Malcolm Muggeridge once called television the “Fourth Great Temptation.” He imagined TV as the Devil’s final attempt to appeal to the vanity of the Savior before he went to the cross. Roman tycoon and television promoter Gradus offers to make Christ the star of a new show sponsored by Lucifer, Inc. Gradus will “put [Christ] on the map, launch him off on a tremendous career as a worldwide evangelist, spread his teaching throughout the civilized world, and beyond. He’d be crazy to turn it down.” Christ overcomes the temptation to trade “fantasy and images” for “truth and reality,” and humanity is saved.

Ben Armstrong, executive director of National Religious Broadcasters, describes a far different scenario. God “raises up” communications satellites in the final days to proclaim the gospel around the globe before Christ returns. Satellites are the angels prophesied in the Book of Revelation: “And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people” (Rev. 14:6). In The Electric Church, Armstrong says that broadcasting has “broken through the walls of tradition we have built up around the church and … restored conditions remarkably similar to the early church.”

The truth lies somewhere between such exaggerations of the medium’s demonic and redemptive powers. Television is not a neutral communications technology; the medium always influences the message. Neither is television inherently evil or good. Television’s benefits to kingdom and society depend both on the inherent biases of the medium and how it is used. The ways programs are financed and packaged shape the messages and influence audiences. So does the camera itself. Television represents both power and responsibility. Every televangelist should approach the medium with hope and fear, and the church should demand financial accountability and message authenticity.

At stake is not just the popularity or stature of individual televangelists, but the public image of the church of Jesus Christ. For many unchurched people around the globe, religious broadcasts are their only contact with the gospel. And just as gangster films created an international picture of life in Chicago, televangelism spreads its own portrait of the Christian life—for good and bad.

In America, televangelism is a public window for viewing the sights and sounds of evangelicalism. Scripture holds spiritual teachers to a high standard of truth telling. Might not the Lord hold televangelists and their supporters especially accountable for their public teachings in the name of Christ?

Television technologies and institutions are not neutral. Every televangelist is faced with some of the most underestimated dangers of any communications medium in the history of the church.

The Evangelist Up Close

On television the evangelist is immediately the focus of audience attention. The small screen accentuates his personality as the camera returns repeatedly to his face. No medium is more pervasively dependent upon the human face for message and meaning. Panoramic shots are ineffective on a 19-inch set compared to the large film screen. And even close-ups cannot capture fine detail because of the poor picture resolution. Understanding this principle, the television industry has built an empire out of the successful imaging of the heads of news reporters, sports celebrities, commercial characters, and especially dramatic actors.

In nearly all religious broadcasts, the evangelist is the attraction. Christian talk shows turn discussion into personality chats. The gospel may be preached, but cameras promote the preacher, whether he intends it or not, like the latest Hollywood star. On the tube, persona and message are so thoroughly intertwined that it is often difficult to determine where one stops and the other begins.

Successful televangelism carries the likely price of a personality cult. Few TV ministers are willing to de-emphasize their own role in the broadcasts, because a weak personality usually guarantees poor ratings and small contributions. Thus, the medium can create personas more potentially destructive than the early church rivalries in the church at Corinth. Quoting Jeremiah, the apostle Paul wrote to the Corinthians, “Let him who boasts boast in the Lord” (1 Cor. 1:31).

Television’s emphasis on persona is heightened even more because we watch it from our La-Z-Boys and make it the center of family togetherness. Television celebrities enter our homes much like relatives and neighbors. The televangelist, along with the soap opera star or the news anchor, soon is a friend of the family. Like the image CBS used to promote of anchorman Dan Rather, the televangelist seems to be trustworthy and compassionate. He is concerned about our spiritual condition, and he is given to prayer on our behalf.

More than that, the televangelist always accepts us as we are, regardless of our mood, looks, or actions. Unlike a spouse or an employer, the TV preacher loves us no matter what we say or do. He faithfully accepts us every week, if only we return to the same channel at the appointed time.

Salvation As Soap Opera

Television naturally packages everything as performance. From advertisements and news reports to westerns and detective programs, television is an enormous stage where everyone performs for the living-room audience. Even real life is packaged for the tube on “Divorce Court” and “People’s Court.”

Likewise, televangelism is gobbled up by the medium’s insatiable appetite for performance. The medium demands more than entertaining characters. It wants lively action to engage sleepy viewers and boost the response rate. Often preaching is not enough; there must be tearful soliloquies and “heartfelt” renditions of gospel songs.

Soon the electronic pulpit becomes a stage for histrionics. On some shows, broken bodies are healed and people are slain in the spirit. Prophecies and special “words of knowledge” are passed along to viewers. On other broadcasts, the performances are packaged more acceptably for middle America—as testimonials and talk shows, variety programs and revivals. Even appeals for contributions are cast as cosmic struggles to “fight Satan and deliver the gospel to every living human being.” The trend is clear: television turns religion into public entertainment. Religious programs are increasingly indistinguishable from secular fare. Today there are few distinctly Christian broadcasts; nearly all are a combination of show business and religion.

For this reason television is theologically biased toward emotionally dramatic formulations of the Christian faith. Pentecostalism and neo-Pentecostalism easily make for “great TV,” and charismatic worship visually overshadows traditional liturgy on the tube. On television, historic Protestantism is often dull and soporific unless it is properly packaged for the visual medium. Although there remains a significant audience for strong, exegetical preaching, television ministries will always be tempted to dramatize the message for the small screen.

Of course, any presentation of the gospel is a performance. Even the church pulpit is like a stage for the local pastor. Liturgies and worship services of all kinds must include human action, even if only solemn scenes of prayer and meditation. Moreover, the story of salvation itself is dramatic and life changing.

But the use of popular dramatic devices to communicate the gospel and depict the Christian life can easily confuse message and style. If the “performance” of the gospel on TV resembles secular programs, the Good News loses its distinctiveness. There is no authenticity because there is no difference in the message. Christianity is simply another expression of the Hollywood culture and the entertainment industry. The most difficult job ahead for televangelists is capturing the inherent drama of the gospel without succumbing to the techniques of the popular culture business.

Market-Driven Or Message-Driven?

Modern TV ministries, taking their cues from marketing, frequently define success in terms of audience ratings and viewer response. They tabulate telephone calls, letters, and, of course, contributions. Some even attempt to keep a running total of the number of viewers saved. All of this leads some televangelists to be far more concerned with the size of the audience and the scope of the ministry than the authenticity of the message.

Driven by the desires of the market rather than the content of the message, many of the “gospels” preached on television today are clever distortions of the historic Christian message. They offer salvation from sickness and poverty. They show viewers how to overcome unhappiness and create a positive attitude toward life. They inform audiences about enjoyable ways to spend their time and money. But they often skip over the heart of the gospel. Christ is merely a friend, a healer, a rich uncle, or a great teacher.

In a fallen world, the gospel does not always seem to be the most attractive message around. Compared to counterfeit gospels, the real one is not nearly so flashy and interesting. Even commercials offer far more compelling messages and seductive products. The gospel calls for faith and perseverance, while the culture preaches instant gratification and sensual pleasure. The forgiveness of sins hardly makes for great TV; there is nothing spectacular to show. Media evangelists must either alter the gospel, or it will be lost in the cacophony of media voices.

Every television evangelist faces this enormous paradox: A highly rated program will almost certainly require a counterfeit message. The gospel is a two-edged sword, not a popular romance or a happy-go-lucky situation comedy. Modern television ministries have frequently secularized and perverted the gospel, robbing it of its life-saving power. By making it conform to the desires and beliefs of the audience, they have pandered the greatest story for their own status and popularity.

The Gods Of Growth

Television thrives on numbers—mainly the numbers supplied by Nielsen and Arbitran. And modern televangelism is influenced strongly by this preoccupation with size and growth. Ministries are often committed to expansion—more stations, larger audiences, additional cable TV outlets. Although growth in itself is not evil, neither is it a raison d’être for any Christian organization. The important question is whether or not God is pleased both by the size of a TV ministry and the actions behind the growth.

Television is an enormously expensive medium. The cost of equipping a studio can easily approach a million dollars, and no equipment is worth the price without a staff of well-trained directors, producers, and technicians. But the real cost is television time, and the major TV ministries spend millions of dollars annually purchasing 30 minutes or more every week on hundreds of stations around the country. Television time is a bottomless pit that constantly drains the bank accounts of televangelists.

As a result, national television ministries become major deficit spenders. Thirty or sixty days later the bills come due, and the funds must be raised to cover the costs of air time. Of course, a ministry might drop a program from a station or time that results in few viewers and contributors. And any ministry could reduce the number of stations until the income and expenditures are about equal. In actual practice, this runs against the thinking of most TV ministries, which are geared toward unlimited expansion. These organizations are among the most expansionary in nonprofit work of all kinds. They frequently equate impact with size, as if the most popular programs necessarily minister to people more effectively than the smaller ones.

In fact, there is no such relationship. Is the highest-rated prime-time television drama the best on the air? It is only if we evaluate programs on the basis of popularity. The same is true of television ministries. Many are like fast food and popular movies—serving the masses, but offering little or no nourishment for body or soul. Far too often televangelists define success in the worldly terms of the broadcast industry. God “chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him,” wrote Paul in 1 Corinthians 1:28–29.

Consulting The Wizards

Because of the enormous expense involved in television, many televangelists live under constant pressure to pay the bills and turn to various marketing and media consultants for wisdom. These wizards work their financial magic, advising thousands of nonprofit organizations what to do on and off camera to attract viewers and maximize contributions. The major ones work on a fee basis, but some accept contracts that guarantee them a percentage of the income generated by their direct-mail appeals.

Consultants can greatly help TV ministries, especially in the shift from local to national programming. (Most of the national televangelists launched their organizations with the assistance of fund-raising specialists.) But “professional” direct-mail and on-air appeals often put effectiveness well ahead of ethics, and the techniques are sometimes at odds with a televangelist’s profession of faith. Among the questionable methods are highly personalized letters that suggest the televangelist cares deeply about the recipient and prays specifically for him. Other solicitations associate every setback of the ministry with the work of Satan and contrive one major crisis after another—sometimes every month.

Television fund raising mistakenly justifies all kinds of techniques on the basis of professional advice and experience. Although dozens of consultants claim to offer Christian advice, their methods often are grounded solidly in business savvy, not Christian ethics. In the end, the only real ethical standard is the result—the ends justifying the means. Fulfilling the Great Commission is the end; professional advice that sacrifices integrity on the altar of effectiveness is the means. Televangelists often listen more to the wizards of success than to the Lord of the Scriptures.

The Cult Of Secrecy

Television is in the image business. Public-relations people earn enormous salaries painting public portraits of celebrities. And in televangelism as well, the image often reigns supreme.

Probably nothing has tarnished the image of televangelism in recent years more than the secretive mentality of many ministries. Scandals come and go, but the cult of secrecy goes on. Televangelists project a public image of dishonesty and paranoia by refusing to provide contributors and especially the public media with accurate and comprehensive information about their ministries. Some ministries even refuse to grant interviews or provide information to Christian publications.

Why should television ministries be so secretive? Is there any justification for such an attitude toward the church and the public? In American society, personal salaries are considered private information. This might be a strong reason for not releasing the salaries of all employees of a ministry. But televangelists are public figures, and more important, they are public representatives of the church of Jesus Christ. Although there is no law or specific ethical responsibility for salary disclosure, secrecy creates the public impression that the church of Christ is more concerned about building a self-serving, worldly business than a godly kingdom of service and shalom.

Disclosure must go beyond salaries to perks of all kinds—from bonuses to homes, royalties, and automobiles. There is no doubt that some ministries have taken elaborate measures to “protect their privacy.” The PTL scandal has opened a few doors, but others are shut tighter than ever. Such secrecy works against the church regardless of whether not TV ministries actually have anything to hide. Secrecy suggests that the church is a cult, not the servant of a fallen humankind.

Fortunately, in September 1987, eight years after other parachurch ministries formed the Evangelical Council on Financial Accountability, the National Religious Broadcasters took an important step in policing themselves (CT, Oct. 16, 1987, p. 44). The board adopted a code of ethics that calls for full disclosure of all sources of income. And they created an Ethics and Financial Integrity Commission (EFICOM), which will deny the use of its seal to NRB members who fail to comply with the code.

It remains to be seen, however, whether or not most religious broadcasters will have the courage to follow the new code. In the past, the major televangelists refused to adopt even the less restrictive, but entirely reasonable, standards of ECFA. The new NRB code might separate the ethical wheat from the unethical chaff. However, enforcement of and compliance with the code are likely to be major problems.

Also, EFICOM will soon find that a “seal” is meaningless as a symbol of ethical conduct unless the public is educated about its significance. Along with enforcement, such publicity is expensive. Will televangelists fund self-regulation at a time when their own contributions are running so low?

Holy Deception

Nothing offers greater chance for such self-justifying opportunism than contemporary televangelism. In the name of Christ, some televangelists practice a style of “holy deception” that distorts the gospel, legitimizes lavish lifestyles, and approves of direct-mail chicanery. These are not isolated phenomena. They happen every day in the religious fund-raising letters sent to contributors and in the entertaining performances conducted on television.

Of course, accountability is ultimately the relationship of each person to God. Personal accountability cannot be legislated. As Reinhold Niebuhr once said, “There is no easy way of forcing people to be responsible against their own inclination and beyond their capacity.”

But the church of Jesus Christ is not merely a collection of responsible or irresponsible human beings. It is—or should be—a community in the service of Christ and a fallen humankind. The church should be outraged by the unethical practices of its members, speaking forcefully and directly against wrong and inappropriate practices.

In the end, it is not the televangelists who will keep their own house in order. They, too, carry the burden of the Fall. Rather, accountability must be sought by the Christian community, beginning with a televangelist’s associates and family, expanding to the local congregation, and ending with the church universal. This was true at Corinth, and it is true on the airwaves today.

The Players:

Who Can Tell Robert Schuller What To Do?

Robert Schuller has paid his dues. Like nearly every young minister of his generation, he started with a vision to reach as many people as possible. But what young minister today would set out with a rented trailer and a $50 grubstake to head for Southern California and preach atop the snack bar of a drive-in theater for five years? How many preachers can point to 3,500 house calls in one year as a foundation for their current ministry?

So if Schuller’s $41-million empire seems troublesome, blame it on something most American evangelicals hold dear: the Protestant work ethic. Whatever you say about him, Robert Schuller has worked hard to get where he is today. As he is so fond of saying to fellow Christians who criticize his flashy style, “I’m not trying to reach Christians, I’m trying to impress those who don’t believe.”

And while his personal wealth is an easy target for critics, Schuller has exercised restraint. True, he has earned nearly $2 million in book royalties over the past 25 years, but he has allowed his TV ministry to keep another $25 million in book sales generated through “The Hour of Power.” His three homes and salary, approximately $ 115,000 per year, are modest for the leader of a $41-million business.

A greater issue, however, is whether his hard-earned respectability has clouded his sense of accountability. Is Robert Schuller so big, so successful that no one in the body of Christ can tell him what to do?

Even on his own turf—in this case in his twelfth-story office dubbed “the eagle’s nest” and flanked by his board president and legal counsel—such questions do not go down well with Schuller. Yet they are legitimate, considering the size and scope of his ministry. Though an ordained minister in the relatively small Reformed Church in America (RCA), there is little the denomination could do to him since his organization, Robert Schuller Ministries, lies outside of the RCA’S jurisdiction. And a recent legal maneuver to transfer ownership of the Crystal Cathedral from the congregation to Robert Schuller Ministries does little to counter the notion of personal kingdom building.

Further, Schuller admits to having little patience with people who object to his dreams. In his most recent book, Your Church Can Have a Fantastic Future, he refers to former members who tried to block the building of the Crystal Cathedral as “negative thinkers.” When pressed, he says he would never allow such persons to hold positions of influence in his organization because “a negative thinker is basically a person who is an emotional obstructionist.” Dissenters are welcome to express their opinions to Schuller, but it is unlikely they will find themselves sitting on his board.

Moreover, Robert Schuller Ministries has refused to join the Evangelical Council for Financial Accountability, a group trying to establish standards of ethical fund-raising practices. “They have my blessing, but they’re johnny-come-latelys,” says Schuller. “They’re trying to sell me on something I’ve been doing for 37 years.”

Does this mean he always charts his own course? “Not at all. I am accountable to the Reformed Church in America and the board of directors of Robert Schuller Ministries, and am pleased to live under their authority. In fact, I’m concerned about large independent churches who do not have to answer to a denomination.”

Yet Schuller says nothing can keep him from pursuing what he feels God wants him to do. “If I genuinely believed God wanted me to build a new church and my board advised against it, I would resign and go someplace else to build it.”

Broadcasters’ profiles by Lyn Cryderman.

As part of a book project, I once interviewed the person I knew whose life most resembled Job’s. I met this man, Douglas, at a restaurant for breakfast.

Douglas seemed “righteous” in the same sense as Job: not perfect, of course, but a model of Christian faithfulness. He had declined a lucrative career in psychotherapy in favor of starting an urban ministry.

Douglas’s time of troubles had begun about seven years before. His wife, who had already lost one breast to cancer, discovered a new lump, and then doctors found that the cancer had spread to her lungs.

Just as Douglas’s family was absorbing that ominous news, they were dealt another blow. A drunk driver swerved across the center line and smashed into their car head-on. Douglas’s wife was badly shaken, but unhurt. His 12-year-old daughter suffered a broken arm and severe facial cuts from windshield glass. Douglas himself had the worst injury, a massive blow to the head.

After the accident, Douglas never knew when an incapacitating headache might strike. He could not work a full day, and sometimes at the office he would become disoriented and forgetful. Worse, the accident permanently affected his vision. One eye wandered at will, refusing to focus. He saw everything double, and could hardly walk down a flight of stairs without assistance. Douglas learned to cope with all his disabilities but one: he could not read more than a page or two at a time.

When I met Douglas for breakfast, I braced myself for a difficult morning. If anyone had a right to be angry at God, he did. I explained the basic thrust of my book, and asked about his experience of disappointment with God. What had he learned that might help someone else going through a difficult time?

Douglas was silent for what seemed like a long time. He gazed off beyond my right shoulder, and I fleetingly wondered if he was having a mental “gap.” Finally, he said this: “To tell you the truth, Philip, I didn’t feel any disappointment with God.”

I was startled. Douglas, searingly honest, had always rejected easy formulas for life or faith. And yet his response sounded like one of the “Turn your scars into stars!” testimonials I had heard on religious television. I kept quiet, waiting for him to explain.

“The reason is this. I learned, first through my wife’s illness and then especially through the accident, not to confuse God with life. I’m no stoic. I am as upset about what happened to me as anyone could be. I feel free to curse the unfairness of life and to vent all my grief and anger. But I believe God feels the same way about that accident—grieved and angry.”

Douglas continued, “I have learned to separate the physical reality in this world from the spiritual reality. We tend to think, ‘Life should be fair because God is fair.’ But God is not life. And if I confuse God with the physical reality of life—by expecting constant good health, for example—then I set myself up for a crashing disappointment.”

For the next hour, Douglas and I worked through the Bible together, testing out his notion of the separateness of “physical reality” and “spiritual reality.” Most heroes of the Old Testament (Abraham, Joseph, David, Elijah, Jeremiah, and Daniel) went through trials much like Job’s. For each of them, at times, the physical reality surely seemed to present God as “the enemy.” But each managed to cling to God despite the hardships of daily life.

“If we can have a relationship with God apart from the physical reality of our life circumstances,” said Douglas, “then we may be able to hang on when the physical reality breaks down. Isn’t that, after all, the main point of Job?”

We talked on, until Douglas realized he was already late for another appointment. He put his coat on hurriedly and stood up to leave. Then he leaned forward with one last thought. “I challenge you to go home and read again the story of Jesus. How ‘fair’ was life to him? For me, the Cross demolished for all time the basic belief that life is supposed to be fair.”

Douglas’s stark separation of the physical and the spiritual troubles me, since both are part of God’s creation, but his idea about the unfairness of life has stayed with me. I find myself meditating on it every year about this time, just before Good Friday.

Henri Nouwen tells the story of a family he knew in Paraguay. The father, a doctor, spoke out against the military regime there and its human rights abuses. Local police took their revenge by arresting his teenage son and torturing him to death.

Townsfolk, enraged, wanted to turn the boy’s funeral into a huge protest march. But the doctor chose another means of protest. Rather than dressing his son for the funeral, the father displayed him in the church as he had found him in the jail. The son was naked, his body marked with scars from the electric shocks and cigarette burns and beatings. All the villagers filed past the corpse, which lay not in a coffin but on the blood-soaked mattress from the town jail. It was the strongest protest imaginable, for it put injustice on grotesque display.

Isn’t that what happened on Good Friday? The Cross exposed the world for what it is: a breeding ground of violence and injustice. And that dark Friday can only be called Good because of what happened on Easter Sunday.

Good Friday demolishes the instinctive belief that this life is supposed to be fair. But Easter Sunday gives a bright and startling clue to the riddle of the universe. Someday, God will restore the physical reality of planet Earth to its proper place under his reign. The miracle of Easter will be enlarged to cosmic scale. It is a good thing to remember, when disappointment with God hits, that we live out our days on Easter Saturday.