Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, October 16, 1994 TAG: 9410170076
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MARGARET EDDS STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
The Rev. Wesley Smith, minister to U.S. Sen. Charles Robb and the flock at St. John's Episcopal Church in McLean, has taken as his morning text Mark 10:17-27, the story of the rich young ruler.
Addressing Jesus' admonition to "go, sell what you own and give the money to the poor ... then come, follow me," the former AT&T management consultant urges parishioners in one of the nation's wealthiest communities to share their money, time and talents. The tone is restrained and practical, the setting classical in its beauty.
A 20-minute drive away, at the Church of the Apostles-Episcopal in Fairfax, the spiritual home of Republican senatorial hopeful Oliver North, the Rev. Phil Ashey is speaking from the same Scripture.
But in a church that embraces faith healing and speaking in tongues as gifts of God, the words and the style are different.
Here, the message is a more literal rejection of money and power. Hymns are sung with pulsating accompaniment from piano and guitar. Corrugated metal walls are strung with colorful banners. Members hug and touch and stretch their arms heavenward in praise. A prayer group meets in one corner. The aura is joyful and vibrant.
As Ashey concludes with an invitation to come forward and accept salvation, he notes, "We don't often do this in the Episcopal Church." Then he smiles. "Yes, we do, in the Church of the Apostles."
In a U.S. Senate race where character is seen by many as the central issue, the leading candidates profess to be men of religious faith. North, Robb, and independent Marshall Coleman all are Episcopalians. But, as a morning at North's and Robb's churches suggests, there are vast differences among the men in theology and the ways they incorporate religion into their lives.
Those differences, while rarely spelled out on the campaign trail, may be a hidden but critical force in the election, tapping into a cultural divide in a state that is home to two of the nation's most polarizing religious figures, televangelists Pat Robertson of Virginia Beach and Jerry Falwell of Lynchburg.
On the campaign trail - where he exhibits almost messianic appeal to conservative Christians - and in his published writings, North is more expressive about his faith than perhaps any candidate for statewide office in modern times. His autobiography, "Under Fire," speaks at length about his 1978 born-again conversion, resulting from an instantaneous healing while stationed at Camp Lejeune, N.C.
North believes his recovery from a back injury was the result of God working through the hands of John Grinalds, a former Marine battalion commander who is the headmaster at Woodberry Forest prep school in Orange. "It was a miracle. ... In a second, I was healed," North told the congregation at the Antioch Christian Center in Petersburg on a recent Sunday morning.
He also described the Bible as "the only book in my entire 51 years that I've read cover to cover more than once" and promised that "reading this book will change your life. ... Every word in this book is true."
His faith "affects every moment of my day," North recently told a Canadian television journalist in an interview.
In contrast, Robb and Coleman - also ex-Marines - rarely refer to religion on the campaign trail. Nor is theology a frequent topic of private, workplace conversation for either, longtime acquaintances say.
"I've never had a conversation with him like that," said one Democrat who worked closely with Robb for more than a decade. "People look at religion as so private."
But in interviews, both Robb and Coleman described religious belief as an important force in their lives.
"I am a man of faith. ... I say my prayers on a regular basis," said Robb, whose frequent attendance at St. John's is noted by the pastor and others. Robb said his wife, Lynda Johnson Robb, who usually carries a Bible and attends separate Capitol Hill study groups on the Old and New Testaments, is "able to quote Scripture better than I am."
But he said religious faith has been a sustaining force during a tempestuous period, set off by the disclosure of his extramarital relationships with young women a decade ago.
"There are definitely circumstances that cause us to turn to our basic beliefs and tenets and cause us to think about what is central," he said. "It's fair to say it has sustained my family."
Coleman, whose church membership remains at St. James Episcopal Church in Richmond even though he moved to Northern Virginia in the early 1980s, acknowledges that he's less regular in church attendance than when he was growing up in a mainline Baptist church in Waynesboro.
Coleman's father made a midlife decision to leave his job and enter the Crozier Theological Seminary in Chester, Pa. The elder Coleman was on his way home one weekend when he sustained severe injuries in a car wreck that led 11 months later to his suicide.
Quipping that his mother frequently reminds him not to be a Pharisee (biblical figures who drew attention by public displays of faith), Coleman said his belief is expressed "more as a code of conduct" based on Judeo-Christian values.
It's "seeking to recognize each person as a unique and irreplaceable child of God ... the idea of Christian charity, honor, duty, faith," he said.
"I'm not saying I live up to all those things," he added.
Coleman said he attends services perhaps once a month, alternating between the Catholic church attended by his wife, Patty, and the National Cathedral, which is adjacent to the prep school his son attends.
Citing a right to privacy, both Robb and Coleman declined to speak in depth about their theological beliefs. North's staff, some of whom are concerned that their candidate will be cast as a religious extremist, required that questions be submitted in writing. North replied with brief written answers.
Question: "How would you describe the importance of religious faith in your life?"
Answer: "My religious faith is a very important part of my life."
Question: "Do you believe that you are following the will of God in running for the Senate?"
Answer: "I hope so."
While critics question North's sincerity, many people who have observed him closely do not.
Neil Livingstone, a Washington writer and commentator who worked with North during the Reagan administration, described the candidate's faith as an almost mystical merger of God, family and country that is "very central to his being and to his political philosophy and goals."
"He is a throwback in some respects to another time, when people were not embarrassed to link all of those things together," said Livingstone, a critic of North's actions during the Iran-Contra episode. "In his case, I don't think he's putting anything on."
"He has a very, very deep faith," concurred Orville Lippold, manager of a car dealership in Springfield and a former Marine officer. Lippold was part of an Officers' Christian Fellowship group that met frequently at North's home from 1980 to 1983, long before North's name became part of the public lexicon.
At the Antioch Christian Center last month, North described at length his conversion experience:
In 1978, just before deploying for the Mediterranean, he jumped off an armored vehicle, reactivating a severe back injury from a 1964 car accident. "It hurt terribly. I began to lose the feeling in my legs," he said. Just then, Grinalds came over and said, ```I'm going to pray for you.'
"That was embarrassing. I didn't want him praying for me in front of the sergeant major and all those young Marines we'd been training for months," North recalled.
But when Grinalds "dropped to the dirt" and began to pray, "Jesus Christ, you are the great physician; you can heal anything; heal this man," North said, snapping his fingers, "that fast, the pain went out of my body."
Grinalds, who retired from the Marines in 1991 as a major general, recalled the episode in a recent interview. Although he has prayed successfully for healing in others, the episode with North was unique in its spontaneity, he said.
"My primary concern was that he was really hurting," said Grinalds, who attributes his own healing from spinal arthritis to prayer by a Georgia minister. "I thought he'd be healed because I was, at an earlier time."
The Grinalds and North families remain friends, regularly getting together on New Year's Eves to play charades. Grinalds is among those who argue that North has more to lose than gain in speaking so openly about religion.
"I'd say it's a political liability. Most people don't like to hear folks speak so clearly about their religious faith," he said.
Both the risks and the rewards may be particularly acute in a state that has been a breeding ground for the religious right as a political force. The depth of the sentiment was evident recently when the Christian Coalition and a newly formed opposition group, The Interfaith Alliance, traded charges involving the campaign.
North, Robertson and Falwell promote a brand of religion that accepts only their path as true to God's principles, alliance ministers charged. The Rev. Joseph T. Lewis, pastor of Fountain Creek Baptist Church of Emporia, was particularly critical of a North quote in The Washington Post describing the campaign as "a struggle over whether government will rule our lives or whether we will pay proper homage to our maker."
North "condemns without a second thought every individual whose religious beliefs and values are different from his own," Lewis said.
But on the campaign trail, North is careful to stress that his support comes from fiscal and social conservatives as well as religious conservatives.
And he argues that it is "the intolerant Clinton-Robb left [that] has taken to demonizing those of religious faith as some kind of radicals."
Keywords:
POLITICS
by CNB