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Read the Introduction and selections from Part 1 of Sects & Politics.
Introduction
The 1994 film Forrest Gump follows Forrest, a simple individual whose tenacity and dumb luck lead him safely through major cultural events of the 1960s. We watch as Forrest teaches Elvis to dance, wins the Medal of Honor in the Vietnam War, plays ping-pong in China, exposes the Watergate scandal, and helps invent the smiley face emoticon.
It could be said that I am the “Forrest Gump” of Evangelicalism. In sometimes oblivious ways, I have passed through evangelical Christian movements, beginning with the counterculture Jesus People revolution of the 1970s. I’ve been a worship leader, a pastor, and a church planter. I marched in Washington for Jesus in 1980 and was a zealous proponent of the early Christian Right’s politics.
Over the years, I lived through evangelicalism’s major variations and controversies. Sometimes I merely took part, sometimes I promoted, and sometimes I served as a warning to others. I became a member, then a propagator, then a defector in a Christian personality cult. I absorbed the books, music, conferences, teachings, and eventually, the political movements that shaped modern evangelicalism. I wasn’t standing outside, looking in; I was all in. But don’t let the history scare you. In typical “Gump” style, I blundered through most of it. I’ve traveled this walk for fifty years and still love Jesus. He has patiently brought me through it all.
Today, evangelicals wrestle with a new challenge. How do we navigate how our faith influences our political choices? What is at stake when politics and witnessing coexist? What morality do we expect from our champions? Has God chosen America as the new Israel?
My personal history has taught me that not everything I get excited about gets God’s blessing. Sometimes my enthusiasm, sincerity, and simplicity have caused me to make painful mistakes. Thankfully, God has upheld me even when I didn’t deserve it.
This is a charged moment. Evangelical Christians increasingly express their faith through political identities, alliances, and public battles. The stakes are high: faith and politics mix easily, and sometimes it doesn’t look pretty. Typing that last sentence caused me to pause. I’ve been there. In fact, I live on the edge of that precipice.
This book examines one evangelical Christian’s travel through the rise of the Christian Right and explores the struggle to remain faithful to Christ in the midst of the political storm. It asks: Can Christians engage in politics with a concern for morality, justice, and truth without losing sight of the Great Commission? Can we identify the warning signs in our speech and behavior? I hope to show that our primary mission, sharing Christ, can transcend our political passions and preserve what matters most.
With that goal, we’ll begin. I hope my thoughts bring value to you. As Forrest Gump might say, “They’re the only ones I’ve got.”
Part 1 — The Journey In
To My Younger Self
Re: Don’t lose your wonder
Dear Joel,
Remember that it all started with great joy. When you recount the challenges of your journey, don’t forget to begin with the miracle of your rebirth. Someday, you’ll write:
“The Jesus Movement cascaded like a river, washing through communities and across campuses. It carried all who were willing into a new way of life.”
The story of Christian Nationalism can’t be understood without first understanding what drew so many of us to Christ. The wonder of knowing Jesus is the only part of this journey you will never regret.
See you in the mirror,
Joel
The Road to the Christian Right
The story begins decades before Christian Nationalism became a familiar term, because today’s movement cannot be understood apart from the path that led many of us there. It began with a sincere search for God. Unprecedented world events tore at the hearts of my generation, and many of us embarked on a quest for spiritual answers.
Monumental transformations brought about by two world wars, technological upheaval, and sweeping social transformation marked the 20th century as a time of rapid change. In “The Second Coming,” a renowned poem by William Butler Yeats written after World War I, he effectively conveyed that sense of unease:
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
— William Butler Yeats, The Second Coming
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.
In 1963, I was in the third grade. One Friday afternoon in November, I crossed the “cut-off,” a bare, sometimes muddy diagonal path across an empty lot, on my way home from school. From the other direction, an older kid rode his bike and, like a contemporary Paul Revere, shouted: “Someone shot the President.” Confused and anxious, I rushed home and found my mom in tears watching a special news bulletin on our TV. The smell of burned ham hocks she’d let boil dry filled the air. Shock, fear, and a sudden sense of loss settled over us. Call it the cliché “shattered youth,” but many questions began that day.
Against this backdrop, children of the 1960s and 1970s faced political assassinations, generational conflict, civil rights struggles, women’s liberation, environmental anxiety, and the Vietnam War. Each evening, three network newscasts delivered the angst of a nation increasingly uncertain of itself.
It seemed a nation that triumphed in World War II should be capable of establishing a moral course. But the Pentagon Papers, Watergate, and a president’s resignation shattered that illusion. Suddenly, institutions that once appeared stable and reliable seemed empty. As in the Yeats poem, our image of America was falling apart, and the center no longer held.
Yet local communities persevered despite the onslaught. While political and cultural upheaval tore at the foundation of our nation, individual communities, churches, schools, and civic organizations became the last firebreaks against complete social fragmentation. I was a Boy Scout, an occasional member of the honor roll, and the president of my church’s youth group. Outwardly, my small world stayed intact.
Still, beneath the surface, many of us were adrift.
The Jesus Movement
On a chilly February morning in 1976, I sat about twenty seats up and two in from the blackboard in a packed Indiana University chemistry auditorium. The lecturer spoke about quantum mechanics, describing the ordered behavior of the particles that form our world. The picture he created in my mind convinced me that only a Creator could explain such complexity. I decided that not believing in God would take more faith than believing. In that moment, I instinctively prayed: “God, if you’re interested, I would like to speak with you.”
In the weeks that remained of the semester, I spent my evenings walking the streets of Bloomington, Indiana, in a daze. I tried to talk to God. I did not much like the man I’d become, and I had no recourse. Calling out with genuine repentance, I wanted to walk differently. My life changed forever when Christ entered my heart.
I was far from alone in my transformation. A famous Life magazine cover showed three young men at a Jesus rally in Dallas. They shouted exuberantly and pointed upward at the ‘One Way’ sign.
The Jesus Movement cascaded like a river, washing through communities and across campuses. It carried all who were willing into a new way of life. Thousands of young people, disillusioned with politics, materialism, and social conflict, turned instead toward spiritual transformation. Christianity no longer seemed like an inherited religion; it felt like a rescue.
The phrase “newness of life” carried real emotional weight. It meant deliverance from loneliness, despair, and moral confusion. In those early months, I proposed to the woman who would become my wife — a decision that felt, for the first time in years, completely clear. Our lives that had formerly seemed without direction suddenly became purposeful. In contrast to the world which despaired in isolation, we found friendship and purpose in our common Christian experience.
Our first summer as newlyweds, my wife and I visited a small, run-down church. We found many young couples enthusiastically singing and clapping. Some danced. Their actions scared me senseless. I kept a quiet eye on the door and prayed for an early dismissal. I considered dropping to my knees, crawling under the pews, and letting myself out the nearest exit. Alas, my wife’s firm grip on my arm thwarted my escape.
Thank God, it finally quieted down. A small man took the podium. He shared stories and explained parables from the Bible. His message contained no humorous anecdotes or lessons on positive living, and he never touched on current events. I listened intently and lacked the words to describe the power and truth I sensed in his message. The next Sunday, we were back in our pew. Wincing with every shout, shrinking with every clap, I white-knuckled it through the worship. All for the chance to hear that man read and teach from the Bible again.
Gradually, my wife and I came to love the praise, worship, and prayer within the fellowship. Though we were both busy with school and part-time jobs, we jumped in wholeheartedly. I became incurably addicted to reading and learning about the Bible. The revelation of God’s Truth became the most important reality in my life. We experienced God’s presence through the Holy Spirit. Faith was no longer a rote creed; it changed us, our ambitions, our relationships, and our daily lives.
The Real Kind of Revival
An associate of Billy Graham planned to visit our town. Church members attended classes and promoted the event. We invited our friends and family, and many attended and received Jesus as their Savior. Following the event, God continued working throughout the community. Our church, with about 30 adults, baptized over 60 people. As the months passed, the message fanned out across the area. Students at the local high school made commitments to Christ. Responses from families, co-workers, and acquaintances continued for over a year. Humorously, reports came in of neighbors going to church in self-defense, just so these crazy Christians would leave them alone.
Each evening, teams accompanied new believers as they shared their new life in Christ with their friends and loved ones. At times, it felt as though we were living out the book of Acts: “And the Lord was adding to their number day by day those who were being saved” (Acts 2:47, NASB).
One afternoon as I walked down the street, a church member drove by and, like a madman, waved and yelled out his truck window, “We got one last night!” A team I was with had been likewise successful, and I shouted back, “We got one too!” It sounds ridiculous now — counting souls like a box score. But the unbridled joy behind it was completely genuine.
Those were wonderful days. Success bred success. On one occasion, a young man stopped a church member on the sidewalk and asked how he could be born again. We preached in the streets, and others went from door to door. We felt as though the Holy Spirit lifted a giant “Jesus magnet,” and folks kept streaming in. I’m not one to hang my faith on revivalist doctrine, but I don’t know how else to describe that experience.
The Next Big Thing
The victories seemed unstoppable. We experienced an addictive excitement in those times. Eventually, the activity slowed down. As the evangelistic successes waned, life returned to normal. Some new believers grew stronger, many found other churches, and sadly, some turned away from the faith. The slowing activity was a letdown. We longed for the excitement of the “next big thing” we believed was waiting on the horizon.
We did not yet realize that many of the energies released by the Jesus Movement would eventually be redirected into politics. What began as a spiritual awakening also created networks, leaders, institutions, and a sense of shared purpose. During the late 1970s, concerns about abortion, secularism, public education, and the perceived decline of American culture began drawing many evangelicals into public life. We were approaching a crossroads where faith and politics would become harder to distinguish.
Excerpt from Sects & Politics by Joel W. Townsend.
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