J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S, Lewis, The Great War and This Present Darkness

In the wake of the Paris and Beirut attacks, it is easy to feel a darkness descending. What hope is there when people are willing to do such terrible and heinous things to others?

If there is any comfort in history, it is in knowing that we are not the first to feel this way, or go through this experience. 

Two men who experienced the worst that humans can do to each other were J.R.R. Tolkien, author of the Lord of the Rings, and C.S. Lewis, who wrote the Chronicles of Narnia.

Both men were soldiers in the British army on the western front in World War One. Tolkien participated in two attacks, in July and October, 1916, including one where he was in combat for 50 straight hours. 

On November 8 of that year, he was sent to hospital with trench fever. He never returned to the front—which probably saved his life.

Lewis enlisted in 1917, arriving at the front that same year at the age of 19. He was wounded in April, 1918 and sent back to England to recuperate. He also never returned to the front.

The war had a profound impact on both men. Four of Lewis’ closest college friends died in the fighting. At war’s end, all but one of Tolkien’s closest friends were dead.

The war also influenced their writing. Reflecting on his experience years later, Tolkien said his taste for fantasy was “quickened to full life by war” and that the mythology that became Lord of the Rings “first began to take shape” during the fighting.

Scenes from the war found their way into the books. For example, it was common to see bodies of dead soldiers floating under water in shell holes—something recreated when Sam Gamgee sees dead men in the water during his passage through the marshes.

Said Tolkien about that scene: “The Dead Marshes and the approaches to the Morannon owe something to Northern France after the Battle of the Somme.”

The Hobbits themselves were influenced by the ordinary British soldiers—the “Tommies”—that Tolkien encountered. 

In a letter written after his trilogy was published, Tolkien wrote that Sam Gamgee “is indeed a reflection of the English soldier, of the privates and batmen I knew in the 1914 war, and recognized as so far superior to myself.”

After the war, most authors wrote savagely and cynically about the end of progress, morality and religion—how could there be a God after such a horror?

But as Joseph Laconte notes in his new book, A Hobbit, A Wardrobe and aGreat War: How J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis Rediscovered Faith, Friendship andHeroes in the Cataclysm of 1914-18, the war may have caused others to lose faith, but Tolkien and Lewis “it deepened their spiritual quest.”

What distinguished Tolkien, a Catholic, and Lewis, an Anglican, from other writers who experienced that war was how they emerged from it with a sense of hope and faith. Their books showed that evil and darkness were not the last words.

As Laconte put it: “In Middle-earth and Narnia, the ruin or redemption of every person depends on what side he or she has chosen in the conflict . . . the heroic figure is the one who resists evil, who is willing to lay down his life for his friends.”

After the attacks, many wonder what they can do in response. Prayer is one thing, as is doing any small deed of kindness for others. 

But maybe another thing is to read (or re-read) the works of Tolkien and Lewis—not for escapist fantasy from the world, but to be reminded that good and light can overcome evil and darkness in the end.

God, Faith and Identity from the Ashes: Children and Grandchildren of Holocaust Survivors Share Their Stories

In July Oskar Groening, the “accountant of Auschwitz ,” was found guilty of 300,000 charges of accessory to murder. His trial is considered to be one of the last trials of the Nazis who perpetrated the Holocaust.  

Already, most who experienced the Holocaust are dead. Soon, all will be gone. But one group of people who were impacted by it remains: The children and grandchildren of Holocaust survivors. 

Their experiences are captured in God, Faith & Identity from the Ashes: Reflections of Children and Grandchildren of Holocaust Survivors, a new book edited by Menachem Z. Rosensaft.

In the book, 88 children and grandchildren of survivors share how the Holocaust shaped them theologically, politically, culturally and in terms of identity, education and careers.

Although none of them experienced the Holocaust first-hand, all were deeply affected by it.

“We did not see our families murdered, we were never cold, we were never starved, we were never beaten,” says Rosensaft, a child of two survivors.

“We grew up in comfort. And yet what we do have, what sets us apart, is that we grew up with our parents and grandparents. We absorbed their stories firsthand.”

The book is divided into four sections: God and Faith, Identity, A Legacy of Memory, and Changing the World for the Better.

In the first section, the writers reflect on how the Holocaust affected their faith. Some choose to believe in God and kept their faith, while some dismiss the idea of loving or caring God completely. Others have landed somewhere in between.

Eric Neilson’s grandfather lost his parents and two brothers in the concentration camps, yet he kept his faith in God.

“It strikes me that, for all my doubts and questions, if my grandfather can go on thanking the God of Israel . . . then surely I ought to consider doing so as well,” the Harvard professor writes.

“God was not present in the survivor’s home in which I grew up,” writes Israeli artist Aliza Olmert. “The missing niche of faith was filled by a socialist worldview and uplifting patriotism.”

“Both the God of consolation and the accusation against God live within me,” says Rabbi Moshe Waldoks. Adds former New York Times reporter Joseph Berger: “What God’s culpability or at least responsibility was remains a mystery that I’ll never resolve.”  

While reading the book, one thing I found unexpectedly moving was how so many children of survivors grew up without any relatives—in Rosensaft’s case, both his parent’s entire immediate families were murdered.

“Like many children of survivors, I have been haunted by faceless phantoms of dozens and dozens of aunts, uncles, and cousins,” writes Waldoks.

Growing up, Karen Friedman realized her family was different from her friends.

“Their family dynamics and experiences were just different from the rest of ours,” writes the grandchild of survivors. “I was always aware that my mother never knew what it was like to have grandparents.”

In 1984, Elie Wiesel, who survived both Auschwitz and Buchenwald , delivered the keynote address at the first conference of children of Holocaust survivors. 

“It was you that the enemy sought to destroy,” he said. "We were only the instruments. You were the enemy’s obsession. In murdering Jews, he wished to prevent you from being born.”

It would have been natural and logical for their parents to turn their back on the world, “to have opted for nihilism,” he went on to say. “And yet we have chosen you.”

And now, as the last trials of Nazis are held and the few remaining survivors pass away, these new chosen ones have the task of preserving the memory of their parents and grandparents for future generations.

“A generation will soon come of age having never heard firsthand testimony from a living Holocaust survivor," says Rosensaft. "The preservation and transfer of memory is the most critical mission that children and grandchildren of survivors must undertake.”

The stories in God, Faith & Identity from the Ashes show that many of them are taking that mission seriously.

From the July 25 Winnipeg Free Press.

Larry Updike: From Pentecostal Minister to Shock-Rock Radio Jock to . . . (read his book to find out)

My friend Larry Updike released his new book last week. Titled My Word! The Larry Updike Story, the book chronicles his life from being a Pentecostal minister through the “debauchery” of shock-rock radio in the 1980s to being a talk show host in Winnipeg. Oh, and he picked up degrees in theology and philosophy along the way. I was able to interview Larry in 2009 about his journey to that point.

What do you get when you cross a young firebrand Pentecostal minister with a university philosophy major and rock radio DJ?

You get Larry Updike, the morning show host on CJOB.

“It’s been an interesting journey,” says Updike, 53, of his trip from wunderkind preacher to leaving the church to become one of Winnipeg’s most popular rock radio show hosts—and then back to the church again.

This morning Updike will “complete the circle” when he preaches at Central Baptist Church on Ellice Avenue.

“It will come as a surprise to many,” says Updike, adding that some people “will be shocked.”

From the age of nine, all Updike wanted to be was a preacher and evangelist. Growing up in southern Ontario, he remembers setting up a pulpit in the garage and preaching to his friends.

He preached his first real sermon at 16,  and was ordained at 21 after graduation from Bible college.

His first church was in Fort Francis, Ont., in 1976, where he did a pastoral internship. Looking for ways to earn a little extra income, he applied for a job at a local radio station.

“Back then, the turnover at small radio stations was enormous,” he says. Before long, he was doing the morning show and working in the church.

He moved Weyburn, Sask. in 1978, where he once again served as a pastor and worked at the local radio station. He moved to Winnipeg in 1979 so his wife could pursue nursing studies, assisted at a local church and got a job at CHMM, which later became KISS FM.

In 1980, his marriage ended, and so did his ministry.

“We got married really young, and drifted apart,” he says. The split was amicable, but his work with the church was over—back then, divorced pastors were automatically disqualified from leading most evangelical churches.

“Everything I was going to be was gone,” he says. “All I ever wanted to be was a pastor.”

Feeling abandoned and angry, he cut all ties with the church and threw himself into his life as a rock radio DJ on the Tom and Larry show with Tom McGouran.

Life as a DJ was very different from pastoring. “I lived the life a rock radio DJ to the hilt, he says. It was a polar opposite of the way I had been living. I went from preaching against the wages of sin to collecting them—big time.”

He didn’t lose complete interest in religion, completing a degree in theology at the University of Winnipeg in 1984. In 1995, he graduated with a degree in philosophy, winning the university’s highest award in that subject.

It was, he recalls, an “odd mixture of rock radio and university,” but it helped him “keep my feet on the ground” and avoid becoming a “rock radio casualty.” 

Marriage to Mary-Ann, in 1991, also helped him stay grounded.

Through it all, he felt something pulling him back to faith.

“I was an observer from the outside for a long time, but I didn’t know how to go back—I didn’t feel worthy,” he says. “I didn’t know if I’d be accepted.”

He especially didn’t want to be seen as a trophy convert, a “victim of a pastor who wanted to rescue a celebrity.”

That changed just over a year ago, when he checked out the Facebook profile of Central Baptist pastor Greg Glatz.

Glatz’s interest in philosophy piqued Updike’s interest, and soon the two were communicating electronically about philosophy and religion.

What was most impressive, Updike says, is that Glatz didn’t try to convert him.

“Greg did not try to solicit my attendance at his church or proselytize me,” he says. “He just wanted to be my friend.”

For Glatz, getting to know Updike wasn’t about getting him saved. “I wasn’t interested in his celebrity or his conversion,” he says. “I figured he was already converted. I was interested in his journey.”

He also saw Updike as someone God could use—just as he was.

“Everything that happened to him made him what he is,” Glatz says. “He doesn’t need to renounce it or repudiate it.”

Updike was won over by Glatz’s friendliness and honesty, and began attending his church. Also key was the way the church responded to his son, Gordon, who has autism.

“Gordon isn’t verbal, and he doesn’t take well to new places,” he says. “We wondered if he would be accepted. But he has found a place there, a chance to be involved. He’s fit in very well—he loves the music and helps with the offering. The church has been very accepting.”

As for his sermon today, Updike will be preaching the very first sermon he ever gave 37 years ago, on how Jesus calmed the waters and the frightened disciples when they were caught in a storm.

It will be very different this time, though. “When I was young, I thought I knew it all and had it all figured out. I’m approaching life and faith now as a more mature person, with some life experience. Now my focus is trusting God, in spite of storms. Christians don’t get a pass. Storms happen to us, too.”

Getting Home Before Dark: Dealing With Dementia

CBC Radio's The Current is running a series on Alzheimer's Disease this week. It reminds me of a column I wrote in 2010 about how the rising rate of dementia, and what people of faith could be doing to help.

“Let me get home before dark.”

That was the prayer of my former Mennonite Central Committee colleague Peter Dyck—also known as "Mr. MCC" for his tireless work on behalf of the agency—asking God to let him die before age robbed him of his memory, and of his ability to be kind, trusting, loving and generous.

In one of the reflections in Getting Home Before Dark, a book of meditations about aging, he wrote about friends who succumbed to darkness

"Once they were young and strong, kind and loving, but something happened," he wrote. But then "their generous spirits shrivelled, their minds became suspicious, and they became something we thought existed only in horror stories, not in reality.

"O Lord, please, don't let that happen to me. Let me get home before a darkness like that overtakes me."

Dyck passed away Jan. 4, 2010 at the age of 95 in Scottdale, Pa. According to those who were with him to the end, his prayer was answered.

There were some difficult days, his son-in-law told me, but until then end his mind remained clear and he continued to be positive and encouraging.

Like Peter, I also pray that I will get home before dementia takes hold; I can't imagine anything worse than knowing I am slipping away into a dark place, far from family and friends. I'm sure many others feel the same way, and pray the same prayer.

But growing numbers of people won't have their prayer answered. A study by the Alzheimer Society of Canada predicts that more than a million Canadians will be afflicted by dementia by 2038—double what it is now.

The rising rate will pose a challenge for people of faith. As Canada ages, places of worship will age, too.

A few groups are beginning to think about how they can minister to people with cognitive impairment and to their families. 

The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, for example, is encouraging congregations to create "Care Teams" who are trained to respond to the needs of people with Alzheimer's and their families, including giving family members much-needed breaks by looking after their loved ones.

One subject that is also beginning to receive attention is the role of ritual and music in serving people with dementia. Holy Cross Family Ministries in North Easton, Mass. has published Pray With Me Still, a prayer guide to help patients and family members live with Alzheimer's.

"A prayer like the rosary is very helpful," said Father John Phalen, who says that praying with an Alzheimer's patient can be a way to reach them. The disease can take people away from the present, he says, but the past is still deeply imbedded in them.

"The 'Our Father' and the 'Hail Mary' are often two of the first prayers a (Roman Catholic) learns as a young child," he says, noting that reciting the rosary can take the patient back to that time and provide them with comfort.

A care home run by members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in Utah is using Sunday school nursery curriculum to minister to people with Alzheimer's.

Sally Dietlein, a counsellor at the facility, says that the visuals and familiar hymns from the curriculum stimulate the spiritual senses and memories of people with dementia. "The primary music is perfect" for people with the illness, she adds.

Much more should be done in the area of religion and dementia, says Gisela Webb, a professor of religious studies at Seton Hall University who watched her mother slip away through Alzheimer's.

In the fall 2001 issue of Cross Currents, she writes that she came to appreciate the "positive dimension of sacramental religion"—the way rituals, prayers and music "reveal the presence of the divine" to people who might otherwise be unreachable.

She goes on to say that even in the most advanced form of dementia, there is a "body memory" that "remains much longer than mind and linear thinking, and so the feelings of religious ritual, music, chant, poetry, body postures, and, particularly, the quality/essence of music . . . continue to be enjoyed and clearly partaken in, even after life-long rituals can no longer be performed and life-long prayers can no longer be articulated."

In Psalms 88:12, the writer asks God: "Are your wonders known in the place of darkness, or your righteous deeds in the land of oblivion?" The answer, I think, is yes—even if we pray we will never go to that dark place.

Dyck's book, Getting Home Before Dark, can be purchased from MennoMedia.

Sermon on the Mound: Baseball as a Road to God

(I'm not a huge baseball fan, but I do enjoy the game. I've written a couple times about its religious dimensions. With the new baseball season almost upon us, I thought I'd resurrect an old column and add some new information. With the boys of summer in spring training, what better way to forget about the cold weather that's still outside?)

Baseball is almost back!

Opening day for 2014 is March 31, although a few northern ballparks might be a little chilly.

Baseball’s return suggests that winter, at long last, has really been vanquished, even if the evidence outside our windows in Manitoba suggests otherwise.

Its return inspires a sense of hope, renewal and new beginnings for many—which sounds sort of religious, in a way.

In fact, for many people, baseball is a religion. It has all the religious elements: A creation story (replete with dissenting views about how this “faith” really started), falls from grace, redemption, prophets, heretics, deities, icons, rituals, holy books, temples, worship, miracles, sacrifice, miracles, saviours and sinners.

There’s even a Vatican-like place called the Baseball Hall of Fame, where “worshippers” can view holy relics, venerate the saints and re-live the great moments of the faith.

As Susan Saradon’s character said in the movie Bull Durham: “I believe in the church of baseball. I've tried all the major religions and most of the minor ones . . . and the only church that feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the church of baseball.”

William Herzog and Christopher Evans, who teach at Colgate Divinity School in Rochester, New York, seem to agree. The two are editors of the book The Faith of 50 Million, a collection of essays that “plumb how baseball illuminates significant patterns of faith and meaning.”

“People are incurably religious," said Herzog in an interview. “We have to have some form of religion, and for some people its baseball. It's only a game, but it has elements that point beyond.”

The book’s foreword is by theologian Stanley Hauerwas, a baseball fan and professor at Duke Divinity School.

He really brings it home for this Mennonite church member when he notes that “being a Cubs' fan and a pacifist are closely linked; namely, both commitments teach you that life is not about winning.”

Someone else who sees a link between baseball and religion is John Sexton, President of New York University and author of the book Baseball as a Road to God. 

Sexton, a Yankees fan, decided to combine his interest in religion and baseball into a course at NYU.

Also called Baseball as a Road to God, its a way to “get students to think about things that they see as mundane in a rich and nuanced way, and to do that through the trigger of something they see as an oxymoron.”

By using something familiar—baseball—he hopes to help them see the world in a different way, a way that “adds to the richness of your experience of everything in the world.”

As for baseball itself, Sexton sees that as a metaphor for a rich spiritual life—in baseball, time passes more slowly than in the real world, and since it doesn’t use a clock, it could go on forever.

Books on the reading list for the course include Shoeless Joe by W. P. Kinsella, The Natural by Bernard Malamud, The Iowa Baseball Confederacy by Kinsella, and The Universal Baseball Association Inc. by Robert Coover.

For Sexton, "baseball evokes in the life of its faithful features we associate with the spiritual life: faith and doubt, conversion, blessings and curses, miracles, and so on. For some, baseball really is a road to God."

Sexton admits that, for many—especially for those who aren’t religious—baseball is not a spiritual experience. “But if given sensitive attention, it can awaken us to a dimension of life often missing in our contemporary world of hard facts and hard science,” he says.

“We can learn, through baseball, to experience life more deeply."

Why So Few Good Fiction Books About Religion?

The Feb. 22 Winnipeg Free Press carried a review of Leah Vincent's memoir, Cut Me Loose: Sin and Salvation After My Ultra-Orthodox Girlhood. It is described as a tell-all story of “self-hate, self-damage, terrible loneliness and frightening and unfulfilling relationships” while growing up in an ultra-orthodox branch of Judaism in the U.S. The book reminded me of a column I wrote in 2009 about why there are so many books that portray religious communities in a terrible light.

Have you read the book about the Roman Catholic priest who served his parish well and long—never molested children, was always faithful in his duties and was much loved by everyone?

No? Well then maybe you read the book about the young Mennonite girl who grew up in a loving Christian home, attended an accepting and supportive church, and who became a joyful and dedicated Christian?

  
Missed that one, too? Well then, what about the book about the book about the Muslim woman who feels happy and secure in her religion, and who doesn’t feel oppressed?

  
What’s that—you never heard of any of these books?

I’m not surprised; they probably haven’t been written. Or, if they have, they certainly never became best sellers.

In 2005 Wendy Shalit touched off a literary firestorm in the U.S. when she criticized the way some writers who aren’t religious have portrayed ultra-Orthodox Jews in that country.

Writing in the New YorkTimes,  she said: “Authors who have renounced Orthodox Judaism—or those who were never really exposed to it to begin with—have often portrayed deeply observant Jews in an unflattering or ridiculous light.”

  
These books, she went on to say, leave “many people thinking traditional Jews actually live like Tevye in the musical ‘Fiddler on the Roof’ or, at the opposite extreme, are like the violent, vicious rabbi in Henry Roth’s novel Call it Sleep.”

  
What bothered Shalit the most was the impression these books left with people who knew little, or nothing, about Orthodox Jews.

  
“We have relied for too long on people disaffected with the Orthodox world to produce an ‘Orthodox literature’ that verges on caricature,” she said.

“Their characters, ostensibly spiritually motivated, never show anything resembling an inner life or concern for others . . . unfortunately, the media (and many readers) seem to feel that these writers are representing the traditional Jewish community, when by their own admission the authors do not identify with these worlds.”

  
I must admit to feeling a little bit like Shalit over how members of my church—Mennonites—are sometimes portrayed by authors.

Take, for example, Miriam Toews’ book A Complicated Kindness. Set in the fictitious Manitoba town of East Village, it describes the effects of an oppressive, fundamentalistic and hypocritical Mennonite church on a teenage girl and her family. 

  
I can’t deny that this may be the way Toews experienced the Mennonite faith, or that those kinds of Mennonite churches have existed or still exist today.

But what I can say with certainty is that those aren’t the only kinds of churches in the Mennonite faith—back then, or now. But you would be hard-pressed to find many books about these kinds of faith communities.

I understand why publishers are more attracted to books that cast religion in a negative light. Stories about happy teenagers who love Jesus, go to church every Sunday and work at Bible camps each summer just don’t sell.

But write a story about a former churchgoer who rebells against religious authority, uses drugs and sleeps around—now we’ve got something!

  
One could argue that this is normal; the goal of fiction is to explore extremes. Who likes to read a book that doesn't featuring conflict, controversy and harrowing experiences? The escapades of a fallen believer will always be more interesting than someone who never does anything wrong.

But if that’s all that gets published, it doesn’t take long for a stereotype to emerge. And if the stereotype is reinforced often enough, it becomes the truth for those who don’t have a more complete picture of the group in question.

  
Maybe what's needed are more writers who explore not just the bad things that happen in the name of religion, but the good things, too. What's needed next are publishers willing to take a chance on books that promote the positive aspects of religious life.

Last, readers are needed to reward those publishers by buying those books—maybe people like you.

Originally published in 2009. If you want to reprint this column, send me a note. You can find my e-mail address in the post labelled About This Blog or in my profile.

In Defence of Christian Introverts

One of the columns that received the most response was this one, about being an introvert in the church. Just today I got another e-mail (from an introvert) thanking me for it.

Do you find excuses not to join a care group at your church, or go on a church retreat?

Do you like to leave quickly after a service so you don't have to talk to others?

Do you get nervous when the person leading a church meeting decides to break the congregation into small groups to discuss a topic?

If you answered yes to those questions, you might be a Christian introvert -- and now there is a book just for you.

Called Introverts in the Church:Finding Our Place in an Extroverted Culture, the book examines what it's like to be introverted in churches that place a high value on being extroverted.

"The extroverted bias of our larger culture has crept into church practice, especially those churches that associate with the evangelical tradition," says author and admitted introvert Adam McHugh.

The result, he says, is that some churches "unintentionally equate faithfulness with extroversion." This, he says, can lead to the idea that the ideal Christian is someone who likes to share openly and deeply, is 

gregarious and eager to participate in activities, and is willing to take on leadership roles.

That, says McHugh, sounds "suspiciously like an extrovert" to him.

Add in the "talkative, mingling informality of many churches" and you've got an environment that can be intimidating for introverts, he adds.

As an introvert myself, I can identify with McHugh. Like him, I sometimes find going to church to be an intimidating experience. 

I don't like sharing about my spiritual journey, or other personal issues. 

I find it hard to talk to people in the foyer after a service. 

And heaven help me if the worship leader or preacher is moved to ask the congregation to break into small groups to pray; it's all I can do not to find the nearest exit.

Of course, it's not just church where introverts might feel uncomfortable; society, as a whole, seems to favour extroverts. For example, when someone is outgoing, they are praised for being a people person. But if you are quiet and reserved, you might be considered a loner, or worse, to be arrogant.

For introverted church-goers, the added twist is that it can lead to questions about the quality of your spirituality. How deep is your faith if you don't open up to others? Are you really be committed to the church if you don't like to participate in church activities? Can you truly be a Christian if you don't like to talk about your faith?

McHugh's goal is to help introverts feel more at home in church, and to help extroverts understand people like himself better.

"Many extroverts assume that introverts need to be constantly 'drawn out,' and that if we are alone, we are just waiting for someone to come over and chat us up, because we are languishing in self-pity and isolation," he says.

In fact, "one of the hallmarks of introverts is that we find energy from solitude, and that even though we may enjoy social interaction, those experiences drain us," he notes.

He also wants to help church leaders make sure they don't overlook introverted members.

"Many churches reflect our society as a whole, valuing gregarious, action-oriented, assertive people," he says. 

"But introverts are relatively quiet, often hovering around the fringes, preferring to observe and reflect before entering into the action. We generally do not have the same 'presence' when we enter a room as many extroverts do. We are not likely to share our opinions until we have considered them and we are uncomfortable interrupting others to make our voices heard."

Finally, he hopes churches will see and value the gifts introverts bring to the church, such as the gift of listening.

"People in our culture so rarely have the experience of being truly listened to--having not only their words taken seriously, but also having their feelings, questions, and doubts underneath those words paid attention to," he says.

Introverts, he suggests, "have a head start on listening. Because we process internally, and take up less social space, we can offer a nonjudgmental posture that frees people to open up to us."

It's McHugh's sense that other religions, "especially of the eastern tradition," may be friendlier to introverts since they have "a quieter, more contemplative bent to them." He hopes that churches that prize a more assertive approach to Christianity might also adopt contemplative practices to make introverts feel more at home.

Since it is estimated that between 25 to 30 per cent of a given population are introverts, there may be a lot of people looking for a little more quiet when it comes to religion. 

Or, as McHugh says, "churches need to acknowledge a diversity of personality types, patterns, habits, and experiences. I want for extroverts, especially those in leadership, to acknowledge that are different, and equally valuable and viable, ways of following Jesus."

Originally published March 6, 2010.