didn’t think my role was to promote the faith. First, the rules of journalism prohibit it. Second, it wasn’t my style. And third, a ham-fisted approach like that wouldn’t have worked with readers and would have led to the quick demise of my column.
Writing “Getting Religion” was a part-time job. I worked on it weekends and at night and then e-mailed the column to my editors. Yet I thought about it night and day. I felt as if I had been handed the key to an utterly fascinating world, and I was determined to explore every inch.
In retrospect, I can now see there were patterns in my columns. Whenever I had a question of faith, the answer found its way into my writing. For example, I doubted the wisdom of giving 10 percent of my income to the church. It felt like a bit of a gimmick by religious leaders to make sure their organizations were well funded. Plus, did God really expect someone on a journalist’s salary, living in Orange County with a growing family, to hand over 10 percent of his income (pre-tax, pastors always pointed out) to Him? I wasn’t sure I could afford it. But then I wrote about a multimillionaire named John Crean who gave half his income (50 percent of $176.8 million the year that I interviewed him) to charity. A half century before that, he had begun to tithe on the advice of his pastor. At the time, Crean was a struggling businessman whose company was $250,000 in debt.
“The preacher said if you were to give—and not expect anything in return—you’ll get your investment back tenfold in blessings,” said Crean, a recreational-vehicle tycoon who has since died. “That sounded like a pretty good deal. It was worth giving it a shot, anyway.”
As soon as he started giving, his fortunes turned around, and he told me he couldn’t give away his money fast enough. It just kept coming in. So I started to tithe, too, and I found that I really didn’t miss the 10 percent I gave away.
I frequently worried that my faith would end up costing me a lot more than a portion of my salary. So I wrote often about people who had made much greater sacrifices because of their belief in God. None regretted what they had done. In fact, they always said their lives had never been fuller. In one column, I explored the price of faith by interviewing a former Muslim and Orange County resident who was leaving the United States to go undercover as an evangelist in the West Bank, a calling that put his life at risk. (In fact, it would lead to a series of threats by the terrorist group Hamas.)
“I’ve always felt a call to be a missionary to Muslims,” said Steve, who didn’t want his real name used because, if caught, he faced death under Islamic law. “Muslims are great, wonderful people—more pure than a lot of Christians. Muslims are willing to die for their religion, but Christians won’t sacrifice a TV show to go to church.”
Steve sold all his possessions except for some clothes, a few books and a guitar to finance his new life.
“I’m not going to be afraid,” he said. “I believe that God wants me to do this and He will protect me.”
I also wrote about people who had been beaten down by life but still didn’t blame God. These people were better Christians than I. I reported on the funeral of Ethan Shigeru Sechrest, a premature baby who had once made the evening news when he came home after spending his first three months at the hospital. Ethan weighed 14 ounces at birth.
After his birth, the Sechrests, devout Christians, and their friends rallied people around the world to pray for the infant. One of his doctors, trying to explain Ethan’s miraculous survival, said he had been “prayed into life.”
But then, at eight months old, Ethan caught a respiratory virus. His body hadn’t developed a robust immune system, allowing a series of illnesses to overwhelm him. With Ethan’s death, the Sechrests, their pastors, doctors and friends—everyone the baby touched—had to struggle with a
Writing “Getting Religion” was a part-time job. I worked on it weekends and at night and then e-mailed the column to my editors. Yet I thought about it night and day. I felt as if I had been handed the key to an utterly fascinating world, and I was determined to explore every inch.
In retrospect, I can now see there were patterns in my columns. Whenever I had a question of faith, the answer found its way into my writing. For example, I doubted the wisdom of giving 10 percent of my income to the church. It felt like a bit of a gimmick by religious leaders to make sure their organizations were well funded. Plus, did God really expect someone on a journalist’s salary, living in Orange County with a growing family, to hand over 10 percent of his income (pre-tax, pastors always pointed out) to Him? I wasn’t sure I could afford it. But then I wrote about a multimillionaire named John Crean who gave half his income (50 percent of $176.8 million the year that I interviewed him) to charity. A half century before that, he had begun to tithe on the advice of his pastor. At the time, Crean was a struggling businessman whose company was $250,000 in debt.
“The preacher said if you were to give—and not expect anything in return—you’ll get your investment back tenfold in blessings,” said Crean, a recreational-vehicle tycoon who has since died. “That sounded like a pretty good deal. It was worth giving it a shot, anyway.”
As soon as he started giving, his fortunes turned around, and he told me he couldn’t give away his money fast enough. It just kept coming in. So I started to tithe, too, and I found that I really didn’t miss the 10 percent I gave away.
I frequently worried that my faith would end up costing me a lot more than a portion of my salary. So I wrote often about people who had made much greater sacrifices because of their belief in God. None regretted what they had done. In fact, they always said their lives had never been fuller. In one column, I explored the price of faith by interviewing a former Muslim and Orange County resident who was leaving the United States to go undercover as an evangelist in the West Bank, a calling that put his life at risk. (In fact, it would lead to a series of threats by the terrorist group Hamas.)
“I’ve always felt a call to be a missionary to Muslims,” said Steve, who didn’t want his real name used because, if caught, he faced death under Islamic law. “Muslims are great, wonderful people—more pure than a lot of Christians. Muslims are willing to die for their religion, but Christians won’t sacrifice a TV show to go to church.”
Steve sold all his possessions except for some clothes, a few books and a guitar to finance his new life.
“I’m not going to be afraid,” he said. “I believe that God wants me to do this and He will protect me.”
I also wrote about people who had been beaten down by life but still didn’t blame God. These people were better Christians than I. I reported on the funeral of Ethan Shigeru Sechrest, a premature baby who had once made the evening news when he came home after spending his first three months at the hospital. Ethan weighed 14 ounces at birth.
After his birth, the Sechrests, devout Christians, and their friends rallied people around the world to pray for the infant. One of his doctors, trying to explain Ethan’s miraculous survival, said he had been “prayed into life.”
But then, at eight months old, Ethan caught a respiratory virus. His body hadn’t developed a robust immune system, allowing a series of illnesses to overwhelm him. With Ethan’s death, the Sechrests, their pastors, doctors and friends—everyone the baby touched—had to struggle with a
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