Sunday Division Has a New Equation

At 9:30 last Sunday morning, the organ sounded and the congregation rose from the pews in the soaring, sun-splashed sanctuary of Colonial Church, which sits just outside the center of town here.

Some in their Sunday best, others in jeans, they rustled to their feet and joined together in a 285-year-old hymn, “O God, Our Help in Ages Past.”

At the same moment about two miles away, men and women in shorts and jogging shoes, their hair rumpled, were filling the fat leather chairs at the Caribou Coffee shop in Edina’s quaint downtown.

They settled in with complicated lattes and the morning newspaper. An arts festival beckoned outside and as the smell of kettle corn filled the air, the Lord seemed about the last topic on their minds

This is America on each side of a Sunday morning divide that has long shaped the nation’s social and cultural life but now increasingly drives elections as well.

Polls show that Americans who attend religious services regularly are more likely than those who don’t to take more conservative positions on matters such as banning abortion or approving gay marriage.

And as values issues have become more prominent in presidential campaigns over the past generation, a stark fissure has emerged: Voters who attend church more regularly tend to favor Republicans, while those who go less often lean toward the Democrats.

In 2000, against the backdrop of the Bill Clinton-Monica Lewinsky scandal, that divide accelerated, with exit polls showing that about three-fifths of Americans who went to church once a week or more voted for Republican George W. Bush, and more than three-fifths of those who never attended services preferred Democrat Al Gore.

These trends are so pronounced that most analysts think they have become an entrenched part of the political landscape. “I think it will continue for the foreseeable future,” said John C. Green, a University of Akron political scientist who specializes in the relationship between religion and politics.

But with the nation so closely divided, this election is likely to be settled by subtle shifts at the edge of each side’s coalition -- such as whether Democratic Sen. John F. Kerry of Massachusetts can slightly reduce President Bush’s commanding margin among regular churchgoers, or whether the incumbent can slightly improve his weak performance among more secular Americans.

Conversations on each side of the Sunday morning divide in Edina show the opportunity and the challenge for the two men.

In this affluent suburb just west of Minneapolis, which has split closely between the two parties in the last three presidential elections, voters in and out of church display ambiguity and conflicted emotion on the role of religion in public life, Bush’s extensive reliance on religious themes and the overall course he has set as president.

The interviews did not reveal wholesale shifts in the electorate since 2000. But they did expose thin fractures in Bush’s support, primarily opened by anxiety over the war in Iraq. Among those who started their day with Scripture and those who preferred a cappuccino and the crossword, the invasion of Iraq looms as the defining decision of Bush’s presidency.

With Kerry still a spectral presence for most in Edina, the ultimate judgment about the war could settle the verdict on Bush’s reelection bid.

Four years ago, Bush ran more strongly with voters in every major Christian denomination who attended services regularly than those who did not. His best showing was among evangelical Protestants who regularly went to church -- they gave him more than 80% of their vote.

For many of these voters, who increasingly crowd nondenominational mega-churches sprouting in suburbs across the country, Bush’s open expression of Christian faith creates a personal bond that transcends his specific decisions as president.

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At the Church

“I like to know that the president has the same morals that I do,” said Jenny Ritter, a married mother who attends a nondenominational church a few miles from Colonial. “I am drawn to the fact that he is moral. Look at all the presidents of the past, who succumbed to all of these temptations -- Clinton or [John F. Kennedy].”

Bush may face a greater challenge in maintaining his elevated support among regular churchgoers in Catholic and mainline Protestant congregations where liberal social-justice messages tend to resound more powerfully and the Iraq war has stirred deep ambivalence.

Some of those pressures were evident at Colonial Church, which usually draws about 900 people to traditional and contemporary services on Sundays. Part of the Congregationalist tradition that traces its roots to the Puritans and allows each church unusual freedom to decide its own practices, Colonial is housed in an elegant brown clapboard building that looks as if it were imported from New England, complete with a covered bridge over a pond out back.

It is a church for the restless, the skeptical and the searching. Many of its members have developed a stirringly strong commitment to it, after growing up in other faiths or turning away from other organized religions or seeking spiritual refuge during a personal crisis.

“It is inclusive, rather than exclusive -- and in my opinion that’s Jesus,” said Megan Fronek, an expectant mother.

The Rev. David C. Fisher, the senior minister, said that when a church group met recently to discuss the Iraq situation, it divided almost in half over whether the U.S. invasion qualified as a “just war.” Similarly, mixed emotions and divergent opinions surfaced when 15 church members gathered last Sunday to talk about Bush and Kerry.

Some at Colonial find Bush’s open expressions of faith reassuring.

Linda Rich-Meland, a probation officer, said, “I’m glad to know he has a faith, that he gets down on his knees before a higher power and doesn’t see himself as the highest power.”

But in a church that prizes the journey as much as the destination, Bush’s professions grate on others.

“A lot of times I react negatively because I feel it’s usually in the context that he has an understanding of what God would or wouldn’t bless,” said Lance Steinke, a financial advisor. “I don’t get the sense it comes from humility where he is asking for God’s help.”

Faith doesn’t lead these earnest and articulate parishioners to the same political conclusions, but it infuses their assessments of domestic and foreign issues. Several cite social gospel tenets of service to the poor to condemn Bush’s budget priorities. But Paula Hughes, a law office aide, said, “You certainly can be over toward the conservative side and still have a compassionate view.”

Others wrestle with whether it is appropriate to codify in law their personal views, such as opposition to abortion. “To be honest, the only person who has the right to dictate what other people do is God,” said Charlie Grussing-Neitzel.

The war in Iraq stirs the most passion.

Andy Fronek, Megan’s husband and a mutual funds salesman, responds to Bush’s unflinching descriptions of the Iraq war and the struggle against terrorism as a confrontation between good and evil. “I like the directness,” Fronek said. “I think ... we need a leader that is strong, and he is strong. In a changing situation all the time, it is reassuring to me that he has some faith behind him and some direction.”

But the dominant note in the quiet meeting room is skepticism and even hostility toward the invasion. The Congregationalist faith emphasizes unity, and several lament the international divisions opened by the war.

Megan Fronek is outraged over the war and especially the Abu Ghraib prison scandal. She plans on voting against Bush as “my only way to communicate with the rest of the world and say, ‘I’m sorry for our lack of humility and our self-righteous pushing our opinions on someone else.’ ”

Megan’s vehemence is a warning sign for Bush: in 2000, she supported him.

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At the Coffee House

Edina, population 45,000, is a suburb with manicured rolling lawns and sprawling houses on quiet streets. The first climate-controlled mall was built here, and it is a place so attuned to quality of life that it was crowned the Healthy Sleep Capital of America when local officials delayed the start of the high school day to let kids catch a few more minutes of shut-eye.

Wealthy, mostly white and solidly Republican for years, Edina and its neighboring communities have followed other affluent, socially moderate Northern suburbs over the past decade in dividing more evenly between the parties. Clinton won the district twice; Bush claimed it narrowly in 2000.

So if Kerry is going to pick up votes that went to Bush, one prime target would be Edina’s sporadic churchgoers -- the sort who flocked to the Caribou Coffee house as potters and painters set up their work for the arts fair that occupied downtown on the first sunny days in weeks.

The frequency of church attendance among those in the coffee house varied. Some went twice a month, others never.

Some resented the suggestion that they were less spiritual because they did not practice their faith with the enthusiasm of the president. Some are offended by Bush’s open testaments of faith, some admire them. But none consider faith alone reason enough to vote for him.

Steve Casey, a 53-year-old alcohol and drug counselor, was raised a Catholic and once considered entering the priesthood. But 15 years ago, he attended a church service that happened to fall on Flag Day. The patriotic display in his place of worship disturbed him so deeply, he left the church for good.

Bush’s propensity for making references to Scripture in political speeches stirs the same anger now. “I am very spiritual but not oriented to a specific religion. I find what Bush does offensive and dangerous,” Casey said. “You could come to my house with a truckload of money and under no circumstances would I vote for him.”

Krista Heidgerken, 36, and her boyfriend, Joel Warnert, 39, believe in a higher power, even though they attend their Catholic church only about six times a year, including weddings and baptisms. Bush’s openness about his faith fuels their opinion of him as narrow-minded and unreceptive to varying opinions.

“Let’s face it, he is not a good listener,” Heidgerken said.

Dan and Dayna Deutsch feel more conflicted. They backed Bush in 2000 because he promised to restore integrity to the presidency after the Clinton scandal. Christians who worship about twice a month, they had felt Bush was fulfilling that vow, but now Iraq has raised questions about his judgment.

“He started to bring integrity to the White House and we were all really hungry for that, but the jury is still out,” said Dayna Deutsch, 50, a public relations coordinator for a family entertainment company. “I voted for him and I respect him, but Iraq has taken a terribly bad turn. And that has colored whatever measure of integrity he has brought.”

Dan Deutsch, a 51-year-old airline pilot, also has been shaken by the reversals in the war, including the failure to find weapons of mass destruction and the prison scandal. But he considers Bush a strong leader and he wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Bush may have gotten a lot of bad advice” about Iraq, he said.

Julie Murphy, 45, and Mary Teschendorf, 46, both mothers of three who attend church about twice a month, reflect a different sort of conflict. Murphy voted for Bush in 2000. Her friend did not. But they share the premise of many religious conservatives -- and Bush -- that many of America’s problems today are rooted in the erosion of moral values.

“Traditional values are not practiced; people are not around for their children. It all comes down to making a dollar,” Murphy said.

But both women express suspicion about Bush’s use of religious themes and say that the president showed moral failings equivalent to Clinton’s in the Lewinsky scandal when he led the nation into war on what they now think were false premises.

Their skepticism was the defining note downtown among those who did not regularly attend church. The strongest support for Bush came from those who were usually found in the pews, but were taking a break -- like Shane Vail, a married salesman who considered Bush a strong leader and was frustrated at the pessimism over Iraq.

“We want instant gratification in our society, and that is almost forcing the administration’s hand,” he said. “This is going to take a long time and we need a lot of patience.”

For both those at Colonial Church and those at the coffee house, Bush is a vivid presence with clear strengths and weakness. By contrast, for most of them, Kerry is still a distant, even obscure, figure. “I don’t know him yet,” said Heidgerken. “I want to know the basics -- why is he different and how will he make the world a better place?”

Some in each location say they need to learn more about Kerry before deciding whom to support in November. But more indicate their decision will turn mostly on their views about Bush.

Indeed, the clearest point of convergence across the Sunday morning divide may be an agreement that this election above all is a referendum on a president whose religious intensity -- like almost everything else about him -- sends many Americans to opposite corners.

“This election is really about Bush or not Bush,” said Andy Fronek, the Bush fan, in a sentiment echoed by his wife, Megan, the Bush critic. “I can’t think of another election that is so much like that.”