This week, Modern Family broadcast a controversial episode in which two-year-old character Lily drops the “f-bomb” (http://insidetv.ew.com/2012/01/18/modern-family-f-word/). The ABC sitcom airs Wednesdays at 9pm (at least in EST), but the episode raised the ire of protest groups before show-time even rolled around. Both the Parents Television Council and a student-organization called The No Cussing Club objected to the toddler’s role in the storyline. To be fair, actress Aubrey Anderson-Emmons doesn’t actually say the f-word; she says “fudge,” and only through the bleeping and visual editing in the final cut can viewers determine that her character curses.

The incident raises for me a lot of chicken-egg concerns about the relationship between the media and its audience. While it’s common to hear that examples of violence, sexuality, and foul language in the media promote similar behaviors in reality, I think it’s fair to ask what kind of audience supports programs like that in the first place. To what extent are audiences passive or active in the shaping of media, which, ultimately, must please the viewers in order to survive? As much as I don’t condone violence or foul language or a lot of the sexual content that exists in the media, I also don’t expect the media to act as my moral compass; television programs like Modern Family exist to entertain audiences and make money for networks, not to provide moral instruction. How much are shows like Modern Family influencing our culture, and how much are they mirroring it, if perhaps with better writing and more comedic fodder?

Given that the show airs at 9pm and consistently features mature storylines, it seems obvious that it’s a program intended for adults. I’m not saying that using the f-word is a good idea, that media watchdogs and viewers don’t have a right to protest, or that the narrative is in good taste. But the show isn’t called “Model Family,” it’s called Modern Family, and this episode fits with the provocative tone of the entire series. It can be an opportunity for reflection on media standards, but it can also be a chance to ponder our roles as media audiences and, for parents, as vastly more influential role models for our children and their language usage.

Mad Men fans rejoice: March is almost here. That’s when the Season 5 premiere airs. And it’s also when Newsweek magazine will revert to its 1960s design in honor of the show. Tina Brown, editor of Newsweek, explains:

“Newsweek was very much on the cultural forefront at the time of the show,” Ms. Brown said. “It covered the events that are so much of the background for the show’s drama — the burgeoning civil rights movement, the women’s rights movement, the Vietnam War. That was Newsweek’s cutting-edge beat and its flourishing journalistic subject. So it seemed like a wonderful marriage in a sense to take that and apply it to the magazine, to make the magazine an homage to the period.”

First, of all, I think Newsweek is smart to capitalize on the popularity of Mad Men. Many people will purchase this issue simply to see the creative advertisements and throwback content layouts.

Second, it breathes some excitement back into print, a medium that has become less appealing with the onset of social/online media forms.

Overall, this should prove profitable for Newsweek. What will be interesting to see is how well Newsweek can slide into the realm of entertainment. It’s not exactly known for its pop culture or entertainment presence. In the era of comedic news a la Jon Stewart, it may be that news outlets are seeking creative ways to provide news while keeping it professional.

So keep an eye out for the March 19 Newsweek issue. We’ll have to see how the 1960s design is updated to fit the 2012 offering.

10. White Collar
“White Collar” is the sort of guilty pleasure that I feel no guilt whatsoever for enjoying. “White Collar” follows the exploits of skilled con-man Neal Caffrey, who enters into an unlikely partnership with straight-laced FBI agent Peter Burke and uses his talents to bring down white collar criminals. It’s fluff in many ways, but it’s incredibly enjoyable and well-made fluff, with plenty of charisma, panache, humor, heists, and conspiracies to keep me tuning in. And as a child of the 80′s, I get an extra kick out of the presence of Tiffani Thiessen, aka “Saved by the Bell”‘s Kelly Kapowski, who turns out to be one of the show’s highlights as Burke’s wife. -Jason Morehead 

9. The Walking Dead
In Season 1, The Walking Dead was just a zombie-romp — a thoughtful zombie-romp, mind you — but not much more than a fun distraction between seasons of more “serious” dramas like Mad Men and Breaking bad. After internal troubles over showrunners, producers, and writers, the quality of Season 2 seemed up-in-the-air at best. But somehow, the creators and writers have managed to turn the show into something that can truly stand on its own and maintain the great story arcs established in Season 1. Most importantly though, The Walking Dead continues to challenge our survivors and boil down the essence of what it means to be human in the absence of civilization, most specifically in the conflicting leadership between Rick Grimes and Shane Walsh. Everything from ethics to moral code to faith are on the line and The Walking Dead creators have handled the themes with a delicacy that we haven’t seen in a show of this type since Battlestar Galactica. -Luke Larson

8. Game of Thrones
To be honest, the fact that this show actually works is still something of a miracle to me. With upwards of 20 primary characters whose names you can’t pronounce, comparatively small amounts of action and battle, and seemingly little thematic relevance to modern culture, Game of Thrones doesn’t add up as a show that could achieve any kind of mainstream success. However, thanks to some of the best writing, pacing, and acting of the year, I never felt overwhelmed by the massive cast or the twisting and turning plot. Even still, it wasn’t until I had been sucked deep into the thickening plot that I realized what had truly kept me coming back to the show: This medieval struggle for power isn’t as far-fetched and barbaric as we’d like to think. Although thousands of figurative years might separate us from it’s setting, the bitterness and greed of the human heart depicted in Game of Thrones might as well have been read out of the International Politics section of the Sunday newspaper.  -Luke Larson

7. The New Girl
It’s been written off as being a superficially quirky sitcom featuring a lead character who was focus-grouped and created solely to be loved for her cuteness and unique qualities. They’re not all wrong: The New Girl can be relentlessly cheery and bright at times.

Still, there’s a subtle darkness hidden under the surface that drives the show forward. Jess is a relentlessly self-concious, insecure person. It’s a struggle that doesn’t seem to resolve itself easily or simply. While the show’s focus rests with Jess, it’s her friends that play the most important role, impacting one another and Jess herself in ways that seem small in the moment but compile themselves throughout the season. You may love it, you may hate it. But The New Girl isn’t so concerned about that, because it’s trading in the same self-surety as Jess is ever-so-slowly learning from her friends. -Richard Clark

6. The Office
It’s no secret that The Office doesn’t enjoy the unique place it once did among television shows. Great creations tend to spawn imitators and innovators, and so shows like Parks and Recreation or Community have built on the foundations laid by The Office, rendering it somewhat less unique and groundbreaking. Further, Steve Carrell is now gone, removing both the most creative comedian and the emotional heart of the show in one fell swoop.

Despite all that, The Office remains one of the most consistently amusing shows on the market. Nearly every episode highlights exaggerated versions of situations we face in the workplace; awkward dinner parties, borderline racist comments, embarrassing weight loss challenges, arguments, insubordination, and inappropriate ideas from foolish managers. By seeing the humor in these things, The Office teaches us patience and acceptance. Its characters, despite their considerable flaws, keep growing as people.

That’s really what makes The Office great. The writers understand that at the heart of our love for a show lies our desire to connect with human truths. We fall in love with characters because we sympathize with their lives, needs and challenges. The Office, somehow, manages to keep touching this chord; celebrating the challenges and joys of a small community, highlighting the inconsistencies that lie in all of us, and displaying the slow and sometimes unwilling walk toward maturity that we all take. That it does so in a way that keeps us laughing at the foolishness of corporate America is just icing on the cake. -Ben Bartlett

5. Parenthood
There is nothing particularly sensational about Parenthood. It’s a drama about four sets of parents who love their children. Parenthood has long been my favorite television show, but as my wife and I recently welcomed our first child into the world, the show became even more moving.

At the heart of our sin nature is the desire to live for ourselves at the expense of others. If there is anything that naturally challenges us to fight that tendency, it’s having a child. I love Parenthood because it highlights how having children challenges us to live selflessly and presents us with parents who are sincerely trying to do so. They don’t always succeed, nor should they. If I have learned one thing in my short tenure as a parent, it is that I will not always succeed in putting my family first. Parenthood presents us with parents who are deeply flawed and yet deeply love their children and are committed to one another. It’s perhaps the most hope-filled show on Television. -Drew Dixon

4. Parks and Recreation
Despite the show’s rocky start and the early accusations of being a simple clone of The Office, Parks and Recreation has evolved into one of the funniest on television. The cast of the show is extremely diverse but they always manage to work together thanks to their relationships to Leslie Knope, played by Amy Poehler. The show has a habit of highlighting the eccentric nature of its’ characters for comedic effect, but it does so in a way that manages to show us each character’s potential for good. The show’s protagnist, Leslie Knope has a talent for bringing these diverse personalities under one banner and getting them to work together for admirable causes.

We all know that our city governments don’t always have our best interests at heart. That’s why we love Leslie Knope. Knope is the kind of leader we all wish for. She is dedicated, driven, and compassionate, the latter of which makes for a show that is as warm as it is hilarious. -Drew Dixon

3. Community
When NBC announced that “Community” was going on hiatus, fans reacted with both online and real-life protests, including a flash mob at NBC’s headquarters. It’s not difficult to understand why. The show, with its ultra-meta pop culture commentary, quirky characters, and clever visual style (its influences include Sergio Leone and Rankin/Bass), is the sort of cult hit that attracts passionate fans. And it felt especially frustrating that “Community” was making way for “30 Rock”. Whereas “30 Rock”‘s last season or so had been pretty underwhelming, “Community” was only getting better with each passing episode. Here’s hoping that NBC stays true to their word and airs the remaining the episodes after the hiatus ends. -Jason Morehead

2. Breaking Bad
Breaking Bad is about the .111958%.

In season one we see a flashback of high school chemistry teacher Walter White at a chalk board with his former love interest discussing the chemical makeup of the human body. They are able to account for 99.888042% of the elements that constitute a human being. Wondering aloud about the remaining .111958%, Walt responds that there has “got to be more to a human being than that.” Later in the same episode—after Walt has had to kill a man—we return to the same flashback where they, still trying to account for the missing .111958%, finally wonder, “what about the soul?” From the very beginning, we’ve recognized Breaking Bad as a show primarily concerned with very difficult moral questions, and how the devolution of evil works itself out in the individual.

And, in 2011’s season four, we see the hardening effects of Walt’s morally-compromising decision to cook meth for the supposed betterment of his family in the wake of discovering that he has cancer. By the end of the season, we look expectantly to next year’s final season, wondering if his descent into the sinister is complete.

This superbly-crafted show retains its excellent sense of pacing even while taking its drama to a more explosive level. It’s not necessarily the high-pressure sequences that most grab my attention with Breaking Bad; it’s the gut-wrenching silences and close-ups—the way the show is able to make me empathize with Walt and Jesse’s guilt-ridden anxieties. Their slow descent into badness is so recognizably human that it’s suffocating at times in the empathy it conjures. -Nick Olson

1. Friday Night Lights
Most television shows offer up three or four things for us to complain about. They are too serious or not serious enough, their characters are not believable or the production quality is low. We calculate whether individual shows are worth our time depending on our mood, the strength of the story, how believable the characters are, and a dozen other components.

Consider the most recent season. We see that not all good intentions end well when Connie Taylor is unable to help a troubled girl. We see the incredible inconsistencies between truth and perception when the Lions present themselves as a unified team, but are fighting and divided behind the scenes. We see the long, painful process of Eric letting go of a town that has defined his career as a coach so he can honor and support his wife. We see kids learning to get over their childhood fantasies, fathers learning to take responsibility with their families, and other fathers failing time and time again. We see the ugliness that results when a young girl makes a huge mistake and doesn’t know how to face it. Oh, yeah, and there’s some football in there too.

This is a show that does not back away from difficult topics, that does not let characters off the hook with trite solutions, and that does not wrap key storylines up within the space of an hour. It simply portrays life in the way that life usually is: full of mistakes, rife with challenges, and shot through with ugliness – yet worthy of being enjoyed and celebrated.

Holiday advertising has been increasing over the past few weeks as stores gear up for our country’s infamous mega-shopping day, Black Friday. One store’s advertising, however, may have just destroyed its Black Friday rush.

Kohl’s Department Stores released a TV spot promoting its Black Friday midnight opening by tweaking a song that got plenty of press this past year. Just when you thought Rebecca Black’s “Friday” had sunk to the bottom of the music sea, it’s back:

Reaction to the spot has been overwhelmingly negative. Shoppers are venting online, claiming the use of Black’s song is so infuriating that they will not shop at Kohl’s. And supposedly some Kohl’s employees are so embarrassed by the ad that they wish they could quit. Not quite the response Kohl’s was looking for…

I also had a negative reaction when I saw the spot earlier this week. But the discomfort passed when the spot ended, so there was little harm done to me personally. Looking at the mounting public outcry, however, you’d think this spot had ruined both Thanksgiving and Christmas. The more the news covers the outrage, the more people voice their disgust, and the more airtime and attention the spot receives.

Emotion is running high, and I am wondering why. It’s just a TV spot. No one is being forced to watch it. We all have remote controls these days. The rage just doesn’t seem to fit the level of the offense.

When I hear people lashing out over a 30-second TV spot, I am reminded of the great need we have for Christmas, in the truest sense, to enter our hearts. We may have peace and goodwill toward some, toward those we have deemed worthy of our love. But when it comes to a 13-year-old girl with an awful song or a retailer looking to break through the advertising cacophony — there is no goodwill to be found.

When something as minor as a TV spot sends us into an emotional fury, it points to the greater need we all face. Without the love of God poured out into our hearts through Christ Jesus, anger and offense will rule in our hearts, looking for an outlet (such as was found in this TV spot). How wonderful it is that Jesus comes to override the heart’s bent to rage and fury. For this, I am truly thankful this Thanksgiving.

Both this news and the movement that promotes the Duggars’ child-bearing philosophy sparked renewed controversy last week. There were congratulations and queries about the next J-name for baby number 20. Then there were more neutral responses concluding that since the Duggars use no government assistance and seem to be a generally wholesome clan, it’s no one else’s business how many children they have. But a host of commentators brought up significant concerns about the health of the mother and child—especially since the last Duggar baby (Josie) was born 15 weeks early via emergency caesarean section due to complications with the pregnancy. Josie weighed less than 2 pounds at birth and spent the first 2 months of her life in the hospital, a difficult circumstance that led to no shortage of criticism for the Duggars.

While I don’t personally espouse the Duggars’ belief system regarding family size, I wonder how much of the uproar comes from real concern for mother and child and how much comes from disagreement with their philosophical principles. My own knowledge of the family comes from their reality show, which can only ever provide a partial (and heavily edited) perspective, but the kids seem well-adjusted, healthy, and sincerely devoted to their faith. Detractors who bring up population control issues and inter-family relationships seem to be missing key points—that one family can’t alter world population statistics in any meaningful way and that all families (regardless of size) have to work out their own economies of attention.

I doubt I’ll ever understand the Duggars and their desire for a super-sized family, but I’m not convinced that their 20th pregnancy warrants the ethical outcry it sometimes receives. Would people make the same judgments of a 45-year-old mother with only one child, even if that child’s birth were complicated? I can’t say for sure, yet it seems to me that part of what’s so off-putting about the Duggars is their extremism and their commitment to follow through on their beliefs, however strange they may seem to the mainstream. I would never want an outsider to step into my family and define how many children is enough for us, and I offer the Duggars the same respect of butting out, along with well-wishes for a safe pregnancy and childbirth.

But we all know by now that Glee is a monumentally schizophrenic show. It has all sorts of different priorities, every one brutally shoved under the “tolerance” umbrella. Like Christians who often misuse the call to “love one another” or “speak truth” to one another, Glee has taken its keystone and warped it. The key: They put no limits on the term, leaving “tolerance” to stand on its own and against anything that may seek to provide balance.

This past week’s tell-tale episode highlights the show’s fate: a world where every moral question is left not up to any outside authority but to inward emotions and feelings. This is all humdrum typical worldly stuff until we consider the primary audience for the show: middle school to high school kids.

It made sense to me (though I disagreed) to portray the kids in Glee doing things we might disapprove of for the sake of general realism. They didn’t have to glorify the sin in order to portray it, after all. When I heard that the most recent episode, “The First Time,” would portray Rachel losing her virginity, I approached the episode with an open mind. I anticipated a cautionary tale at best, a more clinical and neutral approach at worst.

Instead, Glee pandered unthinkingly to their underage audience. When faced with the question of whether it was alright to have premarital sex (a conviction Rachel had maintained until challenged by the student-director of her high school music in the name of artistic integrity . . . what???), adults are written off as even more screwed up than the kids, completely devoid of actual wisdom. When her friends are consulted, the opinions come out of personal, traumatic experience. The one girl who had sex with the one she truly loved? She says to go for it.

But what happens when these students leave high school? According to the voice of wisdom in Glee, if Rachel has sex with her “first love,” there will be “no regrets.” But will her future husband agree? Will she look back on that moment with fondness once she’s married? I mean . . . who does?

So the message of the show is a more calculated take on the old standby: “If it feels good, do it.” The really frustrating thing about this is that the show is delivering that message to a national audience that doesn’t need to be converted to such a lifestyle. They’re dying for some outside authority to tell them it’s alright to do what they wanted to do in the first place. Glee’s message of tolerance extends way too far, encouraging teenagers to be tolerant of their own base impulses and urges—and to expect those who care for them to do the same.

Glee is preaching to its reluctant choir: “Sing! Sing whatever you want! Sing with whomever you feel! Just mean it from the bottom of your heart!” But in this case, the song is all wrong.

You don’t have to pay much attention to the (pseudo) news to know that Kim Kardashian’s 72-day marriage to Kris Humphries is over. And, if you’re like me, you’re probably not remotely surprised by this. It’s not that I’m cynical about romance in general. OK, maybe a little, at least the way the media spins it. It just never occurred to me to classify Kardashian’s wedding as romance or anything remotely related to love. Kardashian wore three different designer dresses at her spectacle and sported a 20.5 carat engagement ring; she wore $15 million worth of diamonds in an event staged for her reality television show. The two-part special aired on October 9, about three weeks before the divorce announcement. So of course I’m not alone now in speculating that a woman with no discernible talents beyond considerable skill in self-promotion (apparently, a family trait) staged the whole thing for profit and publicity.

Certainly Kardashian isn’t the first, and won’t be the last, to marry for money and power. The whole Kardashian circus reminds me how much so many of us are both working against the culture of shameless personal aggrandizement and buying into it. Celebrities like the entire Kardashian clan exist because lots of people actually want to keep up with them, and yet I can honestly say that if my little girl were in Kim’s place someday, I would be ashamed. I don’t watch their show or read tabloids, but their presence and influence is unavoidable, and no matter what example I set at home, my daughter will see the same supermarket headlines that I do. So it’s my job to surround her with more compelling narratives and people who value marriages as precious beyond any dollar value assigned to a wedding. It’s on me to teach her that her integrity and dignity are worth more than diamonds. And I think that starts with demonstrating gratitude at home, for my husband and our marriage, and compassion outside of our home, for someone like Kim Kardashian who will lose so much in this divorce regardless of the motivations or the pricetag. I can only hope that sometime before the Kardashian divorce special airs, Kim will find herself in a more compelling narrative than showbiz offers, too.

In this particular version, Merlin, Arthur, and the other main characters are teenagers. Arthur’s father, Uther Pendragon, is the king, and much of the primary conflict in the series stems from the fact that Uther has outlawed all magic as the result of some long-past traumatic experience. The problem is that magic, in Camelot, is very real. It’s a gift some people are born with that can be used for either good or evil. Uther, however, is committed to the idea that all magic is inherently wicked and must be stamped out.

It would be possible to detect an anti-Christian subtext in which Uther represents a repressive religious worldview, but the context of the show doesn’t allow for anything that specific. Nothing about Camelot is grounded in anything resembling real history. The castle and costumes suggest a 12^th or 13^th century milieu, but there is no reference to Christianity, the church, or a religious system of any kind. There is only the “old religion” of magic against which Uther fights. Icons from the original stories that previously had specifically Christian significance, such as the Holy Grail and the Fisher King’s spear, are here just generically “magical.”

At first, I found this lack of historical or religious context odd, but now I think it is one of the show’s strengths. While certain episodes have clear allusions to the European witch hunts of the 14^th and 15^th centuries, the viewer is not forced to interpret them only as commentaries on the medieval church. Uther, in these episodes, can easily symbolize any fundamentalist tyrant from Bloody Mary to Joe McCarthy.

Everything about Merlin screams “fairy tale.” The series is shot at a real castle in northern France, but even the castle is not really real. The 12^th century ruins were totally remodeled by Napoleon III to look like a romanticized medieval castle. The walls gleam with an otherworldly radiance, and it is, hands down, the cleanest castle I have ever seen. In a cinematic age when “gritty” is considered a compliment, it is startling to see something as breathtakingly beautiful as this world. It’s like watching a Pre-Raphaelite painting come to life complete with dragons, unicorns, and farting trolls.

For someone steeped in the “authorized” versions of Malory, Tennyson, and T. H. White, the hardest thing to process about Merlin is the way characters and plots from the traditional versions are tossed into a salad bowl, mixed together, and served to the audience in completely new ways. While the essential temperaments of Merlin, Arthur, and the other main characters remain the same, some of the secondary characters and familiar plot lines have been drastically altered. I have, however, come to appreciate the way in which the story has been “sanitized” without cutting out its heart. While the original legend contained multiple accounts of adultery, incest, rape, and general debauchery, Merlin is true to its fairy tale roots and consistently glosses over the seamier side of things. I enjoy being able to watch Merlin with my 10-year-old son and only have to worry about whether a particular monster is a little too scary.

If Merlin has taken away the more sordid, but ironically more traditional, aspects of the Arthurian legend, it has added something unique in its characterization of the relationship between Merlin and Arthur. Colin Morgan (Merlin) and Bradley James (Arthur) are the equivalent of a teenage Riggs and Murtaugh from Lethal Weapon, lobbing insults at each other one minute and fighting side by side the next. This adds unexpected depth to what could easily be one-dimensional characters, and it extends to secondary players like Uther, Morgana, and Lancelot as well.

My primary criticism of the show is that the normal aging process seems to have been outlawed along with magic. I understand the reasoning behind filling a show for teenagers with unbelievably good-looking 20-somethings, but there seems to be no one between 25 and 60 left in Camelot. With the exception of Merlin’s wise old mentor Gauis, the dictatorial middle-aged Uther, and the occasional parental figure, grown-ups don’t exist. But this dearth of adults may simply be another example of Merlin’s fairy tale heritage. As every child knows, fairy tales are about the journey toward adulthood, not what happens once you get there.

But in a decontextualized post-modern fairy tale in which no religion but magic exists, where everything is beautiful and sanitized, and everyone is young, lovely, and clever, what 500-year-old themes still resonate? The answer turns out to be profoundly theological. Throughout the series, it is prophesied that Arthur’s courage and vision will bring about an ideal kingdom marked by justice and mercy. From the first, Merlin is told his duty is to protect Arthur so this golden age can come about. But the creators of Merlin have also chosen to retain the tragic ending of Arthur’s story by revealing early on that this golden age is ultimately doomed.

The tragedy of the Arthurian legend has always been that a sinful humanity cannot sustain a just society for very long. Noble aspirations are corrupted and ideals are inevitably compromised. But the story is not ultimately pessimistic. Yes, man’s sinfulness may prevent God’s kingdom from ever being realized on earth, but Arthur reminds us that the fight still matters. What is important is not that Arthur and Merlin failed, but that they tried. At the risk of being branded a heretic, I sometimes think of Arthur and his Knights as being akin to the saints described in Hebrews 11:13: “They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance.”

Gen-Xers and Millenials are often accused of being cynical and self-absorbed, but Merlin, Arthur, and their friends are committed to doing right regardless of the consequences—even unto death. If there is anything these kids are not, it is cynical. Over and over again, they make sacrifices for the greater good that are truly heart-wrenching. And a few episodes have been as profound as anything from Buffy the Vampire Slayer (but without all the sex and blood-sucking).

Merlin is about more than being true to one’s calling. It is about the responsibility we all have to use that calling to fight the good fight. For anyone not averse to the fantasy genre (and farting trolls), Merlin is a show well worth watching. Not bad for a teen-centered, post-modern version of a medieval myth.

When The Office said goodbye to Michael Scott, many disavowed themselves from the show. According to general wisdom, television shows tend to go on way too long in a cynical attempt to pile up as much money as possible before the inevitably jump the shark. For most, Michael Scott getting on that airplane was The Office‘s inevitable shark-jump.

But it wasn’t. The Office has carried its’ own torch splendidly, proving that its’ established, fully realized cast are each just as flawed as their former boss. The only complaint I really have is their relatively safe choice for Michael’s replacement: Andy Bernard. Andy is, in temperament and management style, excessively similar to Michael Scott. He lacks self esteem, is starved for attention, has only good intentions for those around him, but those good intentions are often overshadowed by his own lack of self-esteem and desire for acceptance.

What saves the season, though, is the work the show has done throughout the series: each character has grown and developed over time, primarily as a result of their interactions with Michael Scott. As last season’s heart-wrecking season closer made clear, Michael made an impression on them for the better. This season is all about putting those impressions to work: rather than thriving off of the humiliation of their boss, as The Office before often did, this season thrives off of Andy’s slow realization that he is loved.

It’s truly fascinating to watch, most of all because this is a change that doesn’t come easy. These characters aren’t changing overnight: Dwight is slowly mellowing but still obsessed with his twisted idea of credibility, Jim still lacks the ability to completely reign in his prankster impulses, though he is putting a lot more thought into them, and Creed… okay, well, anyway.

The Office, more than any TV comedy I can think of, rewards patience, both in the moment as we endure the mundane, waiting for a payoff, and throughout the season. The difference is not incredibly clear at the moment, but in the end, when the show finally is over, we’ll look back on this season, in which they continue in the never-ending struggle to love one another and say something like “Wow, they were so different then.”

The Office is taking its’ dear sweet time to wind down, and I, for one, am grateful.

And what is going on here? By providing us with a glimpse of seven different versions of the same few minutes, each centered around the absence of a particular member of the study group, the show manages to provide a glimpse into the delicate balance this group of friends maintains simply by being around one another.

For the most part, at least. What makes the episode more than a mere experiment is the heartbreaking and illuminating final parallel timeline: the one in which Jeff Winger’s will is thwarted and his absence is felt. After watching him manipulate, dismiss and humiliate his friends for the majority of the episode, it’s clear that the best thing for the group is for him to simply leave. We become acutely aware of this, and then to our surprise, so does he. When he walks into the apartment and finds his friends dancing stupidly and carelessly with one another he asks rhetorically, “You guys see what happens when I leave you alone, huh?” He then stands aside and observes, refusing to take part in the fun. Maybe because he’s too proud to make a fool out of himself – or maybe because he doesn’t feel deserving.

But was it Winger’s absence that caused the group to unite in a show of unadulterated joy, or was it his selfless (if forced) act of going to get the pizza? It only stands to reason that relationships are better off without the manipulation and frustration of treating everyday activities as if they are games of chance – the opportunity to do things for those you know isn’t something you roll the die for. It’s a privilege, even if it feels like an obligation in the moment.

The good news for Jeff, and for those of us who find ourselves acting like Jeff entirely too often, is that with this realization comes the ability to change and progress as a person. Yes, as Abed says, it’s important to recognize our friends for who they are, even if their qualities are less than ideal – but it’s equally important to allow for the possibility of change and to root for it, in others and, most importantly, in ourselves. This is what takes place when Jeff steps aside and simply watches the silliness rather than shutting it down completely. Newly enlightened, he decides to give selflessness a try, albiet in passive, self-conscious and distinctly Winger-esque style.

Maybe the group would be better off without Jeff Winger – that seems relatively clear. But the largest net gain would be a Jeff Winger who sees who his friends are, stops trying to manipulate them for his own ends, and simply appreciates them.

You don’t have to be a genius to realize that two new sitcoms, The New Girl and Last Man Standing, are for entirely different audiences. One features as its protagonist a quirky, likeable and sensitive girl who’s trying to get over a messy break-up. The other features a rugged, combative and oblivious husband and father who finds himself stranded in a sea of femininity. Both shows have a similar theme: the rise of femininity, and how men react.

While The New Girl seems at first like every man’s fantasy (oblivious cute girl shows up and wants to be roommates), in reality it is more likely every woman’s fantasy. In The New Girl, Zooey Deschanel’s character is treated not as a sex object, but purely as a friend. Magically, almost impossibly, it never occurs to her roommates to pursue her romantically or sexually – they treat her as “one of the guys”, without actually asking her to become a guy. They acknowledge her feminine qualities as part of who she is.

Tim Allen’s latest, Last Man Standing, on the other hand, seems like every man’s nightmare: one man, alone in a world that is changing and shifting around him. Everyone is insane except for him. He has a job to do in helping those around him to see the feminine errors of their ways, but no one respects that fact. For this man, life is war and women are the enemy – or at least the captives. The sitcom resolves in classic sitcom style: with everyone concluding that he was, in fact, right about pretty much everything.

The startling difference between the men in The New Girl and the lone man in Last Man Standing is the degree of actual empathy and concern that was demonstrated. In The New Girl, the roommates, as dumb and proud as they are, end up seeing Jessi as a fellow human being rather than a princess to be rescued or an enemy to be fought.

Tim Allen’s character, on the other hand, spends the whole show trying to get his way, struggling against the current and never giving in. He remains inwardly and selfishly focused throughout. He makes no concessions – he only whines when he feels something has gone “wrong”, even when those things have nothing to do with him. When the women in his life attempt to demonstrate their love for him, he either unwittingly ignores it or belittles it. These are not biblical gender roles at play.

I do believe that the Bible teaches there are inherent differences between genders, but I disagree with Last Man Standing‘s apparent thesis that one gender ought to win out over the other. Just like the three roommates in The New Girl before Jessi showed up, different types complement one another in different ways – throwing a girl in the mix doesn’t lessen that diversity, it enriches it. As adults, it’s way past time for us to climb out of the club house with the “no girls allowed” sign and start learning from one another. Women aren’t sex objects, a means to an end, or an enemy to be fought. They are equals to be learned from. They are friends.

Midsomer Murders is one of those shows that has been around forever, and while it’s never been a huge hit, it has maintained a loyal following (which I guess makes it the British equivalent of 7th Heaven). It follows the adventures of Police Detective Tom Barnaby as he solves murders in the idyllic, but fictional, English county of Midsomer. Like Cabot Cove in Murder, She Wrote, Midsomer is white-washed, picturesque, and quaint, but it also has a disproportionately high murder rate.

Watching all this murder and mayhem undiluted by having to wait a week between episodes has allowed the show’s worldview to really get inside my head and make itself comfortable. What I have found is a world that looks very much like Beatrix Potter’s England, but is permeated by an omnipresent hopelessness. Ironically, though, it also shares a view of sin that consistently demonstrates the consequences of making horrendously bad choices.

In Midsomer, everyone from the local beauty queen to the retiring vicar is having sex. And if they’re not, they’re complaining about the lack of it. For someone used to American TV, the sight of middle-aged people with love handles and bad teeth rolling around under the covers is a little weird, but I think that’s the point. Not only is the lasciviousness unpleasant to watch, but it is often what drives a person to kill. The usual sexual motivations for murder are all present — adultery, jealousy, betrayal — but occasionally someone also kills to keep an illicit love affair secret or to express their displeasure when they find out that the man they thought was their father turned out to be their uncle… or brother… or even sister. In Midsomer, sex is ubiquitous, but it’s also very, very dangerous.

In Midsomer, bygones are never bygones. Midsomer’s residents have lived their entire lives in isolated, close-knit communities. The local landowner and the local dustman often grew up together. They also often share a secret trauma from their youth (many of which, of course, involve sex). When Inspector Barnaby is at a standstill because there seems to be no motive for a murder, he invariably finds a faded photograph that links the victims. Then he hears a tragic story that explains everything. In one episode a women methodically kills off the local church bell ringers because her ancestor was killed by bell ringers 140 years ago! In Midsomer, the past is neither forgotten nor forgiven.

While the motive for murder in Midsomer is usually sex or some long-past trauma, the process of investigating a violent crime also invariably uncovers those “little” sins that are less dramatic, but somehow more disturbing. For example, the town gossip who enjoys watching people suffer; the local doctor who sees nothing wrong with trading prescription drugs for affection; the matron whose self-worth is based on the tidiness of her hedgerows. The townsfolk of Midsomer are so corrupt that even hobbies like gardening and photography can bring out the desire to bash the competition over the head with a blunt instrument. When Barnaby’s wife wants to move out of the city and into one of the local hamlets, the inspector is shocked. “Every time I go into some Midsomer village it’s always the same thing,” he protests. “Blackmail, sexual deviancy, suicide, and murder. How could you possibly expect me to go live in one of them!”

While Midsomer Murders probably isn’t any more violent than, for example, Law and Order: SVU, its worldview is bleaker. Almost every episode features the ubiquitous local vicarage, but there is little indication that anyone, including the vicar, has any belief in a transcendent God. On the rare occasion that an evangelical Christian shows up, he or she is invariably portrayed as an intolerant fanatic with a secret sexual fetish — or just plain crazy. And since faith is portrayed only as a crutch for the weak-minded or a weapon of psychological manipulation, any kind of real redemption is impossible. In the end, there is nothing else but what this life offers and the best a person can do is try to be pleasant, tidy, and kind — and not toss their neighbor into a well. God cannot redeem or forgive because God does not exist. Life in Midsomer is hopeless.

But while Midsomer Murders‘ view of life is unrelentingly bleak, it is also undergirded by an intuitive morality. Regardless of how depraved the local inhabitants are, Inspector Barnaby’s entire worldview is predicated on the assumption that life is better than death, order is better than chaos, and avoiding deviant secrets is the best way to preserve one’s sanity. The pathetic lives of Midsomer’s residents are a graphic illustration that living a life of surreptitious sin is its own punishment—a kind of life sentence in a white-washed prison that is rotting from the inside.

In his excellent book Televised Morality: The Case of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Gregory Stevenson asserts that there is a big difference between a television show’s portrayal of sin and its perspective on that sin. A TV series, film, or book can portray multiple sinful acts (and end up at the top of some conservative group’s “Don’t Watch” list) but it can also have a perspective that consistently communicates the negative consequences of those actions. It is possible for a family comedy to never utter a single profanity, yet insidiously promote materialism and selfishness, while a much more graphic crime drama can consistently demonstrate the idea that sin has consequences.

It is this perspective on morality that I find fascinating. It is the fact that even in a place like Midsomer — a place that denies transcendent truth and graphically portrays human depravity — some things are still true. Sex, unrestrained by decency and morality, can kill. The past can come back to haunt you. And sin is the natural trajectory of the human soul. These life lessons are the consequences of living in a fallen world. But while the culture-at-large can try to marginalize faith as a refuge for the weak-minded, there will always be some tiny piece of the imago dei that longs for justice and virtue. Even in Midsomer.

Whenever I think back to my junior high days, I get sort of squeamish. I was a girl so afraid of being left out that I tried to be like the crowd rather than chance drawing negative attention. Although that may have prevented some potential rejection, it also set up a pattern of living life as less-than myself.

For me, the maturation process—into adulthood as well as into a Christ follower—has been the slow emergence of the true me. God is gently coaxing me to be who He made me to be—no more, no less.

When I saw this print ad for Cigna, a health and life insurance provider, I could relate to its message.

The print piece is part of the new Go You campaign that tells Cigna customers they will be seen and treated as individuals. The Go You campaign takes on matters of heart and identity with copy phrases like these:

“Why would you want to be like someone else? It’s exhausting just trying to be yourself.”

“It’s not always easy to show the world who you really are. But it’s healthy.”

“Deep inside you there’s a person who refuses to be kept deep inside you.”

“When you are running at 100%, you have the strength and confidence to be 100% you.”

The Go You campaign speaks to a deeper truth of the Christian life: I am called to live a full and vibrant life as the person God created me to be. If I am busy trying to be someone else or hiding who I really am, the world misses out on the unique way God is reflected in me as His image bearer. That diminishes God’s glory and prevents me from living authentically.

I also liked how the Go You TV spot brought the often hidden parts of our deepest selves to life:

Wouldn’t that be something if we dressed to show the world our gifts and passions? It’s not likely the Go You campaign will result in us wearing costumes to give outward expression to the truest inward self. But in some way, deep down inside, don’t you want to?

Here’s to living life free in Christ. Go you.

What show should you be watching that you probably aren’t already? NBC’s Parenthood, a dramatically careful and remarkably relevant drama that manages to be touching without feeling forced or manipulative. The obvious selling point is that it provides a gripping storyline that doesn’t feel overly melodramatic, and keeps us watching primarily because the characters are fleshed out and likeable. All of those things are enough to make the show worth watching.

One of the most fascinating things about Parenthood is how it manages to deal respectfully and tactfully with problems that typically remain under the surface. Whether we’re embarrassed or just don’t want to burden others, sometimes we just don’t jump at the chance to talk about what we’re going through with others. This is especially odd considering the huge impact they have on us when we are experiencing them.

In Parenthood, individuals lead very different lives, but they are connected by an intense respect for family – even extended family. It’s in this context of trust that the issues float to the surface – a crucial step in every case, because it’s clear that going through these things alone wasn’t working.

A nod to the fact that no man (or family) is an island is all well and good, but it’s par for the course – the startling development that has me watching every week is the degree to which the show instills in me a deep sense of empathy for its’ characters. When Max, a young child suffering from Asberger Syndrome, experiences a setback, you experience a similar heartbreak as his parents do, because you’ve been there with them for years now along with his slow climb to normalcy. You find yourself aching for Crosby, who wants little more than to provide a normal nuclear family for his son, despite the constant barriers to that goal. A couple wants to have another child, but find themselves unable. Now they are desperate to adopt. All they can do is wait.

Television’s great contribution is the gift of prolonged staring. I know people in situations like these. Some I consider myself to be extremely close with – but I rarely have the occasion to stare into their lives in the way I’m staring into this extended family’s life. This family may not be real, but their problems and experiences are very real. Part of the show’s genius is that they keep everything grounded – instead of  swelling music or exaggerated dialogue they let the problems and the fallout speak for themselves. This family gives me a context for practicing empathy – not just for a fake television family, but for families like them in similar situations.

Television gets a bad name, primarily because it’s so good at supporting stuff that is unequivocally dumb. Still, underneath that thick layer of dirt is something beautiful. There are several television shows being produced that could be worth the time, but the common factor of almost all of them is that they take a certain amount of work and commitment. They take an investment.

But that’s the beauty of the thing: like real relationships, getting to know these characters in a way that makes them seem real and empathetic requires a determination to do just that. Fortunately, the lack of actual relationships means we can learn about people in a detached way. We can discuss their lives with others without gossiping. We can study people. The key, though, is that we have to find the right shows.

You’re not going to do that by channel surfing. Channel surfing is an outdated practice that Christians would do well to abandon. It’s dangerous, it’s inefficient, and it results in your watching things merely to pass the time, rather than redeem it. Instead, we should be purposeful in our television watching, choosing carefully the shows we invest in and making a plan ahead of time for how we will watch them.

I named this column The Televangelist because I’m passionate about the medium, and I wanted to tell you about some of the ways it has helped me, and can help you. This will come primarily in the form of my spotlighting individual episodic television shows every week. I do a lot of watching on Hulu Plus and Netflix – I watch almost nothing in real-time. Some of what I talk about will be up-to-date, and other stuff will be years late. Ultimately, I’m just trying to talk about some of the shining moments in television, as well as some things that are less than shining.

Hopefully, though, every week we’ll be able to sit back and look at some of that stuff we take for granted and think deeply about it. The plot twists, the competition outcomes, the characters and the cliffhangers – all of this is going to come up. And while Christians shouldn’t feel a responsibility to watch everything we talk about, my hope is that eventually you’ll be able to look at much of it and declare simply that it is good.

Ikea does lots of things right. It has funky home furnishings at decent prices. It has that mesmerizing cart escalator. It has a nursery for kids. And now it has Manland for men.

That’s right. Now women can drop off their men in Manland so they can have 30 minutes of man-less shopping. Here’s how it works: Upon signing your man into Manland, you receive a beeper that will buzz after 30 minutes, prompting you to return and pick up your guy. Watch the promo from Ikea here:

I like the idea of Manland. A lounge with games and snacks where men can relax while their female counterparts shop—who doesn’t like food and fun? What I don’t like is the sense that these men are being checked into preschool.

For the past century women have pursued equality of the sexes, and rightly so. But many messages in the marketplace today speak highly of women by way of demeaning men. The way Ikea has positioned and promoted Manland is an example of this.

Lest my disdain is seen as an overreaction, let me propose the converse: a major shopping outlet introduces Womanland, a place where the man can drop off his woman for 30 minutes of woman-less shopping while she watches soaps and eats bonbons until his beeper buzzes and he is reminded to return to pick her up. What woman would not find this utterly degrading?

Negative messages abound in the marketplace depicting men as helpless and shallow. Ikea’s Manland is not the greatest offender, by any means. (I believe TV sitcoms to be the worst.) But just as men—and especially Christian men—should be first to stand up and defend the dignity of women, so too should women defend the dignity of men. Christian women should not align with this sort of man-bashing messaging because we know that God’s image is stamped on men and women alike. “Then God said, ‘Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness . . .’; God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them” (Gen. 1:26–27, NASB).

We uphold God’s image by protecting the dignity of both sexes. This message is contrary to the marketplace today. The way I see it, Jesus’ respectful treatment of women was countercultural in His day just as our respectful treatment of men is countercultural today. Honoring God’s image bearers, both male and female, is another way we can follow the Lord’s lead rather than the way of our culture.

Mad Men is “character driven,” but it is a show about the death of character. It is consistently the depiction of how 19^th C. American theologian W.G.T. Shedd defines sin: “the suicidal action of the human will against itself.” The nature of sin involves not just disobedience to divine command, but also the destruction of who we were created to be as persons. True flourishing requires boundaries, while radical freedom—the usurpation of boundaries—leads to a kind of spiritual suicide. In the post-war period, Americans may have been free of external constraints, but what our culture has often underestimated is this persistent tendency to freely bind ourselves to enslaving desires.

These themes related to freedom are especially apparent given the show’s setting: the libertine ‘60’s, amidst the onset of the consumer culture of choice. We learn first thing that “Mad Men” was a term “coined in the late 1950’s to describe the advertising executives of Madison Avenue.” Don Draper and his colleagues are in the business of advertising. “Sterling Cooper’s” business ethics revolve around the bottom line. They will advertise for any business—no matter its practices—and will advertise a product with any message that will increase the likelihood of potential profit, no matter the legitimacy of the advertisement.

And, fittingly, Don is the head of “creative”—the department responsible for coming up with attractive witticisms to allure consumers to products. This, of course, is primarily achieved by convincing consumers that a particular product will usher their lives into fulfillment. Don’s “creative” team is tasked with crafting an attractive veneer for products which more than likely cannot deliver on their primary selling point: a more fulfilling life. That is, the advertising agency is often in the business of creating false identities for products—identities that do not properly fit their products’ true purposes. But it is not just products that these mad men can mold into something they’re not; they are adept at creating a deceptively attractive, but false, identity for themselves, too.

Don and nearly all of his colleagues are “veneer selves”; they create seemingly attractive identities for themselves, but, in this case, it is they—much like the consumers of their products—who are deceived. They dress the part of success; they have trophy wives and homes; they are intelligent and witty; they party hard and begin drinking alcohol from noon on; in short, they avail themselves to most any pleasure. Though each character has reached it to varying degree, almost every major character is in pursuit of the status which accompanies success for different reasons, and none of them are in the business of lasting satisfaction. In this world, contentment is a vice, but the trouble is that for these mad men, contentment is elusive outside of the workplace, too. Thus, lasting external commitments become burdensome constraints on the self’s ceaseless pursuit of desire-fulfillment. And this is where the veneer of the American Dream—of supposedly total self-creation and the pursuit of happiness—is revealed for the façade that it is, especially if by “the pursuit of happiness” we mean the pursuit of personal pleasure without boundary or limit.

Perhaps the best example of a character we sympathize with, but who becomes fragmented by her partly just pursuit of “freedom” is Peggy Olson. Her rapid rise from Don’s secretary (which is the role of most of the women at the Madison Avenue offices) to a copywriter with her own office provides one of the most intriguing character developments over the course of the show’s first four seasons. Peggy desires to be treated with respect and admiration in a time when the workforce is still largely dominated by male chauvinism. Peggy recognizes that something is wrong with the world she sees around her, and gives voice to the problems we recognize along with her: “Innocent people get hurt, and other people—people who are not good—get to walk around doing whatever they want.”

Yet, despite her admirable rise to success, Peggy’s assessment of things has a tinge of naiveté and even hypocrisy. She is continually dissatisfied. She craves more respect, more recognition, and more leadership status. Peggy’s singular pursuit of her personal rights and what she is “owed” alienates her from her family, from a potential marriage, and from her totally unexpected child, who is the product of an office affair with then-engaged Pete Campbell.

When she achieves at least some semblance of the “freedom” that the mad men around her have, what will she do with it? Whatever she wants? Will she simply become more like them? It does seem like she’s on the path toward being more concerned with personal success and immediate pleasures, as evidenced by her never-satisfied lust for recognition and power, and as evidenced by her affair with alcoholic Duck Phillips. Near the end of the latest season, Peggy even hints at recognizing the onset of her own madness when she confides to Don, “Sometimes I can’t tell the difference between what is good and awful.” To which Don, ever the source of ethical wisdom, replies, “It’s a fine line.”

Despite my sarcasm, there is perhaps some unwitting wisdom in Don’s reply; his sense of the line between good and awful is still fuzzy, and it is the result of his consistently pursuing the “awful” and paying the consequences. He is truly the maddest of men in his unremitting pursuit of lavish, pleasure, and respect. And, yet, his madness it not primarily a symptom of his pleasure-pursuing, but is instead a symptom of his not seeing anything wrong or self-damaging with it. Yet, we also sympathize with Don’s seeming ignorance, because we also get a glimpse of the background circumstances which may have led to his unrestrained behavior.

His whole identity—right down to his name—is self-constructed. Born of a prostitute to an abusive and negligent father, Richard “Dick” Whitman would not become Don Draper until he stole the name from his fellow dead lieutenant who was due to return home from the Korean War. Don avoids further combat, returns home, and begins to build a life for himself founded on his stolen identity. He has in mind the total erasure of his humble and destructive beginnings. There is a very profound motivation in Don that he does not want to be defined by his childhood circumstances or his father, and he sees his free-wheeling behavior not as self-destructive but as earned fulfillment. But is his re-creation of himself the answer to bringing salvation to his bastard beginnings?

No, total self-creation doesn’t work for Don. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot simply avoid his ugly past, or the lie upon which he has re-constructed his identity. One of Don’s lone remaining family members—his brother—reenters his life, and simply desires to reconnect with his family by being a part of Don’s life. But rather than embrace his brother and his past, Don tries to shut the truth of his past out by sending his brother away with money.

But even apart from the past’s persistence, Don’s new constructed life is not a pretty picture. He consistently has affairs with countless women behind his wife, Betty’s back. One of the women with whom he has an affair sarcastically tells Don that she is sorry his life is “in a million pieces.” Don’s personal fragmentation reaps social fragmentation, as well. Don’s infidelity slowly erodes any semblance of intimacy he has with Betty. After she discovers both his cheating ways and that he is not even “Don Draper,” Betty divorces Don to marry another man. The consequences for their children—especially their daughter—are significant. Apparently, instead of coherence and fulfillment, total self-creation only makes for a fragmented self, with jagged pieces capable of sharply cutting anyone who draws near. But toward the end of the latest season, he starts to recognize this. He at least comes to the realization that he needs to learn to gain control of his emotions and desires—he hints at the realization that freedom involves self-mastery.

In one odd but telling delusional dream, Don’s father appears to him and, in a derisive tone, says, “You can’t be tied down. . . . What do you make? You grow bull—-!” Of course, the “bull—-” alludes to the false advertisements which come and go for products which come and go. But it is not just Don’s work which is largely a veneer for waste; so, too, is Don’s life. By avoiding significant commitments and trampling boundaries, Don is not truly flourishing. His existence is characterized by the gradually disintegrative commitment of what he later finds out his turned-away brother has made literal: suicide.

In one scene, one of Don’s young mistresses asks him, “Why would you deny yourself something you want?”

The answer, of course, is because boundaries create flourishing; what we think we want may ironically be what disintegrates us as persons—our own spiritual suicide.

With new seasons of Mad Men upcoming, the question remains whether any of these mad men will fully recognize their own madness for what it is. In other words, will any of these mad men find the soundness of judgment—particularly judicious self-restraint—which is characteristic of truly free will—and of sanity?

People love contests. Especially contests that give cash prizes. Miracle Whip got this part right in
their contest titled Not for Every Relationship. The winner is awarded $25,000. So far, so good.

Then things get goopy.

Submissions are via video, in which contestants are to explain how Miracle Whip has either
enhanced or destroyed their relationship. Contest rules state: “Tell us your story in 60 seconds or
less for a chance to win $25K towards your wedding . . . or divorce.”

It’s possible that many of the submissions were couples simply trying to be the most entertaining
in order to win the prize. And I doubt that couples going to divorce court would site Miracle
Whip as the cause of irreconcilable differences.

Yes, this contest is all in good fun. I realize Miracle Whip just wanted a fun way to juxtapose its
adoring fans with those who prefer plain old mayonnaise.

The part I am uncomfortable with the casual way in which marriage and divorce are presented.
Getting a divorce for any reason is devastating to everyone involved (always at the top of the list
of life’s most stressful events). This contest suggests that a divorce over condiment preferences is
something comical.

In real life, with your friends and family, when has divorce ever been casual or humorous?

This is advertising’s formula for success: making light of something serious and making grave
something that isn’t. But beyond the marketing hype, the message is what we need to judge.
That’s why discernment is needed, because those messages may be packaged within a humorous
contest, making things palatable that never would be otherwise.

So be sure to check what the advertising machine is feeding you—it may go down with a giggle
but it will have its revenge upon the way we approach very serious matters in life.

Depicting the fallout from the collapse of family life in Middle America, this suburban Texas drama unfolds via the roles filled by Eric Taylor (Kyle Chandler) as high school football coach, and his wife Tami Taylor (Connie Britton) as high school guidance counselor/principal. When the scrutiny involved with Coach Taylor’s job seems overwhelming, it is repeatedly the reliability of his marriage to Tami in which he finds respite. But the Taylors’ marital promise to one another also creates a social/moral ecology in Dylan that goes beyond simply sustaining one another amidst life’s mounting pressures; it creates a refuge for the hurting people around them. And, indeed, a cursory glance at the main characters and their familial circumstances reveals that the primary source of their turmoil is in their lacking precisely the type of covenantal enclave that the Taylors enjoy.

Matt Saracen (Zach Gilford) lives with his grandmother who is suffering from Alzheimer’s. He must take care of his grandmother (and himself) alone because his father is in Iraq on military duty. Meanwhile, Matt’s mother left him when he was just a boy. Prideful star running back Brian “Smash” Williams (Gaius Charles) comes from a single parent home with no father figure in sight and sees football as a gateway to create some semblance of dignity and security for his family. Brooding and regularly-drunk fullback Tim Riggins (Taylor Kitsch) lives with his irresponsible older brother – together abandoned by their parents. The lead cheerleader, Lyla Garrity (Minka Kelly), experiences the destructive pain of her parents’ divorce after it is discovered that her father, Buddy (Brad Leland), has been cheating on his wife with the single mother of the other leading high school lady, Tyra Collette (Adrianne Palicki). Tyra’s older sister is a stripper at the local club, and their father is nowhere in sight. This trend has continued with the newest batch of characters in the last two seasons as evidenced by Vince’s troublesome home life with a father freshly out of prison and a mother freshly out of drug rehabilitation.

These fractured families are but the foundational beginnings of these high schoolers’ problems. In various (often salacious) ways, these young characters consistently lack self-restraint because they come from homes where the boundaries necessary have been obstructed for various reasons related to selfishness. The Taylors function as binding parental figures, providing the structures of love that only the powers of promise-keeping can construct. Between the promise-keeping implicit in the Taylors’ marriage and the brokenness exhibited by nearly all of the main high school characters under their care, a sharp contrast is formed which allows the viewer to fully consider what it means for freedom to be intimately bound with responsibility.

One of the most haunting scenes which exhibits these themes is when Coach Taylor throws drunken and depressed Matt Saracen into a bath tub. In an emotionally charged scene, Coach confronts Matt’s uncharacteristic irresponsibility saying, “A lot of people rely on you to make right decisions . . . and you had better stop being so damn selfish and start making them.” After alluding to his father having left him, the Coach’s daughter, Julie, having dumped him for another guy, and Coach briefly having left him for a college football team, Matt, amidst sobs and tears, yells in response under the pouring water, “Everybody leaves me!” He pauses and wonders out loud, “What is wrong with me?”

The late Lewis B. Smedes – a highly regarded former professor of theology and ethics at Fuller Theological Seminary – asserts in his 1983 article, “Controlling the Unpredictable – The Power of Promising,” that “[w]hen we make a promise we take it on our feeble wills to keep a future rendezvous with someone in circumstances we cannot possibly predict. We take it on ourselves to create our future with someone else no matter what fate or destiny may have in store. This is almost ultimate freedom.” The marital covenant between a husband and wife is perhaps the most significant example of a “sanctuary of trust.” Smedes goes on to say that, in the act of promising, “[w]e limit our freedom so that we can be free to be there with someone in his future’s unpredictable storms.” The marital covenant is so powerful not simply because of the power of the promise between husband and wife, but also because of the freedom this promise affords the married couple to be a unified, generative force to the hurting people around them. Smedes alludes to this relationship between promise-keeping and community life when he asserts, “We can have a human community only if persons within are able to keep the thread of their identity amid all their life’s passages. A person, in the long run, gets this identity from the promises he makes.”

One criticism which some people have made of the Taylors’ marriage is that the family’s life revolves almost exclusively around Eric Taylor. That Tami is affectionately referred to as “Mrs. Coach” is, for some viewers, a devaluing of Tami as a person under the shadow of her husband. For a coach who consistently demands sacrifices of his players, Eric seems, at times, to require more sacrifices of his family than he’s willing to make for them. While the criticism is understandable, it seems slightly misguided in that it presumes that Tami wishes throughout most of the duration of the show’s story arc to be somewhere other than Dylan, and it presumes that she does not ultimately find the highest value in her identity as her husband’s wife.

On the contrary, Tami seems to flourish in the role as Coach’s wife. Tami’s being called “Mrs. Coach” is not simply her being defined by her husband, but, rather, it is that she has quite the similar identity and passion that her husband does. As guidance counselor, principal, wife, and mother, Tami is a “coach” in her own right to countless teenagers in Dylan – and, at times, to her husband, too. Conversely, Eric seems to gain an increasing willingness to counsel his players because of the influence of his wife. While personal ambition is often a source of marital conflict in modern society, what matters is not that Eric and Tami avoid all such conflict, but that their commitment to one another always sustains them in the midst of conflict, and that the high value they place on this commitment will always bring them together to a resolution. The object of one’s personal ambition – a career, a goal, a hobby – may fade, but finding one’s identity in a promise kept to another person is of supreme value because it will not change – even if everything else is falling apart.

For these reasons, there has been no finer example on television of an authentic and committed marriage as the one between Coach Taylor and Tami. It’s not that they don’t experience their own parenting problems with their daughter, Julie, or that they do not experience their own marital valleys. Rather, when these problems threaten to collapse their commitments, they have an anchor to remain steady. They are, undoubtedly, the key to the show’s story arc. This is because they – being nearly the only thriving marriage depicted on the show – are the one constant in the Dylan community in the midst of life’s confusing sorrows. On Smedes’s terms, the Taylors are a sanctuary of trust in the midst of a community beset with brokenness. Because of their undying devotion to one another, Coach and “Mrs. Coach” can afford to be hospitable when nearly every home in town lacks the quality of sustainment that makes genuine personhood, family life, and neighborliness possible.

I find Stewart’s “The Daily Show” to be one of the funniest programs on television. Its consistent wit is particularly impressive given its multiple nights-a-week format. Comparable programs, like night-time talk shows, do not reach the same level of quality consistently. My own political views do not align with the general tenor of “The Daily Show,” but humor is one of the most effective ways to bridge—at least momentarily—many divides. I can laugh even when I disagree; such a statement is not meant as a compliment to my own thinking but to the ability of “The Daily Show” through comedy to overcome my opposing perspective.

In the “Fox News Sunday” format, we saw another side of Stewart distinct from his satire. Stewart for several years has sought a position as a sort of accountability-holder of news stations. Stewart’s position as serious guardian of real news/commentary seems to originate in his 2004 take-down of Tucker Carlson on CNN’s “Crossfire.” I found the episode ultimately embarrassing for both, though the more prevalent opinion focuses only on Carlson’s nagging and whiny performance. The encounter catapulted Stewart from merely funny commentator to almost Swiftian levels of perceived brilliance. He was more than a funny guy with a funny show making jokes about the news. His humor and his serious statements were deep commentaries on politics, often trusted more than true news outlets (not to mention becoming the only source of news for many).

Yet in Sunday’s format, certain recurring problems arose. Stewart is not nearly as good of an interviewee as he is interviewer. This is especially true outside comedic settings. Part of the issue may simply be control. When you are on “The Daily Show,” Stewart is in command. You do not try to out-funny him and few who try succeed. His statements also depend on quick wit dispensing pithy commentary. Reversing the tables, especially in a contentious format, can make a big difference. Notably here, his arguments suffered. Gone was most of the pith; in was a lot of hazy logic. His argument that Fox News is the only truly activist, agenda driven news organization while others are merely lazy and sensationalist rang pretty hollow. His answer to the status of MSNBC, which he claimed is trying to be like Fox News but somehow is not “activist” (a term he was unclear about) as Fox is, sounded like hair splitting. In general, his answers here seemed to partake of the same partisan blindness he attributed to Fox News, making what could be legitimate criticisms lose much of their force.

He also made broad generalizations about Fox News as a whole, saying they were ideologues receiving marching orders, implicitly from conservatives and Republicans. Yet Stewart no sooner made it than he began to backtrack when Chris Wallace asked point-blank if Stewart thought he (Wallace) was receiving marching orders. Oh, no, Chris. Fox has you to keep some semblance of credibility. It’s everyone else at the network. (Side note: he also said in other places that he liked Brett Baier and several other Fox News personalities. This further clouds his argument).

Another problem was Stewart’s tone. For the man who conducted a rally for civility, his testy condescension seemed out of place. In large part, his tone appeared to be the transfer of comic satire to serious discussion. What gets lost in translation is the comedy. What does not is the bite. Yet the bite without the comedy loses its charm. It instead leans toward defensiveness, arrogance, and even pettiness. His consistent declarations that what he did was so much harder, or that someone like Chris Wallace (his pandering to Wallace aside) and those at Fox were too blind to understand him while he was so easily able to peg them was presented in a manner that reflected more on the speaker than the listener.

When Stewart does struggle, as he did at times in this interview, he often resorts to the argument that he is a comedian, not a news commentator. He was confronted with this argument, with Wallace bringing up the claim that Stewart hides behind this assertion when it is convenient. Stewart’s retort was only partly satisfactory. While he can be a comedian first but not only, it seems hard to deny that he seeks and embraces a role much broader and more serious than he ascribes to himself. It is also hard to say that his main object is absurdity (as he claims) and not a comedic portrayal of a partisan agenda. Only toward the end of the interview did the conversation take some serious and interesting turns. But while hopeful, this seemed too little too late.

All of this discussion of Sunday’s interview is to say that Jon Stewart, in the final analysis, is a great comedian; “The Daily Show” is a great program. Stewart gives fine satirical commentary which, like all great comedy, reveals a legitimate and often true perspective on human society. But viewers should be careful to recognize the limits to this approach. Stewart’s humor, while occupying an important place, is no substitute for serious, civil discussion. Satire, when too dominant, becomes the tool of cynicism and the enemy of a needed gravity in public discourse. And when Stewart moves beyond humor, the results are too often as unimpressive as they are (un-comically) cynical. Unless he learns better how to distinguish the proper discourse in different formats, and do them both effectively, he should stick to “The Daily Show.”