If you really want to follow the development of conservative  Christianity, track its musical hits. In the early 1900s you might have  heard "The Old Rugged Cross," a celebration of the atonement. By the  1980s you could have shared the Jesus-is-my-buddy intimacy of "Shine,  Jesus, Shine." And today, more and more top songs feature a God who is  very big, while we are...well, hark the David Crowder Band: "I am full  of earth/ You are heaven's worth/ I am stained with dirt/ Prone to  depravity."
 Calvinism is back, and not just musically. John Calvin's 16th century  reply to medieval Catholicism's buy-your-way-out-of-purgatory excesses  is Evangelicalism's latest success story, complete with an utterly  sovereign and micromanaging deity, sinful and puny humanity, and the  combination's logical consequence, predestination: the belief that  before time's dawn, God decided whom he would save (or not), unaffected  by any subsequent human action or decision. 
 Calvinism, cousin to the Reformation's other pillar, Lutheranism, is a  bit less dour than its critics claim: it offers a rock-steady deity who  orchestrates absolutely everything, including illness (or home  foreclosure!), by a logic we may not understand but don't have to  second-guess. Our satisfaction — and our purpose — is fulfilled simply  by "glorifying" him. In the 1700s, Puritan preacher Jonathan Edwards  invested Calvinism with a rapturous near mysticism. Yet it was soon  overtaken in the U.S. by movements like Methodism that were more  impressed with human will. Calvinist-descended liberal bodies like the  Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) discovered other emphases, while  Evangelicalism's loss of appetite for rigid doctrine — and the triumph  of that friendly, fuzzy Jesus — seemed to relegate hard-core Reformed  preaching (Reformed operates as a loose synonym for Calvinist) to a few  crotchety Southern churches.
 No more. Neo-Calvinist ministers and authors don't operate quite on a  Rick Warren scale. But, notes Ted Olsen, a managing editor at Christianity Today,  "everyone knows where the energy and the passion are in the Evangelical  world" — with the pioneering new-Calvinist John Piper of Minneapolis,  Seattle's pugnacious Mark Driscoll and Albert Mohler, head of the  Southern Seminary of the huge Southern Baptist Convention. The  Calvinist-flavored ESV Study Bible sold out its first printing, and  Reformed blogs like Between Two Worlds are among cyber-Christendom's  hottest links.
 Like the Calvinists, more moderate Evangelicals are exploring cures for  the movement's doctrinal drift, but can't offer the same blanket  assurance. "A lot of young people grew up in a culture of brokenness,  divorce, drugs or sexual temptation," says Collin Hansen, author of Young, Restless, Reformed: A Journalist's Journey with the New Calvinists.  "They have plenty of friends: what they need is a God." Mohler says,  "The moment someone begins to define God's [being or actions]  biblically, that person is drawn to conclusions that are traditionally  classified as Calvinist." Of course, that presumption of inevitability  has drawn accusations of arrogance and divisiveness since Calvin's time.  Indeed, some of today's enthusiasts imply that non-Calvinists may  actually not be Christians. Skirmishes among the Southern Baptists (who  have a competing non-Calvinist camp) and online "flame wars" bode badly.