Bob Larson.

Pam has the story—he’s an evil evangelist whose scam is to snooker people into coughing up wads of cash for his “exorcism” services. He’s a first rate kook, a flaming wicked con artist who may well be so deluded that he actually believes in his own magic powers, but who cares? He’s nuts. His followers are nuts. Most Christians aren’t going to complain if you point out that he’s a loon—most are going to be vaguely embarrassed by these fringe quacks flourishing within their religion.

This picture, though, is not from the Bob Larson article.

Palms upraised and eyes closed, the workers sit in silent adoration around a conference table as religious music plays on a laptop computer. One member suddenly drops to his knees in rapt devotion.

That’s from the front page of today’s Star Tribune, part of a longish article on the growing practice of flaunting faith in the workplace. It’s a non-judgmental article that mentions that “The Twin Cities is becoming a leader in the application of faith at work,” gives lots of of space to the Christian advocates, and only briefly acknowledges that members of minority religions might find it somewhat oppressive. It fails to mention the central point: these people are nuts.

I don’t see anything to distinguish a Twin Cities CEO saying they need to “Lead like Jesus” and Bob Larson admonishing everyone to “Do What Jesus Did.” It’s people who believe in magical thinking and create an environment in the workplace to pressure other sheep to go along—they believe in stupid things and are spreading the Stupid Word. I think this is a bigger problem than the Bob Larsons of the planet; this is the work that paves the way for greater and greater foolishness, and it’s generally given a pass or even encouragement.

Let’s stop, OK? Can we please start asking pointed questions of all these rubbish spreading clowns and make them feel at least a little bit uncomfortable about their foolishness?

August Berkshire of Minnesota Atheists gave a talk at Northwestern College, one of our regional evangelical Christian colleges, and the Star Tribune has a story about it. He gave the students a list of very poor religious rationalizations—it’s a strange and interesting story, and a little sad, since the students don’t seem to have learned anything at all.

There are also peculiar little twists to everything that reflect how blinkered people can be. Berkshire was invited by the instructor in a theology class, and look how unaware this guy is:

Johnson told the group that his association with Berkshire began when a student went to a debate at the University of Minnesota and brought him Berkshire’s card. “I had a strong urge to call him up and tell him to leave my student alone,” Johnson said. “But I was curious, too — I’d never really rubbed shoulders with an atheist.

Isn’t that odd? The student had gone to a debate and met Berkshire, and the instructor’s first thought is to tell the atheist to leave the poor kid alone. And then for a theology teacher to have never met an atheist…these people are all hothouse flowers, aren’t they? They get brought up in avoidance of anything that might challenge their delicate beliefs.

He shouldn’t have worried. There’s a series of student responses at the end of the article, and it’s clear that they have all developed very strong denial mechanisms, and not a word sunk in.

“I appreciated that he was very approachable, not hostile,” said Andrew Olson, 20, of Long Prairie, after class. “I was curious about his motivations, though. Why was he here? I felt like he came to try to convince us there is no God, even though he said he hadn’t.

Yeah, and like he didn’t have fangs and claws or anything. I thought the article clearly laid out why he was there: the instructor invited him, and as usual, August laid out his case quite clearly:

Berkshire told the students he wasn’t trying to talk them out of their beliefs. “I don’t care if you accept my arguments or not,” he said. “I just want to show you that yours are based on faith, not reason. And that’s OK, as long as you don’t try to force them on me or our government.”

Pay attention, take better notes, and think, kid.

“I wanted to ask him more about the Bible, if he thinks it’s all deluded,” Olson said. “He groups all religions together. I’d have liked to discuss the merits of salvation by grace, a truly unique concept.”

Maybe thinking isn’t an option, then. He didn’t follow Berkshire’s points 1 and 2. “Salvation by grace” is nothing but unjustified dogma, a bit of empty noise. I am a little curious what possible arguments he would use to justify it, but I suspect it would be nothing but a bunch of quoted Bible verses.

Krista Baysinger, 20, of Benson, Minn., said, “I really enjoyed it. He was noncondemning and presented his arguments well. But nothing he said shook my faith — not at all. Actually, this is a way to help us strengthen what we believe, by thinking it through.”

Unfortunately, none of the students quoted are actually thinking.

Betty Kraus, 20, of Prior Lake, wondered why Berkshire “has invested so much of his life in this. I mean, he comes in and lays out argument after argument that he wouldn’t accept from us. What would he have us do?”

Wait a moment…a student who has enrolled in a Bible college is wondering about an atheist spending so much of his life on something? Does she think he spent his childhood going to atheist school on Sundays and atheist camp in the summer, after high school he went off to atheist college to get a degree in atheism, and now goes to atheist services a couple of times a week and sings in the atheist choir? These kids really need to get more exposure to the non-Christian life.

Oh, well. One can always hope that there were a few kids there who were using their brains…but they were probably not the ones who would glibly parrot a string of rationalizations to the reporter afterwards.