Saint Flanders
Saint
Flanders. By: Pinsky, Mark I., Christianity Today, 00095753, 02/05/2001, Vol. 45, Issue 2
He's the evangelical next door
on The Simpsons, and that's okily dokily among many believers.
TODAY ON AMERICAN college and
high school campuses, the name most associated with the word Christian--other
than Jesus--is not the Pope or Mother Teresa or even Billy Graham. Instead, it's a goofy-looking guy named Ned Flanders on the
animated sitcom known as The Simpsons. The mustache, thick glasses,
green sweater, and irrepressibly cheerful demeanor of Ned Flanders. Homer Simpson's next-door neighbor, have made him an indelible
figure, the evangelical known most intimately to non-evangelicals.
A 1999 survey conducted by
Roper Starch Worldwide found that 91 percent of American children between the
ages of I0 and 17 could identify members of the Simpson family; 84 percent of
adults could identify them. In each case. This was a greater percentage of children and adults than could
identify them-Vice President Al Gore. Many evangelicals would have no
difficulty m recognizing Ned and his family as their own. Gerry Bowler, professor of philosophy at Canadian Nazarene College
in Calgary and chairman of the Center for the Study of Christianity and Contemporary
Values, calls Flanders "television's most effective exponent of a
Christian life well-lived."
Like many of the series'
characters, Flanders is the frequent object of satire. An Oral Roberts University graduate who is never without a Bible
and a large piece of the Tree Cross (which saved his life in one episode when
he was shot). Ned believes that an essential
element of a good life is "a daily dose of vita rain church."
Nevertheless, Flanders is a complex and nuanced character who often raises serious
issues,
Consider his journey of faith. The root of his turn toward a structured religious framework is a
traumatic childhood. When Ned suffers a breakdown
and is institutionalized, he experiences flashbacks of his child psychiatrist
employing eight months of sustained, "therapeutic" spanking m control
the obstreperous little boy. His parents were "freaky
beatniks" who raised their son with no rules at all. Ned's reaction to this chaotic environment mirrors many studies of
those who came of age in the 1960s and 1970s and, finding the freewheeling
lifestyle unsatisfying or repugnant, gravitated to religion.
Religion informs nearly every
aspect of Ned's life, from the doorbell that chimes "A Mighty Fortress is
Our God" to his air horn that blares the Hallelujah chorus. Together with his Family, he prays at meals and before bed.He
attends church three times a week and tithes, contributing to seven other
congregations, just to be on the safe side. He belongs to a Bible-study group and keeps notes stuck on his
refrigerator with a sign of the fish magnet. Like many believers, he thanks God often for his blessings, for
things as small as a beautiful day.
Ned believes in salvation
through grace, and he expects Jesus' return to Earth at any moment. Yet Ned is also deeply immersed in the good works of the social
gospel, beginning with the random (and typically improbable) donation of one
kidney and one lung. His elderly grandmother lived
with the family for a time. Ned volunteers at a foster
home, hospitals, soup kitchens, and a homeless shelter.
Ned's Christianity plays a
major part in the way he and his wife, Maude, raise their sons, Rod and Todd. Ned does not allow the kids to use dice when playing board games
because dice are wicked. He is hesitant to buy the
children Red Hots candies because there is a lascivious caricature of the devil
on the package. The kids' favorite games are
Good Samaritan and Clothe the Leper. The young Flanders boys are
total innocents; they believe they are getting closer to God when they jump on
the Simpsons' trampoline, and they complain that they only get to attend church
three times a week. Ned is not immune to the
familiar conflict between parental instruction on morality and the exigencies
of modem life, especially when it comes to lying. Todd overhears Ned tell Homer that he can't come over to their
house because they are visiting relatives. The boy knows it's
untrue--though told to spare Homer's feelings. "Lies make Baby Jesus cry," Todd reminds his father.
Even Ned's various sideline
businesses, some part of Flancrest Industries, reflect his faith. He sells religious hooked rugs on the Internet and Bible trading
cards at the swap meet. Flanders is honorable in his
business, sometimes to his detriment. His major plunge into the
entrepreneurial world occurs when he gives up his job in pharmaceuticals to
open the Leftorium, a boutique in the mall for all things left-handed. His morality and good nature nearly do him in. He spends the day ignoring shoplifters and chasing down a customer
he inadvertently short-changed, and becomes known for validating parking even
for passersby.
Ned admits that most of the
time he is "about as exciting as a baked potato." Yet for all his
sweetness, he does have an unpredictable side. A part of him yearns to fit in with his worldly friends, even when
his efforts are outlandish. Given his muscular physique,
Flanders is selected to play the role of Stanley Kowalski in the community
production of A Streetcar Named Desire, a musical version called Oh! Streetcar! The director instructs him to
play it as if the were "pulsating with animal lust." In another
episode, Flanders sins on a grand scale, going with Homer to Las Vegas for a
wild weekend, during which he goes on an all night bender and (apparently) marries
a cocktail waitress.
Ned grapples with other
temptations of popular culture in various incarnations and, on those rare
occasions when he succumbs to temptation, is quick to see divine retribution. He angrily runs off a shady cable installer who offers an illegal
hookup. Instead, he turns to satellite
television, which enables him to view more than 200 channels, almost all of
which he then locks out for offensive content. Straying from his usual screen fare, like reruns of The Jim Nabors
Show, he once watched Married... With Children (on the same
network that produces The Simpsons). He insists he is afflicted with
the flu for this lapse: "Oh, the network slogan is
true! Watch Fox and be damned for all eternity!"
For all his admirable
qualities, Flanders occasionally exhibits the zealous proselytizing that for
many represents the unpleasant side of evangelical Christianity: an unwillingness to take no for an answer. After a typical misadventure, Homer and Marge lose custody of
their children-Bart, Lisa, and Maggie. The state moves the Simpson
children next door into the temporary care of the Flanders family. A family parlor game, Bible Bombardment, first reveals that Bart
and Lisa have no grasp of the scriptural arcana that is common knowledge to the
Flanders boys. The Simpson offspring then let
slip that they have never been baptized. Rather than consulting Homer
and Marge, who are taking court-ordered parenting classes, Ned dresses the
Simpson children--who have voiced neither interest nor acquiescence--in white
robes for baptism. At the Springfield River, he prepares
to immerse them and asks if they reject Satan. Homer interrupts the involuntary rite be fore any water ands on
Bart's head, saving Bart from being saved.
This situation is not as
far-fetched as it may appear. As often happens in The
Simpsons, the scenario illustrates a serious and historic theological issue, in
this case involving religious commitment and free will. Forced conversions have been an all-too-familiar event in
Christian history and even today. Ina case that became a world
controversy, a 6-year-old Jewish boy named Edgardo Mortara was taken from his
parents in Rome in 1858 and raised as a Catholic after a serving girl claimed
to have secretly baptized the boy when he was an infant. Closer to home and the present, parents in central Florida in the
late 1990s sued a Christian daycare center for baptizing their children without
their consent.
But above all, Ned is the good
neighbor, his basic role in the series. "Affordable tract housing
made us neighbors," he tells Homer, '"out you made us friends."
In fact, the opposite is true. Homer does everything short of
mayhem to abuse Flanders. It is only by repeatedly
turning to Mathew (19:19), Jesus' admonition to "love your neighbor as
yourself," that Ned is able to survive the relationship, returning
unconditional love for sustained abuse. Well, maybe not unconditional
love. Ned is human, and so has
limits, traits that reinforce his believability.
While Ned never suffers
martyrdom for his faith, he endures Homer's scorn. Homer considers him "a big, four-eyed lame-o" who wears
the same sweater every day, except to attend church. Homer tells Ned to shut up, calls him a liar and a square, nearly
runs him over, and dumps garbage on his head. He refers to Ned by a variety of derisive terms like "Saint
Flanders," "Charlie Church," and "Churchy La Femme."
Flanders is actually the physical embodiment of "muscular
Christianity," a man who would be right at home at a Promise Keepers
rally. Ned works out to a buff build
that belies his age, which he insists is 60. The secret of his youthful appearance, he explains to Homer, is
that he "resists all major urges." Yet early in the series, he would
take a drink, a beer, or a cocktail--he claims a degree in mixology--and he
smokes a pipe. Ned has many of the accoutrements
of the last decade's middle-class prosperity, like a boat (Thanks for the Boat,
Lord II) and a summer beach house. On the other hand, he drives an
uninspiring Geo station wagon, with a license plat. e reading JHN 143 (John 1:43, in which Jesus tells the disciples,
"Follow me").
Ned takes literally Jesus
words' in John 15:13: "Greater love hath no man
than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." A volunteer
firefighter, Ned says a prayer as he risks his life to save Homer from a house
fire and, in the process of rescuing his neighbor twice, almost loses his own
life. Homer assumes the fire is God's
will, a notion Ned instantly rejects. As the fire spreads, the
instantly ungrateful Homer observes that God is not sparing Ned's roof from fire,
despite his piety and churchgoing. Suddenly, a small wisp floating
above Ned's home becomes a rain cloud and douses the blaze. Then a rainbow frames the home.
In one episode, too much
gratitude from Homer turns out to be a deadly thing. Again, prayer plays a central role as a plot device. Just after Homer prays for a ticket to a sold-out local football
game, Flanders knocks on the door with an offer to take him. Homer decides he has been unfair to his neighbor, and determines
to show his love. But the love is of the
oppressive, smothering variety, and before long it is Ned who is praying--for
the strength to survive Homer's friendship. Feeling trapped, Ned dreams of climbing the church tower, singing
"Bringing in the Sheaves" while assembling an assault rifle and
picking off people below--all with Homer's face. He wakes, distraught, telling his startled wife that he thinks he
hates his neighbor, something he knows is wrong and unchristian. Still, the next day Ned makes an excuse to avoid Homer and drives
oft with his family. In his haste to shake Homer,
Ned is stopped for speeding by Springfield Police Chief Wiggum, who loudly (and
erroneously) accuses him of driving under the influence of drugs, just as a bus
full of horrified church members rolls past the scene. "Where's your Messiah now?" the chief asks in his best
Edward G. Robinson accent. It's a good question for
Flanders, who has rejected Homer's sincere, if irritating, efforts to be a good
neighbor. For a man who puts his faith at
the center of his life, where is Jesus now?
On Sunday, Flanders gets his
answer. In the car driving to church,
he is anxious about appearing at the one place, outside his home, where he
feels most welcome and part of society. Maude assures him that the
church is "a house of love and forgiveness." But as Flanders enters
the sanctuary, people in the pews whisper that he is evil and "the fallen
one." The church's pastor, Reverend Lovejoy, announces that the sermon
topic is "What Ned Did." Ned compounds his sin by cursing Homer for
whistling through his nose during silent prayer, further inflaming the
congregation against him.
The role reversal is nearly
complete as Homer defends Flanders, describing him--correctly--as a kind, wonderful,
caring man who has "turned every cheek on his body" in the face of
Homer's insults. "If everyone here were
like Ned Flanders, there'd be no need for heaven. We'd already be there." Reverend Lovejoy is convinced,
acknowledging that Ned deserves an apology. Flanders has clearly learned his lesson and later thanks Homer for
being a true friend. Homer reverts to type, telling
him to get lost, and all is right again in the world.
In early 2000, after a nasty
fight over money with the actress who provided the voice for Maude, the series
writers killed the character in a freak accident. Although Homer is accidentally responsible, Ned blames himself and
is crushed. But Ned wouldn't be Ned if he
didn't turn to God in his time of greatest need. Months later, still desolate, he prays, "Lord, I never
question your will, but I'm wondering whether your decision to take Maude was,
well, wrong--unless this is part of your divine plan. Could you please just give me some sign, anything?" Instead,
there is only silence.
The next morning, Sunday,
Flanders sleeps late, and tells Rod and Todd to attend church with the
Simpsons--an act so out of character that the boys back out of their father's
bedroom, gasping. Flanders vows not to attend
church that day, and says he might not go the next day as well. In the very next scene, Flanders is speeding to church, repeating
apologies for his momentary lapse of faith. He walks into the sanctuary and hears a Christian rock group. The beautiful lead singer seems to be speaking directly to him: "If you think God isn't there, or doesn't care, it's not too
late to look to him for salvation." Ned, still standing in the aisle, is
transfixed.This is the sign he prayed for. Out side the church after the
service, he introduces himself to the singer, saying, "My name is Ned
Flanders and I'm here every week--rain or shine!"
According to usually reliable
sources at the fan-run Simpsons Archive, this season Ned will build a
Bible-themed amusement park, called "Praise Land," in Maude's memory.
Maude's death prompted
Frederica Mathewes-Green to write a paean called "Ned Flanders, My
Hero" on Beliefnet.com. "Ned is endlessly cheerful
because he is in heart. He treats everyone around him
with generosity and kindness, and can't imagine they wouldn't treat him the
same way. He is incapable of cynicism or
contempt," unlike most residents of Springfield. While he may be a fool, she observes, he is the kind of fool who
makes the world a better place.
Some observers see Flanders rather
differently. Flanders is the show's
"cheap shot at fundamentalists--which is why I like it," says David
Landry, professor of theology and New Testament at the University of St.
Thomas, a Catholic school in St. Paul, Minnesota. Still, Landry said in a newspaper inter view, Flanders illustrates
"the virtues of hard work and honesty. Flanders is very successful, with well-behaved children, an
excellent marriage.He's not portrayed as a real nut. I mean, he's got a beer keg in his basement."
In February of 2000, The New
York Times featured a family named Scheibner on the cover of its Sunday
magazine. Author Margaret Talbot
described a family of nine fundamentalist Baptists ensconced in Pennsylvania's
Lehigh Valley. On the surface, the Scheibners
are similar to the Flanders family. There is no sports gear in the
home because parents Stephen and Megan believe athletic competition would not
be Christlike. There are Christian board games
that Rod and Todd Flanders might enjoy. Stephen Scheibner is a pilot
for American Airlines and a commander in the Naval Reserve who, like his wife,
found his Christian faith in his teens. But, apart from voting and
paying taxes, he and his family have consciously opted out of the surrounding
culture.
Yet the Scheibners may be more
of a caricature than the Flanders family, who are fully engaged in the world. "We will exaggerate some of Ned's beliefs as a form of comic
relief," said The Simpsons' Mike Scully. "I think everybody knows a family like the
Flanders[es]." Stripped of their comedic excess and hyperbole how fairly
do Ned and his family rep resent evangelical Christianity to the world? As an observant Jew raised in a Northeastern suburb, I may not be
the best judge. Or maybe I am. For the past five years, I have reported on the evangelical
movement--locally and nationally--for The Orlando Sentinel newspaper. More to the point, fate and my central Florida suburb have put me
into close contact with a family I see as the Flanders family in real life. Until I raised the issue with them, they had no basis for comparison;
they didn't watch the show or allow their children to watch it.
Dan and Lorraine Hardaway are
an attractive, college-educated couple in their late 30s. Each experienced some degree of dysfunction in their early lives
before turning to Jesus. Dan, who has reddish blond hair
and blue eyes, works full time for a Christian outreach organization based in
Orlando. Lorraine, whose auburn hair
frames a face brightened by a toothy grin, is a stay-at-home mom. Their four children, who range in age from 6 to 14, are as
good-natured as Rod and Todd Flanders but considerably more worldly. The Hardaways belong to a nondenominational, evangelical
megachurch and a small Bible-study group. They sing in the choir and
listen to a contemporary Christian radio station in their cars and at home, and
hold conservative beliefs on social issues, although they disagree with some
aspects of the Christian Right. For the most part, they grapple
with the same things our family does: balancing their stretched
budget and busy schedules, deciding what television show or computer game is
appropriate for the kids. Like their neighbors, they made
an accommodation with Beanie Babies, Pokemon, and, after much soul-searching
and consultation with Christian friends, the Harry Potter books. With their agreement, I use the family as a source, a sounding
board, and a pipeline to ground-level believers for my newspaper reporting.
Are the Hardaways typical of
evangelical Christians, as typical as the Flanders family? It's hard to say. We have come to know them
pretty well in recent years. Our children attend the same
public elementary school and the same scout troops at the school, and often
attend the same birthday parties, which means we are often in and out of each
other's houses. They are sophisticated and
generally open-minded, and never press their religious or political views on us
or on our children. It is apparent, though, that
they draw strength from their Christian faith, which they try to apply to every
aspect of their lives. I met them before I started
watching The Simpsons, but I cannot watch the Flanders family without thinking
of the Hardaways.
I showed them an early draft of
this essay, loaned them some tapes from the series and asked them what they
thought. "All in all, it would be flattering
to be associated with Ned Flanders, based on what I know about the person and
how he lives out his faith," Dan says. "There's an element of unconditional love in his life that
accurately portrays Christianity." Some Christians might be put off by
some of the idiosyncrasies associated with the character, like "nerdy
behavior," he added.
Lorraine agreed that, as a
family of believers, they are much closer to the Flanders family than to the
Scheibners. "How else are people going
to see Jesus' teachings lived out unless they see them in our lives?" she
says."It's very important that we're part of the world, that others can
see the difference he's made and the truth we believe he taught and
shared."
Steve Tompkins, a veteran of
three seasons with The Simpsons during the mid-1990s, is one of the most
distinctive voices for values in Hollywood, but he is wary of being identified
as a Christian, in part because the label can be the kiss of death for a comedy
writer. "The two are seen as
antithetical," he says, perplexed by the notion that a self-described
class clown should have to choose between the kingdom of heaven and a
successful writing career. "I do believe that Jesus
is the Son of God, that he was crucified and that he rose again."
Tompkins grew up Episcopalian
in an upscale Massachusetts town, attending the same church as the novelist
John Updike. He remembers a childhood of
watching Davey & Goliath, an early animated show produced by Lutherans,
before leaving for church on Sunday mornings. Tompkins drifted from faith in his 20s. Tompkins had what he calls a "reconversion experience"
while writing for The Simpsons, though he emphasizes it was unrelated to his
work.
Tompkins showed clips from
Simpsons episodes when he spoke as part of Fuller Theological Seminary's Reel
Spirituality series last fall. His topic: "Does God Have a Sense of Humor?" Writing for Homer,
Marge, Bart, and Lisa was a challenge. "There were some rabid
atheists at The Simpsons," he says, but "no matter how twisted the
story, no matter how profane the jokes, goodness wins, goodness prevails. No matter how much those writers pride themselves as being
atheists, probably deep down they're not.
"At The Simpsons you are
reined in," he says. "You can't stick your neck
out and do anything that's overtly religious on its face. You must undercut it. There's a gag reflex in comedy
writers to undercut any honest religious sentiment. It is easier to pass a camel through the eye of a needle than it
is to make a comedy writer quote Scripture with a straight face."
The key, he says, is
"respecting the faith of the characters because it's true to the
characters. I think that's what's going on
in the best moments of The Simpsons .... Marge's faith is respected
because that is a huge part of who she is as a character. Homer has no faith, so we use him to tromp over Marge's faith, or
whatever needs to be done comedically."
Tompkins worked on several
Simpsons episodes that dealt with Christian faith, including "Hurricane
Neddy," in which Ned has his faith tested in Job-inspired proportions. "There is a tremendous amount of affection for Ned"
among the writers, he says.
Tompkins says he is a mostly
secular writer. "1 had no ax to grind at
The Simpsons," he says. "1 believe the quality of
humor is in indirect proportion to one's true belief .... The more those beliefs are put in, the less funny it gets."
These days, Tompkins' greatest
source of pride is The PJs, a prime-time Sunday show on the w8 Network that he
created with comedian Eddie Murphy. Tompkins says that including a
spiritual dimension on The PJs presents a different challenge than on The
Simpsons. The PJs focuses on the life of
Thurgood Stubbs, an African American who works as a building superintendent in
an inner-city housing project.
Last year Tompkins shepherded
to the screen what he calls "the most manifestly Christian episode that
has aired in television history." It was inspired by a screening of Robert
Duvall's feature film, The Apostle, at an earlier event in the Reel
Spirituality series. What the comedy writer had in
mind for Thurgood, a rough-edged, occasionally profane man, was nothing less
than a direct encounter with the divine, one in which "the character had
faith and never questioned it."
Thurgood's encounter with God
"wasn't a mistake," Tompkins says. "It was not a delusion from mixing Clorox bleach and ammonia
.... I was going to give him a real
conversion experience--born again. I didn't try to second-guess it
or minimize it or undercut it. He saw God. He did not ask himself, 'Am I going crazy?' What he said was, '1
saw God. Now what do I do with
it?'"
-- Mark I. Pinsky
On Sunday nights, when The
Simpsons, the nation's best-known dysfunctional family are a fixture in millions
of American households, many Christians are in church. At home, the less devout are probably tuned to the competition,
Touched by an Angel, which usually wins the ratings time period. But a lot of people are watching The Simpsons, and have been watching
faithfully and, yes, religiously for more than a decade.
In addition to the estimated
14.4 million who watched the series each week during the 1999-2000 season,
according to the Fox Network and Nielsen Media Research, another 4 million
people tuned in each week watch reruns of the show in syndication. More than 180 Fox affiliates carry the new episodes on Sunday
nights and more than 250 stations in the U.S. and Canada air reruns, some twice
a day. Now entering its 12th season,
the series was once in the top 10 prime-time shows and now ranks comfortably in
the top 25, doing best among males 18-49. And actually gained viewers
last season.
As important to Fox as the
show's enduring ratings success has been The Simpsons' enduring critical
acclaim. The show has been nominated for
33 Emmys and has won 15, as well as a Peabody Award. Time magazine called The Simpsons the century's best television
show, and the entertainment industry took note of the series 10th anniversary
with a star on Hollywood Boulevard.
The New York Times predicted in
its millennium edition, perhaps with tongue in cheek, that The Simpsons would
still be a top-rated show in 2025. From the time of its premiere
in the 1980s, when Bart Simpson T-shirts set off controversies in schools from
coast to coast, until now, The Simpsons continues to influence American
culture.
--Mark I. Pinsky
Mark I. Pinsky is a senior reporter who covers religion for The
Orlando Sentinel. This essay is adapted from his
book, The Gospel According to the Simpsons: The Spiritual Life of America's
Most Animated Family, which Westminster/John Knox Press will publish in
November.
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