Robertson: The Politics of Religion

WASHINGTON — When the chorus was done, when Oral Roberts was done, when Roosevelt Grier and the Rev. Jimmy Draper had had their say, a retired minister named Harald Bredesen made his way unobtrusively to the podium at Constitution Hall here earlier this month to introduce the evening’s main event, his old friend televangelist Marion G. (Pat) Robertson.

Bredesen, knees bent, voice gliding from a hush to a roar, stroked the room of supporters who had stomped and clapped and cried “amen” for more than two hours while waiting for Robertson to announce his plans for 1988. “America is a giant,” he said, his words round and soft, “a bleeding giant.” From the crowd came knowing nods, mumbled affirmations.

Bredesen went on, his voice building. “Only God can heal her wounds; only God can set her free; only God. Only a man whom God has appointed, whom God has anointed, only a man who fears God . . . at whatever cost obeys God . . . only that man can lead us in this hour. We are here tonight because we believe you, Pat, are that man.” The curtains behind Bredesen opened, and a huge red-white-and-blue “Americans for Robertson” banner appeared; the band began to play “America the Beautiful” and Robertson bounded up to the podium while the crowd stood and cheered--and cheered.

This was great political theater. But the moment captured with exquisite clarity the conundrum Robertson faces as he pursues the Republican presidential nomination. To motivate the hard-core supporters Robertson needs to staff and finance his efforts, his campaign must hit religious notes. But the more overtly religious his appeal, the more fears it raises among mainstream voters.

Robertson probably passed the point of no return with the announcement last week that his campaign schedule no longer permits him to host his religious television program, “The 700 Club.” Although he will continue as a regular commentator, this move diminishes Robertson’s access to his most faithful followers. Concern about the fate of “The 700 Club” is one reason why Robertson’s crusade has drawn a surprisingly mixed reaction in the religious conservative movement. Fearing a backlash, many religious right leaders privately are more nervous than excited about Robertson’s pursuit of the presidency. “If he makes many more blunders like saying Christians are more patriotic than other Americans,” said one of the religious right’s leading political strategists, “it could be a disaster for our movement.”

Since he began sounding out support last year, Robertson has attracted a large number of religious leaders and local activists. For his speech at Constitution Hall, he assembled an impressive armada of religious firepower on stage, including fellow televangelist Roberts, and two former presidents of the huge Southern Baptist Convention, dominated by fundamentalists in recent years. Even more impressive, in a private meeting Sept. 8, Robertson managed to wangle an endorsement out of televangelist Jimmy Swaggart, who had publicly questioned his candidacy only days earlier.

Ironically, the attacks on Robertson--from liberal groups such as People for the American Way and from some fellow officers in the Korean War who say that he avoided combat through the intervention of his father, Sen. A. Willis Robertson (D-Va.)--probably help unify the religious conservatives. Sources in the movement say Swaggart faced intense pressure not to be a voice of dissent while the “brethren” were under outside attack. The ferocity of the anti-Robertson campaign convinced Christian Voice, an organization of religious conservatives that has been cool, if not hostile, to hold a press conference defending him.

But Robertson still has a long way to go before bringing the evangelical movement under one tent. Among Robertson’s natural constituency of evangelical Christians--who make up a large voting bloc, anywhere from 20%-30% of the population, depending on exactly how they are defined--there are serious concerns about his candidacy, both political and religious.

When the National Assn. of Evangelicals asked its local leaders last spring who they preferred as the 1988 Republican nominee, Robertson placed third with about 15%--behind Rep. Jack F. Kemp (R-N.Y.) and Sen. William L. Armstrong (R-Colo.), an evangelical Christian himself. “Given the media attention Robertson has gotten since our poll, a lot more of the people in the pew are certainly aware of him,” said Brian O’Connell, a research associate. “But as far as the leadership of the mainstream evangelical community, you’re not seeing them coming out and endorsing him. You’re seeing the leaders of the fundamentalists”--a smaller group, more conservative, both religiously and politically.

In any case, leaders of any kind don’t deliver too many followers in politics anymore. Polls show only limited support for Robertson among evangelical and fundamentalist Christian voters--nothing approaching the overwhelming backing for the Rev. Jesse Jackson among black Democrats in 1984. In the Michigan primary last summer, exit polls found that Robertson ran 14 points behind Vice President George Bush among “born-again” Christians, with only 23% of their vote.

One reason for Robertson’s difficulty among these voters is that evangelical Christians continue to hold serious doubts about directly mixing religion and politics. A recent Los Angeles Times poll, like a survey conducted by Republican pollster V. Lance Tarrance in 1983, found a strong resistance among evangelicals and fundamentalists to clergymen who preach political messages and a mixed opinion on clergymen running for public office.

Another problem Robertson faces is that in several states local religious conservative leaders report an undercurrent of disappointment that he would give up his religious activities, even to run for President (Swaggart’s earlier primary concern). “I know people who are really strong followers of Pat Robertson who are just wondering whether he is taking second-best running for President, rather than staying in the Lord’s work,” said Jim Edwards Jr., a religious conservative activist in Columbia, S.C.

There’s a third problem: Robertson’s religious base is in the charismatic and Pentecostal movements that stress an intense personal relationship with God and such practices as faith healing and speaking in tongues. Many evangelicals find those practices alien. When Robertson claims specific direction from God on individual decisions--such as where to locate his Christian Broadcast Network--that rubs many in the evangelical community the wrong way. “There are very few Baptists who are going to say ‘God told me to buy a transmitter,’ ” said O’Connell.

The political hurdles Robertson faces in the evangelical community are formidable too. Many of the more experienced activists have already signed up with other candidates who have a greater chance of winning. The Rev. Jerry Falwell, for example, has already endorsed Bush. And surveys reveal that not all evangelicals share the views of religious right leaders who claim to speak for them. Though evangelical Christians tend strongly to support school prayer and oppose homosexuality, a majority takes the liberal position on such social issues as federal funding for abortion and the equal-rights amendment.

It may be that Robertson’s campaign makes its greatest mark by dispelling the myth of a monolithic, uniformly conservative evangelical community. Then, again, what Robertson’s campaign may do most clearly is crystallize the difficulties of invoking higher authority to settle political disputes. Last June, after some success in the initial round of Michigan’s delegate selection process, Robertson sent out a letter to backers that read: “THE CHRISTIANS HAVE WON . . . . What a thrust for freedom! What a breakthrough for the Kingdom.” At a Michigan press conference he was asked: If the Christians won, who lost? Everybody laughed. Then there was a pause. Robertson didn’t have an answer.