Page 1981 – Christianity Today (2024)

The Arkansas Supreme Court unanimously ruled against a law that banned both gay and straight unmarried cohabiting couples from adopting children or serving as foster parents. Arkansas voters approved “Act One” in November 2008. Yesterday, the court decided that such an across the board ban violated the right to privacy by forcing couples into a choice between sexual intimacy and parenthood.

“The choice imposed on cohabiting sexual partners, whether heterosexual or hom*osexual, is dramatic,” the court said in its ruling. “They must chose either to lead a life of private, sexual intimacy with a partner without the opportunity to adopt or foster children or forego sexual cohabitation and, thereby, attain eligibility to adopt or foster.”

The Arkansas-based Family Council Action Committee (FCAC) sponsored Act One and assisted in the defense of the law. FCAC president Jerry Cox called the ruling “anti-child” and “the worst decision ever handed down by the Arkansas Supreme Court.”

“This is a classic example of judicial tyranny,” said Cox. “We have said all along that Act One was about child welfare, and fifty-seven percent of the voters in 2008 agreed. They declared that the State of Arkansas has an obligation to adoptive and foster children to ensure that they are placed in the best possible homes.”

The FCAC argued that Act One was justified because unmarried relationships are less stable, more abusive, more infidelity, lower income levels, and less social support than marriages. The court said that these claims are not true of all cohabiting couples and each of these issues can be addressed when the state screens potential parents.

FCAC was represented by Byron Babione, an Alliance Defense Fund (ADF) attorney. “The court’s decision tragically places more importance on the sexual interests of adults than on protecting children,” Babione said. “The people of Arkansas believe that children deserve the most safe and stable home possible. They cast their ballots to ensure that children wouldn’t be deprived of the best possible family environment and decisively approved Act 1 for that purpose only, but the court struck down the people’s will anyway.”

Public opinion polls suggest that the nation is split on the question of whether gay couples should be allowed to adopt children. A 2006 poll by the Pew Research Center for the Public and the Press found 46 percent of Americans approve of gay couples adopting and 48 percent opposed such adoptions. The vast majority of evangelicals, however, opposed gays adopting. Three-quarters of white evangelicals and 60 percent of African-American Christians opposed such adoptions. Opposition was much lower among Mainline Protestants (44 percent) and Catholics (37 percent).

A lifelong lover of animals, I had an epiphany some years ago when I was driving along and spotted on the road ahead what I thought was a dead dog. Quickly, a lump formed in my throat—and just as quickly disappeared seconds later when I drove closer and saw that the black-and-white carcass was that of a skunk, not a dog. The moment of enlightenment came in that sudden swing of emotions, followed by the realization that, objectively, there is no difference between a dog and a skunk, and that my two divergent responses were then entirely subjective, the product of a social and emotional construct. It made me wonder if God’s view of a skunk and his view of a dog are as wide apart as mine were in that moment. I doubt it.

The relationship between humans and animals has always been complex, contradictory, and anything but consistent. The Bond, the first book by Wayne Pacelle, president and CEO of the Humane Society of the Unites States (HSUS), is in large part an examination of this complicated history of humankind’s interaction with the various species of the animal kingdom. The book is an important read for anyone concerned about our responsibility as humans to all animals, since an effective approach to animal welfare must consider the many areas where their welfare is compromised. Such an endeavor is, alas, not for the faint of heart. Those new to modern animal welfare issues will learn in reading The Bond things which it is more pleasant not to know. At the same time, while Pacelle clearly respects his readers enough to provide details the responsible citizen and consumer must understand, he sensitively and skillfully drops the curtain at just the right moments. Readers like me who can’t handle shows like the Animal Planet’s Animal Cops (which depicts investigations into cases of animal cruelty) should be able to read every word of this book, despite some teeth-gritting and stomach-churning moments now and then.

Yet our relationship as humans to animals is so personal and so individualized, I can’t imagine this book being read the same way by any two people. The Bond covers every animal welfare issue of concern today, along with a good many from history: whale-harpooning, industrial farming, dogfighting and co*ckfighting, breeding practices at puppy mills, big-game hunting, and more. Depending on one’s particular experiences, biases, and soft spots, each of these topics might be received in different ways. I approached the section on the clubbing of baby seals with much fear and trembling, while venturing more bravely into the portion on co*ckfighting. My passing familiarity with the world of AKC dog shows prepared me for the problems outlined in that arena, but the book’s descriptions of the treatment of “downer cows” in the slaughterhouse were more difficult to read. And when I teared up at Pacelle’s brief narration of the euthanizing of his family dog when he was a boy, my response owed less to the poignancy of his experience (touching as it is) than to the fact that my own aging dog was right next to me, sleeping, as I read.

Appropriately, then, The Bond attempts to bring a bit more rationality, as well as compassion, to bear on these topics. We’ve come a long way since René Descartes and his disciples assured rapt public audiences that the cries of animals sliced open while alive for scientific exploration were the mere creakings of “machines.” Yet despite such progress, Pacelle writes, “there’s a vast gap between what we know and what we allow, what objective science affirms and what the laws permit.” Even apart from the enactment of new laws that might be warranted, Pacelle seeks at the very least consistent application of existing standards, both legal and moral. For, as he states, there’s near universal agreement on “the broad principle that animals deserve kindness and protection,” but wide and consistent application of that principle is nowhere near being achieved.

Within the highly politicized spectrum of positions on animal welfare, the protections Pacelle calls for in The Bond and for which the HSUS stands are situated somewhere in the middle. Unsurprisingly, criticism is lobbed at them from all sides among the interested parties. The blogosphere is rife with replicated talking points from food industrialists and radical animal rightists alike, condemning the HSUS from various angles. Industrial farmers, the food industry, government agencies, and countless political and business interests fight the HSUS’s legislative initiatives at every turn.

For example, opponents of Proposition 2—a 2008 ballot initiative in California directed at some of the most extreme confinement methods used in industrial farming—spent nearly $10 million to fight the legislation. Even so, the proposal was not only passed by voters overwhelmingly, but it received more votes than any ballot initiative in American history, demonstrating, Pacelle argues, that most people care about how animals—even the ones that end up on the dinner table—are treated. At the other end of the spectrum, the HSUS is criticized by more radical animal rights organizations for refusing to condemn all forms of hunting, accepting humane euthanasia of animals at overpopulated shelters, not calling for an outright ban on animal testing, and, especially, for teaming up with Michael Vick in an anti-dogfighting campaign targeting at-risk youth in urban communities.

Pacelle’s retelling of his first meeting and subsequent relationship with the NFL star-cum-convicted dogfighter Vick is one of the most fascinating and insightful sections of the book. It opens with the startling declaration, “Michael Vick loves animals,” and gets even more interesting as it goes along. (As it turns out, that assertion was Vick’s own straight-faced claim.) What follows is a crash course in Sociology 101 (and perhaps Psychology 101) as Pacelle tries to unravel the Michael Vick knot and navigate the tricky territory of his own competing interests: partnering with the infamous perpetrator of the very acts of cruelty he has spent his life fighting in order to prevent future acts of cruelty. Pacelle’s working out with Vick a proper definition of “love” for animals through their awkward dance on the anti-dogfighting platform makes for the most compelling reading in the book.

While The Bond is not explicitly Christian, nor is it addressed directly to Christians, it seems to speak with equal fluency to both the thoughtful Christian reader and the thoughtful citizen of no particular religious belief. Pacelle exhibits more than a passing knowledge of the Bible and biblical principles, with references to both woven throughout in an unforced fashion. He mentions key Christian figures who were pioneers in the animal welfare movement—people such as William Wilberforce and Harriet Beecher Stowe, who did not deem it unworthy or a poor investment of time to advocate for animals at the same time they were fighting the evil of human slavery. The Bond speaks to universal ethics as well, arguing that our treatment of animals is “a measure of who we are,” a sentiment that echoes Proverbs 12:10, which declares that the righteous care for the lives of the beasts. Further, Pacelle claims, our concern for animals “defines our character, our moral progress, and our ability to look beyond self-interest.” The solutions he offers in the last part of the book tap into cherished American values. Using the transformation of the whale-hunting industry of a previous age into today’s whale-watching industry—a business not only compassionate and sustainable, but lucrative, too—Pacelle demonstrates how the spirit of innovation and entrepreneurship can benefit human interests while creating a world more merciful to animals.

Even more arresting, particularly to conservative Christians, is the way in which Pacelle suggests that the claims of Darwinism, Skinnerian behavioralism, and biological determinism stand against animal welfare concerns. In fact, he goes perhaps too far in this direction. His portrayal of animals, especially in the first section of the book, is a bit more anthropomorphic than some readers will buy. I would also quibble with a somewhat sloppy glossing over of the important historical, theological, and philosophical distinctions carried by the terms “animal welfare” and “animal rights.” Nevertheless, the religious and political conservatives who tend, generally, to dismiss or even actively oppose the animal welfare movement should note the strong connections the book makes between Darwinism and the sort of mechanistic reductionism that logically leads to disregard for animals. And this points to a question that seems to me to be a glaring inconsistency in the contemporary church: why have we not been the ones taking the lead on matters of creation care (which includes animal welfare) all along?

In its organization into three sections (on the human-animal bond, the breaking of that bond, and its restoration), The Bond reflects the biblical metanarrative of Creation, Fall, and Redemption. For whatever reason, God chose to place animals alongside us as fellow players in this grand story. This bond is of his design, not ours. Surely the way we relate to the animals God placed into our dominion reflects the way we view our relationship with the One who has dominion over us.

Karen Swallow Prior is chair of the Department of English and Modern Languages at Liberty University.

Copyright © 2011 Books & Culture. Click for reprint information.

Bethany Hamilton has a story worth telling. Born and raised on the island of Kauai, Hawaii, Bethany was a natural surfer already winning competitions and securing endorsem*nts as a pre-teen. In 2003, at the age of 13, her promising future appeared to be jeopardy when a 15-foot tiger shark bit off her left arm in a well-publicized attack. The fact that she survived—despite losing 60 percent of her blood—is a miracle; the way she has thrived ever since is astonishing and, it would seem, perfect source material for a feature film. Enter Soul Surfer, an imperfect but compelling movie that succeeds largely on the strength of Hamilton's incredible-but-true story.

Aspects of her journey have already been well documented, from the extensive media coverage of her accident, to her own biography (2004's Soul Surfer: A True Story of Faith, Family and Fighting to Get Back on the Board) and the 2007 short-film documentary Heart of a Soul Surfer. Challenged with translating so much already-familiar material for the big screen, Soul Surfer's producers wisely sought out an accomplished cast.

AnnaSophia Robb (Race to Witch Mountain, Bridge to Terabithia) is strong in the central role, capturing both Bethany's resiliency and her vulnerability with natural charisma. Dennis Quaid (Vantage Point, The Rookie) brings plenty of heart to the role of Bethany's father, Tom, and Academy Award winner Helen Hunt (What Women Want, Pay It Forward) is a touch wan but convincing as Bethany's worried mother, Cheri. Most of the supporting cast is strong as well, including Lorraine Nicholson (Jack Nicholson's daughter) as Bethany's best friend, Alana Blanchard, TV veteran Kevin Sorbo as Alana's father and a key participant in Bethany's rescue, and Craig T. Nelson as her empathetic physician and close family friend.

The trailer for Soul Surfer emphasizes another cast member: Country music star Carrie Underwood, who plays Bethany's church youth group leader and mentor, Sarah Hill. Underwood's feature film debut has upped the buzz factor, and her photogenic features do translate well on screen. However, in a couple of key emotional scenes, Underwood fails to equal the cast around her, and her lack of acting experience detracts from the film.

In fairness, the film asks a lot of Underwood; the screenplay counts on Sarah to be the primary mouthpiece for the Christian faith that is integral to Bethany's story. The Hamiltons have always been frank about their beliefs, and the film, to its credit, is just as overt about exploring the role that faith played in Bethany's recovery and continues to play in her everyday life. (In the opening minutes, we see the family attending a beachside worship service, and they pray together and cling to relevant Scriptures throughout the turmoil surrounding the shark attack.)

There's another scene, more than a year after the shark attack, where Bethany joins Sarah and others on a World Vision-sponsored missions trip to Thailand, several months after the tsunami of December 2004. After seeing the devastation, meeting orphans, and connecting with a people who also had good reason to fear going back into the water, Hamilton gains additional perspective on living in the wake of tragic circ*mstances.

Although the film's religiosity may feel odd to secular filmgoers, evangelicals will recognize it as a reasonable approximation of daily American Christianity. The character of Sarah, however, is given the sometimes thankless burden of articulating some of the film's more pedantic themes—delivering a youth-group object lesson on perspective, scolding Bethany early in the movie when she doesn't make time for a missions trip, and offering up some not-quite satisfying resolutions about God's plans in the face of tragedy.

But it's not all Underwood's fault. Some of the blame must be put on the screenplay, which does manage to nicely honor Bethany's own real-life hard-won resolutions, but hits some clunky stretches getting there. Oddly, the writing seems to have fallen not only to director Sean McNamara, but to a large team of collaborators whose chief collective credits are Hawaiian Baywatch episodes. This story deserved a better brain trust.

Director, co-producer, and writer McNamara is best known for helming youth television programs like Jonas and Sonny With a Chance; his lack of previous big screen experience is sometimes apparent throughout Soul Surfer. Shot on location in Hawaii, the film does not feel as panoramic as one might expect; the cinematography is decent where it might have been spectacular. The filmmakers reportedly used footage of the real-life surfers, Hamilton and Blanchard, in an effort to make the surfing more authentic; unfortunately, less-than-satisfying integration of the real individuals and the characters who play them means that sometimes the camera cuts away just when we most expect the movie to deliver.

But even if the film is not all that it could be, it is still more than worth viewing—if for nothing else than following Bethany Hamilton's remarkable story: surviving the attack, getting back on a surfboard and in the water just three weeks later, finding her balance with just one arm (she rejected the notion of a prosthetic arm early on), and eventually becoming one of the top professional women's surfers in the world. (Early in 2011, she was ranked in the top 25.). Her faith, courage, and perseverance are on full display here.

McNamara captures the strong central cast most effectively in the smaller, more nuanced moments of the film, where Quaid, Hunt, and Robb portray with poignancy a family grieving, grappling, and growing through tragedy. Although the Big Question of this film—why does God allow bad things to happen?—is sometimes handled clumsily, it is always approached sincerely and respectfully, and the real-life events of Hamilton's life ultimately point clearly to the difference faith can make. In this sense, Soul Surfer, like its protagonist, is unstoppable.

Talk About It

Discussion starters

1. Bethany asked repeatedly why God allowed the shark attack to happen. Do you think that question was answered in the movie? Do you think that question was (theologically-speaking) the right question to ask?
2. Sarah played a game with her youth group early in the movie about perspective. What perspective did Bethany gain in her missions trip Thailand?
3. Bethany's dad quoted Philippians 4:13 to her: "I can do all things through him who strengthens me." Would Bethany still be able to say that verse was true if she had not been able to surf again? If so, how?
4. Divorce rates are very high when there is tragedy in the family. What factors do you think contributed to the Hamiltons' staying together?

The Family Corner

For parents to consider

Soul Surfer is rated PG for an intense accident sequence and some thematic material. It's a wholesome, profanity-free film that would be completely appropriate for the whole family were it not for the necessary element of the shark attack. Although not treated gruesomely, the very fact of the attack, and the strong sense of peril, may be too intense for younger viewers.

Photos © Sony Pictures.

Copyright © 2011 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

The New York Times last week told the story of eighth grader Margarite, who “sexted” (sent a naked photo of herself via cell phone) her boyfriend. When he and Margarite broke up, the boyfriend forwarded the message to another girl—a former friend of Margarite’s with whom she was having some trouble—with the caption, “Ho Alert!” The girl forwarded it, and soon the whole school had access to the photo that the 14-year-old meant for her boyfriend’s eyes. Several students were eventually charged with child p*rnography for their role in forwarding the message, although charges were eventually downgraded to harassment, punishable by community service.

As my oldest daughter prepares for middle school next year, I’m pondering the best ways to equip her to handle the changes and challenges of adolescence with wisdom and grace. One of my central concerns is how to help her (and our other two children) navigate the digital world of cell phones and laptops. Sexting, distracted driving, cyberbullying—these modern scourges can leave kids damaged, lonely, in legal trouble, or even dead.

Recognizing that online activity (sexting and cyberbullying, as well as less overtly threatening Facebooking and texting) has potentially negative effects on kids’ physical and mental health, the American Academy of Pediatrics is urging pediatricians to inquire about media use during check-ups. Experts have coined the phrase “Facebook depression” to describe the plummeting self-esteem that can result from constant exposure to friends’ happy status updates and photos indicating a packed social calendar. Although it has yet to show a causal link, one study found that teens who text a lot (120 text messages or more per day) are more likely to engage in sexual activity and drug use. Experts speculate that factors contributing to excessive texting (impulsivity, a need for constant stimulation and social interaction, inadequate parental supervision) also contribute to risk-taking.

What is a parent to do? Some parents might ban electronic media altogether, but that’s not the right answer for most of us. Electronic connectivity will play a larger and larger role in the workplace and education. I am a writer for whom online media are indispensable for sharing and marketing my work (and frankly, central to both my social life and my household management). My husband is a librarian transitioning his university library from being a repository of printed material to an access point for online resources. My daughter’s middle school homework will require Internet access, as many teachers post homework on web pages, rather than passing it out in class. Facebook, e-mail, and texting can also be tools for enhanced connections between people, if used with respect for others and within limits. Forbidding my kids from using computers and cell phones would be shortsighted and, really, impossible.

But we can have rules: No texting at the dinner table. All computer use takes place in public areas of the house, not behind closed doors. Cell phones will be turned in to us at bedtime. Kids must “friend” a parent if they want to use Facebook.

It seems to me, though, that the unhealthy, sometimes tragic consequences of teen media use are rooted in something deeper than a lack of parental supervision or teen impulsiveness. Teenagers, particularly girls, inhabit a culture that constantly tells them that their worth is measured by outward things—looks, popularity, sexual experience, worldliness, the ability to post clever one-liners that elicit plenty of ROFL’s and LMAO’s from friends.

Actually, it’s not just teenagers that inhabit this culture. I do too. My own consumption of media does not always give my kids a good example of how to be part of today’s online world without letting the values promoted by that world define you. And I’m not just talking about my tendency to scroll through my e-mail while only half-listening to my kids.

My consumption of media—reading consumer magazines and watching reality TV as well as using Facebook, e-mail, and texting—often skews my self-image and tempts me to focus not on what is meaningful and lasting and healthy, but on what is superficial and fleeting and destructive.

The more I obsess over shelter magazines featuring updated, perfectly coordinated, clutter-free homes or watch TV shows such as TLC’s What Not to Wear, the worse I feel about my own cluttered, unrenovated, dust bunny-infested house, and my cardigan- and sneaker-heavy wardrobe.

The more time I spend online obsessing over my blog comments, envying other authors’ publishing successes, and wondering why I wasn’t invited to the party that friends are posting photos of, the more focused I become on myself and my insecurities, instead of on my family, my work, and my community. Media saturation has a way of skewing our sense of how things really are and what is eternally significant. Other writers get rejected. Most people’s houses are rarely camera-ready. My friends spend many weekends hanging out with their children instead of dressing up to attend parties (or, alternatively, doing errands and cleaning bathrooms instead of planning outings or supervising extravagant craft projects with their kids). But such real-life experiences rarely make it into Facebook photo albums or status updates.

As Paul reminded Christ’s followers in Phillippi, “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” The fruit of such a life is not a guarantee that you’ll never be hurt by a friend, disappointed in romance, rejected in the workplace, or feel lousy when you discover you weren’t invited to the party of the year. The fruit of such a life is that, “The God of peace will be with you.”

Our rules about computer and cell phone use will likely change as the technology changes, and as we see what kind of people our children—today still so young and innocent—turn into. But I will do my best to foster a family environment that puts the real world ahead of the virtual one by both setting clear rules about media, and focusing on seeking first God’s kingdom and God’s righteousness. I will strive to better model healthy behavior in my own media use. And I will say many prayers for all that is beyond my control, which is plenty.

Universalism is not the only topic in Rob Bell’s Love Wins that deserves comment, though given the buzz, you’d think that’s all he discusses. Among other things, the book also attacks “toxic” forms of substitutionary atonement, and advocates the use of a plurality of atonement theories. In this, Mr. Bell is repeating decades-old arguments in our movement, arguments that seem to be winning the day. One atonement theory in particular has exploded in popularity, in fact. Hardly an atonement discussion goes by that I don’t hear an evangelical say they doubt the usefulness of substitutionary atonement and now favor Christus Victor.

The Christus Victor model has much to commend it. The idea is this: Christ is victor. Christ in his death and resurrection overcame over the hostile powers that hold humanity in subjection, those powers variously understood as the devil, sin, the law, and death. While the model assumes humanity’s guilt for getting ourselves into this predicament—beginning with the original sin of Adam and Eve—the theory’s anthropology (view of humanity) emphasizes not our guilt but our victimhood, at least the way it is often discussed today. The main human problem is that we are trapped and we need to be rescued: “Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery” (Heb. 2:14-15) .

Indeed, we are enslaved to powers beyond our control, both personally and corporately. This model also highlights big picture atonement: Christ’s death isn’t merely about me and my salvation. It’s about the redemption of the cosmos: “He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him” (Col. 2:15).

On the other hand, “neurotic substitutionary atonement” needs to be abandoned. The picture of a wrathful Father having his anger appeased by the death of his Son is wrong on many fronts. Here’s one: It separates the work of the Father from the Son, as if they have competing concerns—the Father with righteousness, the son with compassion. It sounds like the Son saves us from the Father! This is manifestly unbiblical, for Paul clearly says that “in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself” (2 Cor. 5:19). While we were sinners, God took action. God would not have come to us in Christ had he not already determined to reconcile with us. This is not the behavior of a God who stands aloof in a huff, waiting for propitiation before he’ll have anything to do with us.

With these clarifications, biblical substitutionary atonement in all its nuances (the Bible frames it in subtly different ways: as sacrifice, propitiation, and payment) remains the dominant metaphor for atonement in Scripture. When he wanted to demonstrate his love for us, God substituted himself for us on the cross. It is an especially fitting move, given who God is—both just and merciful: “[We] are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith. This was to show God’s righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over former sins. It was to show his righteousness at the present time, so that he might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus” (Rom. 3:24-26).

Many interesting comparisons can be made between the two theories. Both actually include dimensions of personal guilt and victimhood, but as I listen to the discussion today, it seems that Christus Victor highlights our state as victims. Substitutionary atonement focuses on our guilt. In Christus Victor, we are liberated from hostile powers out there. In substitution, we are forgiven, and liberation is from ourselves and our addiction to our sin. Naturally, both models speak to truths of the human condition! And both have nuances worth exploring. But I’m concerned at the rising popularity of Christus Victor when it comes at the expense of substitution.

First, note how Scripture, even when it momentarily uses Christus Victor language, grounds it in substitution. For example, in the classic Christus Victor passage quoted above—”He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him”—note how Paul sets the context of that victory with substitution: “And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross” (vv. 13-14).

Or note again what is said immediately after that passage quoted above —” … through death [Christ] might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery.” A verse later we read: “Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people” (Heb. 2:14-17).

Add to this the extensive discussion of substitutionary atonement in Romans, Galatians, and Hebrews—and no extensive discussions of Christus Victor anywhere in the New Testament—and one begins to wonder how much stock we should put in Christus Victor. In short, should we be so quick to marginalize substitutionary atonement?

One other area worth noting: the social setting in which this discussion takes place. It is no coincidence in a society where we imagine ourselves mostly as victims of social or biological forces, in a culture increasingly illiterate in the language of guilt, sin, and personal responsibility, that Christus Victor is winning the day in the Christian world. To be clear: I am not suggesting that champions of Christus Victor are avoiding personal guilt and the need for forgiveness. That’s a question of the heart about which one cannot judge. My point is this: Is this model capable of addressing our culture with the truth of the gospel at one of its most troubling points?

I have noticed—and do tell me if you see otherwise—that in general those who publically champion Christus Victor don’t pepper their talks and prayers with personal guilt for sin or the need for divine forgiveness. By way of contrast, note the oldest advocates of Christus Victor, the Eastern Orthodox. Personal sin and guilt, and the consequent wrath of God, regularly weave themselves into their prayers. Note this prayer recommended for each morning:

Arising from sleep I thank you, O holy Trinity, because of the abundance of your goodness and long-suffering, you were not angry with me, slothful and sinful as I am. Neither have you destroyed me in my transgressions, but in your compassion raised me up as I lay in despair, that at dawn I might sing the glories of your Majesty.

But for some reason, when the Christus Victor theory is extolled by Protestants today, personal sin and guilt take a back seat. Way back sometimes.

There is much to be said in favor of substitutionary atonement besides its biblical predominance. And to be sure, those who favor substitutionary atonement have some questions to ask themselves: Do I favor this theory because I am neurotically obsessed with guilt? Am I avoiding the cosmic dimensions of salvation to avoid getting involved in the political and social sphere? But those are subjects of other columns.

Here, I’m simply suggesting that Christus Victor may not be a theory that Protestants, and evangelicals in particular, should tie their wagons to. While it brings to the fore some crucial and forgotten biblical truths, it’s clearly a secondary atonement theme in the New Testament. And at least for today’s Protestants, it has an uncanny tendency to downplay a sense of personal responsibility, which in the end, sabotages grace. In my view, more than ever in our day, we need Christus Vicarious.

Something to think about, anyway, especially during Lent, when many of us ponder the great mysteries of sin and atonement.

Mark Galli is senior managing editor of Christianity Today. He is author of Jesus Mean and Wild: The Unexpected Love of an Untamable God (Baker).

Copyright © 2011 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

Related Elsewhere:

Previous SoulWork columns include:

Learning to Count to One | New math for those addicted to getting higher and higher in their churches. (February 17, 2011)

Super Bowl Evangelism | Why Jesus did not say, “Market your neighbor as yourself.” (February 3, 2011)

One Wedding and Six Funerals | What it can mean to participate in the life of God. (January 20, 2011)

“Perhaps it does not matter very much in which order anyone reads them,” concluded C. S. Lewis in a letter—now famous among Lewis fans—dated April 23, 1957.

Lewis’s correspondent was an 11-year old American boy named Lawrence Krieg who had written suggesting the seven Chronicles of Narnia should be read in their chronological order, with The Magician’s Nephew first, rather than in their publication order as was indicated on the covers and the one Lawrence’s mother preferred, with The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe first.

Lewis initially seemed inclined to possibly accept Lawrence’s proposal, though with qualification, writing: “I think I agree with your order for reading the books more than with your mother’s.” But given his later statement, that perhaps the order did not matter very much, it seems more likely that he was simply being gracious to a young admirer.

What is known is that all during Lewis’s lifetime and for seventeen years after his death, the Chronicles kept their original publication order numbers. Then in 1980, these numbers were changed to the chronological order they bear today. Anyone buying a copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe now will find a number two on its spine and the following statement inside: “The HarperCollins editions of The Chronicles of Narnia have been renumbered in compliance with the original wishes of the author, C. S. Lewis.”

Lewis scholar Peter Schakel finds the use of the word “original” in this claim puzzling and asks: “Does ‘original’ mean from the time at which The Magician’s Nephew was completed? If so, why did Lewis not request the Bodley Head [his publisher] to include this renumbering in the new book, or in The Last Battle the following year, or have Geoffrey Bles [his later publisher] change the order in later reprints of the other books? If it had been a matter of importance to Lewis, surely his publishers would have complied with his wishes, or included the renumbering in the paperback editions that appeared a few years later.”

Despite Lewis’s kindly words to Lawrence Krieg, Schakel maintains that the order the books are read in “matters a great deal” and argues that the original ordering is preferred by “a number” of Lewis scholars, an understatement that should read “most” or “nearly all.”

Schakel’s argument is founded on common sense. One need not be a Lewis scholar or an English professor to see that The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe must be read first if we want to walk with and not ahead of the four Pevensie children as they hide inside the Professor’s strange wardrobe and enter an enchanted land called Narnia. Reading this story first is the only way we can share their wonder.

Reading this book first is also the only way internal statements suggesting it is the first book make any sense, statements like this one made after the first reference to Aslan: “None of the children knew who Aslan was any more than you do.” Readers who have already finished The Magician’s Nephew will find these words from Lewis’s narrator baffling.

Correspondingly, The Magician’s Nephew needs to be read later, only after we have encountered the magical wardrobe, the mysterious lamp-post, the evil Witch, and the oddly sympathetic Professor. After The Magician’s Nephew gives us the story of their origins, we can say with satisfaction and delight, “So that’s where they came from!”

Walden’s decision

After producing the first three Narnia films in their original publication order, Walden Media apparently intends to bring out The Magician’s Nephew next, as the fourth film in the series. In their original order, this book was always listed as number six.

What might Lewis have said about Walden’s decision to move the story up? Given that fact that Lewis died in 1963, we can only offer a conjecture based on the way the books would have been read in his day.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe was published in October 1950. The Magician’s Nephew came out in May 1955. Readers living during Lewis’s time would have had to wait about four and a half years between the two installments. Once both books were available, however, someone who started the series with The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and continued reading in order would have gotten to The Magician’s Nephew much sooner.

So what? For The Magician’s Nephew to resonate the way Lewis intended, its audience must have the elements from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe still firmly in mind.

Walden’s film adaptation of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe released in December 2005; The Magician’s Nephew is tentatively slated for December 2013. That’s an 8-year gap. How long can cinematic memory be expected to last? Had Walden kept The Magician Nephew as sixth in the series and released it sometime around 2018, there would have been a 13-year gap—and a whole new generation of theatergoers would see it without having seen The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe in the theater.

That is why it can be argued that Lewis would agree with Walden’s decision to make The Magician’s Nephew next. The audience needs to still strongly remember Wardrobe for Nephew to work best.

If cinematic resonance is a reason for moving The Magician’s Nephew up, one reason not to move it would be if it told the origins for any elements from the fourth and fifth books—The Silver Chair and The Horse and His Boy—something which it does not do.

Another major reason Walden is moving forward with The Magician’s Nephew is that many more people have read this book than The Silver Chair, because the new numbering in 1980 put The Magician’s Nephew first and The Silver Chair sixth, meaning a good number of readers never got that far.

And then after that?

What is a best-case scenario that Narnia fans might hope for?

My wish would be that The Magicians Nephew is released in 2013 to great acclaim, producing demand for more. With the series then reinvigorated, I suggest that the producers then do The Silver Chair for Narnia 5 in 2015, and then The Horse and His Boy as Narnia 6 in 2018. But as Lewis might have said, perhaps it does not matter very much in which order anyone makes these two particular installments.

There’s no debate that The Last Battle should be the final film. Look for it in 2020, on the fifteenth anniversary of the first film’s release—and seventy years after the original publication of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. To have stories that will still speak to people after seven decades—people young and old from all over the world—well, that is also saying a lot.

Devin Brown is an English professor at Asbury University where he teaches a class on C. S. Lewis. He is author of Inside Narnia, Inside Prince Caspian, and Inside The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

Copyright © 2011 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

It’s been a little over a decade since Walden Media acquired the film rights to C. S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia, and for Walden co-founder and president Micheal Flaherty, it’s been an exhilarating ride—even if it has been something of a roller-coaster.

The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe opened in December 2005 to a massive audience, earning more than $1 billion in box office ($745 million) and DVD sales ($332 million) combined. Critical reviews were good (76 percent positive at Rotten Tomatoes), and the franchise was off to a great start.

But then came the next two films—2008’s Prince Caspian and 2010’s Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Caspian brought in less than half of the domestic box office that LWW had drawn, and VDT only about a third as much. Critical ratings at Rotten Tomatoes dropped from 76 percent positive for LWW to 67 percent for PC to a tepid 50 percent for VDT, which releases to DVD and Blu-Ray this week

With the dropping numbers, we asked Flaherty if the franchise was in trouble, and if not, which of the Chronicles would be the next film? The Silver Chair comes next in the sequence of books, but Flaherty said Walden and 20th Century Fox, which distributes the movies, have mostly decided on The Magician’s Nephew—Narnia’s “origins story”—for their next project. (Narnia scholar Devin Brown says Lewis himself would agree with that choice; see his reasons here.)

Why do The Magician’s Nephew next?

It’s a creative decision in terms of what story we felt has the best opportunity to draw the largest audience. The box office has pretty closely followed the sales pattern of the books. Prince Caspian sells about half of the books of Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe, and it did about half of the box office. Caspian sells about a third more books than Dawn Treader, and it did about a third more box office. That pattern continues to decline with Silver Chair being the weakest book in the series in terms of consumer demand.

We just think the origin tale of The Magician’s Nephew is a great one, and it brings back the characters that have proven to be the most popular—a lot of Aslan and the White Witch. It explains the origin of the lamppost and the wardrobe. The order of these books is something that few people agree on anyway. While Silver Chair certainly continues Eustace’s adventure, we never knew when Magician’s Nephew would come in the sequence of films. We never assumed it would be last, and we never assumed it would be first.

A lot of people say The Magician’s Nephew is their favorite.

In book sales, it is right behind The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. If you look at the superhero stories or any great franchise in recent years, they all have an origin story. We’ve yet to make our origin story. But rather than lead with Magician’s Nephew, we’re following Lewis’s lead on this—that it’s a lot more interesting if you’ve been teased with these things, like the wardrobe, rather than explain it right up front. Once people are familiar with the lamppost, the wardrobe, Narnia, and Aslan, Magician’s Nephew is a lot more powerful, to go back and explain where all of this came from.

Dawn Treader did poorly in the U.S., but quite well with the foreign box office. Did the low domestic numbers prompt any conversation of calling it quits?

No, because international box office was so strong—three times the domestic. We always look at these things from the international standpoint, that cumulative number.

Why has the domestic box office dipped significantly with each of the three films, while the foreign has remained fairly strong? Domestic accounted for 39 percent of the earnings for Wardrobe, 33 percent for Caspian, and just 25 percent for Dawn Treader. Can you explain?

We’re trying to figure that out. But we don’t want to hold things up with a lot of navel gazing, either. That’s why we’re anxious to get into Magician’s Nephew.

When you first started making these movies, did you have any clue that the foreign box office would account for, on average, two-thirds of the earnings?

No. So much has changed in the business. The DVD business continues to evaporate, and there are so many other decisions that go into this. But when you look at some of the foreign territories where we did really well, those are territories that are adding theaters furiously. So the box office size is actually expanding in places like Russia that we never would have predicted ten years ago that would generate so many admissions. There’s a pretty healthy theater expansion in a bunch of different markets overseas.

Are you saying the American market hasn’t necessarily gone down, but that the foreign market has just exploded, thus explaining the percentages?

No, that doesn’t explain it. The domestic audience loss that we have from one to two to three is much larger than what we see with other franchises. So something’s going on. But when you compare it to the Narnia book sales, you see sales trends in that same direction, and that’s unusual for a lot of book series. The Harry Potter books are pretty consistent. Hunger Games are pretty consistent. Twilight are pretty consistent. But in the Narnia series, the book sales are not as consistent as they are among other franchises.

If the Narnia books were being written and released today, I wonder if we’d have midnight Narnia release parties like with Harry Potter and Twilight.

That would be wild, but it’s a good point. With Twilight, everyone wants to see what happens next with Bella. With Harry Potter, everyone wants to see what happens next with Harry. Narnia is different; Lucy has the greatest run out of all the characters, but she only appears in three books. So there’s something different in terms of the anticipation of not being able to follow one character from the first book to the last.

The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe was nominated for three minor Academy Awards, but neither Caspian nor Dawn Treader got any Oscar nominations. Critical reviews have been more negative with each film. Do these things frustrate you?

The Oscar stuff doesn’t frustrate us; that’s a blessing any time you can get a nomination. But yeah, we’d much rather have better critical response. We don’t live in a state of denial. And when you see some of these reviews, you just try to get better with the next one.

Secular critics aren’t sticklers for whether the films stick to the books; they’re mainly judging the movies as movies. But some reviews and opinions are from “Narnia police” types—people like me who nitpick every detail.

Right, but you know what? It’s those Narnia police types—the people who understand these books and who love Lewis—that we really pay attention to. There’s a lot of people who want to see these films succeed. So when folks who really know Narnia see it and don’t like it, we take that a lot more seriously than we do the reviewer who doesn’t really have a real interest in the book. Some of the things we get criticized for by secular critics are the fact that, oh, it’s too heavy in the faith message. So sometimes you can’t succeed. The things that some critics criticize you for are the things that the Narnia fans will praise you for. So we try to err in the direction of the people that love these stories.

So what kind of reaction are you getting from those people about Dawn Treader?

There’s agreement that we are getting things right thematically. In terms of Reepicheep with that Aslan-size hole in his heart, getting that right. In terms of Eustace talking about no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t do it myself, the idea that redemption is something that has to be given; it can’t be earned. For the most part people have agreed that we’ve done a good job with those themes.

The part I was most disappointed in was the un-dragoning of Eustace. I know that for the sake of children, you couldn’t show Aslan ripping Eustace apart. But it didn’t seem evident that Eustace had first tried to tear off his skin, on his own. We just saw him scratch his chest one time, and then we saw Aslan pawing at the sand, and then we saw this transformation. Have you heard complaints that the un-dragoning wasn’t handled well?

Yes. And we could see that coming even before we showed anyone the movie. What’s interesting is that when you read the book, you actually don’t see that scene; Eustace just recounts it when he gets back in the boat. We wanted to show it, but what we ended up doing was reinforcing that message when Eustace says later, “No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t do it myself. And then he came towards me. It was a good hurt.” Visually, I was pleased with it. But yes, there was a response where people wanted to see lion paw firmly placed in dragon flesh and ripping it off. That was a common disappointment.

Another big thing for people is Aslan’s speech in the end, when he tells Lucy she’ll know him by another name in her world. That dialogue was kept in the film, but I’ve heard there were some feisty conversations about that and that some people wanted to cut it.

With all the Aslan parts, particularly the dialogue, there’s always a very spirited and healthy discussion, and generally any time there’s a discussion, the tie goes to C. S. Lewis. So we always come to the agreement, “Listen, let’s not think that we can reinterpret this and do a better job than Lewis. If we disagree about this, if people think there are different ways to say this, let’s just make sure we preserve what Lewis said.” That’s a mistake we made with Prince Caspian, where we changed Aslan’s dialogue with Lucy. [In the book, Lucy says: “You’re bigger, Aslan.” Aslan replies: “That’s because you are older, little one.” Lucy: “Not because you are?” Aslan: “I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger.” In the film, Aslan says to Lucy: “Every year you grow, so shall I,” which carries quite a different meaning.] We didn’t get that one right. We learned our lesson from that. And so as we were trying to figure out the dialogue with this one, we decided that we would just go back to verbatim what we had in the book.

Ever have any regrets about taking on the Narnia movies? Nobody badgers you with 20 questions about How to Eat Fried Worms or City of Ember [two of Walden’s box-office flops]. But people will rake you over the coals when it comes to Narnia.

Right, but it’s a pretty small price to pay to be able to wake up in the morning and come in and work on these movies for the last decade. So the hardest thing is knowing that, my goodness, our greatest accomplishments with this franchise might be behind us. Because there just aren’t that many series out there like this. That’s the only place where the real regret comes in. In every dimension of the word, it’s such a complete blessing to be able to do these movies. And the real side benefit is working with Douglas Gresham [C. S. Lewis’s stepson and a producer on all the films], and getting to hear all these stories about Lewis that aren’t even in the books. In the end, we really like the healthy accountability that exists with these films.

Copyright © 2011 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

In the nondenominational Bible churches of my youth, Lent was considered a “Catholic thing.” But as I’ve attended PCA churches in my adulthood, I’ve gained appreciation for the church calendar and, in particular, this pre-Easter season of penitence. Observing Lent can include forgoing habits or foods, but it’s also a time of adding something, such as a spiritual discipline.

For me, the discipline tied to my richest seasons of spiritual life has been prayer-walking.

I was properly introduced to prayer-walking during a visit to a friend’s small California church in a cliff-side community of surfers and artists. For a few years they had walked the entire town every few months, taking a calendar or gift to each house where the owners welcomed them, and praying over every residence. I happened to visit the week of their quarterly prayer walk, and joined them in praying a verse for each house in the few blocks my partner and I were assigned to.

Ours was ordinary work, and it was hard to see how so few words could accomplish much. Yet my friends believed their prayers had gradually increased the community’s spiritual receptiveness. And when I thought back to my most scarring stab at “spiritual work,” on a summer evangelistic project, I noticed it was marked by a striking absence of prayer.

Once back home in Brooklyn, I started to realize how little compassion I had for my actual neighbors. One day, when I was walking home from praying for my own needs, I started to look at the street around me. I noticed more clues to the neighborhood’s health than I expected. After a few days, I committed to pray for one particular block on my route to and from the Subway. Before long, the short prayer became such an entrenched habit that taking an alternative route became unthinkable.

Praying for a street you don’t know, whose residents you don’t know, is weird. But it can tune you into how many houses are in poor repair or on the market (a signal of change or loss). I got to know the place where homeless people bedded down. When I saw a cart and the mattress on the bitter night of Thanksgiving—as I hurried home to warm blankets and steaming cider, escaping 20-30 mph winds—I started crying. That night I couldn’t pray at all; I just wept.

Then one night I saw a moving van. Newcomers! I thought of how my California friends greeted their new neighbors, hesitated, then waited until I saw someone approach the van. I asked the man how I could pray for him. He looked rather surprised, but gave it some thought and a serious answer. So did the three other people I asked over the next week or so. Each time the talks went better, and I learned more about the block—their concerns about rent, and a woman whose son had died of HIV/AIDS.

The months went by, and I kept trying to pray for the block. Gradually I got to know a homeless guy who often parked his cart on the street. One night C. J. asked me to tell him why I was a Christian, since I had told him that it was Jesus who changed me from being someone who hurried past people like him, to the woman who gave him fruit and stopped to talk.

For most of my life as a Christian, I’ve wanted the chance to see God bring someone to Jesus. But it’s never really happened. I hadn’t even had a clear invitation to talk about why I followed Jesus until that day, when C. J. had to know why we had become friends. It wasn’t exactly how I had envisioned increased spiritual openness on 10th Street, but what else would you call it?

A year or so into my prayers for the block, and a few months before I left Brooklyn for good, I learned that a pastor and his family had moved into my section of 10th Street, after I started praying for it. And I had prayed specifically for God to bring Christians into that area to love the people who lived there. After the pastor moved in, his upstairs neighbors started attending church with them—another answer to prayer.

I still marvel that God let me glimpse how he was answering my prayers, petitions I so often made uncertainly. It takes me back to my earliest childhood memory of prayer, which was a request that God give me a little brother. Not long after, Mom shared the news that she was pregnant with my second brother.

As a single 32-year-old, I’ve certainly learned that God doesn’t always answer as quickly or closely to what we want, but I’m nonetheless convinced that prayer seems to be part of how he invites us into what he’s doing and wants to do. What baby steps might you take in your prayer life this Lent?

Anna Broadway is a writer and web editor living in the San Francisco Bay area. She is the author of Sexless in the City: A Memoir of Reluctant Chastity. She has written for Her.meneutics about Eat, Pray, Love, Christian dating, and Mel Gibson.

For me, the word “revival” usually brings to mind sweating, red-faced evangelists berating sweet old church ladies for letting their spiritual fires fizzle. I often offered my most fervent prayers at revival meetings during the 37th stanza of “Just as I Am,” because the preacher believed someone in the congregation needed to do business with the Lord. He wasn’t going to end the invitation until that burdened soul had its chance. Lord move in power; I’m ready to go home!

With A God-sized Vision: Revival Stories that Stretch and Stir (Zondervan, 2010), Collin Hansen and John Woodbridge restored my image of revival. This global history of revival from the 1730s through the 1950s covers familiar events in American church history—the First and Second Great Awakenings, the Businessmen’s Revival, and the Evangelical Boom of the 20th century. But what I found most interesting were stories of spiritual awakening worldwide, in places like East Africa, China, India, Wales, and Korea.

One of the authors’ great accomplishments, then, is correcting what may be a common stereotype of “revivalism” for many Americans. If they’re right, revival looks different in different places. For businessmen in North America in the mid-nineteenth century, revival began not with tents and sawdust trails, but with lunch-hour prayer meetings. In Korea, the movement of the Spirit ignited with the confession of sins—big ones, like adultery and murder—and brought missionaries of different denominations together for the gospel. In India, it began when Hindu convert Pandita Ramabai provided room, board, and education for helpless Indian women and orphans and encouraged them to pray for a mighty work of God.

I don’t hear many people talking about revival these days. You might think, then, that the topic is interesting but ultimately irrelevant. Not so. Although the authors don’t make the connections explicit, A God-sized Vision intersects with and informs several important contemporary issues.

First, at a time when we Western Christians are increasingly aware that we should pay more attention to Christian traditions in other places on the planet, Hansen and Woodbridge introduce us to some important players and events in global Christian history in the last 100 years. These stories help explain the temperament and emphases of Protestant (evangelical) Christianity in places like India, Korea, and East Africa.

Second, there has been a division between the “head” and “heart” in American Christianity for almost as long as there have been Christians in America. A God-sized Vision challenges this easy distinction. The so-called “new Reformed” movement has both defenders and critics on this blog. One of the contributions of this book, I think, for people trying to decide whether this new movement has anything to offer the American church is that it reminds us that the roots of the Reformed tradition in America are planted deeply in revivalism. The book begins with the Great Awakening of the 1730s and ‘40s, in which the major players—chief among them Jonathan Edwards and George Whitefield—were theologically Reformed. Though the tradition now strikes many as unnecessarily cerebral—and often it is—this treatment reminds us that a deep conviction about the sovereignty of God includes believing that God can and longs to break into the human routine with a fresh dose of the Holy Spirit. I would go so far as to say that you can’t be truly Reformed if you aren’t truly hungry for revival.

Finally, in light of the renewed interest in social justice among American evangelicals, the authors do a great job pointing out the social benefits of revival, especially in other countries. Revival in Wales in 1905 had an enormous impact on Welsh society. “Output from the coal mines famously slowed because the horses wouldn’t move. Miners converted in the revival no longer kicked or swore at the horses, so the horses didn’t know what to do. Judges closed their courtrooms with nothing to judge” (103–104). In Wales, China, and India, individual conviction of sin among Christians led to reform in social and political spheres. We would do well to bear in mind that we each carry our own sinfulness into the battle for justice. The examples in this book remind us that we must attend to our own sin before—or at least while—we wage war against the sin of others.

I found an insight near the end of the book to be particularly challenging. “Revival doesn’t come to respectable Christians,” Ugandan Bishop Festo Kivengere explained. “The basis of revival is men and women shattered by their failures—aware that all is not well, helpless to do anything about it” (133). American evangelicals do a lot of hand wringing. But I don’t think we consider ourselves helpless. Hansen and Woodbridge have convinced me that instead of putting our hope in the next best strategy, we would do well to pray—and for revival, of all things.

The Obama administration’s embattled nominee for religious freedom ambassador is comparing herself to former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher as she tries for a second time to land

the post.

“They called Margaret Thatcher the `iron lady,”‘ the Rev. Suzan Johnson Cook said Tuesday in an address to a dinner of religious liberty advocates. “Change the name. It’s mine now.”

Cook was nominated for the post last June but her nomination stalled and expired in December. President Obama renominated her in February after critics complained the longtime vacancy reflected a low priority for the issue.

Critics, including some on Capitol Hill, have questioned whether the retired New York City pastor lacks enough direct experience to help guide policy on an issue that’s at the heart of numerous international conflicts.

“This will go down in the Guinness Book of World Records as the longest nomination,” she said. “But we thank God to just be in the number.”

Cook was introduced by the legislative affairs director of the Seventh-day Adventist Church, who said attendees hope she will be the next ambassador. As she did at her recent Senate confirmation hearings, Cook recounted her international travels and work after 9/11 as a New

York police chaplain.

The Baptist minister known as “Dr. Sujay” retired in 2009 as pastor of a Bronx, N.Y., church she founded in 1996.

In her address to some 200 ambassadors, lawmakers and church leaders, Cook mentioned recent examples of religious turmoil, including the “arrogant” assassins who killed Pakistan’s Christian minister for religious minorities. She called a Florida church’s recent burning of a Quran – which led to deadly riots in Afghanistan – a “despicable act.”

Without singling out any country by name, Cook said governments often give lip service to religious freedom while also taking steps to limit it. “Laws are too often broken by their own governments,” she said, “and their people suffer.”

Cook said U.S. diplomacy on religious freedom should involve not just forging relations with government officials but working with religious leaders abroad who can help influence political leaders.

“The front lines demand strategic action, not emotional nor reactionary tactics, but strategic, prayerful action,” Cook said. “Either we deal with it now or fundamental extremists can fill the power vacuums where regions have lacked democratic institutions.”