Bush And God

George W. Bush rises ahead of the dawn most days, when the loudest sound outside the White House is the dull, distant roar of F-16s patrolling the skies. Even before he brings his wife, Laura, a morning cup of coffee, he goes off to a quiet place to read alone. His text isn't news summaries or the overnight intelligence dispatches. Those are for later, downstairs, in the Oval Office. It's not recreational reading (recently, a biography of Sandy Koufax). Instead, he's told friends, it's a book of evangelical mini-sermons, "My Utmost for His Highest." The author is Oswald Chambers, and, under the circumstances, the historical echoes are loud. A Scotsman and itinerant Baptist preacher, Chambers died in November 1917 as he was bringing the Gospel to Australian and New Zealand soldiers massed in Egypt. By Christmas they had helped to wrest Palestine from the Turks, and captured Jerusalem for the British Empire at the end of World War I.

Now there is talk of a new war in the Near East, this time in a land once called Babylon. One morning last month, as the United Nations argued and Washingtonians raced to hardware stores for duct tape amid a new Orange alert, the daily homily in "My Utmost" was about Isaiah's reminder that God is the author of all life and history. "Lift up your eyes on high," the prophet of the Old Testament said, "and behold who hath created these things." Chambers's explication: "When you are up against difficulties, you have no power, you can only endure in darkness" unless you "go right out of yourself, and deliberately turn your imagination to God."

Later that day, the president did so. At Opryland in Nashville--the old "Buckle of the Bible Belt"--Bush told religious broadcasters that "the terrorists hate the fact that... we can worship Almighty God the way we see fit," and that the United States was called to bring God's gift of liberty to "every human being in the world." In his view, the chances of success were better than good. (After all, at the National Prayer Breakfast a few days before, he'd declared that "behind all of life and all history there is a dedication and purpose, set by the hand of a just and faithful God." If that's so, America couldn't fail.)

After his speech in Nashville, Bush met privately with pastoral social workers and bore witness to his own faith in Jesus Christ. "I would not be president today," he said, "if I hadn't stopped drinking 17 years ago. And I could only do that with the grace of God." The prospect of war with Iraq was "weighing heavy" on him, he admitted. He knew that many people--including some at the table--saw the conflict as pre-emptive and unjust. ("I couldn't imagine Jesus delivering a message of war to a cheering crowd, as I just heard the president do," one participant, Charles Strobel, said later.) But, the president said, America had to see that it is "encountering evil" in the form of Saddam Hussein. The country had no choice but to confront it, by war if necessary. "If anyone can be at peace," Bush said, "I am at peace about this."

Every president invokes God and asks his blessing. Every president promises, though not always in so many words, to lead according to moral principles rooted in Biblical tradition. The English writer G. K. Chesterton called America a "nation with the soul of a church," and every president, at times, is the pastor in the bully pulpit. But it has taken a war, and the prospect of more, to highlight a central fact: this president--this presidency--is the most resolutely "faith-based" in modern times, an enterprise founded, supported and guided by trust in the temporal and spiritual power of God. Money matters, as does military might. But the Bush administration is dedicated to the idea that there is an answer to societal problems here and to terrorism abroad: give everyone, everywhere, the freedom to find God, too.

Bush believes in God's will--and in winning elections with the backing of those who agree with him. As a subaltern in his father's 1988 campaign, George Bush the Younger assembled his career through contacts with ministers of the then emerging evangelical movement in political life. Now they form the core of the Republican Party, which controls all of the capital for the first time in a half century. Bible-believing Christians are Bush's strongest backers, and turning them out next year in even greater numbers is the top priority of the president's political adviser Karl Rove. He is busy tending to the base with pro-life judicial appointments, a proposed ban on human cloning (approved by the House last week) and a $15 billion plan to fight AIDS in Africa, a favorite project of Christian missionaries who want the chance to save souls there as well as beleaguered lives. The base is returning the favor. They are, by far, the strongest supporters of a war--unilateral if need be--to remove Saddam.