A few months ago, Mike McCurry, one-time Bill Clinton press secretary, paid a visit to some of his friends at the Kerry campaign. The topic was not economics or Iraq or terrorism. It was religion. He warned campaign aides Michael Donlon and Michael Meehan that Kerry's campaign urgently needed to shake the image that the candidate was uncomfortable with spiritual matters. Kerry's got to talk about his personal faith, McCurry urged.
The response was not encouraging. "It's very hard for him to do it," they told McCurry. "It's just not a comfortable thing to address." It's a cultural thing, McCurry concludes: "You ask a Northeast Catholic to talk about his faith and he says, 'Eh, no. What is this, catechism?' " Beyond crusty New England reticence, the Kerry campaign also feared that if they spoke about faith they would inflame the situation with critical Catholic Bishops. Better to lay low.
But Kerry's refusal to engage on faith posed serious problems. A substantial "religion gap" had developed, with people who attend church regularly moving increasingly into the Republican camp. A Time magazine poll showed that only 7 percent of people thought of Kerry as a person of strong faith, a statistic that was feeding the perception of him as a waffler. He was running no better among Catholics than Al Gore did, which, considering he's the first Catholic nominee in 44 years, is pretty amazing—and politically worrisome since Catholics are heavily represented in battleground states like Pennsylvania (30 percent Catholic), New Jersey (45.9 percent), Ohio (28 percent), Michigan (28 percent), Wisconsin (34.4 percent), Minnesota (28.7 percent), and New Hampshire (38.2 percent). And the Bush campaign was hitting "values" hard and brazenly organizing churches to mobilize Republican voters.
So, in the last few weeks, the Kerry campaign has shifted gears. The Religification of John Kerry has begun. He started lacing his speeches with a Bible reference here and there. He released a TV ad discussing his faith, and just days before the convention began, the campaign hired a new director of religious outreach.
And then came the convention speeches. Early on, it became clear that, at minimum, the secondary convention speakers would ratchet up the God-talk. It started with Clinton, whose central rhetorical device—"send me!"—was a reference to Isaiah 6:8 where God asks who will go tell Israel the bad news of His judgment for the unfaithful. Barack Obama declared, "I am my brother's keeper" (Genesis 4:9), decried efforts to use faith to divide people, and then directly went after the link between the GOP and faith. "The pundits like to slice-and-dice our country into Red States and Blue States; Red States for Republican, Blue States for Democrats. But I've got news for them, too. We worship an AWESOME God in the Blue States."
On Tuesday, Ron Reagan Jr.—son of the man who helped birth the "religious right"—slashed them. He declared that the Republican opposition to stem-cell research was a case of "the theology of a few" threatening "the health and well-being of the many"—a clash between "reason and ignorance." I've been trying to think of an analogy to capture just how remarkable this was: Perhaps it would be Chelsea Clinton getting up at a Republican convention 20 years from now to attack the permissive immorality of the Democratic Party.
Definitive evidence that this was a concerted effort by the Kerry campaign to buff the party's spiritual image came when Joseph Biden, of all people—not exactly a guy known for his spiritual aura—did a little preachin': "Just as Joshua's trumpets brought down the walls of Jericho—just as American values brought down the Berlin Wall—so will radical fundamentalism fall to the terrible, swift power of our ideas as well as our swords."
But none of this would have mattered much unless Kerry showed more of himself. Surprisingly, Teresa Heinz Kerry and John Edwards talked little about faith, leading me to wonder initially if the strategy was to have religious secondary characters while the principals remained secular.
On Thursday, though, Kerry came out of the spiritual closet in a big way. While commentators focused on his efforts to reclaim the flag, he also worked mightily to take back the Bible. Wounded Vietnam veteran Max Cleland started it off by declaring, "The Bible tells me that no greater love has a man than to lay down his life for his friends." He even described how he'd given Kerry his personal copy of the Bible. Then came the bio film, in which Kerry declared, "I am alive today because of the grace of a higher being."
Kerry's speech itself repeatedly used religious imagery in describing public policy positions. Environmentalism was about protecting "the cathedrals of nature." Funding Social Security was driven by the commandment "Honor thy father and thy mother." It seemed that all of a sudden most platform planks came from the Holy Spirit. I was half expecting the next line to be, "And just as David slew the terrorist Goliath with A Rock, so too should we slay the terrorists in Iraq."