SCIENTISTS LOCATE ' GOD SPOT ' IN HUMAN BRAIN

Science can't say whether God represents a loving, vengeful or nonexistent being. But researchers have revealed for the first time how such religious beliefs trigger different parts of the brain.
Brain scans showed that participants fell back on higher thought patterns when reacting to religious statements, whether trying to figure out God's thoughts and emotions or thinking about metaphorical meaning behind religious teachings.
"That suggests that religion is not a special case of a belief system, but evolved along with other belief and social cognitive abilities," said Jordan Grafman, a cognitive neuroscientist at the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke in Bethesda, Maryland.
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Such results fit with previous research which shows that no single "God spot" exists in the brain. Both believers and nonbelievers participated in the new study, detailed in this week's issue of the journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

A first part of the study established a range or spectrum of religious beliefs relating to God's perceived involvement in this world, God's perceived emotion, and personal experiences as opposed to abstract doctrine. The second part examined how participants responded to religious statements reflecting those beliefs, with the help of fMRI scanners.
The brain scans showed that people use known, higher-function brain regions to sort out their thoughts on God and religion. For instance, parts of the brain linked with theory of mind (ToM) lit up when trying to understand a supposedly detached God's intentions – although individual minds varied wildly when pondering a more involved God.
A possible explanation: "Probably because we would tend to use theory of mind when we were puzzled, concerned, or threatened by another’s behavior," Grafman told LiveScience.

People again relied on theory of mind, as well as brain regions that detect emotion through facial expression and language, when they read statements reflecting God's anger. Statements of God's love stimulated regions connected with positive emotions and suppression of sadness
Unsurprisingly, statements of religious doctrine activated parts of the brain that help decode metaphor and abstractness. That contrasted with statements reflecting religious experience, which prodded the brain to retrieve memories and imagery of self in action.
Even statements that believers or nonbelievers disagreed with produced intriguing results.
"Reading a statement that you have been asked to compare your own personal beliefs with certainly will activate your own belief system," Grafman pointed out. He and his colleagues observed brain regions relating to disgust or conflict lighting up in response.
One question that remains unanswered is whether religion evolved as a central functional preoccupation for human brains in early societies, or whether it simply relied on brain regions which had evolved for other types of thought-processing.
Future research may also try to see if human brains respond similarly for different religions, given that this study focused only on Western Christian beliefs.
"The more interesting studies will wind up comparing different belief systems with similar dimensions to see if they also activate the same brain areas," Grafman said. "If they do, we can better define why those brain areas evolved in humans."

SUPPORTERS OF ' ANTI-CHRIST ' MINISTER PROTEST MIAMI-DADE JUDGES; PROTEST AGAINST HIS PERSECUTION

Wearing white T-shirts emblazoned with ''666'', about a dozen followers of Jose Luis de Jesus Miranda, the Miami-based minister who proclaimed himself the Antichrist, protested his ''persecution'' by the justice system in front of the family courthouse on Tuesday.
Last year, after a bitter divorce that featured dueling claims of lesbianism and physical abuse, Miami-Dade judge Roberto Pineiro awarded more than $2.2 million to the minister's ex-wife, Josefina de Jesus Torres.
In his ruling, Pineiro determined that de Jesus' Growing in Grace church was a personal business, rather than a religious nonprofit, so the ex-wife was entitled to half of its assets.
Jo-Ann de Jesus, the minister's daughter who also handles the church's finances, said the judge based his decision on a ''prejudice against my dad'' and not on evidence.
De Jesus and her father's followers are hoping to get the multimillion dollar judgement overturned.
Pineiro could not be reached for comment Tuesday afternoon.
The minister, who claimed his teachings have replaced those of Jesus Christ and therefore he should be known as the Antichrist, has refused to pay up.
He has been ''moving around a lot lately'', his daughter said, to avoid the arrest warrant issued against him for contempt.
''My father is afraid if he is captured, people will sell their houses to help him because they love him so much,'' she said.
Many of de Jesus' followers say his clash with the secular justice system is further proof that he is the Second Coming. The original Messiah also faced significant legal difficulties, they note.
''It just makes me more secure,'' said 38-year-old de Jesus follower Angel Toro. ``His persecution means he's really divine.''
While de Jesus cannot preach before a live congregation for fear of being dragged away in handcuffs, he still records video sermons that are broadcast to more than 20 nations through a sister church in Colombia, his daughter said. In explaining his decision to treat de Jesus' and the church's finances as one, the judge wrote that de Jesus ``dominates the ministry like only a god can. . . . In what other corporation does the board of directors literally worship the president?''
De Jesus exploded into popularity -- and controversy -- in the past few years after he declared himself to be Christ. His ministry, Growing in Grace, quickly expanded to more than 300 churches in 30 countries. Eventually, de Jesus amended his title to Antichrist and he, his ex-wife and many followers got tattooed with the number of the beast, a practice that generated headlines worldwide.

15% OF AMERICANS HAVE NO RELIGION; FEWER CALL THEMSELVES CHRISTIAN; NON DENOMINATIONAL IDENTIFICATION INCREASES; STUDY OF U.S RELIGION

The percentage of Americans who call themselves Christians has dropped dramatically over the past two decades, and those who do are increasingly identifying themselves without traditional denomination labels, according to a major study of U.S. religion being released today.

The survey of more than 54,000 people conducted between February and November of last year showed that the percentage of Americans identifying as Christians has dropped to 76 percent of the population, down from 86 percent in 1990. Those who do call themselves Christian are more frequently describing themselves as "nondenominational" "evangelical" or "born again," according to the American Religious Identification Survey.
The survey is conducted by researchers at Trinity College in Hartford, Conn., and funded by the Lilly Endowment and the Posen Foundation. Conducted in 1990, 2001 and last year, it is one of the nation's largest major surveys of religion.

The increase in people labeling themselves in more generic Christian terms corresponds strongly with the decline in people identifying themselves as Protestant, the survey found. People calling themselves mainline Protestants, including Methodists and Lutherans, have dropped to 13 percent of the population, down from 19 percent in 1990. The number of people who describe themselves as generically "Protestant" went from approximately 17 million in 1990 to 5 million.
Meanwhile, the number of people who use nondenominational terms has gone from 194,000 in 1990 to more than 8 million.
"There is now this shift in the non-Catholic population -- and maybe among American Christians in general -- into a sort of generic, soft evangelicalism," said Mark Silk, who directs Trinity's Program on Public Values and helped supervise the survey.
The survey substantiated several general trends already identified by sociologists: the slipping importance of denomination in America, the growing number of people who say they have "no" religion and the increase in religious minorities including Muslims, Mormons and such movements as Wicca and paganism.
The only group that grew in every U.S. state since the 2001 survey was people saying they had "no" religion; the survey says this group is now 15 percent of the population. Silk said this group is likely responsible for the shrinking percentage of Christians in the United States.
Northern New England has surpassed the Pacific Northwest as the least religious section of the country; 34 percent of Vermont residents say they have "no religion." The report said that the country has a "growing non-religious or irreligious minority." Twenty-seven percent of those interviewed said they did not expect to have a religious funeral or service when they died, and 30 percent of people who had married said their service was not religious. Those questions weren't asked in previous surveys.
The survey reflects a key question that demographers, sociologists and political scientists have been asking in recent years: Who makes up this growing group of evangelicals? Forty-four percent of America's 77 million Christian adults say they are born again or evangelical. Meanwhile, 18 percent of Catholics also chose that label, as did 40 percent of mainline Christians.
"If people call themselves 'evangelical,' it doesn't tell you as much as you think it tells you about what kind of church they go to," Silk said. "It deepens the conundrum about who evangelicals are."

ANOTHER NU METAL BAND KORN MEMBER BECAME A CHRISTIAN

A member of nu metal band Korn will release a book on Tuesday about his journey through addiction, faith, and recovery.

And, no it’s not former guitarist Brian “Head” Welch, who split from the group in 2005 following his conversion to Christianity.
This time, it’s bass guitarist Reginald “Fieldy” Arvizu, who is still a member of the band but reveals how different he is now from his former self in Got the Life.
“I was an expert at drinking, smoking dope, popping pills, using foul language, being mean, and partying without any remorse,” Fieldy recalls in his soon-to-release book, published by Harper Collins. “You don’t get that good at anything without lots of practice.”
The turning point for now 39-year-old came after his father became ill.
“When Dad got sick, I thought I could fix him because I had money, power, and influence,” he recalls. “I was rich and famous, right? I thought I could fix anything.”
As time went by, however, his father’s condition went from bad to worse. Every doctor Fieldy took his father to insisted that he had cancer, though all the tests returned negative.
To cope with the mounting frustration, Fieldy turned to partying, drinking, smoking, and pill popping – activities he had been engrossed with for the last twenty years of his life.
But Fieldy’s “deep denial” of his father’s illness would soon come to an end. In 2005, Fieldy’s father – a “total Holy Roller, completely into Jesus” – died.
And following his father’s dying wish, Fieldy found God.
“I’ve been clean for three years. I don’t fight with my wife anymore. I don’t lust or cheat anymore .... I don’t wake up feeling like hell anymore. I don’t spend money on things I later regret anymore. I don’t deny my blessed life that has been waiting for me ... anymore,” Fieldy writes since his father’s death.
“Losing Dad was my wake-up call to see that I had to change the way I lived or I was going to die, too,” he adds.
With never-before-seen photos and never-before-heard stories, Got the Life offers Fieldy’s raw, candid, and inspiring story of rock and redemption.
The bassist’s hope is that his thoughts will somehow inspire readers.
“Don’t waste your life. There are only so many hours in a day and you can never get those back,” he writes. “You were made to make a difference.”
Today, Fieldy is a happily married father of three who lives in Southern California. He is also still a member of Korn and working on a new album with the band as well as a few side projects. Among the side projects is his own clothing line, Immanuel One Twenty Three.

CHURCH SHOOTING SUSPECT HAS MENTAL ILLNESS FROM LYME DISEASE

MARYVILLE — A man suspected of killing the Rev. Fred Winters during a church service in Maryville on Sunday morning had developed mental illness from a tick bite, his family has said.

Police did not release the name of the suspect, who was seriously injured in a struggle with members of the congregation after the shooting of Winters at the First Baptist Church.

But a source close to the case confirmed late Sunday that it is Terry Joe Sedlacek, 27, who was the subject of a Post-Dispatch story in August about how Lyme disease had attacked his brain.
His home in the first block of Zachary Court in Troy, Ill., about three miles from the church, was searched late Sunday
afternoon by police, who seized some gun cases and a computer. They would not comment.Vehicle records show that Sedlacek is part-owner of a Jeep Wrangler parked outside the crime scene.Illinois State Police Director Larry Trent said that the vehicle, which was kept under guard, was believed to have been used by the attacker. Trent described the gunman as a 27-year-old who lives in Troy with no criminal record and no state firearms-owner identification.Trent declined to confirm the suspect's name, pending filing of charges.Winters, 45, was shot about 8:30 a.m. by a man who walked down the aisle during the service, exchanged words with Winters and fired his .45-caliber semiautomatic handgun four times before it jammed, police said.The first shot shredded Winters' Bible, sending paper shreds into the air like "confetti," Trent said. One of three more shots hit Winters in the chest. Nobody else was hit.Two church members wrestled the attacker down as he slashed them, and himself, with a knife.The attacker and one of the wounded congregation members, Terry Bullard, 39, of Troy, were treated at nearby Anderson Hospital and airlifted to a St. Louis hospital for surgery, officials said. Both were reported to be in serious condition. Winters died at Anderson.The other injured congregation member, Keith Melton, 51, of Troy, was treated at a hospital and released. Melton could not be reached, but his home answering machine has a message thanking callers for their concern.Trent called Bullard and Melton "heroic" for stopping something that could have been worse.Police and some congregation members said the shooter had no known connection to the 1,200-member church at 7710 Illinois Route 162, a short distance west of Interstate 55-70.Trent said the motive for the shooting was unknown."We haven't spoken with him yet," Trent said at midafternoon. "He's still in surgery." He said the gunman suffered a stab wound to his neck.

It appeared that nobody was home late Sunday afternoon at the house on Zachary, where a state trooper stood guard until other officers arrived, ostensibly with a search warrant.The home is listed as the address of Sedlacek and his mother, who co-owns the Jeep.Neighbors told a reporter that Sedlacek appears to be mentally ill and would sometimes stand in the street and shout obscenities for no apparent reason.He was the subject of an Aug. 6, 2008, Post-Dispatch article about his battle with mental illness attributed to Lyme disease.

The man's mother, Ruth Abernathy, said her son, an avid hunter and outdoorsman, may have contracted the disease after being bitten by an infected tick on a family farm in the late 1990s.He became ill during his junior year at Edwardsville High School and had taken several medications, including anti-seizure drugs, to combat the disease. It nearly killed him in 2003, but he survived after a series of treatments and was reported to have lesions on his brain.Abernathy could not be reached for comment Sunday.

The attack stunned about 150 church members attending the early service. "Some thought it was some type of skit or program at the time," Trent said.Police will review video and audio tapes made of the service, Trent said.Church member Linda Cunningham said she was sitting in the back of the church when the shooter walked up the center aisle.Winters' wife, Cindy Lee, and their daughters, Alysia Grace, 14, and Cassidy Hope, 12, were in the church but not in the sanctuary when the shooting occurred, church members said. The couple were married in 1987.Some churchgoers initially believed the shooting was part of a dramatic sketch — something that is common during Winters' services.After the first shot was fired, Cunningham said, "All you could see was confetti."Andy and Kris Nothnagel, of nearby Glen Carbon, were sitting about five rows from the pastor when the gunman opened fire.They, too, said they thought it was part of a play."We didn't know if it was real," Andy Nothnagel said. The couple, who have belonged to the church for about 12 years, said they had never seen the gunman before."He didn't look scary," Kris Nothnagel said. "He could have blended in with anybody."Security experts say church shootings are particularly shocking because worship sanctuaries are so often thought of as a respite from the world's evils, where people come together for the sole purpose of praise and love.Yet that very notion, say safety experts, leaves them more susceptible to danger.

"The biggest thing churches need to do is get over the 'it can't happen here' mentality," says Jeffery Hawkins, who has worked in law enforcement and security for 30 years and last year started the Christian Security Network. "It's the No. 1 stumbling block of churches."Officials said the church had been working with some of its members to develop an emergency readiness strategy.The Rev. Mark Jones, its worship minister since 2002, told reporters assembled outside the church: "People cannot stop living their lives. They cannot be paralyzed with fear."The sprawling grounds of the church are on the east edge of Maryville, tucked between farmland and an unfinished subdivision.

The website says Fred Winters is the former president of the Illinois Baptist State Association and an adjunct professor at Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary.T.J. Beckman, a church member whose twin 12-year-old sons, Jordan and Canaan, were baptized by Winters last fall, described him as a "man of courage and integrity" who dedicated his life to the church."He is a modern-day martyr," said Beckman, 47, of Collinsville. "We're shattered, shocked by this heinous crime, but we know there is hope beyond this."Beckman said Winters' death should bring the church's members closer."This is not the end of this church," she said. "I think this church is going to grow even stronger. We have that hope."