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Every day by 5 a.m., 90 of the 380 inmates at the Jester IIprison outside Houston are awake and primed--not for pumping iron,but for praying. The men, some of whom are violent felons, areenrolled in an intensive Christian rehabilitation program hosted byprison officials. 'We talk Jesus every day, every minute,' saysprogram director Jack Cowley, 'and we don't hide that fact at all.'State guards provide security, but volunteers from PrisonFellowship otherwise run this wing of the facility, better known asthe God Pod.
In South Carolina, Governor David Beasley used his leftovercampaign funds to set up a religious nonprofit group with asingular mission: recruit churches and synagogues to 'adopt'welfare families and lift them toward independence. The effort isvigorously backed by the state's Department of Social Services(DSS). 'We've done focus groups with clients who've been successfulin getting off welfare and we asked them the most important aspectof their success,' says Leon Love, a DSS official. 'They say it'sattitude--and faith is the most important builder of attitude.'
At Parkview Elementary School in Washington, D.C., the ReverendJim Till heads a privately run, faith-based tutoring program.Thursday nights in the cafeteria, volunteers from local churcheshelp about 60 at-risk kids improve their math and reading skills,concluding each session with a story drawn from the Bible. 'We'repart of the Parkview family,' says Till, who calls to mind anaffable uncle. 'They know exactly what it is we're doing.'
What these religious organizations are doing, in fact, isdemolishing mistaken assumptions about the separation of church andstate--while respecting their constitutional limits. After decadesof isolation and suspicion, faith-based groups nationwide areteaming up with government to confront social ills ranging fromwelfare dependence to failing schools. Agreements are being struckthat enlist the active support of government, yet zealously guardthe independence of the faithful. 'Some officials still lookaskance at anyone who quotes the Bible,' says Marvin Olasky, aUniversity of Texas professor whose books helped propel federalwelfare reform. 'But many are desperate enough to approve anythingthat works.' Although operating below the radar of thesocial-service establishment, these partnerships could helpredefine the nation's culture of caregiving.
God and Caesar
Until recently, there appeared to be only two roads for peopleof faith eager to help the needy: scorn government as a uselessannoyance or become paid agents of the secular, administrativestate. To be sure, anti-religious legal dogma has scared countlesscharitable groups away. Yet many cannot resist government largesse,and quickly join those social-service providers already awash inpublic funding. In Boston, Catholic Charities gets about 65 percentof its budget from state and federal sources. For Lutheran SocialServices in New York, the figure is about 80 percent.
Government funding, however, invites government regulation. TheU.S. Supreme Court has ruled that the state can subsidize religiouscharities so long as they are not, in the words of the Court,'pervasively sectarian.' This means groups must excise expressionsof faith, such as prayer and proselytizing, from theirtaxpayer-funded programs. Many of them barely retain anydistinctive religious identity.
Hence a new via media in church-state relations: charitablegroups that shun Caesar's coin but not Caesar's cooperation. Agrowing company of religious providers are willing to accept thestate's administrative and moral support but forgo its money andoversight. That allows them to tread on secular turf with a messagethat is, at its heart, religious.
At the same time, deals are being hammered out that satisfysecularists as well as sectarians. Programs contain blunt appealsto moral and spiritual renewal, yet participants are free to optout. State officials can steer people toward church-basedassistance, so long as they offer secular alternatives. Ministersmay proselytize clients of government agencies, but not with publicmoney and usually not on public property.
Remarkably, government officials are among those most determinedto involve faith communities. Mississippi governor Kirk Fordice wasone of the first to challenge churches to help welfare families,and his efforts are being duplicated in at least half a dozen otherstates. Texas governor George Bush is cutting state regulationsthat hinder religious groups involved in social services (see box,page 35). Indianapolis mayor Stephen Goldsmith has created a 'FrontPorch Alliance' in which government agencies brainstorm ways toengage congregations in community renewal.
'There are far greater threats to our inner-city children thanreligion,' Goldsmith says. 'In many of our most troubledneighborhoods, clearly the most important asset is the church.'
Back to School
Nowhere is that maxim more visible than in the perennial powderkeg of church-state conflicts, the public schools. John Dewey, theprincipal architect of public education in 20th-century America,argued that schools should erase the supposedly irrationalreligious influence of parents on their children. And thanks to ageneration of muddled court rulings on religion, educators inhaleDewey's anti-religious bias like oxygen.
'They have received a long civics lesson from extremeseparationists,' says Steven McFarland of the Christian LegalSociety. The result, he says, is that 'school districts considerinvolving churches as a last resort.'
But Dewey's moment may be passing. Mounting failures in studentdiscipline and academic performance are leaving schooladministrators hungry for new approaches. In surprisingly largenumbers, schools are inviting religious groups back into theclassroom. Asked to serve as tutors and aides, church volunteersare bringing with them their faith and the value system itinspires.
That's exactly what many officials are hoping for, as long asreligious folk tread gingerly in the secular schoolhouse. In bothinformal and written agreements, church volunteers are expected tobe role models in class and on the playground. They can talk aboutvalues and offer advice. And they may invite children to religiousactivities, so long as parents are notified.
'Religious groups have a lot to offer, and no one is saying theyshouldn't help out and run these programs,' says Rob Boston ofAmericans United for Separation of Church and State. 'There areways that this can be done consistent with the First Amendment.'More and more school districts around the nation are putting thisthesis to the test.
In the Topeka Unified School District in Kansas, assistantsuperintendent Robert McFrazier held a meeting two years ago with13 black pastors to see what they could do to reduce students'dropout and detention rates. He called on church leaders to enlistmembers as tutors and teachers' aides. He also asked congregationsto make their facilities available for after-school help. The plan:Do everything possible to get more people of faith personallyinvolved in the lives of low-income kids.
'I was fully aware of the ramifications of church-stateentanglement,' McFrazier says. 'But we had a problem: How do we getour kids the help they need beyond the conventional school day?' Sofar eight congregations have responded, with no objections fromlocal civil-liberties groups.
Pushing the Envelope
The Philadelphia school district recently hosted a luncheon forabout a hundred religious leaders to help launch Project 10,000, acampaign to recruit classroom aides. 'We are specifically askingchurches to recruit people,' says Joseph Meade, the project'sdirector. 'There is such a sense of crisis in the city thatresponsible leaders are looking for partnerships wherever they canbe found.'
Principals now meet regularly with church leaders to coordinatethe effort. Volunteers are doing everything from helping withhomework to monitoring cafeterias and playgrounds. School officialsprivately hope they will do even more.
'Schools have an obligation to address moral questions,' saysPhiladelphia school superintendent David Hornbeck. 'They can morepowerfully do that if there's a link with churches and synagogues.'Meade agrees: 'Frankly, what we're really trying to do, in additionto boosting achievement, is to get mature adults mentoring ouryoung people, presenting positive role models.'
'Religious groups have a lot to offer,' says a civillibertarian. 'There are ways that this can be done consistant withthe First Amendment.'
Hornbeck preaches church-state cooperation--literally. Anordained Presbyterian minister, he delivers sermons once a month atchurches around the city, blending biblical references with anappeal to get involved in public education. 'I'm a lawyer and Ihave two divinity degrees, so I take the First Amendment veryseriously,' he explains. 'In no way should it prohibit or inhibitpartnerships between faith communities and schools.'
Officials of the Chicago school district, one of the nation'slargest and most troubled, are coming to the same conclusion.Following school-related violence last year, the district heldtalks with religious leaders and sought legal advice on brokering aformal partnership between school and church. They hope to startmentoring programs, create 'safe places' for troubled youth, andlease church space for classrooms. In an early draft of districtguidelines, officials acknowledge the risks of partnership, butinsist that 'these difficulties are not insurmountable.'
Not long ago, that conclusion would have been unthinkable.Schools today are not only welcoming religious groups into class toassist teachers, but some have found permanent office space atschool for them to operate. Others advertise church events to helpvolunteers connect with kids outside the classroom.
At Parkview Elementary in D.C., Jim Till works out of a basementoffice, where he is often seen coaching one or two delinquent kidsas his 'helpers' for the day. Church-based volunteers from STEP(Strategies to Elevate People) tutor weekly at Parkview. Most formfriendships with children after hours through Bible clubs, churchsocials, and other events. 'The system is broken and people arewaiting for someone to come fix it,' Till says. 'Instead of takingour children out, it's time to get more involved in publiceducation.' Assistant principal Wendy Edwards agrees: 'We have 531kids at Parkview, mostly from public-assistance families. If we had531 mentors, that would be fantastic.'
Martin Luther King Elementary School in Wilmington, Delaware,serves a student population that is mostly fatherless and living inpublic housing. The school recently invited Younglife, a national,Christian-based mentoring effort, to run an on-site program forlatchkey kids. Adults meet weekly with children to motivate thembefore class. Five days a week they hold after-school enrichmentprograms, including sports, music, recreation, and the arts.
Though Younglife volunteers 'can't come in and preach aboutsalvation,' says principal Angela Guy, 'we expect them to bepositive role models.' With a weightiness falling somewhere betweenBarney and the Bible, afternoon storytelling might impart lessonsabout courage, respect, or honesty. 'We're still finding out whatour boundaries are,' says Younglife director Charles Harris. 'Butwe're trying to get kids away from so much that is negative aroundthem.'
Younglife is targeting about 60 children this fall, butofficials hope to find mentors for the majority of the school's 350students. Says Guy, 'We've told them our door is open.'
The Friendship Factor
One of the most aggressive efforts to mobilize churches in thepublic schools is Michigan-based Kids Hope USA. About 720 adulttutors from 37 congregations now meet at least an hour a week withkids from 35 elementary schools, with more schools on a waitinglist.
Founder Virgil Gulker, a maverick in church-based socialoutreach, disdains fuzzy thinking on both sides of the church-statedivide. 'My grievance with so many government initiatives is theyseem to assume that the only thing children need is a computer,' hesays. 'Our kids are like emotional checkbooks who are completelyoverdrawn.'
Declining student performance, of course, often results fromfamily breakdown, an issue best addressed by faith communities.Most congregations, however, have kept clear of public schoolsbecause they assumed that involvement was illegal or impossible,Gulker says. Whatever assistance they do offer--paintingclassrooms, purchasing supplies--overlooks more fundamentalproblems. 'Most churches offer programs rather than relationships,'he says. 'The church needs to do what it does best, which is tolove.' School officials seem to agree: They say the friendshipsformed between tutors, children, and their families are the key tobetter performance, especially among at-risk kids.
The focus on relationship-building is driving one of the mostcarefully scripted arrangements between religious groups and publiceducation in the nation. Each Kids Hope congregation must hire apart-time person to coordinate and train volunteers, sign anagreement with participating schools, and direct its pastor to helptutor. Church volunteers not only get training in mentoring skills;they are also drilled in the ground rules for sharing theirfaith.
First, parental authority is supreme. Volunteers must get aparent's permission to initiate any contact with children.Moreover, parents are always told the content of church-sponsoredevents. 'There are no surprises here,' says Gulker. 'At no timeunder any circumstances is that ever violated.' Second, noproselytizing is allowed at school. Volunteers may invite childrento church activities in which evangelism occurs, but must alwaysalert parents first.
'I want to protect the churches' opportunity to evangelize offcampus,' Gulker explains, 'but part of protecting that right meansprotecting the policy of no evangelism at schools.' That seemsconsistent with concerns of civil libertarians. 'We have to besensitive to the rights of parents,' says Rob Boston of AmericansUnited. 'Parents want to be the ones to determine what religiousviews their children are exposed to.'
Legal experts know of no serious court challenges tochurch-based tutors. Yet some add a caveat: Public schools must notgive preferential access to religious groups. A Decatur, Indiana,school tried that last year with a clergy-run counseling programand was stopped by the ACLU. A similar counseling effort is beingchallenged in a Beaumont, Texas, school. 'If there's a mentoringprogram and a mentor belongs to a church, he's not precluded fromparticipating. That's easy,' says Marc Stern, a lawyer with theAmerican Jewish Congress in New York. 'But clearly preferentialaccess is unconstitutional.'
Dave Irwin, the principal of Alger Park Elementary in GrandRapids, Michigan, says he's not limiting the access of othergroups; it's just that the church two blocks away is the only onesending him mentors. 'Here's an organized group of people who aretrained to assist us, who bring a willingness to serve,' he says.'We don't get that support from the community at large. We don'thave people breaking down our door to help us.'
Defusing the Crime Bomb
Princeton University criminologist John DiIulio proposes athought experiment when he lectures on inner-city crime. Imagine,he says, you're driving alone at night through a blighted urbanneighborhood. Your car is about to break down, but your guardianangel will allow you to choose one of three places for your car todie. Choice number one: in front of a movie theater where a teenslasher film is about to let out. Choice number two: outside ago-go bar serving malt liquor to underage drinkers. Choice numberthree: in front of a church resounding with the voices of the youthchoir. 'Naturally, you're praying for number three,' he says. 'Yousimply suppose that people involved with religious institutions areless likely to do you harm.'
According to DiIulio, the best social-science research confirmswhat common sense suggests: Active religious congregations are acritical factor in reducing violence and stabilizing inner-cityneighborhoods. A 1991 study published by the National Bureau ofEconomic Research, for example, found that urban youth whoseneighbors attend church are more likely to have a job and lesslikely to use drugs or commit crime.
This fact is slowly insinuating itself into local crime-fightingstrategies. Police are turning to clergy as the eyes and ears oftheir neighborhoods. Judges and prosecutors are diverting criminalsfrom jail into church-based programs. Ministers and volunteers areinvading prisons and bringing a tough-love gospel with them. In allthis activity, church and state share at least one goal: lowercrime rates through moral rehabilitation. Their challenge is tobalance the coercive power of government with respect foroffenders' religious beliefs--or lack of them.
Many of these efforts target juvenile offenders. The ReverendTony Evans of Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship in Dallas, one of thelargest churches in the city, tells the story of a teenager knownto the church who was arrested and faced jail time. Oak Cliffministers intervened on his behalf, persuading a judge to releasethe boy to them. He gave them six months to turn the young manaround.
The ministers got busy. They talked with his parents and hisprobation officer. They paired him with a mentor and enrolled himin Bible studies and other church activities. Six months later,after the boy had landed a job and returned to school, Evans wentback to court. The judge asked him, 'Will you take 20 more?'
Oak Cliff now works with about 80 juveniles, all court-involved,in its 'Teen Turnaround' effort. 'We teach, preach, and practicetransformation,' says the Reverend LaFayette Holland, an outreachpastor. 'That's what everyone is really looking for.'
In Indiana, the Marion County juvenile court sends troubled kidsto the Indianapolis Training Center (ITC), a Christian-basedalternative to state detention centers. The one-year residentialprogram matches 12- to 18-year-olds with a mentor family andvolunteers from local high schools. Although not a lock-downfacility, the ITC leaves little time for mischief. Residents are upat 5:30 a.m., usually reading from Proverbs, the Old Testament bookstuffed with sound-bite advice on honesty, hard work, and holiness.Mornings are spent doing chores, afternoons studying, and eveningsplaying sports.
County officials overcame early objections by making sureparents and children understand the regimen. 'We will not orderanybody into it, but once they choose it, they are ordered tofollow through,' says Brian Toepp, the county's assistant chief ofprobation. Moreover, by accepting only private money, ITC is freeto immerse its residents in Christian teaching. 'We're trying toteach them character,' says director Benny McWha, 'and we believecharacter is based on biblical principles.'
Last fall, juvenile court judge Jim Payne met with leadingministers and asked them to get more involved with troubled youthand their families. Westside Community Ministries, a coalition ofabout 35 churches and religious groups, has emerged to offercommunity-service work, faith-based counseling, and other services.'Everything we do with them is an excuse to build a relationship,'says the Reverend Jay Height, the executive director of ShepherdCommunity Church. Payne brushes aside the argument that governmentshould not endorse faith-based efforts to reduce crime. 'This isnot an issue of [government] proselytizing,' Payne says. 'As longas people understand the difference, they've made the choice, Ihaven't.' Though courts can order families to seek counseling, forexample, they may choose between Westside or secular programs.
There are many reasons for the state's willingness to tryreligious approaches. In Marion County one of them is sheernumbers: Each year the court system sees 10,000 youths andfamilies, far too many for state-paid counselors or probationofficers to track. 'We have this untapped resource in almost everycorner of every neighborhood,' Payne says. 'But we have virtuallyexcluded churches from the service-delivery system.'
No one in Indianapolis makes that point more convincingly thanMayor Stephen Goldsmith. With a lawyer's steely logic, the formerprosecutor explains why secular government cannot afford to ignore,much less harass, religious communities. 'Only hardened skepticshave trouble accepting that widespread belief in a Supreme Beingimproves the strength and health of our communities,' he says.'Government can accomplish more by working with faith-based groupsthan it can ever achieve by circumventing them.'
Goldsmith's Front Porch Alliance, what he calls a 'civicswitchboard,' probably reigns as the national leader in this regard(see box, page 32). In just a few years, the Alliance has developednearly 600 partnerships while working with more than 150 churchesand other value-shaping groups. It also sets up workshops for civicleaders, giving them technical assistance for navigating localbureaucracies or tapping into community resources.
The Boston Crusade
A recent Newsweek cover story celebrated perhaps the mostsuccessful example of faith-based crime-fighting anywhere: Boston'sTen Point Coalition. Led by the iconoclastic Reverend EugeneRivers, a cadre of urban churches began working with police,judges, and prosecutors in 1993 to tackle the problem of youthviolence. After Boston went two years without a single gun-relatedhomicide among teens, even national magazines such as the NewYorker started to take notice. 'You couldn't function effectivelywithout the ministers in Boston,' former Boston police commissionerWilliam Bratton told the magazine. 'Those churches and leaders likeGene Rivers were a very significant reason for our success.'
Fifty-four churches in Boston now devote staff and volunteermanpower to the effort, sometimes walking neighborhoods at night ordoing street outreach to gang members. Pastors double as legaladvocates, helping youth negotiate the court system. Teens onprobation attend church-based summer camps.
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The coalition also runs a groundbreaking fatherhood program, andat least 11 court jurisdictions in Massachusetts send offendersinto its 12-week classes. These are men who need more than a peptalk in good fathering: The most recent group of 80 programgraduates had been convicted of 544 separate offenses. Most hadbeen charged with a violent crime. Fifty-three percent hadcommitted domestic violence. And most did not live with theirchildren.
Police have no hard numbers on recidivism rates, but say that 65percent of the men finish the program, which means they comply withprobation rules, abstain from drugs, and make restitution to theirvictims. About 300 have graduated since 1993, and most have claimedpaternity or are taking steps to do so, says Milton Britton, thestate's chief probation officer.
Each two-hour class is a model for negotiating First Amendmentpitfalls. Instruction is deliberately held in local churches. 'I'vebeen in law enforcement for 30 years,' Britton says. 'If you takeout the church, the moral and spiritual thing, it ain't gonnawork.' Offenders are not ordered into the program, but to encouragethem to sign up, judges often waive probation fees. 'We won't takesomeone into the fatherhood program and ask them to worship in thatchurch,' says Bernard Fitzgerald, the chief probation officer ofDorchester District Court. 'But we are going to try to instill inthem a sense of what fatherhood is.'
Instructors go about this the old-fashioned way, with a mix ofsummons and shame. 'It's better than a therapy session,' says JudgeKathleen Coffey. 'It offers men a moral compass, and it teachesthem about personal responsibility. I send people there all thetime.' Pastors and probation officers take turns pounding home fiveprinciples of fatherhood: Give guidance to children, show themaffection, show respect to the children's mother, provide financialsupport, and set an example by living within the law.
Clergymen are free to incorporate Scripture. 'I'm not dogmaticin presenting the gospel,' says the Reverend Roland Hayes Robinsonof Bethel AME Church. 'But Christian principle is implicit in theway I promote respect for women, highlight the benefits offatherhood, and reflect on our individual purpose for beingalive.'
The God Pod
Prison Fellowship's invasion of a Texas prison surely ranks asone of the nation's most audacious experiments in criminalrehabilitation. The program, called Innerchange, is run inside thebelly of a state correctional facility. Program staff have 24-houraccess to inmates in one wing of the prison, and oversee virtuallyall day-to-day activities there. Participants need not claim aChristian faith, but must agree to a 'Bible-based, Christ-centered'program. Although inmates are allowed to pursue their own religiousbeliefs (some attend weekly Islamic services), the explicit goal isChristian conversion.
Chaplains have always worked in prisons, of course, but never ascomprehensively as Innerchange staff. Says senior warden FredBecker, 'It's the difference between being in church on Sunday andpractically being in seminary.'
'I've been in law enforcement for 30 years,' says one probationofficial. 'If you take out the church, the moral and spiritualthing, it ain't gonna work.'
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Prison Fellowship may have designed a lawsuit-proof approach togetting God into the nation's prison system: The program is fundedpurely from private sources, is completely voluntary, has no effecton participants' length of parole, and does not discriminate on thebasis of religion. 'Anytime you start spending public money onreligious activity, it becomes suspect,' says Jay Jacobson, theexecutive director of the ACLU in Texas. 'But we don't have anobjection to religious activity in prisons that is voluntary andnot paid for out of public coffers.' Carol Vance, the formerchairman of the Texas Board of Criminal Justice and an earlysupporter, predicts, 'We will not have any serious constitutionalchallenge.'
Innerchange staffers, however, don't take government benevolenceon faith. 'It concerns me every day,' says Jack Cowley, the programdirector and a former warden himself. 'We have to advocate for ourprogram and remind them that we're here to do God's work. We've gotto do it our way.'
The program won a major concession on the issue of inmatevisitation. A federal court order stipulates that inmates areentitled to only one visit per weekend, by a maximum of two adults.That posed a problem, since Innerchange depends on volunteermentors to develop strong ties to prisoners. But Jester IIofficials persuaded the Texas Department of Criminal Justice todesignate the volunteers as adjunct staff members, not visitors,and therefore not subject to the federal rule.
About 200 church volunteers now work with 130 inmates andparolees in the 18-month regimen. Early results are impressive: Ofthe 26 ex-offenders who have completed the program, all have jobsand are involved in local churches. There are already plans toduplicate the effort in Kansas and Iowa this year. 'We want to bein every state and federal prison in the country,' says PrisonFellowship president Thomas Pratt, 'building the church insideprison walls.'
A Welfare Revolution
Informal agreements between churches and city hall traditionallycharacterized efforts to help America's poor, until they wereeclipsed by the modern welfare state. 'Many lives can be saved ifwe recapture the vision that changed lives up to a century ago,when our concept of compassion was not so corrupt,' writes Olaskyin The Tragedy of American Compassion (1992). The Welfare ReformAct of 1996, which ended the guarantee of federal aid to the poor,may be a step back to the future.
Leon Love, the deputy director of South Carolina's DSS, isunusually frank about his agency's failed welfare policies. 'Weused to build barriers to prevent churches from participating. Wehid behind confidentiality,' he says. 'But people on the road toself-sufficiency must believe they can get there, and to put aperson in the company of believers is powerful.'
In no other area of social policy has the shift in conventionalwisdom been more dramatic. Welfare offices are being renamed'family independence agencies.' Eligibility experts are scramblingto help recipients find jobs. And congregations are beinginvited--sometimes begged--to lend a hand.
Governments are turning to religious groups for help in partbecause they must meet state-imposed deadlines for terminatingassistance. But surely the deeper reason is the disastrous failureof welfare to lead families out of poverty. This is especially truefor the 'hard cases': young mothers with no self-respect, nohigh-school diploma, and no work history. These are the familieswhose problems cannot be solved by a booming economy.
Nor, it should be added, by government caseworkers, who spendperhaps an hour a month with welfare recipients. Unraveling thepractical and moral problems of these families simply cannot bedone on the cheap. 'We can do some of that, but we're limited,because we're primarily eligibility specialists,' says ElizabethSeale of the Texas Department of Human Services.
Enter the faith community. 'It appears that only churches arewilling to make the long-term volunteer investment required,'writes Amy Sherman, author of Restorers of Hope: Reaching the Poorin Your Community with Church-Based Ministries That Work (1997) anda leading welfare-reform specialist. Thousands of congregationsaround the country are working closely with welfare families,helping them find jobs, lending emotional support, assisting withchild care, and helping with budgeting and even groceryshopping.
It can be labor-intensive work: Churches in Anne Arundel County,Maryland, for example, report that over a six-month period they logan average of 400 hours per family. And not all of that time isspent holding hands: Career counseling usually comes with biblicalteachings about work and family responsibilities, placing new moraldemands on the poor.
In Texas, Lutheran Social Services (LSS) has signed a'memorandum of understanding' with the state's Department of HumanServices to help already-employed families stay off the dole. Withthe state's blessing, the LSS is training its volunteers in aprogram of 'comprehensive spiritual care.' Volunteers make aone-year commitment as mentors, helping with transportation,budgeting, and other issues. 'The state is realizing there's apiece they are missing that they can't fill,' says LSS presidentKurt Senske. 'It's a good marriage.'
In California, a welfare-reform law went into effect on January1, 1998, requiring thousands of recipients to exit welfare byDecember 2002. A month later, Fresno mayor Jim Patterson--himselfan active member of Evangelicals for Social Action--called togetherreligious and civic leaders. The goal: jump-start a partnershipbetween churches (mostly evangelical) and the Merced County welfareoffice. The reason: The county supports 8,000 people on publicassistance and, with 15 percent unemployment, can't possibly findall of them jobs. So for starters, county officials wantbusinessmen in congregations to hire and train welfare moms.
Churches are also being asked to make their facilities availablefor child care. Sunday-school classes for children are OK, as longas families can opt out. Either way, church members are expected toget personally involved in the lives of welfare recipients. SaysPaul Lundberg, who is coordinating the effort, 'A state officialtold me that if there were a law against what we're doing, he wouldignore the law, because they need us so badly.'
Building Safeguards
States are designing partnerships with congregations that arekeeping litigators at bay. For example, no information on welfarerecipients is released to churches without their consent. Familiesmust agree to any relationship with a congregation and are neverobligated to attend services or church events. State money almostnever flows directly to churches, and public assistance usuallycontinues until recipients are independent. 'So long as individualsmay freely choose religion, merely enabling private decisionslogically cannot be a government establishment of religion,' writesCarl Esbeck, a law professor at the University of Missouri and aleading authority on the legality of government collaboration withreligious groups.
An early model was the Mississippi initiative, in which thegovernor used his bully pulpit to get churches involved with thepoor. 'God, not government, will be the savior of welfarefamilies,' Fordice told an assembly of religious leaders at thestate capitol in 1995, launching his Faith and Familiesproject.
The state's Department of Human Services (DHS) works directlywith local congregations, matching them with willing families.Church volunteers serve as spiritual social workers, focusing noton securing more government benefits, but on helping familiesacquire the habits that lead to long-term independence.
Church response to the governor's appeal so far has been modest.'We thought we could be the catalyst between state government, theclients, and the faith community,' says Donald Taylor, theexecutive director of Mississippi's DHS. 'But the reception we gotin some quarters, quite frankly, was disappointing.'
There are at least two snags to this top-down approach. First,state employees typically don't warm to volunteers who lack degreesin social work and threaten their jobs. 'I have many individuals inmy agency who think churches shouldn't be involved,' says a veteranin government welfare services. 'They're a threat. It becomes aunion issue.'
Second, the Mississippi model fails to allay long-heldsuspicions that any government entanglement amounts to a pact withthe devil. Conservative churches in Maryland, for example, did noteven show up when the state held a hearing on revolutionizingwelfare.
A more nuanced policy is being hammered out in other states. InSouth Carolina, Governor Beasley's nonprofit group is the enginefor change. The Putting Families First Foundation is building astatewide database of organizations willing to offer help, whileworking with the DSS to match those groups with families. It alsoteaches church workers about protecting confidentiality andintegrating faith in their caregiving, among other issues.
Putting Families First is incorporated as a religious nonprofit,and its director, Lisa Van Riper, is a committed Christian--factsnot lost on conservative congregations. 'Lisa can go out and preachself-sufficiency and the ministry role of the church in a much moreforthright way than can a bureaucrat,' says Leon Love. 'It has muchmore of an impact on the recruitment process.' Van Riper hasbrought her seminar to about 500 churches and synagogues. Figuresfor church involvement are not available, but about 160 welfaremoms are in the program.
A similar effort is underway in Michigan, where Governor JohnEngler's welfare reforms have slashed caseloads. Ottawa Countybecame the first locality in the nation to move every able-bodiedwelfare recipient into a job. It was one of six sites in thegovernor's Project Zero, chosen specifically because of itsextensive church network.
State officials give much of the credit to the Good SamaritanCenter, a church-based nonprofit that recruits and trains churchvolunteers to support families moving from welfare to work. Withinsix months of being approached by Engler, Good Samaritan hadenlisted nearly 60 churches, or about 25 percent of the county'stotal. 'Determining eligibility--that we do well. We're not verygood at wrapping our arms around a family,' says Loren Snippe, whooversaw the Ottawa effort. 'Church volunteers bring the ability tohave a long-term relationship. You can't pay people to dothis.'
By serving as honest brokers between church and state, thenonprofits in Michigan and South Carolina can help maintain astable partnership even as state and local governments changehands. 'The churches need someone they can trust, who knows theirinternal culture,' says Bill Raymond, a former director of GoodSamaritan. 'But you also need an independent actor who knows how toengage the powers that be.'
Another advantage of the nonprofit model is that it guards theindependence of churches as they reach out to the welfare families.The nonprofit's job is to ensure a good match between welfarerecipients and congregations; government's role is confined mostlyto writing checks and sharing client information. 'It's not agovernment program,' Van Riper says. 'If the church and a clientwant to talk about faith, they can do it because it is a privaterelationship.'
Reclaiming Compassion
All of this activity, though significant, is occurring in alegal and political culture that, in the words of Yale lawprofessor Stephen Carter, 'trivializes religious devotion.' Manyliberals still treat serious religious belief more as a threat thana cure to the nation's social ills. Writing last year in theAmerican Prospect, Wendy Kaminer called these partnerships an'unholy alliance,' suggesting they are part of a larger campaign'to align public policies with majoritarian religious practices andideals.'
Too many government officials see the same dark conspiracies. Afew years ago, Indianapolis mayor Goldsmith asked churches toparticipate in a summer job-training program. At the end of thesummer, the state of Indiana cited the city as 'out of compliance'with a state law barring the use of funds for religious purposes.The reason: Participants voluntarily prayed before meals and fieldtrips.
Many in government, however, are unpersuaded by the yowling ofliberal legalists. 'We have a common goal,' says Milton Britton,the chief probation officer of Massachusetts. 'We're trying toimprove the quality of life for our communities. When you bring themoral perspective, the anchor that prevents you from falling offthe edge, it makes a difference.'
Until the onset of the modern welfare state, the decisive powerof faith to curb evil and inspire charity was taken for granted.Even French philosopher Voltaire, a relentless critic ofChristianity, argued that societies would collapse into disorderwithout some type of rational religion. 'I want my attorney, mytailor, my servants, even my wife to believe in God,' he said, 'andI think that then I shall be robbed and cuckolded less often.'
Ironically, it is the welfare bureaucracy's moral collapse thathas lawmakers and others taking another look at the faithcommunity. The 'charitable choice' provision of the federal welfarelaw, after all, was designed to boost involvement of religiouscharities in fighting poverty. The law prohibits government fromundermining the religious commitments of groups taking federalfunds. It has not been tested in the courts, however, and manyproviders still seem wary of state entanglement.
Meanwhile, many believers stand ready to help where governmenthas failed, if only government were willing to make room for them.'We have people who feel it's their obligation before God to carefor the poor,' says Van Riper of Putting Families First. 'They'reorganized, they're in the working community, and they have all theresources necessary. The little boy who brought the basket of fishto the disciples was not a Ph.D. nutritionist.'
Until the onset of the modern welfare state, the decisive powerof faith to curb evil and inspire charity was taken forgranted.
Religious believers and broad-minded lawmakers are ratifying anold precept of American civic life: that collaboration betweenchurch and state need not lead to corruption. They are steeringtheir way around those who fret over a lunchtime prayer, as well asthose who would trade their souls for a government contract. Andthey follow Goldsmith's golden rule of government: 'We will neverask an organization to change any of its core values in order toparticipate in a relationship with us.'
With that rule to guide them--and with a little faith, hope, andcharity--they might just reclaim and sanctify the compassionateimpulses of a new generation of caregivers.
Joseph Loconte is the William E. Simon Fellow in Religionand a Free Society at the Heritage Foundation and editor of theforthcoming book, The End of Illusions: America's Churches andHitler's Gathering Storm.
First appeared in 'Policy Review'
2014-08-30T17:26:18-04:00https://images.c-span.org/Files/607/20140830173632002_hd.jpgDoris Kearns Goodwin spoke about her book, The Bully Pulpit: Theodore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, and the Golden Age of Journalism, in which she explores the technological and economic changes brought on by the industrial revolution in the United States. She suggested that these changes widened the gulf between rich and poor throughout the country.She spoke in the History and Biography Pavilion of the 2014 National Book Festival, which was held August 30 by the Library of Congress at the Walter E. Washington Convention Center in Washington, D.C.
Doris Kearns Goodwin spoke about her book, The Bully Pulpit: Theodore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, and the Golden Age of Journalism, in… read more
Doris Kearns Goodwin spoke about her book, The Bully Pulpit: Theodore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, and the Golden Age of Journalism, in which she explores the technological and economic changes brought on by the industrial revolution in the United States. She suggested that these changes widened the gulf between rich and poor throughout the country.
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She spoke in the History and Biography Pavilion of the 2014 National Book Festival, which was held August 30 by the Library of Congress at the Walter E. Washington Convention Center in Washington, D.C. close
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