My contact with evangelicals was practically non-existent until about ten years ago. That's not to imply I was wrapped in a Catholic cocoon. In fact, I moved in an exceptionally large group of friends and relatives --including my husband-- who belonged to mainstream Protestant traditions. At one point I'd participated in my parish charismatic prayer group, so I was familiar with the concept of speaking in tongues and of spontaneous spoken prayer. Yet my first encounter with real live evangelicals was not a happy one. I was on a motor coach tour with an evangelical church group to Pennsylvania Dutch country, to write a travel piece on the state-of-the-art Biblical theatrical extravaganzas produced there.
I didn't hide the fact that I was a Catholic. Bingo! Not once, but three times, on that trip I was told in no uncertain terms I was not a Christian. When I asked why, I was told, "Because you don't accept Christ as your personal saviour and you worship the Virgin Mary." The shock and hurt I experienced was profound, though my fellow passengers treated me with kindness and even sympathy --as if I was a wounded animal in their midst.
Fast-forward seven years. I'm an active member of a relatively new Canadian writing group --The Word Guild-- an association of "Writers Who are Christian." The criterion for membership is belief in the Apostles Creed. And guess what? Most members are evangelicals, either now or in their roots, and yet I am fully accepted. In fact, I was asked --and did-- give members a one-day Lenten retreat last year.
I mention all this because it's exactly the phenomena Peter Feuerherd deals with in his lively book about newly formed alliances between evangelicals and Catholics. Many readers will identify with Feuerherd as cradle Catholics. They'll likely be aware of other mainline denominations, and the tenets of those faiths. But an encounter with an evangelical Christian was rare even though advertisements for their church services crowd out those of the traditional denominations in the religion pages of newspapers. In the United States, every year nine out of every ten new church buildings formed are evangelical. What are we to make of this phenomenon, or should we even be interested?
Feuerherd thinks we should. His framework is a visit at the beginning of the book --and one year later, at the end-- to Holy Land, USA, a theme park in Orlando Florida founded by a converted Jew (or Hebrew Jew, in evangelical language). Actors representing Christ (carrying a live lamb in his arms à la the Good Shepherd) and the apostles wander the streets, quoting scripture, performing miracles, participating in pageants. Children in particular are fascinated.
The author's interest is genuine. He's no voyeur or scoffer. He decided to dig deeper because of two events in his life. After years as an award-winning journalist for Catholic publications, he took a job with the American Bible Society (ABS). It came at a time of crisis in faith for him, when hypocrisy in the Catholic Church was exposed. At ABS he encountered a religious climate and culture totally alien to him --as he was a total alien to most of the employees. He got tired of being told he had "no personal relationship with Christ." The second event was learning his 24-year-old daughter, dutifully raised in Catholic schools and church life, was now attending an evangelical church and telling him it met her religious needs. He was astounded to learn that what she prized about that congregation was its "certainty." It was the same evangelical certitude he had encountered at AMS which he sees perfectly articulated by a sign outside an evangelical church in Roselle, New Jersey. It states: "No Questions. Just Answers." In a time when authority is constantly challenged, why does that slogan have such appeal?
Feuerherd was also deeply moved by his experience in 2003 as one of ten religion journalists invited by Northwestern University (near Chicago) to study all the religious groups in the U.S. Those journalists had the same negative feelings about the certitude of the evangelicals as he did. Yet, as he visits and interviews personnel and congregations at various evangelical churches, he gains a facility with an entire new language --in Evangelical, which always includes, "Are you saved?" and references to "heart feelings." This exploration gives him insight into how all this connects with his personal faith journey.
He discovers that evangelical churches respond to the "exurbs" --mobile suburban families whose spiritual needs the evangelical congregations take seriously. The result --crowded Sunday services. On Easter Sunday, Arizona's "Radiant Church" has as many as 15,000 worshippers. These churches have learned to connect with the American consumer society, to "market the church as Mall." Their services feature rock music, casual attire, post-service hospitality and a great deal of attention to self-help sessions. Hymns present Jesus as an intimate friend. The youth ministries in these churches are zealous and consistent. Sermons and programs feature assistance in family relationships and dysfunction, marital, and parenting areas. "It is a therapeutic model of church." Furthermore evangelicals, "unencumbered by top-down management style, are better able to respond to needs."
He also finds that the no-man's land between evangelicals and Catholics no longer holds. Evangelicals are discovering the beauties of the liturgical seasons of the church year. They also have a beginning understanding of the rationale for a sacramental theology, one that makes faith immanent in our world. Their attitude to Mary is changing, partially attributed to her portrayal in Mel Gibson's The Passion of The Christ. They admire the moral stand the Catholic Church takes on abortion and traditional marriage, and it is on these issues that the energies of both institutions converge and co-operate. Missionary endeavors in selected countries can be co-operative, rather than rivalrous.
Catholics, on the other hand, have begun to learn from evangelicals about familiarity with Scripture, non-formal prayer, a personal "walk with Christ" and increasing comfort with profession of one's faith in public places. Feuerherd urges Catholic pastors to make a once-a-year visit to an evangelical church to discover the value of dynamic preaching in a worship service. They should consider the attraction of small congregations. Some evangelicals maintain any branch church that has over 1000 would lose its ability to generate human warmth and response (some put the maximum number at 150!).
The author finds that Catholics have developed an insightful response to the question: "Are you saved?" He quotes Fr. Richard Neuhaus, former Lutheran Pastor, who responds by saying, "I don't remember it too well because I was two weeks old (referring to his baptism)…it's possible and even desirable that one has a reality of awakening…in that sense, we can say we were born again." Fr. John Rausch of Lexington Kentucky expands that concept: "We Catholics really don't use that phrase. We feel that we constantly grow in our devotion to God. For us conversion is a step, rather than a one-time moment."
The flow from one faith tradition to another is taking place in some areas. Increasingly, evangelicals are attracted to the Catholic faith, just as Catholics (particularly in the Latino community) are attracted to evangelical churches. Feuerherd makes no predictions as to where this will all end up. He sees it as evidence that traditions are learning from each other in ways that potentially enrich each person's individual journey in faith, if we can get beyond the stereotypes. The book's written style allows the reader to be a companion with the author in a tentative stepping out of familiar territory. Hopefully, it will enable all of us to have the courage to continue the exploration.
Lorraine O'Donnell Williams is a retired psychotherapist and marriage counsellor in the Toronto area. She is the author of two books and specializes in the human condition and travel. Her piece "The Gentle Touch" appeared in the March 2006 issue of The Social Edge.