Sarah Palin, faith-based mayor

How the vice-presidential nominee brought fringe biblical teachings to her work as the chief of Wasilla, Alaska.

Editor's note: You can find Salon's complete coverage of Sarah Palin here.

By Sarah Posner

AP Photo/Mat-Su Valley Frontiersman

Mayor Sarah Palin in her office in Wasilla, Alaska, in October 1996.

Sept. 18, 2008 | In April 2000, under the direction of then-Mayor Sarah Palin, the Wasilla City Council passed a resolution declaring itself a "City of Character." Adopted unanimously, the resolution pledged that the city would "do all in its power" to promote "positive and constructive character qualities which distinguish between right and wrong," which the resolution predicted could work a range of wonders, from reducing juvenile delinquency to increasing corporate profits.
Thanks to Palin's efforts, Wasilla is now among roughly 200 cities nationwide (and others in 27 countries around the world) that have committed themselves -- in name, at least -- to following the teachings of the International Association of Character Cities (IACC), an organization that purports to be secular but is modeled on the evangelical teachings of the Institute in Basic Life Principles (IBLP).
Palin's personal connection to IACC, and her efforts to bring its agenda to Wasilla as mayor, sheds new light on her connections to the Christian far right, as well as her willingness to infuse government with its ideals rooted in religion. Her championing of IACC principles raises further questions about Palin's views on running government, including the hiring and firing of government employees, an area in which she has come under intense scrutiny in part due to her involvement in "trooper gate."

By becoming a City of Character, Wasilla under Palin committed to adhering to 49 "character qualities" as outlined by the IACC, which are secularized versions of IBLP's 49 "character qualities" derived from the Bible. Critics have charged that the organization and its affiliated Character Training Institute are for all intents and purposes a front group for the evangelical IBLP.
IBLP was founded in 1974 by evangelist Bill Gothard "for the purpose of introducing people to the Lord Jesus Christ," and is "dedicated to giving individuals, families, churches, schools, communities, governments, and businesses clear instruction and training on how to find success by following God's principles found in Scripture." IBLP claims to have taught over 2.5 million people its Basic Life Principles seminar, and boasts assets exceeding $100 million, an affiliated correspondence college course program and an unaccredited law school.
The IACC, says its director, Steven Menzel, is not a religious organization. Instead, he points to its practical effects. When IACC's founder, Oklahoma City businessman Thomas Hill, was having difficulties with the workforce of his company, Kimray, in the 1990s, IACC legend has it that his adoption of Gothard's "character approach" led to a 90 percent drop in workers' compensation claims and a 60 to 70 percent drop in turnover. "The change in that company was so profound," said Menzel, that local companies asked Hill to teach "character" to them as well, leading to the Character First program that is the backbone of IACC and CTI.

Palin, Menzel confirmed, learned how Wasilla could become a City of Character at an IACC conference held at IBLP's International Training Center in Indianapolis in April 2000. A conference brochure shows that Gothard and other speakers affiliated with IBLP taught several of the sessions. The conference included a videotape presentation on the separation of church and state by David Barton, a regular on the Christian right speaking circuit who argues that the separation of church and state is a "myth."
Although Menzel and the IACC's materials insist that the program Hill launched at his company is secular, IBLP's Web site boasts that as a result of Hill's efforts, Kimray "benefited from the application of Biblical principles." Menzel admitted to the Texas Observer two years ago that "these are biblical principles." Hill has ties to Gothard dating back to 1974; he served on IBLP's board of directors from 1993 to 2005, and is currently on its "board of reference."
Gothard's teachings, and his implementation of them, are highly controversial even among evangelical Christians. Based on seven "non-optional" biblical principles, Gothard demands obedience to "God-ordained authorities, such as parents, government, and the church."
In 2003, the flagship evangelical magazine Christianity Today observed, "an important issue to consider regarding Gothard's influence is that it is directed to the core leadership of our nation's conservative Christian churches. Gothard has largely succeeded in reaching that audience. While many have winked at Gothard's teachings on authority, what's more alarming is how readily his supporters accept his interpretation of Scripture," which he reads "through an authoritarian lens."
The teachings have bubbled beneath some disturbing events. Matthew Murray, who shot two people at a Colorado church last December, blamed his troubles on his authoritarian home-school curriculum from IBLP. Gothard denied that his curriculum played any role in Murray's dysfunction.
In Indianapolis, a City of Character, an IBLP-run juvenile center -- housed in the same building where Palin attended the April 2000 conference -- was embroiled in an investigation of child abuse, including spanking and restraining children and committing them for days to the solitary confinement of a "prayer room" without food. The center was cleared after a state investigation in 2004, although it did abandon the practice of spanking while under scrutiny, according to news reports.
Through its Character First training seminars, IACC has spread its gospel of character to local government officials like Palin as well as to Fortune 500 companies, law enforcement agencies, federal government agencies, and the private prison giant Corrections Corporation of America, which uses the character training in its prisons. Character First principles are taught in hundreds of public schools across the country.
Each of the 49 character qualities, as outlined by Gothard, have a biblical basis and are therefore required for believers to fulfill God's goal "to transform them into the image of His Son so that they may be a reflection of the character of Christ." The character quality of diligence, for example, is rooted in Colossians 3:23 ("Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men,") meaning, for Gothard, that one should "visualiz[e] each task as a special assignment from the Lord and us[e] all my energies to accomplish it."

IACC's secularized version requires one to "invest my time and energy to complete each task assigned to me," and is compared, like Gothard's version, to the diligence of a beaver. (Each character quality is linked to an animal, although apparently none to the barracuda.)
The desired implementation of a City of Character's mission is somewhat murky. Menzel advocates using the character qualities as a guide for hiring or promoting employees, and suggested advertising the "character quality of the month" through posters and billboards. He could not point to a policy initiative Palin undertook as mayor to advance the character initiative, and he expressed disappointment that Wasilla, Alaska's only City of Character, had not done more to advance the cause.
But Sandy Holladay, who heads the Alaska Councils of Character, which works with the IACC to encourage more municipalities to become Cities of Character, notes ways in which the teachings permeated the town government under Palin. Holladay, who said she met Palin once, in 2001, said she recalled that Wasilla put the teachings' "character quality of the month" on city employee paychecks and utility bills, and displayed posters provided by the CTI. (Utility bills in Wasilla began bearing the words, "Wasilla: A City of Character! Help us promote good character in our community!" shortly after the resolution passed.)
Mary Bixby, executive assistant to Wasilla's current mayor, Dianne Keller, said that the city no longer sends a representative to the CTI conferences, but it still receives materials from the organization. The city gives out certificates of good character to citizens who do "heroic deeds," she said, like turning in a lost wallet to the police department, and recognizes employees of "good character" in the employee newsletter. She said she admires the book outlining all the character traits, which she did not view as religious in nature, and added she would like to do more to study and promote it.
Menzel maintains that Palin exhibited the character quality of discernment, because after she took in the program at the Indianapolis conference in 2000 "she immediately returned to Wasilla and implemented it." Menzel described discernment as "understanding the deeper reason of why things happen." (Gothard describes it as "the God-given ability to understand why things happen.")
But perhaps above all, Menzel said, Palin exhibits boldness -- "a confidence in what I have to say or do is true, right, and just." (Gothard's definition, citing Acts 4:29, is "confidence that what I have to say or do is true and just and right in the sight of God.") Menzel added, "I think that really epitomizes her character, that boldness."

31 de outubro - Hoje é dia da Reforma!

Hoje é dia da Reforma!
Leia também: post do Tempora

Errais, não conhecendo as Escrituras, nem o poder de Deus.
Jesus Cristo em Mt 22:29
Examinai as Escrituras, porque vós cuidais ter nelas
a vida eterna, e são elas que de mim testificam.
Jesus Cristo em Jo 5:39
O muro da cidade tinha doze fundamentos, e neles estavam
os nomes dos doze apóstolos do Cordeiro.
Apóstolo João em Ap 21:14

Quando pensamos nas inúmeras igrejas evangélicas que continuam se formando das mínimas dissidências através das últimas décadas; quando verificamos a falta de consistência bíblica e de preparo intelectual e/ou espiritual de muitos líderes dessas igrejas; quando lembramos as denominações e os pastores que aderem ao aborto e à causa gay... nada disso nos deixa propícios a comemorar o Dia da Reforma.

Porém, os primeiros líderes da igreja primitiva já tinham seus problemas, e eles não eram leves. Gente que mentia ao Espírito Santo, que pervertia a fé dos outros ao anunciar que a ressurreição já havia ocorrido, que se fingia de pregador fiel para tirar dinheiro do povo, que forçava a barra para que os procedimentos judaicos continuassem a ser praticados... e nenhum desses desvios era suficiente para apagar a grande alegria que os cristãos sentiam em ser discípulos de Cristo, depositários de Sua maravilhosa Palavra (que limpa a alma) e do penhor do Espírito (que nos permitirá estar com Deus naquele dia).

Olhamos para trás e a nossa volta, e somos capazes de reconhecer os inúmeros erros da igreja cristã. No entanto, também podemos atestar os imensos cuidados de Deus para que a fé continuasse viva e atuante em todos esses séculos. O princípio da Sola Scriptura, ao contrário do que católicos e ortodoxos afirmam, não é um espécie de idolatria ao Livro; é, ao contrário, mostra do infinito amor de Deus para conosco, não deixando que ficássemos vulneráveis às inconstâncias dos homens através dos tempos. O princípio da Sola Scriptura é a razão de ser da própria Bíblia: balizador de nossa fé, porto seguro para onde nos voltamos quando as falas sobre Deus ao redor nos parecem desconexas demais.

Li hoje no Orkut: "Não existe a noção de Sola Scriptura nos quinze primeiros séculos do cristianismo. O Cristianismo nunca foi uma religião do livro, pois a Palavra de Deus é Cristo encarnado, ressucitado e vivo entre nós. Tinta sobre papel, nesse caso, é secundário. E pode ser letra que mata."

O problema com essas afirmações é que elas não podem ser enunciadas sem que seja introduzido um grande princípio relativista na relação do cristão com a Bíblia. Elas contradizem as palavras e o comportamento do próprio Jesus. Vejamos.

No Novo Testamento, Cristo menciona aqueles que viriam a crer Nele não por um encontro direto com o Deus encarnado, como tinha acontecido com os discípulos, mas sim por Suas palavras. Ora, as palavras de Jesus não podem mais nos ser passadas boca-a-boca - suas testemunhas diretas não mais circulam entre nós - , mas sim pelo Livro (e, ainda indiretamente, por quem lesse o Livro e reproduzisse oralmente o que lá achasse escrito). Nesse sentido, quando as palavras de Jesus não estavam escritas, eram autoridade a partir da boca de Seus discípulos sinceros. Mas, como estão escritas, são autoridade a partir do Livro. Isso parece óbvio, mas não é. O registro detalhado da fé e sua organização em forma de um Livro espantosamente coerente é a prova de que Deus providenciou meios para que o conteúdo do que cremos não fosse facilmente alterado através dos séculos.

Além disso, há outro fator muito importante. Conforme lemos no Novo Testamento, quando Jesus começou a exercer Seu ministério, como é que Ele demonstrou que a religião judaica daquele tempo - que deveria testificar Dele como o Messias - havia se desviado grandemente de seus propósitos originais? Pelo Livro, ainda incompleto, da época: o que chamamos hoje Antigo Testamento. Como é que Ele corrigia os desacertos de seus contemporâneos acerca Daquele que havia de vir? Com a interpretação adequada do Livro.

Quando interpelado por autoridades judaicas, Jesus sempre respondia com palavras do Livro, deixando claro que o erro de seus questionadores era desconhecer as Escrituras. No encontro com a mulher samaritana, Jesus corrige sua cosmovisão dizendo-lhe algo que só o Livro pode atestar: a salvação que Ele representava vem dos judeus. E é com a autoridade desse Livro que Jesus vai à sinagoga, abre-o em Isaías e começa a ler sobre o Messias que viria, anunciando em seguida: "Sou eu este de quem o Livro fala." Se o próprio Jesus tratou o Livro como autoridade, por que deixaríamos de agir como Ele?

Há inúmeros exemplos em todo o Novo Testamento. Depois que Jesus ressuscita, os discípulos não O reconhecem de imediato. Ele então começa a narrar longamente os fatos do Livro - novamente, do Livro - para mostrar como era necessário que o Messias padecesse. Jesus conhecia o Livro e sabia que a reação correta de Seus discípulos a Sua presença depois de ressurreto dependia da correta interpretação das palavras ali registradas. Ele tinha o Livro em proeminência e não admitia que os líderes seus contemporâneos falseassem o que estava nas Escrituras, como demonstrou, por exemplo, no Sermão do Monte. Diante disso, não podemos agir diferente.

Os discípulos de Jesus compreenderam isto. Em Atos, os judeus de Beréia são louvados porque confirmaram as palavras pregadas pelos apóstolos da seguinte maneira: abriam o Livro e verificavam se estava correto o que ouviam. Não há dúvida de que seu louvor nos convida a fazer o mesmo, hoje, mais de dois mil anos depois da vinda do Senhor. Se fosse diferente, os judeus de Beréia não seriam elogiados, mas sim repreendidos, por submeterem as palavras dos próprios discípulos de Cristo ao Antigo Testamento - palavras que se verificaram verdadeiras e coerentes com os primeiros escritos, e que, por esse mesmo exame, foram acrescentadas ao Livro, ganhando o mesmo status que as anteriores. Se o AT era utilizado por Jesus para atestar a veracidade de Suas afirmações, não podemos fugir do fato de que o NT é repleto de recomendações para que os cristãos se ativessem aos conteúdos enunciados pelos apóstolos, colocando-os em evidente proeminência a qualquer outro ensino posterior. Assim, por que o procedimento seria outro, se hoje, no mundo ocidental, temos o privilégio de possuir em mãos o mesmo Livro, acrescido das palavras de Jesus e dos apóstolos comissionados diretamente por Ele para pregar Sua palavra? Por que Jesus exigiria de nós algo diverso do exame que Ele próprio realizou nas Escrituras, as quais conhecia e amava?

É verdade que o protestantismo causou muitas turbulências na cristandade. Guerras e ódios marcaram e ainda marcam a rivalidade que começou com Lutero, e a divisão entre os cristãos cobra imensos tributos. Além disso, católicos e ortodoxos, talvez beneficiados por sua maior antiguidade histórica, continuam a ser especialmente brilhantes na filosofia e na literatura. Porém, o exame da Bíblia para confirmar fatos verdadeiramente cristãos - ou seja, o tratamento das Escrituras como autoridade para os conteúdos da fé - é algo que Cristo praticou e que serviu de exemplo para seus discípulos. A preocupação com a pureza da fé e com a permanência naquilo que Jesus e os discípulos ensinaram é parte constitutiva desse Livro, que começa com a criação do mundo e termina com o fim, algo que marca sua inviolabilidade depois da vinda do Messias. Palavras de homens não podem contradizer o registro bíblico - nem as posteriores à Septuaginta, nem as posteriores aos escritos dos apóstolos - , sob o risco de ir além das palavras de Jesus e daqueles comissionados diretamente por Deus para a autoria inspirada do Livro. Não podemos contradizer esse princípio sem relativizar a Bíblia. E muitos cristãos só mantêm esse cuidado, hoje, por causa da Reforma. Por isso, principalmente por isso, posso louvar a Deus pela forma com que nos conduziu até aqui e agradecer a Ele, de coração, pelo dia 31 de outubro. Aleluia!

The gospel of money

The gospel of money

Megachurch pastors and broadcast ministries are drawing renewed scrutiny for living lavishly off the faithful’s funds. Fortunately, a divide is emerging in the world of evangelicals: the ‘haves’ and the ‘will have none of it.’

By Mark I. Pinsky

"The love of money," the New Testament teaches in I Timothy 6:10, "is the root of all evil." But what about some televangelists' fondness for major bling — such as multiple, multimillion dollar estates, luxury cars, vacation homes, exotic trips and private jets? Does that make them, in the words of one author, "pimps in the pulpit?"

Many outside the evangelical movement are puzzled by the apparent lack of outrage following reports of high-living, tax-exempt religious broadcasters. Sen. Chuck Grassley, R-Iowa, has been looking into six megachurch pastors and broadcast ministries, requesting financial records. Richard Roberts has stepped down as president of Oral Roberts University following charges that he used the school's resources for family perks, such as a trip to the Bahamas for his daughter.

These charges come as no surprise to those within the evangelical world. Such tales of excess and profligacy have been an open secret for years.

(Illustration by Sam Ward, USA TODAY)

Some justify this way of life by arguing that, as advocates of the "prosperity gospel," it only follows that those who are the most faithful will prosper — in a big way. Is this why there has been no outcry among the faithful? Perhaps it is a reflexive circling of the wagons.

"Within conservative media ministries, criticism from outsiders often is seen as a badge of honor that validates a ministry's righteousness," says Quentin Schultze, of Michigan's Calvin College, author of Christianity and the Mass Media in America.

Loyalty or gullibility?

But there is something new going on. Just as political, ideological and generational fissures are emerging among the nation's evangelical leadership, there is also one involving lifestyle.

In one camp are those being scrutinized by Grassley: Benny Hinn of Texas, a flamboyant faith healer whose followers believe he can raise the dead; Paula White, a motivational speaker whose recent divorce from her co-pastor husband rocked their Tampa megachurch; and Joyce Meyer, a St. Louis author and speaker whose broadcasts are heard in 200 countries. They make no apologies for the way they spend their salaries, speaking fees, CD and book royalties and "love offerings," lavish gifts of cash and jewelry.

What makes this discussion delicate and sometimes uncomfortable — especially among evangelicals — is that many of these leaders come from the Pentecostal (or Charismatic) tradition. This brings with it undercurrents of class and culture. Historically, those once derided by other Christians as "holy rollers" for their ecstatic prayer and preaching have their roots in the working and lower-middle class, in rural areas and small towns. There is the implication that their leaders, having grown up in hardscrabble circumstances, tend to have a nouveau riche weakness for flashy displays of wealth.

In the other camp are those in the Billy Graham tradition, who are determined to live more modestly and to give back much of what they earn. These include Rick Warren, pastor of Saddleback Church in Orange County, Calif., and author of The Purpose-Driven Life; and Joel Osteen, leader of Houston's Lakewood Church and author of Your Best Life Now.

Followers of Warren and Osteen's tend to come from those a little higher up the demographic scale than most Pentecostals — solidly middle-class people from the Sunbelt suburbs. As the cameras pan their audiences, they appear to be somewhat more affluent.

Warren is vociferous in his opposition to prominent Pentecostals' embrace of the prosperity gospel. "Success in any area often creates a spirit of entitlement — 'I deserve this' — that is the exact opposite of servant leadership," Warren says. "It is evidence of insecurity and low-self esteem. Insecure people show off. Secure people serve."

Warren takes no salary from his church and has returned every dollar he has earned from the congregation. He will not accept money to speak, and he gives away 90% of his sizable book royalties, in what he calls "reverse tithes."

"The opulent lifestyles of televangelists make me sick," he says of those ministries being investigated.

Trying for a balanced life

Osteen, a rising young star in the evangelical firmament, has stopped taking a salary from his 48,000-member congregation, thanks almost entirely to his own best-selling books. "We make plenty of money from our books," says Osteen, who does not solicit contributions on his nationally televised broadcasts from the Compaq Center. "But we just live normal lives. We try to be conservative and honor God with our life and with our example."

(Not always, however. Osteen's wife and co-pastor, Victoria, was not above a diva-like snit fit on a flight bound for Vail, Colo., in 2005 after claiming her first-class seat had not been cleaned. An altercation with flight attendants led to a two-hour delay, and the Osteens were asked to leave the plane. Victoria, who called the incident a "minor misunderstanding," later paid a $3,000 fine assessed by the Federal Aviation Administration.)

Osteen owns just one home where he and his wife have lived in for 13 years, and until recently, he drove a 9-year-old car. Osteen flies commercial and, on the road, pays his own hotel bills.

True to his Mr. Nice Guy message and his image as "The Smiling Preacher," Osteen refuses to condemn those in Grassley's spotlight. Yet, despite his personal wealth, Osteen has a much more modest way of living and of interpreting the prosperity gospel. "I never preach a message on money," he says. "I do believe that God wants us to be blessed, to have good marriages, to have peace in our minds, to have health, to have money to pay our bills. I think God wants us to excel. But everyone isn't going to be rich — if we're talking about money."

There is a clear difference between praying for health and financial self-sufficiency, which is reasonable and understandable, and the expectation of divinely mandated wealth and the right to profligacy. American evangelicals have enough enemies. Why hand such adversaries another stick — especially a gilded one — to beat them with?

Mark I. Pinsky, religion writer for the Orlando Sentinel, is author of A Jew Among the Evangelicals: A Guide for the Perplexed.

Does God Want You To Be Rich?

Does God Want You To Be Rich?

A growing number of Protestant evangelists raise a joyful Yes! But the idea is poison to other, more mainstream pastors
By DAVID VAN BIEMA, JEFF CHU

Posted Sunday, Sep. 10, 2006

When George Adams lost his job at an Ohio tile factory last October, the most practical thing he did, he thinks, was go to a new church, even though he had to move his wife and four preteen boys to Conroe, a suburb of Houston, to do it. Conroe, you see, is not far from Lakewood, the home church of megapastor and best-selling author Joel Osteen.

Osteen's relentlessly upbeat television sermons had helped Adams, 49, get through the hard times, and now Adams was expecting the smiling, Texas-twanged 43-year-old to help boost him back toward success. And Osteen did. Inspired by the preacher's insistence that one of God's top priorities is to shower blessings on Christians in this lifetime--and by the corollary assumption that one of the worst things a person can do is to expect anything less--Adams marched into Gullo Ford in Conroe looking for work. He didn't have entry-level aspirations: "God has showed me that he doesn't want me to be a run-of-the-mill person," he explains. He demanded to know what the dealership's top salesmen made--and got the job. Banishing all doubt--"You can't sell a $40,000-to-$50,000 car with menial thoughts"--Adams took four days to retail his first vehicle, a Ford F-150 Lariat with leather interior. He knew that many fellow salesmen don't notch their first score until their second week. "Right now, I'm above average!" he exclaims. "It's a new day God has given me! I'm on my way to a six-figure income!" The sales commission will help with this month's rent, but Adams hates renting. Once that six-figure income has been rolling in for a while, he will buy his dream house: "Twenty-five acres," he says. "And three bedrooms. We're going to have a schoolhouse (his children are home schooled). We want horses and ponies for the boys, so a horse barn. And a pond. And maybe some cattle."

"I'm dreaming big--because all of heaven is dreaming big," Adams continues. "Jesus died for our sins. That was the best gift God could give us," he says. "But we have something else. Because I want to follow Jesus and do what he ordained, God wants to support us. It's Joel Osteen's ministry that told me. Why would an awesome and mighty God want anything less for his children?"

In three of the Gospels, Jesus warns that each of his disciples may have to "deny himself" and even "take up his Cross." In support of this alarming prediction, he forcefully contrasts the fleeting pleasures of today with the promise of eternity: "For what profit is it to a man," he asks, "if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?" It is one of the New Testament's hardest teachings, yet generations of churchgoers have understood that being Christian, on some level, means being ready to sacrifice--money, autonomy or even their lives.

But for a growing number of Christians like George Adams, the question is better restated, "Why not gain the whole world plus my soul?" For several decades, a philosophy has been percolating in the 10 million--strong Pentecostal wing of Christianity that seems to turn the Gospels' passage on its head: certainly, it allows, Christians should keep one eye on heaven. But the new good news is that God doesn't want us to wait. Known (or vilified) under a variety of names--Word of Faith, Health and Wealth, Name It and Claim It, Prosperity Theology--its emphasis is on God's promised generosity in this life and the ability of believers to claim it for themselves. In a nutshell, it suggests that a God who loves you does not want you to be broke. Its signature verse could be John 10: 10: "I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly." In a TIME poll, 17% of Christians surveyed said they considered themselves part of such a movement, while a full 61% believed that God wants people to be prosperous. And 31%--a far higher percentage than there are Pentecostals in America--agreed that if you give your money to God, God will bless you with more money.

"Prosperity" first blazed to public attention as the driveshaft in the moneymaking machine that was 1980s televangelism and faded from mainstream view with the Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart scandals. But now, after some key modifications (which have inspired some to redub it Prosperity Lite), it has not only recovered but is booming. Of the four biggest megachurches in the country, three--Osteen's Lakewood in Houston; T.D. Jakes' Potter's House in south Dallas; and Creflo Dollar's World Changers near Atlanta--are Prosperity or Prosperity Lite pulpits (although Jakes' ministry has many more facets). While they don't exclusively teach that God's riches want to be in believers' wallets, it is a key part of their doctrine. And propelled by Osteen's 4 million--selling book, Your Best Life Now, the belief has swept beyond its Pentecostal base into more buttoned-down evangelical churches, and even into congregations in the more liberal Mainline. It is taught in hundreds of non-Pentecostal Bible studies. One Pennsylvania Lutheran pastor even made it the basis for a sermon series for Lent, when Christians usually meditate on why Jesus was having His Worst Life Then. Says the Rev. Chappell Temple, a Methodist minister with the dubious distinction of pastoring Houston's other Lakewood Church (Lakewood United Methodist), an hour north of Osteen's: "Prosperity Lite is everywhere in Christian culture. Go into any Christian bookstore, and see what they're offering."

The movement's renaissance has infuriated a number of prominent pastors, theologians and commentators. Fellow megapastor Rick Warren, whose book The Purpose Driven Life has outsold Osteen's by a ratio of 7 to 1, finds the very basis of Prosperity laughable. "This idea that God wants everybody to be wealthy?", he snorts. "There is a word for that: baloney. It's creating a false idol. You don't measure your self-worth by your net worth. I can show you millions of faithful followers of Christ who live in poverty. Why isn't everyone in the church a millionaire?"

The brickbats--both theological and practical (who really gets rich from this?)--come especially thick from Evangelicals like Warren. Evangelicalism is more prominent and influential than ever before. Yet the movement, which has never had a robust theology of money, finds an aggressive philosophy advancing within its ranks that many of its leaders regard as simplistic, possibly heretical and certainly embarrassing.

Prosperity's defenders claim to be able to match their critics chapter and verse. They caution against broad-brushing a wide spectrum that ranges from pastors who crassly solicit sky's-the-limit financial offerings from their congregations to those whose services tend more toward God-fueled self-help. Advocates note Prosperity's racial diversity--a welcome exception to the American norm--and point out that some Prosperity churches engage in significant charity. And they see in it a happy corrective for Christians who are more used to being chastened for their sins than celebrated as God's children. "Who would want to get in on something where you're miserable, poor, broke and ugly and you just have to muddle through until you get to heaven?" asks Joyce Meyer, a popular television preacher and author often lumped in the Prosperity Lite camp. "I believe God wants to give us nice things." If nothing else, Meyer and other new-breed preachers broach a neglected topic that should really be a staple of Sunday messages: Does God want you to be rich?

As with almost any important religious question, the first response of most Christians (especially Protestants) is to ask how Scripture treats the topic. But Scripture is not definitive when it comes to faith and income. Deuteronomy commands believers to "remember the Lord your God, for it is He who gives you power to get wealth", and the rest of the Old Testament is dotted with celebrations of God's bestowal of the good life. On at least one occasion--the so-called parable of the talents (a type of coin)--Jesus holds up savvy business practice (investing rather than saving) as a metaphor for spiritual practice. Yet he spent far more time among the poor than the rich, and a majority of scholars quote two of his most direct comments on wealth: the passage in the Sermon on the Mount in which he warns, "Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth ... but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven"; and his encounter with the "rich young ruler" who cannot bring himself to part with his money, after which Jesus famously comments, "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God."

Both statements can be read as more nuanced than they at first may seem. In each case it is not wealth itself that disqualifies but the inability to understand its relative worthlessness compared with the riches of heaven. The same thing applies to Paul's famous line, "Money is the root of all evil," in his first letter to Timothy. The actual quote is, "The love of money is a root of all kinds of evil."

So the Bible leaves plenty of room for a discussion on the role, positive or negative, that money should play in the lives of believers. But it's not a discussion that many pastors are willing to have. "Jesus' words about money don't make us very comfortable, and people don't want to hear about it," notes Collin Hansen, an editor at the evangelical monthly Christianity Today. Pastors are happy to discuss from the pulpit hot-button topics like sex and even politics. But the relative absence of sermons about money--which the Bible mentions several thousand times--is one of the more stunning omissions in American religion, especially among its white middle-class precincts. Princeton University sociologist Robert Wuthnow says much of the U.S. church "talks about giving but does not talk about the broader financial concerns people have, or the pressures at work. There has long been a taboo on talking candidly about money."

In addition to personal finances, a lot of evangelical churches have also avoided any pulpit talk about social inequality. When conservative Christianity split from the Mainline in the early 20th century, the latter pursued their commitment to the "social gospel" by working on poverty and other causes such as civil rights and the Vietnam-era peace movement. Evangelicals went the other way: they largely concentrated on issues of individual piety. "We took on personal salvation--we need our sins redeemed, and we need our Saviour," says Warren. But "some people tended to go too individualistic, and justice and righteousness issues were overlooked."

A recent Sunday at Lakewood gives some idea of the emphasis on worldly gain that disturbs Warren. Several hundred stage lights flash on, and Osteen, his gigawatt smile matching them, strides onto the stage of what used to be the Compaq Center sports arena but is now his church. "Let's just celebrate the goodness of the Lord!" Osteen yells. His wife Victoria says, "Our Daddy God is the strongest! He's the mightiest!"

And so it goes, before 14,000 attendees, a nonstop declaration of God's love and his intent to show it in the here and now, sometimes verging on the language of an annual report. During prayer, Osteen thanks God for "your unprecedented favor. We believe that 2006 will be our best year so far. We declare it by faith." Today's sermon is about how gratitude can "save a marriage, save your job [and] get you a promotion."

"I don't think I've ever preached a sermon about money," he says a few hours later. He and Victoria meet with TIME in their pastoral suite, once the Houston Rockets' locker and shower area but now a zone of overstuffed sofas and imposing oak bookcases. "Does God want us to be rich?" he asks. "When I hear that word rich, I think people say, 'Well, he's preaching that everybody's going to be a millionaire.' I don't think that's it." Rather, he explains, "I preach that anybody can improve their lives. I think God wants us to be prosperous. I think he wants us to be happy. To me, you need to have money to pay your bills. I think God wants us to send our kids to college. I think he wants us to be a blessing to other people. But I don't think I'd say God wants us to be rich. It's all relative, isn't it?" The room's warm lamplight reflects softly off his crocodile shoes.

Osteen is a second-generation Prosperity teacher. His father John Osteen started out Baptist but in 1959 withdrew from that fellowship to found a church in one of Houston's poorer neighborhoods and explore a new philosophy developing among Pentecostals. If the rest of Protestantism ignored finances, Prosperity placed them center stage, marrying Pentecostalism's ebullient notion of God's gifts with an older tradition that stressed the power of positive thinking. Practically, it emphasized hard work and good home economics. But the real heat was in its spiritual premise: that if a believer could establish, through word and deed (usually donation), that he or she was "in Jesus Christ," then Jesus' father would respond with paternal gifts of health and wealth in this life. A favorite verse is from Malachi: "'Bring all the tithes into the storehouse ... and try Me now in this,' says the Lord of hosts. 'If I will not for you open the windows of heaven and pour out for you such blessing that there will not be room enough to receive it.'" (See boxes.)

It is a peculiarly American theology but turbocharged. If Puritanism valued wealth and Benjamin Franklin wrote about doing well by doing good, hard-core Prosperity doctrine, still extremely popular in the hands of pastors like Atlanta megachurch minister Creflo Dollar, reads those Bible verses as a spiritual contract. God will pay back a multiple (often a hundredfold) on offerings by the congregation. "Poor people like Prosperity," says Stephen Prothero, chairman of the religion department at Boston University. "They hear it as aspirant. They hear, 'You can make it too--buy a car, get a job, get wealthy.' It can function as a form of liberation." It can also be exploitative. Outsiders, observes Milmon Harrison of the University of California at Davis, author of the book Righteous Riches, often see it as "another form of the church abusing people so ministers could make money."

In the past decade, however, the new generation of preachers, like Osteen, Meyer and Houston's Methodist megapastor Kirbyjon Caldwell, who gave the benediction at both of George W. Bush's Inaugurals, have repackaged the doctrine. Gone are the divine profit-to-earnings ratios, the requests for offerings far above a normal 10% tithe (although many of the new breed continue to insist that congregants tithe on their pretax rather than their net income). What remains is a materialism framed in a kind of Tony Robbins positivism. No one exemplifies this better than Osteen, who ran his father's television-production department until John died in 1999. "Joel has learned from his dad, but he has toned it back and tapped into basic, everyday folks' ways of talking," says Ben Phillips, a theology professor at the Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. That language is reflected in Your Best Life Now, an extraordinarily accessible exhortation to this-world empowerment through God. "To live your best life now," it opens, to see "your business taking off. See your marriage restored. See your family prospering. See your dreams come to pass ..." you must "start looking at life through eyes of faith." Jesus is front and center but not his Crucifixion, Resurrection or Atonement. There are chapters on overcoming trauma and a late chapter on emulating God's generosity. (And indeed, Osteen's church gave more than $1 million in relief money after Hurricane Katrina.) But there are many more illustrations of how the Prosperity doctrine has produced personal gain, most memorably, perhaps, for the Osteen family: how Victoria's "speaking words of faith and victory" eventually brought the couple their dream house; how Joel discerned God's favor in being bumped from economy to business class.

Confronting such stories, certain more doctrinally traditional Christians go ballistic. Last March, Ben Witherington, an influential evangelical theologian at Asbury Seminary in Kentucky, thundered that "we need to renounce the false gospel of wealth and health--it is a disease of our American culture; it is not a solution or answer to life's problems." Respected blogger Michael Spencer--known as the Internet Monk--asked, "How many young people are going to be pointed to Osteen as a true shepherd of Jesus Christ? He's not. He's not one of us." Osteen is an irresistible target for experts from right to left on the Christian spectrum who--beyond worrying that he is living too high or inflating the hopes of people with real money problems--think he is dragging people down with a heavy interlocked chain of theological and ethical errors that could amount to heresy.

Most start out by saying that Osteen and his ilk have it "half right": that God's goodness is biblical, as is the idea that he means us to enjoy the material world. But while Prosperity claims to be celebrating that goodness, the critics see it as treating God as a celestial ATM. "God becomes a means to an end, not the end in himself," says Southwestern Baptist's Phillips. Others are more upset about what it de-emphasizes. "[Prosperity] wants the positive but not the negative," says another Southern Baptist, Alan Branch of Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Kansas City, Mo. "Problem is, we live on this side of Eden. We're fallen." That is, Prosperity soft-pedals the consequences of Adam's fall--sin, pain and death--and their New Testament antidote: Jesus' atoning sacrifice and the importance of repentance. And social liberals express a related frustration that preachers like Osteen show little interest in battling the ills of society at large. Perhaps appropriately so, since, as Prosperity scholar Harrison explains, "philosophically, their main way of helping the poor is encouraging people not to be one of them."

Most unnerving for Osteen's critics is the suspicion that they are fighting not just one idiosyncratic misreading of the gospel but something more daunting: the latest lurch in Protestantism's ongoing descent into full-blown American materialism. After the eclipse of Calvinist Puritanism, whose respect for money was counterbalanced by a horror of worldliness, much of Protestantism quietly adopted the idea that "you don't have to give up the American Dream. You just see it as a sign of God's blessing," says Edith Blumhofer, director of Wheaton College's Center for the Study of American Evangelicals. Indeed, a last-gasp resistance to this embrace of wealth and comfort can be observed in the current evangelical brawl over whether comfortable megachurches (like Osteen's and Warren's) with pumped-up day-care centers and high-tech amenities represent a slide from glorifying an all-powerful God to asking what custom color you would prefer he paint your pews. "The tragedy is that Christianity has become a yes-man for the culture," says Boston University's Prothero.

Non-prosperity parties from both conservative and more progressive evangelical camps recently have been trying to reverse the trend. Eastern University professor Ron Sider's book Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger, a fringe classic after its publication in 1977, is selling far more copies now, and some young people are even acting on its rather radical prescriptions: a sprinkling of Protestant groups known loosely as the New Monastics is experimenting with the kind of communal living among the poor that had previously been the province of Catholic orders. Jim Wallis, longtime leader of one such community in Washington and the editor of Sojourners magazine, has achieved immense exposure lately with his pleas that Evangelicals engage in more political activism on behalf of the poor.

And then there is Warren himself, who by virtue of his energy, hypereloquence and example (he's working in Rwanda with government, business and church sectors) has become a spokesman for church activism. "The church is the largest network in the world," he says. "If you have 2.3 billion people who claim to be followers of Christ, that's bigger than China."

And despite Warren's disdain for Prosperity's theological claims, some Prosperity churches have become players in the very faith-based antipoverty world he inhabits, even while maintaining their distinctive theology. Kirbyjon Caldwell, who pastors Windsor Village, the largest (15,000) United Methodist church in the country, can sound as Prosperity as the next pastor: "Jesus did not die and get up off the Cross so we could live lives full of despair and disappointment," he says. He quotes the "abundant life" verse with all earnestness, even giving it a real estate gloss: "It is unscriptural not to own land," he announces. But he's doing more than talk about it. He recently oversaw the building of Corinthian Pointe, a 452-unit affordable-housing project that he claims is the largest residential subdivision ever built by a nonprofit. Most of its inhabitants, he says, are not members of his church.

Caldwell knows that prosperity is a loaded term in evangelical circles. But he insists that "it depends on how you define prosperity. I am not a proponent of saying the Lord's name three times, clicking your heels and then you get what you ask for. But you cannot give what you do not have. We are fighting what we call the social demons. If I am going to help someone, I am going to have to have something with which to help."

Caldwell knows that the theology behind this preacherly rhetoric will never be acceptable to Warren or Sider or Witherington. But the man they all follow said, "By their fruits you will know them," and for some, Corinthian Pointe is a very convincing sort of fruit. Hard-line Prosperity theology may always seem alien to those with enough money to imagine making more without engaging God in a kind of spiritual quid pro quo. And Osteen's version, while it abandons part of that magical thinking, may strike some as self-centered rather than God centered. But American Protestantism is a dynamic faith. Caldwell's version reminds us that there is no reason a giving God could not invest even an awkward and needy creed with a mature and generous heart. If God does want us to be rich in this life, no doubt it's this richness in spirit that he is most eager for us to acquire.

Judging churches for being judgmental

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Judging churches for being judgmental

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Posted: January 26, 2008
1:00 a.m. Eastern

By Robert Knight

If you wanted to scare your readers into avoiding conservative Christian churches, how would you go about it?

The Wall Street Journal's Weekend Journal section did a bang-up job on Jan. 18 with a hostile, one-sided article about church discipline, complete with a color drawing of a banished soul and the headline "Banned From Church" in massive type.

On the full runover page, the piece is illustrated with a graphic entitled "Cast Out" that helpfully gives us "A Brief History of Shunning, Excommunication and Getting Burned at the Stake in Christianity."

Skipping happily down the church hater's version of Memory Lane, the graphic shows Adam and Eve kicked out of the Garden of Eden, and various dark moments in church history such as witch burnings, Galileo getting jailed for heresy and Joan of Arc's martyrdom. It finishes with the 20th century example of California pastor David Hocking losing his ministry in 1992 over a relationship with a married woman.

Alexandra Alter, the author, constructs her article around the case of Karolyn Caskey, 71, who has continued to attend the Allen Baptist Church in southwestern Michigan after being expelled over a dispute with the new pastor, who declined to be interviewed. Even if the one-sided account is roughly accurate, why make it the centerpiece? The effect is to portray church discipline as bizarre and anachronistic. Indeed, the subheadline is:

"Reviving an ancient practice, churches are exposing sinners and shunning those who won't repent."

An "ancient" practice is immediately suspect to many journalists, unless it's of pagan origin.

As Alter explains in the article, "Her story reflects a growing movement among some conservative Protestant pastors to bring back church discipline, an ancient practice in which suspected sinners are privately confronted and then publicly castigated and excommunicated if they refuse to repent."

Egad. How frightening is this trend?

In the past decade, more than two dozen lawsuits related to church discipline have been filed as congregants sue pastors for defamation, negligent counseling and emotional injury, according to the Religion Case Reporter, a legal-research database.

"Two dozen lawsuits" sounds alarming until you realize that America has 536,480 church congregations (as of 2000, according to the Association of Religion Data Archives). Alter reports that 14,000 to 21,000 U.S. Protestant evangelical churches, or 10 to 15 percent, practice some form of church discipline. With all that discipline (and counseling) going on, a couple of dozen cases is hardly a legal avalanche.

Since Alter put churches in the dock for enforcing the "ancient" practice of shunning, she should have analyzed the relevant biblical passages. No such luck. The best we get is: "Others point to a passage in the gospel of Matthew that says unrepentant sinners must be shunned." My guess is that Alter probably heard about Matthew 18:15-17, in which Jesus Himself instructs the church in how to deal with unrepentant sinners:

Moreover if your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone. If he hears you, you have gained your brother. But if he will not hear, take with you one or two more, that "by the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established." And if he refuses to hear them, tell it to the church. But if he refuses even to hear the church, let him be to you like a heathen and a tax collector (New King James Version).

It would make sense for any article on church shunning to include the passage above. At least it would unless the writer is Bibliophobic. Or biblically challenged. Perhaps Alter was worried about making an error like the late ABC anchorman Peter Jennings, who once cited a verse from "Eleven Chronicles." (The Old Testament includes the books First Chronicles and Second Chronicles, usually written as I Chronicles and II Chronicles.)

Moving along in her piece, Alter quickly returns to making churches look like meanies, with anecdotes like this one:

The process can be messy, says Al Jackson, pastor of Lakeview Baptist Church in Auburn, Ala., which began disciplining members in the 1990s. Once when the congregation voted out an adulterer who had refused to repent, an older woman was confused and thought the church had voted to send the man to hell.

Presumably, the pastor straightened her out instead of putting her in a ducking chair in a nearby river (an activity the reader can see in the informative Cast Out graphic). But you can't be too sure when it comes to these conservative Christians.

Weaving the sad, arguably deplorable plight of Mrs. Caskey throughout the article, Alter pauses here and there to share more historical nuggets that might persuade even the most curious never to darken a church door. At least, not the doors of evangelical churches, or those in Catholic dioceses where some bishops have denied communion to public figures who support abortion on demand.

In Christianity's early centuries, church discipline led sinners to cover themselves with ashes or spend time in the stocks. In later centuries, expulsion was more common. Until the late 19th century, shunning was widely practiced by American evangelicals, including Methodists, Presbyterians and Baptists. Today, excommunication rarely occurs in the U.S. Catholic Church, and shunning is largely unheard of among mainline Protestants.

And it's a good thing too, or lots of "pro-choice" and serial-marrying politicians might be embarrassed, leaving us all fewer "choices."

Banned From Church

Reviving an ancient practice, churches are exposing sinners and shunning those who won't repent.

By ALEXANDRA ALTER
January 18, 2008; Page W1

On a quiet Sunday morning in June, as worshippers settled into the pews at Allen Baptist Church in southwestern Michigan, Pastor Jason Burrick grabbed his cellphone and dialed 911. When a dispatcher answered, the preacher said a former congregant was in the sanctuary. "And we need to, um, have her out A.S.A.P."

Half an hour later, 71-year-old Karolyn Caskey, a church member for nearly 50 years who had taught Sunday school and regularly donated 10% of her pension, was led out by a state trooper and a county sheriff's officer. One held her purse and Bible. The other put her in handcuffs. (Listen to the 911 call)

The charge was trespassing, but Mrs. Caskey's real offense, in her pastor's view, was spiritual. Several months earlier, when she had questioned his authority, he'd charged her with spreading "a spirit of cancer and discord" and expelled her from the congregation. "I've been shunned," she says.

Her story reflects a growing movement among some conservative Protestant pastors to bring back church discipline, an ancient practice in which suspected sinners are privately confronted and then publicly castigated and excommunicated if they refuse to repent. While many Christians find such practices outdated, pastors in large and small churches across the country are expelling members for offenses ranging from adultery and theft to gossiping, skipping service and criticizing church leaders.

Dave Krieger/Getty Images

PODCASTS

• Hear an interview with Doug Laycock, a professor of constitutional law at the University of Michigan, about the legal implications of church discipline.

• Hear the 911 call made by Pastor Burrick.

* * *

CAST OFF

• Timeline: View a brief history of shunning and excommunication.

The revival is part of a broader movement to restore churches to their traditional role as moral enforcers, Christian leaders say. Some say that contemporary churches have grown soft on sinners, citing the rise of suburban megachurches where pastors preach self-affirming messages rather than focusing on sin and redemption. Others point to a passage in the gospel of Matthew that says unrepentant sinners must be shunned.

Causing Disharmony

Watermark Community Church, a nondenominational church in Dallas that draws 4,000 people to services, requires members to sign a form stating they will submit to the "care and correction" of church elders. Last week, the pastor of a 6,000-member megachurch in Nashville, Tenn., threatened to expel 74 members for gossiping and causing disharmony unless they repented. The congregants had sued the pastor for access to the church's financial records.

First Baptist Church of Muscle Shoals, Ala., a 1,000-member congregation, expels five to seven members a year for "blatant, undeniable patterns of willful sin," which have included adultery, drunkenness and refusal to honor church elders. About 400 people have left the church over the years for what they view as an overly harsh persecution of sinners, Pastor Jeff Noblit says.

The process can be messy, says Al Jackson, pastor of Lakeview Baptist Church in Auburn, Ala., which began disciplining members in the 1990s. Once, when the congregation voted out an adulterer who refused to repent, an older woman was confused and thought the church had voted to send the man to hell.

Karolyn Caskey was expelled from Allen Baptist Church after clashing with the pastor.

Amy Hitt, 43, a mortgage officer in Amissville, Va., was voted out of her Baptist congregation in 2004 for gossiping about her pastor's plans to buy a bigger house. Her ouster was especially hard on her twin sons, now 12 years old, who had made friends in the church, she says. "Some people have looked past it, but then there are others who haven't," says Ms. Hitt, who believes the episode cost her a seat on the school board last year; she lost by 42 votes.

Scholars estimate that 10% to 15% of Protestant evangelical churches practice church discipline -- about 14,000 to 21,000 U.S. congregations in total. Increasingly, clashes within churches are spilling into communities, splitting congregations and occasionally landing church leaders in court after congregants, who believed they were confessing in private, were publicly shamed.

In the past decade, more than two dozen lawsuits related to church discipline have been filed as congregants sue pastors for defamation, negligent counseling and emotional injury, according to the Religion Case Reporter, a legal-research database. Peggy Penley, a Fort Worth, Texas, woman whose pastor revealed her extramarital affair to the congregation after she confessed it in confidence, waged a six-year battle against the pastor, charging him with negligence. Last summer, the Texas Supreme Court dismissed her suit, ruling that the pastor was exercising his religious beliefs by publicizing the affair.

Allen Baptist Church

Courts have often refused to hear such cases on the grounds that churches are protected by the constitutional right to free religious exercise, but some have sided with alleged sinners. In 2003, a woman and her husband won a defamation suit against the Iowa Methodist conference and its superintendent after he publicly accused her of "spreading the spirit of Satan" because she gossiped about her pastor. A district court rejected the case, but the Iowa Supreme Court upheld the woman's appeal on the grounds that the letter labeling her a sinner was circulated beyond the church.

Advocates of shunning say it rarely leads to the public disclosure of a member's sin. "We're not the FBI; we're not sniffing around people's homes trying to find out some secret sin," says Don Singleton, pastor of Ridgeview Baptist Church in Talladega, Ala., who says the 50-member church has disciplined six members in his 2½ years as pastor. "Ninety-nine percent of these cases never go that far."

When they do, it can be humiliating. A devout Christian and grandmother of three, Mrs. Caskey moves with a halting gait, due to two artificial knees and a double hip replacement. Friends and family describe her as a generous woman who helped pay the electricity bill for Allen Baptist, in Allen, Mich., when funds were low, gave the church $1,200 after she sold her van, and even cut the church's lawn on occasion. She has requested an engraved image of the church on her tombstone.

Gossip and Slander

Her expulsion came as a shock to some church members when, in August 2006, the pastor sent a letter to the congregation stating Mrs. Caskey and an older married couple, Patsy and Emmit Church, had been removed for taking "action against the church and your preacher." The pastor, Mr. Burrick, told congregants the three were guilty of gossip, slander and idolatry and should be shunned, according to several former church members.

"People couldn't believe it," says Janet Biggs, 53, a former church member who quit the congregation in protest.

The conflict had been brewing for months. Shortly after the church hired Mr. Burrick in 2005 to help revive the congregation, which had dwindled to 12 members, Mrs. Caskey asked him to appoint a board of deacons to help govern the church, a tradition outlined in the church's charter. Mr. Burrick said the congregation was too small to warrant deacons. Mrs. Caskey pressed the issue at the church's quarterly business meetings and began complaining that Mr. Burrick was not following the church's bylaws. "She's one of the nicest, kindest people I know," says friend and neighbor Robert Johnston, 69, a retired cabinet maker. "But she won't be pushed around."

Karolyn Caskey reads her Bible.

In April 2006, Mrs. Caskey received a stern letter from Mr. Burrick. "This church will not tolerate this spirit of cancer and discord that you would like to spread," it said. Mrs. Caskey, along with Mr. and Mrs. Church, continued to insist that the pastor follow the church's constitution. In August, she received a letter from Mr. Burrick that said her failure to repent had led to her removal. It also said he would not write her a transfer letter enabling her to join another church, a requirement in many Baptist congregations, until she had "made things right here at Allen Baptist."

She went to Florida for the winter, and when she returned to Michigan last June, she drove the two miles to Allen Baptist as usual. A church member asked her to leave, saying she was not welcome, but Mrs. Caskey told him she had come to worship and asked if they could speak after the service. Twenty minutes into the service, a sheriff's officer was at her side, and an hour later, she was in jail.

"It was very humiliating," says Mrs. Caskey, who worked for the state of Michigan for 25 years before retiring from the Department of Corrections in 1992. "The other prisoners were surprised to see a little old lady in her church clothes. One of them said, 'You robbed a church?' and I said, 'No, I just attended church.' "

Word quickly spread throughout Allen, a close-knit town of about 200 residents. Once a thriving community of farmers and factory workers, Allen consists of little more than a strip of dusty antiques stores. Mr. and Mrs. Church, both in their 70s, eventually joined another Baptist congregation nearby.

About 25 people stopped attending Allen Baptist Church after Mrs. Caskey was shunned, according to several former church members.

Current members say they support the pastor's actions, and they note that the congregation has grown under his leadership. The simple, white-washed building now draws around 70 people on Sunday mornings, many of them young families. "He's a very good leader; he has total respect for the people," says Stephen Johnson, 66, an auto parts inspector, who added that Mr. Burrick was right to remove Mrs. Caskey because "the Bible says causing discord in the church is an abomination."

Mrs. Caskey went back to the church about a month after her arrest, shortly after the county prosecutor threw out the trespassing charge. More than a dozen supporters gathered outside, some with signs that read "What Would Jesus Do?" She sat in the front row as Mr. Burrick preached about "infidels in the pews," according to reports from those present.

Once again, Mrs. Caskey was escorted out by a state trooper and taken to jail, where she posted the $62 bail and was released. After that, the county prosecutor dismissed the charge and told county law enforcement not to arrest her again unless she was creating a disturbance.

In the following weeks, Mrs. Caskey continued to worship at Allen Baptist. Some congregants no longer spoke to her or passed the offering plate, and some changed seats if she sat next to them, she says.

Mr. Burrick repeatedly declined to comment on Mrs. Caskey's case, calling it a "private ecclesiastical matter." He did say that while the church does not "blacklist" anyone, a strict reading of the Bible requires pastors to punish disobedient members. "A lot of times, flocks aren't willing to submit or be obedient to God," he said in an interview before a Sunday evening service. "If somebody is not willing to be helped, they forfeit their membership."

In Christianity's early centuries, church discipline led sinners to cover themselves with ashes or spend time in the stocks. In later centuries, expulsion was more common. Until the late 19th century, shunning was widely practiced by American evangelicals, including Methodists, Presbyterians and Baptists. Today, excommunication rarely occurs in the U.S. Catholic Church, and shunning is largely unheard of among mainline Protestants.

Little Consensus

Among churches that practice discipline, there is little consensus on how sinners should be dealt with, says Gregory Wills, a theologian at Southern Baptist Theological seminary. Some pastors remove members on their own, while other churches require agreement among deacons or a majority vote from the congregation.

Since Mrs. Caskey's second arrest last July, the turmoil at Allen Baptist has fizzled into an awkward stalemate. Allen Baptist is an independent congregation, unaffiliated with a church hierarchy that might review the ouster. Supporters have urged Mrs. Caskey to sue to have her membership restored, but she says the matter should be settled in the church. Mr. Burrick no longer calls the police when Mrs. Caskey shows up for Sunday services.

Since November, Mrs. Caskey has been attending a Baptist church near her winter home in Tavares, Fla. She plans to go back to Allen Baptist when she returns to Michigan this spring.

"I don't intend to abandon that church," Mrs. Caskey says. "I feel like I have every right to be there."

Write to Alexandra Alter at alexandra.alter@wsj.com