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Entries tagged with “Faith” from Religion and Ethics Newsweekly

Rabbi Steve Gutow, executive director of the Jewish Council for Public Affairs, spoke with Religion & Ethics NewsWeekly at a September 16 interfaith vigil on Capitol Hill on "Fighting Poverty with Faith: A Week of Action." Organized by the Jewish Council for Public Affairs and Catholic Charities USA, it is an effort to mobilize members of national faith-based organizations in more than 80 cities to raise questions with political candidates about what they will do in their first 100 days in office to address poverty. Rabbi Gutow talks about the poor, the middle class, the current economy, and what he hopes the next president will do.

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The conventions are over. Truckloads of trash have found their way to landfills, despite best efforts to "go green." Massive sets of Democratic Doric columns and the 51 foot by 30 foot high-definition screen of the Republicans, composed of 561 Hibino four-millimeter Chroma LED panels and often filled with shots of an American flag flapping in the breeze, have all been returned to wherever it is such things go. Pundits, left and right and indifferent, have offered their takes on anything and everything. Religion and the conventions has been a popular theme.

obamaportrait.jpgFor the first time in their history, the Democrats seemed to do "religion" right, reflecting Obama's firm belief that all religious voices belong in debates concerning public policy. Appointing a Pentecostal minister as the chief executive officer of the convention brought new religious twists, including a rousing interfaith service on Sunday afternoon and four "faith caucuses" held throughout the convention. Both Republicans and Democrats began and ended each session with prayer from a variety of religious leaders, though the Democrats, as was especially true of their delegations as a whole, held a decided edge in the diversity department. The important speeches all ended with the obligatory "God bless America" or similar ritualistic catch-phrases meant to communicate the piety of our great country. Speeches were carefully crafted to include meaningful religious references where appropriate, but unplanned references crept in here and there. In addition to the two references to God scripted in his VP acceptance speech, Joe Biden added four impromptu, colloquial, perhaps even profane references in actual delivery (not quite the pious references Democrats had in mind), as in "God, I wish that my dad was here tonight." Family values got their pitch as well, as both parties highlighted (exploited?) the children, spouses, and parents of their candidates.

Democrats hope their efforts to take faith seriously will close the perceived "God gap" between the political parties. A Pew Forum poll released the week before Denver indicates that Obama has made some progress in closing the gap. Thirty-eight percent of Americans (it was 26 percent just two years ago) find the Democrats generally friendly toward religion. But they are still behind the 52 percent of Americans who see the Republicans that way. If Democrats can pick up a few percentage points among white Catholics and evangelicals, the election would be much harder for Republicans to win in November.

To be honest, I'm less interested in these kinds of analyses of religion and the conventions than I am in how the conventions actually demonstrated a religious vision of America and its role in the world. This slant on religion and the political parties has been largely ignored by most. In what ways did the conventions reveal how parties and candidates think about America religiously, something Sidney Mead described as "the religion of the Republic"? Mead, an American religious historian who died in 1999, argued in his book THE LIVELY EXPERIMENT that America itself possessed a transcendent and universal religion that is "articulated in terms of the destiny of America, under God, to be fulfilled by perfecting the democratic way of life for the example and betterment of all mankind." These conventions demonstrated well that American civil religion, or the religion of the Republic, still moves many Americans to convention ecstasy, including Americans who claim to take Christian faith, or other traditional faiths, so seriously.

For the Democrats, signs proclaimed a commitment to "change you can believe in." But the theme of the convention consistently emphasized a need to renew the "promise of America." America is the one "glorious nation" under God "where anyone who works hard enough can make the most of their God-given potential." "This," proclaimed New York Governor David Paterson, "is the promise of America." Throughout, Democratic leaders sounded the theme that the essential promise of America (and therefore, the country's mission) is threatened by the fiasco of the last eight years of Republican leadership. From states like Missouri, Iowa, West Virginia, and others the convention heard speeches emphasizing how hardworking people have survived the challenges of life to make it, and how the past decade has threatened to take away their hopes at keeping their slice of the "American dream" alive. In this way, the Democrats appealed to the self-interest of every American. They spoke of an America focused on individual accomplishment and advancement. Hillary Clinton hammered the theme well: "I ran for President to renew the promise of America. To rebuild the middle class and sustain the American Dream. . . .We need leaders once again who can tap into that special blend of American confidence and optimism . . . who can help us show ourselves and the world that with our ingenuity, creativity, and innovative spirit there are no limits to what is possible in America." Bill Clinton echoed these phrases with his own as he stressed that the "American Dream is under siege at home."

obamawide.jpgIn his inspiring address, Obama spoke of his parents who believed in an America where "their son could achieve whatever he put his mind to." "It is that promise that has always set this country apart -- that through hard work and sacrifice each of us can pursue our individual dreams but still come together as one American family, to ensure that the next generation can pursue their dreams as well." The mission of America, for Democrats, is to keep "the American promise alive." Thus, if threatened from the outside, Democrats can and will take the military actions necessary to secure the American future, to keep America "that last, best hope for all who are called to the cause of freedom, who long for lives of peace, and who yearn for a better future." In other words, America is the great example for the world and must be protected, but its promise must never be abused or misused. Bill Clinton spoke a one-liner that said it best: "People the world over have always been more impressed by the power of our example than by the example of our power." Obama summarized "the promise of America -- the idea that we are responsible for ourselves, but that we also rise or fall as one nation; the fundamental belief that I am my brother's keeper; I am my sister's keeper. . . . Individual responsibility and mutual responsibility -- that's the essence of America's promise." Then, continuing his use of biblical allusions to apply to Americans, Obama closed his speech with "Let us keep that promise -- that American promise -- and in the words of Scripture hold firmly, without wavering, to the hope that we confess." Is he talking of the hope Christians have in Christ? No, here the hope is the one that all Americans share in the promise of America -- the hope that we can succeed, have a good life, and teach the world how to live by our example.

The Republican "religion of the Republic" stressed other commitments. While the Democrats emphasized the disastrous economy and the loss of America's standing as example across the world, the Republicans emphasized placing "Country First." While they also sounded well the note that all Americans should prosper, they emphasized that Obama was not tough enough to insure America's safety. He would, warned Mike Huckabee, "continue to give madmen the benefit of the doubt." Fred Thompson told the convention that John McCain would be the kind of president "who feels no need to apologize for the United States of America." Republicans believe in an America whose mission is threatened more by external forces than internal economic problems. "Our country is calling," Thompson reminded listeners. President Bush emphasized the "dangerous world" we live in and the need for a president who will protect America by staying "on the offense [and] stop attacks before they happen." Rudy Giuliani touted McCain as the "man who believes in serving a cause greater than self-interest [then, going off-script] and that cause is the United States of America -- America comes first!" McCain's address to the convention offered a kind of religious testimony. In moving terms people often use when talking of their experiences of God, he said that the prison in Hanoi changed him: "I wasn't my own man anymore. I was my country's."

rncconvention.JPGIn the well-established tradition of President Bush and any self-respecting religion, Republicans spoke often of good and evil and America's representation of the good in the world. Romney said it clearly: "Republicans believe that there is good and evil in the world. . . John McCain hit the nail on the head: radical violent Islam is evil, and he will defeat it!" In facing the threat posed by radical Islam and all other evils, John McCain and Sarah Palin will "keep America as it has always been -- the hope of the world." This Republican hope for the world does not rest in the American example of living freely, but rather in its proactive expansion of freedom across the world. Republicans are, Giuliani exclaimed, the party that "believes unapologetically in America's essential greatness." Palin attacked Obama as one who "wants to forfeit" in Iraq and is "worried that someone won't read [al Qaeda] their rights." But McCain possesses "the special confidence of those who have seen evil, and seen how evil is overcome." Though she did not do so at the convention, she told ministry students meeting at her former church in Anchorage that American troops in Iraq are serving in a "task that is from God." In the Republican understanding of the religion of the Republic, little seems to separate America and expansion of freedom from good, and the threats to these from evil. While McCain's speech was much more subdued than Palin's and underscored that government should "make sure you have more choices to make for yourself," he claimed to "know how the world works" and to "know the good and the evil in it." Where Democrats are running to renew the promise of America and its example, Republicans are running, in McCain's words, "to keep the country I love safe," and to "see the threats to peace and liberty in our time clearly and face them."

These are two very different versions of the religion of the Republic. One emphasizes the life of the ordinary American and the divine right existing in the promise of America to fulfill all God-given potential. It is largely a religion aimed at self-interest. As Hillary Clinton said, "it comes down to you -- the American people, your lives, and your children's futures." In this version, America serves as an example of freedom to the world, the nation where human beings can thrive and succeed and live the life that God intended them to live in harmony and peace with one another -- a nation that models what God intends for all nations. Americans can fight external enemies, if need be, to preserve the promise of the nation, but they are not proactively looking for a fight. No word about how the American drive for success, even at the individual level, affects the rest of the world, or how the American freedom to consume impacts resources for everyone else.

mccainsign.JPGThe other version highlights evil in the world and is confident that America is the divine agent called to fight it, a nation on the offensive. Here the nation is the church, the place where God is present and active in mission, but it is clearly the nation, on God's behalf, that defeats evil and brings freedom and democracy, by any means necessary, to the rest of the world. Like the Democrats, Republicans can also quote the Bible, as President Bush did at Ellis Island on the first anniversary of 9/11 when he said, "This ideal of America is the hope of all mankind. That hope drew millions to this harbor. That hope still lights our way. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome it. May God bless America." Without acknowledging it, President Bush used John 1:4, a passage describing the Word of God, in whom "was life, and the life was the light of all people," to refer to the hope of America and its role as a light to the nations. This messianic, and very religious, understanding of America contains profound, and usually tragic, implications for all other peoples and nations in the world.

So what are good people of faith to do with these versions of the religion of the Republic? Of the two versions, I'm more drawn to the former than the latter, to an understanding of example rather than imperial mission. But from a Christian perspective I am put off by its constant appeal to self-interest. I genuinely miss some expression of the prophetic vision of Jimmy Carter's understanding of the "spiritual malaise" that continues, I think, to affect American life. But others will have to make their own choices. My hope is that they will do so with the full recognition that, while both parties try to convince us that they are hospitable to people of faith, each is actually proposing a competing religious vision to those that the traditional faiths espouse.

-- Mark G. Toulouse is professor of American religious history at Brite Divinity School and the author of GOD IN PUBLIC: FOUR WAYS AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY AND PUBLIC LIFE RELATE (Westminster John Knox Press, 2006). Beginning January 1, he will be principal and professor of the history of Christianity at Emmanuel College, Victoria University, in the University of Toronto.

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In a wide-ranging interview with Religion & Ethics NewsWeekly managing editor Kim Lawton, the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Denver comments on the responsibility of American Catholics to be involved in political life, the controversy over withholding Communion from pro-choice Catholic politicians, and more.

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In 2000, I was fortunate enough to attend the Republican Convention in Philadelphia as an instructor in an experiential learning program for college students. That convention, which nominated then-Texas governor George W. Bush for president of the United States, was noted for its overt attempts to present a diverse public face to television viewers. Convention organizers paraded the widest possible variety of racial, ethnic, cultural, and age differences, all supporting the GOP. "Looking diverse" was the first goal in allocating prime-time podium minutes and around-the-clock media availability. It was a concerted effort, and it felt to me, as an up-close observer, a forced and artificial one, given the homogenous nature of the GOP and, particularly, its delegates and candidates.

While it may have reflected a good strategy, and even the personal disposition of that year's Republican nominee, it rang hollow as a true representation of the Grand Old Party. No one can state with certainty whether those convention efforts helped Bush win in 2000, in what should have been, by most economic and political indicators, an easy Democratic year. In such a close race, perhaps it made the difference. But that did not take away the artificial feel of the convention nor the confirmation of that feeling in the lack of substantive movement toward diversity by the party in the eight years hence.

I have much the same impression in observing from afar the officially sanctioned faith expressions and other faith-related efforts surrounding this week's Democratic convention in Denver. Faith is all around to see -- and we're sure to see it easily -- with opening worship, daily faith-friendly events, greater willingness of prime-time speakers to give nods to faith in at least a generic sense, and a concerted effort not to criticize explicitly religious public language. But the faith on display is one fully consonant with longstanding Democratic Party positions on every key issue that have been in party platforms for years. It "feels" fake -- much like the Republicans in 2000. There is this week, so far at least, no convincing evidence that this "faith talk" is anything more than merely a new strategy by party operatives to gain an additional slice of a voter demographic in November, so that once they win the party can govern as usual.

Barack Obama.jpgTrue faith, it seems to me, fits comfortably within no political party, and certainly not today's Republicans and Democrats. A party that claims to embrace faith anew must show that new embrace in some changes from prior policy, not mere "acknowledgment" that there is a moral dimension to issues that ultimately get settled on the traditional side. The rhetorical nods, the small "tweaks" in the party platform, and the controlled events of this week are not enough.

Obama, by all evidence a thoughtful person of sincere Christian faith, has a chance to change that impression tonight. What I'm looking for is one position he has taken that has hurt, rather than enhanced, his and his party's longstanding policies and electoral motives and that can arguably be based on a sincere faith which grapples thoughtfully with its consequences for public life.

I've not seen it yet. But I still have the audacity to hope that I will.

--Douglas Koopman is a professor of political science at Calvin College.

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Religion & Ethics NewsWeekly senior associate producer Patti Jette Hanley captures some of the sights and sounds at the Democratic Party's August 24 interfaith service in Denver on the eve of the Democratic National Convention.



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Two theological doctrines will be crucial to keep in mind as we witness the national political conventions and the climactic phase of the general election they inaugurate.

The first is the doctrine of sin. Our candidates possess the same flawed and fickle nature we all do, and so ultimately they will disappoint us. This will be tough to keep in mind at points in the coming weeks, as carefully rehearsed speeches, choreographed testimonies, and expertly produced videos will seek to make each candidate seem larger than life, capable of solving all our problems. But our candidates are neither saviors nor supermen, and in time their clay feet will show. Keeping that in mind up front will ease our disappointment and shield us from ceding our own responsibility for the change we seek in the world.

The second doctrine deserving our attention is eschatology, the teaching that, in time, God will redeem this world, wipe the tears from every eye, and create a new heaven and a new earth. What will best serve us, however, is not an eschatology that emphasizes God's eternal judgment or that wonders who will be left behind, thereby downplaying the significance of worldly affairs. Rather, confident of the eschatological promise that God will take care of the future, we are free to make a difference here and now, easing the burdens of our neighbor, seeking an increase of peace in the world, straining for a modicum of justice.

A healthy respect both for human sin and for God's promise of redemption allows us to cast a more realistic eye to the podiums erected in Denver and St. Paul. We should not seek from our candidates salvation of either the religious or political kind. We should ask and expect from them help and hope in our endeavor to make this a more trustworthy world -- a more modest goal, for sure, but one we might actually have hope of achieving over the next four years.

--David Lose is the Marbury Anderson Associate Professor of Biblical Preaching and director of the Center for Faith & Life at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota.

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In her welcome address to the 2008 Democratic National Convention, DNC chief executive officer Leah Daughtry describes the "sacred responsibility" of Democrats to improve the lives of others. Daughtry, a Pentecostal minister, also spoke about the first DNC interfaith gathering, which was held on August 24th in Denver.

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The Pentecostal minister and chief executive of the 2008 Democratic National Convention describes how people of faith and faith-based ideas are being incorporated into this year's events.

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Democratic Congressman James Clyburn represents the 6th district of South Carolina, serves as House Majority Whip, and leads the House Democrats Faith Working Group, established after the 2004 election to reconnect the party to communities of faith. On August 5, he spoke about the Letter of James and the story of the Good Samaritan at the Progressive National Baptist Convention's annual meeting in Atlanta. The son of a fundamentalist minister, Clyburn said he tries to carry out his congressional duties "in such a way that the world would see a sermon in my work," and he told his audience that during "this most unusual year" in religion and politics they should "do what is necessary to prove ourselves good neighbors" to those in need.

Listen to audio excerpt of his remarks in Atlanta

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On June 23, 2007, Senator Barack Obama addressed the 50th Anniversary General Synod of the United Church of Christ (UCC). Obama is a longtime member of Trinity UCC in Chicago. In a letter dated February 20, 2008, the IRS notified the UCC of an official inquiry into whether Obama's address was a violation of tax regulations that could jeopardize the denomination's tax-exempt status. UCC officials deny any improper activity. In these excerpts from the speech, Obama describes his personal spiritual journey and his view of how faith should play a part in public life.

Also read or watch Obama Religion Questions.

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C. Welton Gaddy, president of the Interfaith Alliance, says the presidential candidates can identify themselves as people of faith, but they can't say "vote for me because of my faith."

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Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton addressed the 2007 HIV/AIDS Summit at Saddleback Church, the evangelical megachurch in southern California where bestselling author Rick Warren is the pastor. She described her personal faith journey and said her Christian faith compels her to work in the fight against AIDS.

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Religious conservatives helped give Republican presidential candidate Mike Huckabee a decisive win in the Iowa Caucuses. In this September 2007 interview with Religion & Ethics NewsWeekly managing editor Kim Lawton, Huckabee talks about his personal faith and how that faith influences his politics.
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The Rev. Barry Lynn, president of Americans United for Separation of Church and State, says there has been too much talk about God on the presidential campaign trail, and voters don't really learn much of  significance when they ask candidates about their faith.

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Mitt Romney gave a powerful speech in which he forcefully defended religious liberty and related his own firm commitment to it. He insisted that no authorities of his church would exert influence on his decisions as president. For anyone acquainted with Romney and the Mormon Church this was not surprising, but nonetheless reassuring. He also made clear that he does not believe that religious freedom requires a public square stripped of all references to religion, and that doing so could be seen as establishing secularism as a new, state-supported religion. All this was to the good. Anyone who might have felt that being a Mormon in and by itself disqualified one from serving as president of all of the American people should be reassured by what Romney had to say.

But there is one promise Romney made at the beginning of his speech on which I thought he later did not adequately deliver. This is where he said that he "will offer perspectives on how my own faith would inform my presidency, if I were elected." He later explained how his faith has instilled in him certain moral values that he shares with all persons of faith, "the great moral inheritance we hold in common," as he put it. This is good as far as it goes. But is there not something more and deeper? Surely, each faith has more specific beliefs and values that shape how its adherents view the world, including the world of public policy issues and debates.

The Mormon tradition is well known for its emphasis on strong, traditional families and hard work, and on its opposition to abortion and same sex marriages, as well as other distinctive beliefs and values. How do such beliefs work to mold the development of his positions on public policy issues? This Romney did not seek to explain. He at one point referred to "the Creator," but did not explain how his seeing God as the Creator shapes his understanding of environmental issues, or creation care issues as some of us like to put it.

All of us have been shaped by our deepest beliefs, by our faith. I believe Mitt Romney -- as do all of the candidates for president -- have an obligation to explain how their various religious faiths have worked in their lives to inform their understanding of the world and shape the public policy positions they take. Romney did some of that today, but I am still looking for a fuller discussion of how his own faith would inform his presidency, if he were elected.

--Steve Monsma as a senior research fellow at the Henry Institute for the Study of Christianity and Politics at Calvin College and professor emeritus of political science at Pepperdine University. His book HEALING FOR A BROKEN WORLD: CHRISTIAN PERSPECTIVES ON PUBLIC POLICY will be published in March 2008 by Crossway Books.
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A lot can hang on a preposition. Mitt Romney first promised a speech about his faith, then backed off to offer a broader take on America's religious landscape and its heritage of religious freedom. So rather than offering an apologetic for his own faith, Romney instead offered an account of "Faith in America." But the speech has me wondering whether there's a difference; more specifically, I wonder what's at stake in that "in." From where I sit, it looks like Romney's "own" faith is faith in America. Americans needn't worry about Romney's Mormonism because, at the end of the day, the faith that trumps all others is "Americanism."  

Don't get me wrong: this religion has a long and illustrious history (documented in David Gelertner's recent book, AMERICANISM: THE FOURTH GREAT WESTERN RELIGION). It is a noble faith that feeds off the blood of its martyrs - in particular "the greatest generation" to which Romney first appeals -- who made the greatest sacrifice for the sake of the religion's highest value: freedom (understood, I should note, in largely negative terms as freedom of choice). Indeed, "freedom" and "liberty" are the mantras of this faith, and Romney's speech invokes these shibboleths no less than thirty times (God or "the Creator" or "divine author" comes in at a close second with 21 references). And Romney doesn't fail to allude to the great artifacts of this religion. Americanism has its own sacred documents (the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution), its own saints (the Founding Fathers), and has even birthed its own cathedrals and grottos (just stroll the National Mall).

So if Mitt Romney was looking to quell concerns about his religion, I think he's performed admirably! He has indicated, in no uncertain terms, that he is an "Americanist" like almost every other presidential candidate (from I don't care which side of the aisle). He is an American before he is a Mormon. He is primarily interested in conserving America's role as a hegemon ("preserving American leadership" is the guise under which he segues to talk about religion). And he enthusiastically adopts Sam Adams's axiom that it's not the specifics of piety that matters, but rather whether one is a "patriot."  

If conservatives were worried about his Mormonism, I think Romney has laid his cards on the table and said to them: "Look, don't worry. Mormonism doesn't prevent me from being an Americanist.  We're brothers in that cause."  

In a way, this is refreshingly honest theology. In fact, if one pays close attention to the actual theology at work here -- that is, if one starts asking just which God is being invoked -- one finds that it is a particular deity: "the divine 'author of liberty.'" The god of the culture warriors has always been a generic god of theism (precisely like the god of the Founding Fathers): a "God who gave us liberty" (to do what we want). The "Creator" is a granter of inalienable rights and unregulated freedoms, a god who shares and ordains "American values." If evangelical culture warriors had worries about Romney's faith, his jeremiad today should confirm that he pledges allegiance to the same "God of liberty" that they do. We're all Americanists now.  

But I hope Mr. Romney and his culture warrior friends (whether on the right or left) won't be surprised if some of us find it hard to believe in Americanism and its God of liberty. Some of us just can't muster faith in the generic theism that is preached on the campaign trail, whether from the right or left. Some of us Christians have a hard time reconciling the Almighty, all-powerful, law-giving God of liberty with the crucified suffering servant born in a barn and executed at the hands of the elite. Some of us are trying to figure out what it means to be a people who follow one who relinquished his rights rather than asserted them, who considered submission a higher value than freedom. We serve a God-man who wasn't concerned with "preserving leadership" and the hegemony of the empire's gospel of freedom, but rather was crushed by its machinations for proclaiming and embodying another gospel.  

We're not out to win a culture war; we're just trying to be witnesses. We're not out to "transform" culture by marshaling the engine of the state; we're trying to carve out little foretastes of a coming kingdom. And so we can't share Mr. Romney's evangelistic zeal for the god of Americanism.

-- James K.A. Smith is an associate professor of philosophy at Calvin College and a fellow at Calvin's Center for Social Research. His books include INTRODUCING RADICAL ORTHODOXY (Baker, 2004).
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Whatever one thinks of his politics, one has to admit that Governor Romney's Texas speech on "Faith in America," like Senator Kennedy's remarks to the Greater Houston Ministerial Association in September 1960, was expertly written and beautifully delivered. Both men rose to the occasion by reminding us of the hard-won American commitment to religious liberty. Both of them pulled off the delicate feat of downplaying their specific religious beliefs while declaring their loyalty to their church. Both said they would rather lose than give up their faith. (Kennedy brilliantly added that if he got beat because of being Catholic, the real loser would be the nation; Romney should have made the same point with the same understated passion.)  

Speaking as committed men of faith, they could then claim, if they should become president, to represent all citizens of faith. Neither man worried about alienating the minority of non-religious voters. Kennedy, like Martin Luther King three years later in the "I Have a Dream" speech, spoke of America as a nation of Protestants, Catholics, and Jews; Romney bravely brought Muslims into the fold, explaining that as a Mormon he had something to learn from people of other religious traditions. He appreciated the "frequent prayer" practiced by Muslims, just as he liked the evangelical Christians' sense of the "approachability" of God, the Lutherans' "confident independence," the Pentecostals' "tenderness of spirit," the "ceremony" of the Catholic Mass, and the "ancient traditions" of the Jews.  

In that litany he very noticeably said nothing about what the rest of America could learn from his own Latter-day Saints. He came close to claiming devotion to family as a distinctive LDS virtue, but backed off, stressing that even his own family fell short of the "perfection" to which they aspired. But throughout the speech he argued implicitly that the Mormons' commitment to religious freedom stood as a model for all. Has any presidential candidate ever before stated that as a man of faith he wished his church would learn from the traditions of others?  (Non-candidate Mario Cuomo has said so many times, adding that encountering other religions permits one to rediscover forgotten features of one's own tradition, as encountering Judaism led him to new appreciation of his Catholic faith.)

If anything, Romney surpassed Kennedy in the passion he conveyed while tracing the history of the battle for religious liberty, likening Brigham Young's trek West in the 19th century to Anne Hutchinson's and Roger Williams's struggles in the 17th. Romney said nothing about his specifically Mormon beliefs, but everything he said about faith in America -- his own and everyone else's -- was subtly and potently informed by his memory of the persecution experienced by his Mormon ancestors. The power of the speech reminds me of the power of Barack Obama's at the Democratic convention in 2004: Obama's vision of a multicultural America was rooted in his own biracial, binational past. I sense Romney's speech will go down as a memorable American political oration regardless of his success as a candidate. He spoke eloquently of what it means to be an American whose ancestors fought for the freedom of religion guaranteed to them by the Bill of Rights, and to practice one's faith in a religiously pluralistic society where everyone can gain by opening up to the spiritual insights of others.

Romney's speech was twice as long as Kennedy's (20 minutes to 10 minutes), but Kennedy stayed at the podium for 30 more minutes of questions from seven Protestant ministers, who were permitted to grill him with unlimited follow-ups. Kennedy shined in that format of quick-witted repartee, treating his questioners respectfully, almost deferentially, while still expressing himself forcefully. Romney took no questions. In the weeks and months to come, he will face some of the grilling to which Kennedy submitted right after his speech. Kennedy, by gaining the support of prominent Protestants in 1960 (Reinhold Niebuhr and John Bennett among them) probably saved Romney the trouble of having to reconcile the hierarchical structure of the LDS Church with American democratic values. And it should be easy enough for Romney to handle the narrow "Jesus" issue. He can keep repeating what he said in the speech: "I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and the Savior of mankind," then claim that he would rather leave the fine points to the theologians. It may be harder for him to explain what Latter-day Saints mean when they say that the 19th-century Book of Mormon counts as a revelation like the Old and New Testaments, or that all believers can aspire to being "gods."
 
Finally, Romney's speech shrewdly combined reaching out to Protestant evangelicals with an overture to the general religious population, liberals included, whom he will want to win over if he gets the Republican nomination. He went out of his way to distance himself from many Protestant Republicans by stating that "reason and religion are friends and allies." In a general election campaign he would try to position himself right on that boundary line: welcoming religion into public life (as many Democrats nowadays, unlike Kennedy, are also eager to do) while asserting that rational judgment and scientific expertise are fully compatible with faith. But some questioner may complicate matters for him by asking, for example, how, given his dual embrace of reason and religion, he interprets his prophet Joseph Smith's claim to have himself translated, from the hieroglyphics on gold plates he discovered on September 22, 1827, the Book of Mormon.

-- Richard Wightman Fox is the author of JESUS IN AMERICA: PERSONAL SAVIOR, CULTURAL HERO, NATIONAL OBSESSION (HarperCollins, 2004).

 
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In 1960 John F. Kennedy gave two major speeches on what he described as the "so-called religious issue" in the presidential campaign. The second, presented to the greater Houston Baptist Ministerial Association in September, after he received the Democratic nomination, has passed into political folklore. It has been cited incessantly in this week's run up to Governor Mitt Romney's address today. The first, given to the American Society of Newspaper Editors in April 1960, when Kennedy's nomination remained very much in doubt, lingers in obscurity. Both speeches were impressive political performances, filled with signature JFK themes like his wartime record and the imminent threat of international Communism. Both stressed the central point that, as Kennedy told the Baptists, a president's "views on religion are his own private affair."  But his more candid and annoyed address to the editors went further. "The President is not elected to be protector of the faith -- or guardian of the public morals. His attendance at church on Sunday should be his business alone, not a showcase for the nation."

From the perspective of 2007 -- indeed, from the perspective of presidential politics since 1976 -- such views sound almost as archaic as Thomas Jefferson's declaration that he cared not whether his neighbor believed in no god or twenty gods. This change in the political zeitgeist does not simply reflect growing religiosity in the electorate. On the contrary, depending on where and how we look, Americans in the aggregate are less religious now than in 1960. Rather, starting with the polarized high "sixties" that began a half decade later, social and cultural issues related to religion have become a larger part of the nation's political divisions. As religion-related issues multiplied, so did rival groups dedicated to mobilizing the devout, the secular, and those in between. In 1960, despite rising Catholic and Protestant tensions during the previous decade, Kennedy could affirm the "absolute" separation of church and state, reject diplomatic relations with the Vatican, call federal aid to parochial schools unconstitutional, and be done with it. The chances of Congress passing a foreign aid bill funding birth control seemed "very remote," he said. And of course Kennedy spoke thirteen years before Roe v Wade legalized almost all abortions.

With varying degrees of piety, sincerity, and success, presidential candidates have adapted to and promoted the proliferation of religion-related issues and a zeitgeist that now seems to impose a de facto religiosity test for the major party nominations.

Jimmy Carter's courtship of his fellow "born again" Protestants helped him win the 1976 election but many of them defected from his coalition when they discovered on closer inspection that Carter was theologically and politically more liberal than he had sounded. Ronald Reagan, an eclectic Protestant with a Catholic father, toyed with religious beliefs ranging from Baha'i to premillennial prophecies of Jesus' imminent return. On the thinnest of evidence, he convinced most evangelicals and fundamentalists that he, too, was a born again Christian, and the briefly influential new Christian right accepted a very junior partnership in the Reagan coalition. As president, Reagan's religious style recalled Eisenhower's affirmations of religion in general; he began the contemporary practice of ending speeches with "God bless America." On thinner evidence and with less success, George H. W. Bush claimed that he, too, was sort of born again. Bill Clinton, who combined spiritual searching and womanizing in the fashion of Lyndon Johnson, continued the speech-ending ritual of asking God to bless America. George W. Bush, a moderate evangelical himself, has given a larger governmental role to the Christian right than Reagan did because that interest group is now more firmly established in the Republican Party.  

Meanwhile, the specific issues related to religion have waxed and waned. For instance, most Americans stopped noticing that numerous presidential contenders since 1960 have been Catholics. Even among pundits, who knew in 1988 that Alexander Haig's brother was a Catholic clergyman? Throughout these three decades, however, religious liberals and militant secularists have continued to warn that the "wall of separation" between church and state has been breached and perhaps seems on the verge of collapse.

In short, the period since 1976, characterized by religion-related issues and an open mixture of religion and politics, looks like most eras in American history rather than the atypical "fifties." Yet even in that stereotyped era, conflict, including substantial religious conflict, could be found just below the enforced consensus.

Viewed in this context, in which conflict relating to religion is viewed as the American historical norm rather than the exception, is there a major "Mormon issue" in contemporary presidential campaign? If so, is it comparable to the "Catholic issue" in 1960?

There is at the moment a Mormon issue in the Republican Party centered on the state of Iowa.  Specifically, there is a close race in the upcoming caucuses between former Massachusetts Governor George Romney, a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS), and former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee, a Baptist minister and television evangelist before he entered politics. This competition has drawn attention to differences between Mormons on the one hand and evangelical and fundamentalist Protestants on the other.

In theological terms, the differences are substantial. Although the LDS Church developed out of the lively Protestant religious stew of the early nineteenth century, Mormons under the leadership of Joseph Smith and Brigham Young intended to improve upon Christianity, with significant departures even from the increasingly amorphous standards of the day. These included new scriptures, including most famously the Book of Mormon, new core beliefs, such as Jesus' presence in the western hemisphere after the resurrection, and controversial practices, such as direct revelation and (until 1890 and most notoriously) plural marriage.

Until the early twentieth century, evangelical Protestants often paired popery and the LDS as comparable autocratic and lecherous evils. If anything, the Mormons looked worse. Catholicism could be viewed as a precursor, a legitimate defender of the pure faith until it went astray. The LDS Church claimed to be a successor, holding that all of the proliferating denominations growing out of Reformation Protestantism needed to be replaced. To reformed Protestants this upstart faith looked like an un-Christian cult. Indeed, Joseph Smith had called himself the second Muhammad.    

Our lives are often more flexible than our doctrines, and the religious rank-and-file in America have always mixed incongruous beliefs in ways that distressed their clergy. By the 1950s most animosity to Mormonism had dissolved in the solvent of religion in general. By the late 1970s, evangelicals, fundamentalists, and Mormons often united in defense of "traditional" values. Jerry Falwell might have suspected that Mormons were doomed to hell but, in the meantime, they were welcome to join the Moral Majority.  During the past quarter century, Mormons have typically placed a stronger emphasis on Jesus Christ as savior and in general sounded more and more like evangelicals.      

Yet significant tensions remained. Not only was Mormonism not really Christian in the eyes of many evangelical and fundamentalist leaders, but also these theological conservatives and the LDS competed in the missionary field. Doctrinal differences and lingering suspicions provided an opening for political exploitation -- especially in the insular world of Republican caucuses and primaries.

Governor Romney apparently thought he could win the Republican presidential nomination by combining relatively cosmopolitan appeals in places like New Hampshire, where there were few religious conservatives, while fitting into the traditionalist family values niche in places like Iowa, where there were lots of them.  Few Republicans in New Hampshire seem to care that Romney is a Mormon.  But evangelical and fundamentalist Republicans in Iowa apparently do, as they almost certainly will in states with comparable religious constituencies.

Still, how deeply they care and what this says about religious tolerance in the United States is hard to say. Undoubtedly they would care less about Mormonism if Romney's chief opponent were Rudolph Giuliani, a thrice married Catholic of sorts. But Governor Huckabee fills the traditionalist family values niche just as well as Romney, and he is, more importantly, an evangelical himself.  

An even harder question is to what extent evangelicals in Iowa are supporting Huckabee because he is one of their own, a fact he is strongly advertising, and to what extent he is winning support because his campaign is exploiting anti-Mormon sentiment. According to press reports, Huckabee has declined to say whether or not he considers Mormonism a cult or just a different but legitimate version of Christianity. An American is certainly allowed to believe and declare that "my religion is better than yours," but at least since the 1930s no serious presidential candidate has said so even in private. Perhaps Huckabee should be the candidate giving a speech on church, state, and religious tolerance.

Romney's speech on those subjects contained few surprises. Much of it echoed Kennedy in 1960. He was a American running for president who happened to be a Mormon rather than the Mormon presidential candidate. He endorsed the separation of church and state. He would not take orders from LDS leaders. He would rather lose than repudiate his faith.  

Most of the civil religion passages could have been lifted from addresses by Eisenhower or FDR. The merit of religion in general was a persistent theme. Liberty was said to be God's gift. John Adams and Abraham Lincoln were invoked as men of faith, as indeed they were, but Romney did not note that their Christianity was considerably less orthodox than Hillary Rodham Clinton's Methodist social gospel. Following the now standard ritual, he ended by asking God to bless America. He did not suggest, along with Lincoln, Jimmy Carter, and even Richard Nixon, that God might decide otherwise.

Three points were noteworthy, if far short of extraordinary. First, fighting for the traditionalist family values niche, he promoted religion in general in the public square, including religious symbols in literal public squares, and scorned the "religion of secularism." Second, perhaps to reassure evangelical and fundamentalist Protestants, he called Jesus the "Son of God and Savior of Mankind." Third, Romney admitted that religious intolerance is one of our American traditions, and he cited the travails of dissident puritan Anne Hutchinson and LDS leader Brigham Young as cases in point.

Romney's speech will probably not affect the outcome of the Iowa caucus. It does not rank with either of Kennedy's 1960 addresses as a political performance or a serious discussion of church and state. Nonetheless, the speech shows that Romney has begun to think about questions that he will face over and over and over again if he wins the Republican nomination.

One thing that has not changed significantly since 1960 is the dismal performance of the news media when covering religion and politics. There are exceptions. This week these included Kenneth Woodward's New York Times op ed on the differences between the situations faced by JFK and Romney. Reporters now feel obligated to call scholars to explain, for example, the difference between Mormons and evangelicals. But expert advice rarely affects the main narrative line, which still highlights the atypical and the lurid. As Kennedy told the editors in his lesser known 1960 speech, they should stop "magnifying" and "oversimplifying" religious issues.

-- Leo P. Ribuffo, a professor of history at the George Washington University, specializes in 20th century U.S. history and American intellectual history.
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Governor Romney says some wise things about faith and freedom and politics. He unfortunately joins the crowd of Christians who love to bash the straw man of secularism, but he is right to ask for respect and to challenge those who expect him to address specific Mormon doctrines. What's missing is conscience, how religion's claims are mediated by conscience and, as John Kennedy acknowledged on a similar occasion, a moment might come when a president, like a citizen, might be required to object, or to resign. What's an even greater worry here is Governor Romney's commitment to conventional civil religion: what really matters is America, for which we ask our people to risk death, and to kill, and willingness to do so is apparently the major test of genuine American religion. So the big question, for all Americans, is what is our common good and what happens to us when we confine debate about that question to those who really worship America?

--David O'Brien is a historian of American Catholicism and professor of Roman Catholic studies at the College of the Holy Cross in Worcester, Massachusetts.
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Gov. Romney is attempting to do a jujitsu trick with this speech, which is actually an old political strategy. He is attempting to turn concerns about his faith, which seems very sincerely and intensely held, into recognition that the sincerity and intensity of faith is itself a good thing.

Consider two lines in the speech. First, Romney said that "[a]s governor...I did not confuse the particular teachings of my church with the obligations of the office and of the Constitution -- and of course, I would not do so as President. I will put no doctrine of any church above the plain duties of the office and the sovereign authority of the law."

Along with this, he also said "no authorities of my church, or of any other church for that matter, will ever exert influence on presidential decisions. Their authority is theirs, within the province of church affairs, and it ends where the affairs of the nation begin." He is trying to say that religion has a moral energy, but it cannot speak directly to issues of policy. This is a classic mid-century understanding of how religion can help moral and political life; it offers little unique in the way of direction to our moral endeavors, but it does offer something significant in the way of energizing our efforts.

It turns out that everyone was looking in the wrong place -- or rather, to the wrong president. The antecedent figure to look to here is not Kennedy but Eisenhower, who famously said that "our government has no sense unless it is founded in a deeply felt religious faith, and I don't care what it is."

The problem with this approach is precisely that it assumes a clear division between religion and politics, between "affairs of the nation" and "church affairs." Historically, no clear division was acknowledged between those two things. It is an achievement of modernity, over the past several centuries, to begin to insinuate that religious belief and civic commitment are two viably distinct dimensions of human life. This is not to say that they were totally conflated in all times and places; but the distinctions Romney drew today are very unusual, historically speaking. And it is still not at all clear that those distinctions are right -- that in fact we can imagine religion and politics as totally separate spheres of human life without tension between them.

In fact, contemporary political and cultural life is even more challenging than that. For many of our most fraught debates over the past several decades -- on culture war issues as well as geopolitical issues -- do seem to rest on judgments that are frankly moral, not a matter of neutral policy but grounded in assessments of reality that speak in necessarily normative vernacular. To what degree was the USSR an evil empire? What do we owe the poor in our own country? What do we owe those who suffer genocide, thousands of miles away? Is abortion the intrinsically evil killing of a human life, or the potentially tragic termination of a preliminary entity that would become a human life? These debates in the public realm are as much moral and metaphysical and theological debates as they are political ones.

Indeed, many of the Republican Party's legitimate complaints about the expulsion of religion from the public sphere in the last few decades were built on a critique of just the approach Romney was using -- which was, effectively, what much of the Democratic Party thought after the 1960s. Religion and politics are not supposed to relate to one another. They are wholly separate spheres of life, one "private," the other "public." It is ironic, then, that Romney's speech was so focused on resolving his political views that he may have ended up replicating that approach, and that may mean he didn't really address the issue at all. Evangelicals who are persuaded by critiques of such an approach to religion and politics will be no more satisfied that a Republican voices them than if a Democrat did.

Finally, one should bemoan Romney's tepid appreciation of Islam. Was it all he could do to say that he admires the "commitment to frequent prayer of the Muslims"? One imagines there is more to find admirable in Islam -- for example, the seriousness with which Muslims take their religious practice, well beyond the requirement to pray five times daily. One might point to the zakat, the alms that good Muslims are supposed to give; or perhaps the month of Ramadan, recently concluded, during which Muslims avoid all forms of sensual pleasure (most notably eating, drinking, and smoking) during the daylight hours. Especially in the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas, attention to how a religious tradition can work against gluttony would not be a bad thing to point out. In any event, if you're not willing to say something real, it seems unhelpful to say something so empty.

--Charles T. Mathewes is an associate professor of religious ethics and the history of Christian thought at the University of Virginia and the author of A THEOLOGY OF PUBLIC LIFE (Cambridge University Press, 2007).

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