- August 1st, 2006, 10:58 am
#22925
Here's a good read from the Hartford fishwrap. I love how this move is so baffling to so many:
Heaven Can't Waithttp://www.courant.com/news/local/north ... ory?page=1
As his ethical struggle between profession and faith grows more urgent, a TV journalist is leaving the anchor desk for an evangelical ministry
July 30, 2006
By LAILA KAIN
At 41, in the prime of his career, morning anchor and reporter Steve Bunnell has made a choice that confounds all but the faithful.
When his contract with WFSB-TV, Channel 3, ends on Aug. 17, he'll say goodbye and good luck to television news, then move his family 3,000 miles for a new job at about half the salary - as a Christian evangelical pastor in training.
This is a move believers understand:
In God's eyes, it is a testament to Bunnell's faith. It is God's will; what he was meant to do. Man does not live by bread alone.
Nonbelievers - if they care enough to be curious - need other explanations. Ask Bunnell and he'll say yes, it's God's will - but, yes, there is more. His decision is as much about leaving one profession as being called to another.
Readers beware, this is not an easy story to tell. It must bridge two different shores of thinking - those of believers and nonbelievers. This is difficult because of stereotypes on both sides, as well as the increasingly heated controversy over the role of religion worldwide and, of course, in politics.
Steven Bunnell has walked on both shores.
An ardent, award-winning journalist, he reported from the smoldering Pentagon after the 9/11 attack; from the San Francisco Bay area in 1989 after the earth had crumbled beneath highways. He earned an Associated Press Broadcast "Breaking News Award" for his coverage of California wildfires in San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara counties. Those stories informed viewers of evacuations and road blocks and provided urgent, life-saving information.
Bunnell fiercely believes in the Fourth Estate's watchdog role, reads the U.S. News & World Report regularly and New York Times online. He watches PBS and jokes about the "fair and balanced" reporting on Fox news.
If stereotypes were true, he could be the poster boy for the liberal press.
Except for his faith.
As an evangelical Christian, he believes in the urgency of saving souls in this fallen world -nonbelievers being doomed to Hell, a real and everlasting conscious punishment.
In evangelical thinking, one is spared this fate or saved through Jesus Christ and personal conversion, enriched by the study of a Bible believed without errors.
As one among the saved, Bunnell prays daily and studies the Bible constantly, accessing it on his Palm Pilot. To prepare for his new profession, he listens to sermons on his iPod while running and on his computer at work. A longtime fan of Christian music, he is married to Shirley Bunnell, a well-known Christian singer/songwriter and recording artist.
If religious stereotypes held, Bunnell should be an advocate for the religious right.
Except for his politics.
In truth, Bunnell votes Democratic, bemoans the role of religion in politics, and has been a critic of the Iraq war "from the word go."
Not the typical evangelical, nor the usual newscaster.
Steve's workday starts at 3:15 a.m., when he drives from his home in West Hartford into Hartford on a highway so silent all you hear is the whirr of wheels on the road. Across town and across the nation, television stations work through the night to bring us the news we consume with our coffee from 5 a.m. onward.
By 3:40, he has greeted colleagues, checked his voice mail (yes, there's a message from a local politician), and settled into the news desk. He sits across from co-anchor Dawn Hasbrouck, next to technical director Scott MacLean, and within shouting range of the producers who have been working since midnight, rewriting stories from the wire services and last night's news.
For the next 90 minutes, he'll scan every story in the schedule, eyeglasses on, rewriting when possible, toning down headlines, checking details. He's the one who delivers the news, he says, and he wants it right. "Is this Kansas City, Missouri? Or Kansas City, Kansas?" he asks.
"I pick my battles," Bunnell says. "Virtually every morning, I'll find stories missing one of the five W'S. [The who, what, where, when and whys of journalism]. "Folks are too busy going for alliteration or looking for the sexy lead that sells. The story gets lost. "
Sure enough. On this morning, the "Face To Face With Danger" headline turns out to be one woman threatening another with a meat thermometer; "Turtle Tangled by Six Pack" sets up video of a misshapen turtle shell; and "Semi In Flames" shows a truck on fire on I-85 in Texas.
"Here's one: 'Would-Be Robber Loses Shirt' probably just another chance to show a half clothed woman," Bunnell says, almost under his breath.
Much as he'd like, there's no time to redo everything he'll read this morning. There's just too much, the 5 to 8 a.m. news, blocked as five half-hour news shows, is the longest news broadcast of the day. Yet the stories that anchors read average about 25 seconds each, and the reporter-packages average about 1 minute, 15 seconds. "Basically a headline and two sound bites," Bunnell explains.
"The other night, I was watching America's Funniest Home Videos on ABC and heard a promo for the local news: `All the news in half the time.' You can't do all the news in half the time!"
Bunnell had been at odds with the TV business long before coming to Channel 3, working 19 years in the field and reporting from 12 newsrooms across the nation.
In 2003, he came to Hartford from Sacramento, Calif., where the Laci Peterson murder and Chandra Levy disappearance were local stories. Looking back, he remembers how long these dragged on, how many resources - reporters, photographers, air time - they used up, how little space was left for "real news."
"I told myself and God that the opportunity in Connecticut was going to be the TV news business's last chance to keep me."
It is 4:50 a.m. when Bunnell slips into the men's room to put on his makeup. At the Hollywood-style mirror in the newsroom, Dawn smoothes her hair, and behind her, weatherman Scott Haney checks his silhouette.
By 4:55 Bunnell is on the set, eyeglasses off, sports jacket on. After one, two, maybe three headlines: "Good morning everyone, I'm Steve Bunnell..."
On a blindingly bright Sunday in June, Courant photographer Patrick Raycraft and I meet Bunnell at the Wethersfield Evangelical Free Church, his home church in Connecticut.
It is 9:30 a.m., and cars stream into the parking lot, delivering colorful cargos of well-dressed families - moms and dads and kids, couples in their Sunday best, men in suits, women in dresses, stockings and heels.
In contrast, Bunnell wears sandals, cords and a short-sleeved shirt. Flashing me a great smile, he immediately asks Raycraft what he needs for the story and how he can help. Even at church, Bunnell is alert to the needs of a news colleague.
Our plan is to attend the adult Bible fellowship class he is teaching, then the regular services at 11 a.m. Bunnell guides us to the classroom, simply set with tables and chairs. Someone has brought an orange-mango juice blend and home-baked walnut bread wrapped in foil.
The room feels friend-filled, everyone knows each other, most are in their early 30s and 40s, mostly Caucasian.
The class begins with prayer and praise. One by one, the men and women praise God for helping them recover from illness, sell a home, land a new job, where, blessedly the manager and supervisor are also Christian.
One by one, they also ask for prayer. "Please pray for my co-worker and his wife; they just had a child, then found a tumor the size of a soccer ball in the mother's body.
"They're good friends. Our kids ride the bus together. They're good people. They're not Christian. Not saved. But I need to ask you for your prayers."
At our table and others, heads bow in prayer for the saved and unsaved alike.
"Be with this family," Bunnell prays aloud. "Help her heal."
Bunnell's wife, Shirley, finds a seat next to mine. In contrast to Bunnell's angular looks, she is all curves, wide shoulders, wide-set eyes, sun-streaked hair in easy layers around her face, attentive as her husband teaches.
Bunnell starts his class with a story of Paul's hardships of preaching the gospel to non-Christian audiences. One, then another voice in the room admits his, her discomfort with the evangelical role. Persuading others to accept Christ in their hearts is not an easy task in secular times.
"We don't want to seem as if we're cramming it down their throats," one person says.
"That's what gives evangelicals a bad name," says another.
"I don't want to offend anyone."
"Yeah, you want people to like you," Bunnell agrees. "But remember, it's a delicate balance.
"What if you saw someone you care about swimming downstream and Niagara Falls is just around the corner. Wouldn't you want to let them know?"
After class, we ascend to the church proper for music and the sermon. In this setting, Shirley is the star, leading the congregation in song with her guitar while Bunnell sits in one of the front rows.
In the pews, people sing, some closing their eyes, others opening their arms in prayer. Outside, a silent breeze sways the trees from side to side.
A few days later, Shirley slices jalapenos, snips cilantro and tosses diced tomatoes into the blender, making salsa with the ease of her Southern California heritage. Soon, she'll serve the homemade burritos, a family recipe, that made Bunnell fall in love with her.
From outside, we hear splashing, laughing and yelps of joy from Bunnell and their two children, Shauna, 6, and Joshua, 4. All three are playing in the inflatable backyard pool. It's been a hot, humid day.
Filling bowls with spicy salsa, shredded cheese, lettuce, tortillas, Shirley tells me they first dated in high school - "two weeks but Steve will say three" (he did) - and how they stayed friends for years before dating again and getting married in 1986.
As evangelical Christians from childhood, both worked in Christian summer camps together. As adults, they've been active members of their church communities, leading services, retreats, mission work.
But in terms of politics, "we cancel each other out," Shirley says with a smile. "I err on the side of the candidate who looks to God for guidance."
Still both agree that global warming is a "no-brainer," that their children deserve the right to learn science in 21st century terms, but that there are limitations to all human knowledge.
"I think science is incredibly important," Bunnell explains. "But part of learning science is also knowing its limitations. What science knew 10 years ago is different than today."
Supper is served in the Bunnells' rose-colored dining room. They eat together every evening. This is no soccer mom household, dinner time is family time.
At the table, Shauna wears a pink Barbie shirt and pink polish on her toes. Joshua seems a pint-sized version of his father, an impish, unstoppable talker, friendly as a pup.
The meal begins with child-led prayers, then closes with dessert and a brief Bible lesson. On this night, Bunnell reads aloud from The Picture Bible, his voice playing the roles of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba.
At the end of the story, he asks the children a few questions, which they answer readily, as conversant on the topic of Solomon as they were earlier about Superman and The Iron Giant.
After dinner, Shirley talks about her music; returning to California will bring her back to where she started. Her songs and vocals have been featured on albums by Kathie Lee Gifford and Jim Brinkman. Gifford recorded her song "To Please You" on her album, "Gentle Grace."
(Shirley is scheduled to perform next at SoulFest 2006, a five-day music festival Aug. 2-8, drawing 12,500 plus to Guilford, N.H. Some 150 artists and speakers will appear on six stages at Gunstock Mountain Resort.)
Looking ahead, Shirley dreams of doing a Christmas album but doesn't know how Bunnell's job change might impact her life.
"In the past, it's always been Shirley the singer and Steve the TV news anchor. That's how we've always been known," she explains. "What comes next is going to feel very different, but we're ready. We've prayed for this."
The story behind their move is filled with personal epiphanies.
Among these was Bunnell's reading John Eldridge's best-seller "Wild at Heart," which asks Christian men the question: What makes you come alive? This was followed by the Bunnells' January mission trip to Nicaragua, where they ran a vacation Bible school for children and Steve delivered several sermons. It was then, he "came alive," for the first time in a long time and felt he was making a difference that mattered.
This experience led to a job offer from Jeff Miles, pastor of Touchstone Christian Fellowship, a new church Miles established with Bunnell's encouragement, prayers, and support. Bunnell and Miles have been friends for years, their families as well. In a sense, the move to Sacramento is also a move home.
Will he bring his politics home as well?
Not at Touchstone, he says. "One of the things Jeff and I care about most is keeping politics the heck out of the church.
"We're not about that. We're about the Great Commission, which is spreading the gospel: the good news that God loves you so much, even though you are a sinner ... that he sent his only son to die for you."
In an earlier telephone interview Bunnell had talked more about his faith, his move and politics.
Born and raised in California, he sees a difference in the way New Englanders approach their faith. "Here it's all about being nice and doing good things: going to church, wearing the vestments, doing good deeds. That's not what it's about at all.
"For Christians, it's not religion, it's the relationship you have with your savior that counts." It's not just about being good, he says, it's about getting personal with Jesus.
On the topic of religion and politics, Bunnell says, "It is incredibly damaging that the religious right has gotten involved in politics.
"What they have done is take what the Apostle Paul calls 'disputable matters' [abortion, gay issues] and use these to bind them to conservative Christianity, saying: `See, see how these other people, these liberals, these Democrats, see how they promote these things? The assumption is that you can't be a Christian and a Democrat.
"One of my passions is to try to convince evangelicals there's nothing inconsistent with being Christian and Democrat.
"I like to remind people that Jimmy Carter was the first president to boldly come out as a born-again Christian, washed in the blood of the lamb. Billy Graham was a Democrat, Martin Luther King, Jr."
Yet of evangelicals who voted in the 2004 election, 80 percent voted for President Bush, polls showed.
"Unfortunately, yeah, right now evangelicals are a voting block for the Republican party," Bunnell says. "But it may gradually be changing. A lot has to do with the war in Iraq. People are saying, `Oh my gosh, this really is a horrible idea.'
"But that doesn't mean they'll vote Democratic," he adds.
"It doesn't help when Democrats make over-my-dead-body stump speeches about abortion rights, and opponents show color photos of dying fetuses."
Bunnell attributes these extremist tactics to the gerrymandering of voting districts over recent years and the resultant strategy of each party playing only to its base.
"What we end up with is a national debate at the extremes," he says.
Not in this debate are all the other issues of interest to Christians: seeking peace, resisting greed, helping the poor, taking care of planet earth.
"When was the last time the debate turned in these directions?" he asks, almost rhetorically.
That afternoon, Bunnell called back - at Shirley's urging - to tell me "the main reason I'm doing this - getting out of [the TV] business."
"I felt an ethical dilemma when it came to re-signing my contract," he said, describing the tension between wanting to stay but not wanting to do what it demanded of him.
"I just don't share the vision of local news any more. I can't feed into its culture of fear any more."
"We have a friend who won't let her kids play on her front lawn because she thinks it's too dangerous. Why? She watches the news. I tell her violent crime is lower than when we were kids. Does she believe me? I don't know.
"It's like that shark summer when some station in Florida saw ratings spike with a shark story. Before you knew it, there were shark stories in every market. Truth was, the record of shark attacks that year was lower than normal. You'd never know it from TV."
Across the business, Bunnell says, the driving force is ratings: the higher the number of folks watching, the higher the advertising rates, the better the bottom line. Across the nation, stations think the way to win viewers is with an increasingly sensational selection of stories and a constant, urgent sense of big, breaking news.
"In truth `breaking news' is whatever has happened, whether it's big or not," he explains. "The point is to make it feel big. If we can fool viewers into thinking it's big, then they'll watch and we'll make more money.
"Really, I can't do this any more. In good conscience, I have to ask: Does this amount to selling my soul?"
Channel 3 News Director Gary Brown, 35, declined to comment on Brunnell's criticism but wished his colleague well. "We wanted him to stay, but we understand and respect his decision," Brown said. "It's hard to compete with a calling."
"News is high-stress business," Brown explained. "You either love it or you don't. But you can't fault someone for saying, well, maybe it's time to look around."
Bunnell did consider staying in the business, but on his own terms.
"`The News Hour With Jim Lehrer' was my dream job. If I could have gotten a job on `The News Hour,' I probably would have stayed in the business.
"I believe, passionately, that stories can make a difference," he says. As examples, he cites how tsunami coverage raised millions for humanitarian aid; how Hurricane Katrina reporting revealed the injustice of class, race, poverty and politics.
"The First Amendment, freedom of the press gives us the chance to be watchdogs of government and the powerful. We are squandering that right," he says.
"It's very sad for me. I mourn for the business, and frankly, I mourn for our nation."
Laila Kain is director of communications at Renbrook School in West Hartford and a regular NE Magazine contributor.
4:50 am
Anchor Minister
Passion for his Faith
- By olldflame