is, how the media often get it wrong, how it's being used to create fear of Islam and Muslims, and how it is framed to justify continued military defense of “American values.”

According to a Gallup poll conducted in August, Muslim Americans are more likely than any other religious group to report discrimination in the last 12 months. For those journalists wishing to present more accurate depictions of Muslim communities, Adem Carroll, Founder of the Muslim Consultative Network and Director of the Muslim Progressive Traditionalist Alliance, notes the need to distinguish between Islam and Muslim, adding that the word “Islamic” has to do with the religion itself and not with the people, who are Muslim; this is why Muslims reject phrases like “Islamic terrorism.” While interpretations of religious requirements may differ, IslamiCity serves as a reliable educational portal for those seeking information about Islam.

When reporting on a particular extremist action, journalists need to be informed enough to have sufficient local knowledge. As Islam is a decentralized and very diverse religious community, they need to know the name of the specific group or Imam involved. Along those lines, reporters should be mindful of a particular group's connections to organizations and funding streams in order to more fully ascertain their particular agenda.

By establishing ongoing relationships with Imams and other Muslim leaders, reporters can build trust and become aware of the cultural nuances and mores of a given community. Some organizations involved in fostering cross-cultural dialogues involving the Muslim communities include 20,000 Dialogues, My Fellow American, Change the Story and Prepare New York.

Younger Muslims who have grown up in America often have their expectations and perspectives shaped accordingly. In other words, they often have different views on social justice issues than the older leadership. So in reaching conclusions about American Muslims, journalists ought to balance statements from Muslim elders with opinions gleaned from interviews with younger Muslim leaders.

Those looking to connect with Muslims involved in social justice issues can check out Muslims for Progressive Values, an organization that endorses the human rights, civil rights and civil liberties of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender individuals. However, social justice work and civil liberties concerns are also reflected in widespread charitable work on a grassroots level as well as in the advocacy of national groups such as Islamic Society of North America and the Council on American Islamic Relations. Be sparing in the use of the problematic term “moderate Muslims.” Be mindful, for example, that a Muslim might be “moderate” on a given social issue, yet still disagree with current U.S. foreign policy. Other writers prefer to use the term “mainstream” to indicate those well-grounded in pluralist civic life and not reactionary in their faith.

Reporters who are concerned about women's rights can easily make overstatements based on Western sensibilities instead of allowing Muslim women to tell their own stories. Women Transcending Boundaries can serve as an educational resource for those looking for dialogue between Muslim American women and women of other faith traditions. Also, see KARAMAH: Muslim Women Lawyers for Human Rights for resources on legal issues and Muslim women.

Becky Garrison is a panelist for the Washington Post's “On Faith” blog. Her additional writing credits include work for the Guardian, Killing the Buddha, Sojourners, Religion Dispatches, the Revealer, Geez magazine, the High Calling, and U.S. Catholic.