Lessons in Evangelizing from CNN

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There are two things in life, in addition to my family, I’m devoted to – the Church and journalism. They have one key quality in common – both search for truth. Journalism pursues temporal truth to benefit society. The Church seeks Eternal Truth to benefit our souls. These two institutions are composed of and run by humans, so they never have been nor ever will be perfect.

I have both feet solidly in both camps. That’s not always comfortable. There’s a lot of mistrust between the two, and no real willingness to understand each other. But, like it or not, their similar goals often leave them with more in common than they’d like to admit. That’s why it’s easy to recall three former CNN journalists who would probably never consider themselves evangelists but nonetheless reflect how our faith commands us to live.

Marcia Ladendorff, an original CNN news anchor,
is now teaching media and communication courses
at the University of North Florida.

It was a Saturday afternoon in 1986. For no particular reason, I was in a foul mood. I didn’t want to go to WTLV-TV staff cook-out. My then-wife was a news photographer for the station (I worked at a competing station), so I had no choice. Even though I had never met her, I focused my inner vinegar on the station’s new anchor. Marcia Ladendorff, an original CNN anchor, had been hired to be the face of Channel 12’s news operation. The last thing I wanted to do that Saturday afternoon was put up with the outsized ego of a big-time network anchor diva.

Within minutes of making her grand entrance – actually, she quietly slid in sideways through a sliding glass door – it became obvious that Marcia was the kindest, most down-to-earth person at the party. I would have felt pretty foolish if it wasn’t for her warm, inviting personality. I was a nasty, judgmental curmudgeon, she was open and inclusive. Quick – Which one of us was acting the way Jesus commanded?

Marcia has since become a dear, close friend and trusted colleague. One day a few years ago, I popped into her office to ask about one of her former CNN colleagues. Nick Charles, the network’s first sports anchor, had just died after a grueling, battle with bladder cancer. I used to watch Charles every night on CNN’s Sports Tonight, which aired immediately after Marcia’s evening newscast, also a nightly viewing habit. His story touched me deeply, and I wanted to know what he was really like.

Nick Charles, the first sports anchor hired at CNN,
also covered boxing extensively.

Marcia said Charles was always a kind, genuine man who exuded goodness. He was so engaging and so good at his job, Marcia recalled, that she often sat in the studio during Sports Tonight just to watch him work. She confirmed the man I saw on the television screen – the man embracing life as he was dying of cancer – was not a deathbed convert. Charles was a Christian who had simply lived his faith without calling attention to it.  

“What is life?” he asked rhetorically in the CNN special that chronicled his final, inspiring battle. “It’s 20 percent what happens to you, and 80 percent how you react to it.”

The soundbite was unexpected. To someone with a reactive personality, it hit a nerve. It was from a sports journalist who could have easily been embittered at having his life cut short, his wife left without a husband, and his five-year-old daughter left without a father. Charles faced death the same way he lived his life, as an example faith.  

One of Charles’ Sports Tonight successors is the latest ex-CNNer to remind me of God’s gifts. Craig Sager is a sideline reporter for NBA games on TNT and TBS. He’s best known for his outlandishly colorful suits and ties. He just returned to work after battling leukemia for nearly a year. At a time when my plate is so full I have a tough time even scheduling time with Helen, Sager’s new perspective on life and leisure was a wake-up call.

Craig Sager is back on the NBA sidelines after battling leukemia
for nearly a year.

“What I do appreciate more is the time I spend with my family,” he told an interviewer. “Now I don’t pay as much attention to how far it is to the green as much as the smell of the grass and the sound of the birds around me.”

How many of us are always too busy to appreciate the people and the world around us? Heck, I haven’t even sniffed a golf course since Thanksgiving weekend… 2013!

These three CNN alumni would probably never consider themselves “evangelists.” Yet, they reflect the type of lives we are asked – commanded – to live. It’s not necessary to be overtly “religious” to recognize, respect, and take joy in God’s gifts, especially the gift of each other. In Evangelii Gaudium (Joy of the Gospel), Pope Francis writes, “Every person is immensely holy and deserves our love (274). Jesus wants evangelizers who proclaim the good news not only with words, but above all by a life transfigured by God’s presence” (259).

We are all at different points on our own journeys. We all show others who and what we are by the way we live our lives. And we can find examples of our responsibility to “don’t judge, just love” in the lives of most people if we just pay attention. Yes, even people in the news business.

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The Beauty of Bobo Doll Disciples

I’m not a pious person. I don’t know if that’s good or bad; it just is. I’m just a regular guy and I’m okay with that. At the same time, I still listen when the spirit gives me a nudge.

I got one of those nudges late last summer. Some 20 years ago, when I worked downtown, I occasionally went to noon Mass at Immaculate Conception Church. The midday break was an opportunity to clear my mind, recharge my spirit, and let the peace of the simple liturgy wash over me.

I felt that need again last August. I decided to attend First Friday Mass for the next nine months. I even made up a name for it. I called it my “School Year Novena.”

Daily Mass is a lot different from Sunday Mass. Shorter, simpler, more peaceful. Often a greater sense of worship. And, of course, fewer people. But daily Mass is even more different for me. I am a liturgical musician. For about half my life, I have played guitar at nearly every Mass I’ve attended. It’s my ministry. It’s what I am called to do. And sitting in front of the choir, in the midst of that “beautiful noise,” is the closest thing I’ll find to heaven on earth.

But playing in the choir has its disadvantages, too. Instead of concentrating on the liturgy and participating with the congregation, I’m actually “working” during Mass. Getting sheet music ready, communicating with the director and other musicians when needed, and waiting for cues are some of the distractions that keep all choir members from participating fully in the Mass. That’s why daily Mass can be especially meaningful for me.

A recent weekday morning Mass at St. Joseph’s turned out to be a wonderfully intimate, communal experience. There was no formal music, but a music minister who was there took it upon herself to announce song titles and lead the unaccompanied singing from her seat in a pew. She even did a beautiful chant as people received the Eucharist. Fr. Bernie Ahern’s homily was off the cuff and insightful, almost like a discussion in a living room. And when he realized there were more people in the communion line than he could handle himself, he called out, “Hey Bob,” so the Eucharistic minister could jump in and help out. The entire experience was simple, informal and beautiful, like a family gathering.

There was one other thing I noticed about our “family.” It was a product of my distinct lack of piety.

I’ve always been a people watcher. I’m not quite sure why. Maybe it comes from the same gene that dictated I go into the news business. Maybe it’s my desire to understand people. Or maybe I’m just a little off. Whatever the reason, I have this tendency to watch people in the communion line. I try to read faces. I try to understand what might be going through their minds as they are just seconds away from a beautiful and intimate encounter with God. Who might be scared? Who might be awestruck? Who might be filled with joy? And, as we are fallible human beings, who might be going through the motions?

Bobo dolls always bounce back,
just like so many people who hold
strong to their faith.

On this particular Friday at St. Joseph’s, I noticed something else as communicants returned to their seats after receiving the Eucharist. As usual, most people seemed to be lost in their own universe of two – just themselves and the Lord. But that transcendent look highlighted a quality that was always there. I had just never realized it before.

A significant number of these beautiful, faithful people looked like they had been – for lack of a better term – beaten up by life. I could see deep creases in grizzled, life-worn faces. Eyes inset deeply, some with dark circles. A few more stooped shoulders than you would expect. More people walking stiffly, or with limps, than I had noticed before.And then there were all of the unseen scars people keep to themselves.

These were people who had survived what life had dished out and still sought the table of the Lord. They were like bobo dolls, those resilient blow-up balloon creatures that took all sorts of beatings and immediately popped back up. Nothing that life could do to any of these people could keep them away from the Eucharist.

I realized that I was no longer just celebrating Mass with a bunch of other parishioners. I was suddenly witnessing a group of sanctified, holy people who would not, could not be separated from their God. This regular guy who couldn’t be pious if he were boiled in a vat of the stuff was being blessed with a foreshadowing of heaven. 

Minutes later, when Mass had ended, they no longer appeared to be saintly. To me, they once again looked like “regular” people, some lingering to chat, others pulling out car keys to begin the business of their days. They were just like you. Just like me. That was comforting. Because, following the logic, it meant that heaven was intended for regular people. Just like you. And, with a lot of forgiveness, just like me. And that’s pretty cool.