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Corrie's avatar

My dad and stepmom moved to South Carolina (both of them as Yankee as can be) because they fully believe the South will rise again. They are fundie born-agains with Rapturitis. They have believed and lived this way for decades. This stuff is baked in. Not going anywhere, now that it’s headlining and no longer a weird subculture.

Appreciate all you do to ask us to reflect on how to wisely adapt to stuff like this.

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Steve Marshank's avatar

Well Jamie, you’ve done it again—another sharp and brilliant take.

Reading your piece, I found myself thinking about Arthur Blessitt. I wonder if you’ve ever come across him. I remember him vividly from the late 1960s: walking barefoot down Sunset Boulevard with a massive wooden cross, chaining himself to lampposts, preaching on the Strip. He was part of the Jesus movement’s fringe and widely rumored to be an “acid casualty,” though he later denied ever using LSD--although I remember people saying they "dropped" with him.

What’s fascinating is that Blessitt had a little-known but significant encounter with George W. Bush in April 1984. During a revival event called Decision ’84 in Midland, Texas, Bush—then still an oilman—heard Blessitt preaching on the radio. Intrigued, he asked to meet him, and a Bush family friend, Jim Sale, arranged it. According to some accounts, it was during that meeting that Bush decided to commit his life to Jesus—Blessitt was the preacher who prayed with him. But when the Bush family caught wind of it, they quickly introduced W to Billy Graham. The narrative shifted, and history now credits Graham with Bush’s “born again” moment.

Why does any of this matter? Because a close friend of mine, who served as a high-level NSA consultant, sat in on Defense Department meetings with Cheney, Rumsfeld, Wolfowitz—your usual suspects. When the question came up during Iraq War planning, “What’s the exit strategy?” Bush reportedly replied, “Jesus will show us the way.”

It sounds insane, I know—but follow the thread,. Yank it hard enough and you’ll find that one of the most disastrous foreign policy blunders of the 21st century may trace its psychic origins to a barefoot lunatic dragging a twelve-foot wooden cross down Sunset Boulevard, ranting about Jesus. A man the establishment wrote off as just another LSD burnout with a martyr complex and a flair for street theater.

And yet—years later—his gospel wormed its way into the skull of a dry-drunk oilman named George W. Bush, just in time for him to steer the country into a trillion-dollar holy war with no exit plan except divine intervention. “Jesus will show us the way,” he said. Sweet Jesus.

So yes, this current Christian fever dream is bizarre—of course it is—but it’s not new. It’s just the latest chapter in a long saga of messianic delusion and backroom prophecy. How many more of these rogue saints and shadow preachers are out there, whispering in the ears of men with nuclear launch codes?

Hell, I’ve lost count.

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