It's February, and 900 of America's staunchest Christian
fundamentalists have gathered in Fort Lauderdale to look back on
what they accomplished in last year's election -- and to plan
what's next. As they assemble in the vast sanctuary of Coral Ridge
Presbyterian, with all fifty state flags dangling from the rafters,
three stadium-size video screens flash the name of the conference:
RECLAIMING AMERICA FOR CHRIST. These are the evangelical activists
behind the nation's most effective political machine -- one that
brought more than 4 million new Christian voters to the polls last
November, sending George W. Bush back to the White House and
thirty-two new pro-lifers to Congress. But despite their
unprecedented power, fundamentalists still see themselves as a
persecuted minority, waging a holy war against the godless forces
of secularism. To rouse themselves, they kick off the festivities
with "Soldiers of the Cross, Arise," the bloodthirstiest tune in
all of Christendom: "Seize your armor, gird it on/Now the battle
will be won/Soon, your enemies all slain/Crowns of glory you shall
gain."
Meet the Dominionists -- biblical literalists who believe God
has called them to take over the U.S. government. As the far-right
wing of the evangelical movement, Dominionists are pressing an
agenda that makes Newt Gingrich's Contract With America look like
the Communist Manifesto. They want to rewrite schoolbooks to
reflect a Christian version of American history, pack the nation's
courts with judges who follow Old Testament law, post the Ten
Commandments in every courthouse and make it a felony for gay men
to have sex and women to have abortions. In Florida, when the
courts ordered Terri Schiavo's feeding tube removed, it was the
Dominionists who organized round-the-clock protests and issued a
fiery call for Gov. Jeb Bush to defy the law and take Schiavo into
state custody. Their ultimate goal is to plant the seeds of a
"faith-based" government that will endure far longer than Bush's
presidency -- all the way until Jesus comes back.
"Most people hear them talk about a 'Christian nation' and
think, 'Well, that sounds like a good, moral thing,' says the Rev.
Mel White, who ghostwrote Jerry Falwell's autobiography before
breaking with the evangelical movement. "What they don't know --
what even most conservative Christians who voted for Bush don't
know -- is that 'Christian nation' means something else entirely to
these Dominionist leaders. This movement is no more about following
the example of Christ than Bush's Clean Water Act is about clean
water."
The godfather of the Dominionists is D. James Kennedy, the most
influential evangelical you've never heard of. A former Arthur
Murray dance instructor, he launched his Florida ministry in 1959,
when most evangelicals still followed Billy Graham's gospel of
nonpartisan soul-saving. Kennedy built Coral Ridge Ministries into
a $37-million-a-year empire, with a TV-and-radio audience of 3
million, by preaching that it was time to save America -- not soul
by soul but election by election. After helping found the Moral
Majority in 1979, Kennedy became a five-star general in the
Christian army. Bush sought his blessing before running for
president -- and continues to consult top Dominionists on matters
of federal policy.
"Our job is to reclaim America for Christ, whatever the cost,"
Kennedy says. "As the vice regents of God, we are to exercise godly
dominion and influence over our neighborhoods, our schools, our
government, our literature and arts, our sports arenas, our
entertainment media, our news media, our scientific endeavors -- in
short, over every aspect and institution of human society."
At Reclaiming America, most of the conference is taken up by
grassroots training sessions that supply ministers, retirees and
devout churchgoers with "The Facts of Stem-Cell Research" or
"Practical Steps to Impact Your Community with America's Historical
Judeo-Christian Heritage." "We're going to turn you into an army of
one," Gary Cass, executive director of Reclaiming America, promises
activists at one workshop held in Evangalism Explosion Hall. The
Dominionists also attend speeches by supporters like Rep. Katherine
Harris of Florida, who urges them to "win back America for God." In
their spare time, conference-goers buy books about a God-devised
health program called the Maker's Diet or meet with a
financial adviser who offers a "biblically sound investment
plan."
To implement their sweeping agenda, the Dominionists are working
to remake the federal courts in God's image. In their view, the
Founding Fathers never intended to erect a barrier between politics
and religion. "The First Amendment does not say there should be a
separation of church and state," declares Alan Sears, president and
CEO of the Alliance Defense Fund, a team of 750 attorneys trained
by the Dominionists to fight abortion and gay marriage. Sears
argues that the constitutional guarantee against state-sponsored
religion is actually designed to "shield" the church from federal
interference -- allowing Christians to take their rightful place at
the head of the government. "We have a right, indeed an
obligation, to govern," says David Limbaugh, brother of
Rush and author of Persecution: How Liberals Are Waging War
Against Christianity. Nothing gets the Dominionists to their
feet faster than ringing condemnations of judicial tyranny.
"Activist judges have systematically deconstructed the
Constitution," roars Rick Scarborough, author of Mixing Church
and State. "A God-free society is their goal!"
Activist judges, of course, are precisely what the Dominionists
want. Their model is Roy Moore, the former Alabama chief justice
who installed a 5,300-pound granite memorial to the Ten
Commandments, complete with an open Bible carved in its top, in the
state judicial building. At Reclaiming America, Roy's Rock sits out
front, fresh off a tour of twenty-one states, perched on the
flag-festooned flatbed of a diesel truck, a potent symbol of the
"faith-based" justice the Dominionists are bent on imposing.
Activists at the conference pose for photographs beside the rock
and have circulated a petition urging President Bush to appoint
Moore -- who once penned an opinion calling for the state to
execute "practicing homosexuals" -- to the U.S. Supreme Court.
"The other side knows we've got strongholds in the executive and
legislative branches," Cass tells the troops. "If we start winning
the judiciary, their power base is going to be eroded."
To pack the courts with fundamentalists like Moore, Dominionist
leaders are planning a massive media blitz. They're also pressuring
Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist -- an ally who's courting support
for his presidential bid -- to halt the long-standing use of
filibusters to hold up judicial nominations. An anti-filibuster
petition circulating at the conference blasts Democrats for their
"outrageous stonewalling of appointments" -- even though Congress
has approved more nominees of Bush than of any president since
Jimmy Carter.
It helps that Dominionists have a direct line to the White
House: The Rev. Richard Land, top lobbyist for the
16-million-member Southern Baptist Convention, enjoys a weekly
conference call with top Bush advisers including Karl Rove. "We've
got the Holy Spirit's wind at our backs!" Land declares in an
arm-waving, red-faced speech. He takes particular aim at the threat
posed by John Lennon, denouncing "Imagine" as a "secular anthem"
that envisions a future of "clone plantations, child sacrifice,
legalized polygamy and hard-core porn."
The Dominionists are also stepping up efforts to turn public
schools into forums for evangelism. In a landmark case, the
Alliance Defense Fund is suing a California school district that
threatened to dismiss a born-again teacher who was evangelizing
fifth-graders. In the conference's opening ceremony, the
Dominionists recite an oath they dream of hearing in every
classroom: "I pledge allegiance to the Christian flag, and to the
Savior for whose kingdom it stands. One Savior, crucified, risen
and coming again, with life and liberty for all who believe."
Cass urges conference-goers to stack school boards with
Dominionists. "The most humble Christian is more qualified for
office than the best-educated pagan," says Cass, an anti-abortion
activist who led a takeover of his school district's board in San
Diego. "We built quite a little grass-roots machine out there. Now
it's my burden to multiply that success all across America."
Cass points to the Rev. Gary Beeler, a Baptist minister from
Tennessee who got permission for thousands of students to skip
class and attend weeklong events that he calls "old-time revivals,
with preaching and singing and soul-saving and the whole nine
yards." Now, with support from Kennedy, Beeler is selling his house
and buying a mobile home to spread his crusade nationwide. "It's
not exactly what I planned to do with my retirement," he says. "But
it's what God told me to do."
Cass also presents another small-town activist, Kevin McCoy,
with a Salt and Light Award for leading a successful campaign to
shut down an anti-bullying program in West Virginia schools. McCoy,
a soft-spoken, prematurely gray postal worker, fought to end the
program because it taught tolerance for gay people -- and thus, in
his view, constituted a "thinly disguised effort to promote the
homosexual agenda." "What America needs," Cass tells the faithful,
"is more Kevin McCoys."
While the dominionists rely on grass-roots activists to fight
their battles, they are backed by some of America's richest
entrepreneurs. Amway founder Rich DeVos, a Kennedy ally who's the
leading Republican contender for governor of Michigan, has tossed
more than $5 million into the collection plate. Jean Case, wife of
former AOL chief Steve Case -- whose fortune was made largely on
sex-chat rooms -- has donated $8 million. And Tom Monaghan, founder
of Domino's Pizza, is a major source of cash for Focus on the
Family, a megaministry working with Kennedy to eliminate all public
schools.
The one-two punch of militant activists and big money has helped
make the Dominionists a force in Washington, where a growing number
of congressmen owe their elections to the machine. Kennedy has also
created the Center for Christian Statesmanship, which trains
elected officials to "more effectively share their faith in the
public arena." Speaking to the group, House Majority Whip Tom DeLay
-- a winner of Kennedy's Distinguished Christian Statesman Award --
called Bush's faith-based initiatives "a great opportunity to bring
God back into the public institutions of our country."
The most vivid proof of the Christianizing of Capitol Hill comes
at the final session of Reclaiming America. Rep. Walter Jones, a
lanky congressman from North Carolina, gives a fire-and-brimstone
speech that would have gotten him laughed out of Washington thirty
years ago. In today's climate, however, he's got a chance of
passing his pet project, the Houses of Worship Free Speech
Restoration Act, which would permit ministers to endorse political
candidates from their pulpits, effectively converting their
tax-exempt churches into Republican campaign headquarters.
"America is under assault!" Jones thunders as his aides dash
around the sanctuary snapping PR photos. "Everyone in America has
the right to speak freely, except for those standing in the pulpits
of our churches!" The amen chorus reaches a fever pitch. Hands fly
heavenward. It's one thing to hear such words from Dominionist
leaders -- but to this crowd, there's nothing more thrilling than
getting the gospel from a U.S. congressman. "You cannot have a
strong nation that does not follow God," Jones preaches, working up
to a climactic, passionate plea for a biblical republic. "God,
please -- God, please -- God, please -- save America!"
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