Politicizing the Word

The Rev. Jerry Falwell says God has a message for Caesar

The figure is imposing--tall, a bit jowly, dressed like a businessman in a dark three-piece suit. The backdrop, massed American flags and a 33-member choir of attractive college kids scrubbed to a sparkle, is Fourth of July inspiring. The words are measured out in an avuncular bass. God loves America above all nations, the preacher says, but the U.S. is sure giving heaven a hard time. Amens come from the crowd as the pastor inveighs against all the "infidels and in-for-hells." He scourges the Federal Government for fostering socialism, the public school system for making "humanism" its religion and Hollywood for making the nation think dirty. Holding up a Bible, he admonishes: "If a man stands by this book, vote for him. If he doesn't, don't."

The road show is called the "I Love America" rally. The author, producer and star is the Rev. Jerry Falwell, 46, a Baptist out of Lynchburg, Va. Back home, Falwell is the hyperactive founder and director of a religious empire that includes a thriving church, schools and charitable and fund-raising programs. Thanks to his Old-Time Gospel Hour, seen on 324 television stations in the U.S., Canada and the Caribbean, he is also one of the top stars of the "electric church." All told, his enterprises employ 950 people and have an annual budget of $56 million.

Now Falwell is moving in a big way into political activism on the national scene. His patriotic rally made its debut at the capitol in Richmond Sept. 13. Last week, with an entourage of 50 (choir, soloists, sound technicians, a bodyguard), he went to Columbus, and Harrisburg, Pa. This week it will be Albany. In cooperation with Washington-based New Right political groups, he has just organized his first purely secular enterprise, Moral Majority Inc., and plans to hit all 50 states within 18 months. He sees Moral Majority as a much needed antidote to progressive public interest organizations like Common Cause. Senior Correspondent Laurence I. Barrett traveled with Falwell during the first week of his campaign. Barrett's report:

Jerry Falwell's explanation of his move to politics seems simple: "God wanted me to look beyond Lynchburg. We cannot be isolationists. We've got to have the world upon our hearts." Falwell is a fundamentalist. "The entire Bible," he insists, "from Genesis to Revelation, is the inerrant word of God, and totally accurate in all respects." As Falwell reads Scripture, it stands foursquare against abortion, gay rights, feminism, excessive welfare programs, pornography, tolerance of Communist expansion and SALT II.

Falwell enjoys taking big risks, like starting up a new college from scratch in less than a year, as he did with Liberty Baptist College, begun in 1971. Now Falwell is betting that his views, values and chauvinist spirit will strike a plangent chord in the hearts of millions of conservative Protestants, many of whom have thus far been politically apathetic.

Falwell brings to his crusade plenty of preacherly skills, the energy of two or three men and a gift for administration commonly associated with hierarchical churches but rare among anarchical Baptists. At Brookville High School in Lynchburg (pop. 85,000), he earned straight A's and starred in basketball and baseball. But he was also famous as Lynchburg's champion prankster. Fusty authorities denied him the valedictorian's podium, when he graduated in 1950, for such capers as locking up a teacher in a supply closet. Today there is no one to punish him when he sets off a stink bomb in his singers' airplane before running for his own Commander jet.

Until age 18 Falwell was only a nominal churchgoer. As a sophomore at Lynchburg College he became "born again," and promptly transferred to Baptist Bible College in Springfield, Mo. In 1956, armed with very little more than a brand-new degree in Bible studies, he founded the Thomas Road Baptist Church, and started a radio program. A local television show followed six months later. The broadcasts helped attract members to Thomas Road and within a few years the church was flourishing and spawning good works: a treatment center for alcoholics, a summer camp for children, missionary work overseas, an academy that now runs from nursery school through twelfth grade, eventually the college and a graduate-level seminary. Thomas Road, with 17,000 baptized members, is selfsupporting. Everything else relies heavily on contributions from viewers of the Old-Time Gospel Hour.

Always struggling to keep pace with his expanding endeavors, Falwell constantly asks for money. He urges his congregants to give at least one-tenth of their incomes; about half pay the tithe. Every TV broadcast carries an appeal for cash.

Names of more than 2 million families who have contributed are kept in a computer bank. At least one of his recent mailings--Falwell disclaims knowledge of it --implies monetary reward for religious commitment. The passage printed over his name says: "Maybe your financial situation seems impossible. Put Jesus first in your stewardship and allow Him to bless you financially."

Falwell was reared to believe that segregation was the natural order of things, but he changed his view as a young pastor and began baptizing blacks in the early '60s. Still, the faculty of his Lynchburg Christian Academy is all white, and among 1,147 pupils enrolled this semester, only five are black. Where his schools are concerned, he admits: "I don't think we've gone after blacks aggressively."

The political crusade of the Moral Majority, Falwell says, must transcend racial and religious lines. He wants to rally "Jews, Catholics, Protestants and nothings" who share his social views. He has always been an ardent Zionist, and preaches that one reason God favors America is that America "has blessed the Jew--his chosen people." But when he got to that subject at the Richmond rally, he admitted that some in his audience might still be antiSemitic. "And I know why you don't like the Jew," he went on. "He can make more money accidentally than you can make on purpose."

His fundamentalist following so far remains overwhelmingly white and heavy with farmers, blue-collar workers and small businessmen. He cannot get too far out in front of them politically. That may not be a problem. On issues, he says, he has always been conservative down the line. Asked if he could recall a single instance in which he had ever taken what would be considered the liberal side of an important public question, he thought for a moment, chuckled and replied: "No, I guess there is no way you're going to be able to clean me up."

After each statehouse rally, he gives a luncheon for local born-again pastors, hoping to enlist support for Moral Majority. He mentions the need for political ecumenism, and bemoans the fact that several million "conservative Christians"--his label for those who more or less agree with his reading of the Bible--do not vote. "If there is one person in this room not registered," he tells the pastors, "repent of it. It's a sin." That message must be repeated in every congregation, he says. The order of the day must be: "Get them saved, baptized and registered."

Falwell's habit of mixing religion with American chauvinism and military policy does not sit well with many born-again churchmen. Jimmy Allen of the First Baptist Church of San Antonio, Texas, and past president of the Southern Baptist Convention warns that allegiance with political organizations is dangerous for the church. Says he: "Jesus cannot be captured by any political or economic point of view." Falwell dismisses such criticism quickly: "The issue is survival. America must be turned around." As to his bellicosity, he remarks: "Jesus was not a pacifist. He was not a sissy."

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