Andrew Mueller deconstructs it:
Springfield’s Christians are never explicitly depicted as credulous or foolish – just good people, as most church-goers are, seeking solid refuge in a fluid world. God’s resident emissary, Reverend Timothy Lovejoy, is a lugubrious hack who never gives the impression that he has more than half a heart in his deliveries of doctrinaire brimstone (“Just about everything is a sin. Have you ever sat down and read this thing? Technically, we’re not allowed to go to the bathroom”) or sectarian spite (“That’s Catholic, Marge. You might as well ask me to do a voodoo dance”). When woken from one slumber by Flanders, calling in the grip of some arcane spiritual torment, Lovejoy replies, “Ned, have you thought about one of the other major religions? They’re all pretty much the same.”
Matt Zoller Seitz celebrates the impact of the long-running show after its 500th episode:
Twenty years ago, Evangelists and politicians denounced The Simpsons as a televised toxin that weakened parental authority and coarsened the culture. Oblivious to the love that Homer, Marge, and the kids showed for one another, they blasted the clan as a disgusting, dysfunctional unit that was unfit to anchor a prime-time cartoon. During his 1992 reelection campaign, President George H.?W. Bush even pledged to help U.S. families be “a lot more like the Waltons and a lot less like the Simpsons.” No such luck.
The Dish 