A few years ago, I joined the local Young Life Committee. Our job was to raise money and prayerfully support the work of the local Young Life leader, whose job was to meet unchurched high school students and eventually introduce them to Jesus.

The committee was composed of a variety of church-committed people—Presbyterians, Episcopalians, Baptists, Evangelical Free. Some of our churches had vibrant youth groups, others did not. But we all recognized that as vital as the local church is, it doesn't do all things well. Comparatively speaking, Young Life does very few things well. But in one area, it shines—it has a stellar track record at helping kids who would not darken the doors of a church meet Jesus Christ for the first time.

And so this disparate group of churchgoers gathered regularly to pray and to plan for this unique ministry. We no doubt exemplified traits that would suggest to scholars that we were "evangelicals," and few of us would have shunned the label. But that's not what we were about. We were just some church people who wanted to make sure unchurched young people in our community heard about Jesus, and we thought this parachurch ministry did a good job at that.

This is the heart of evangelicalism: It arises out of the church. It is local. It is voluntary. It is purposeful. It is driven by love of Jesus and concern for those who don't know his love. It is the dimension of evangelicalism that scholars are wise to keep in mind when they talk about "the evangelical movement."

Darryl Hart, in Deconstructing Evangelicalism, seems to recognize, at least now and then, that this is the real evangelicalism. But here, as in so many books in this genre, the term evangelicalism tends toward abstraction that confuses as much as it clarifies. Ironically, Hart, who argues that "evangelicalism" is indeed an abstraction, seems unable to escape the abstraction for long.

This is not to dismiss his largely cogent analysis. I never hear or read Hart without coming away stimulated. He seems especially fond of tweaking establishment evangelicalism, and as a card-carrying member of that establishment, I find the tweaking invigorating, even if, in the end, I sometimes have to disagree.

Hart makes two arguments in this book. The first part examines "the scholarly construction of evangelicalism" of the last 25 years, especially in the areas of history and social science. He explains why evangelicalism as currently used became a useful category for journalists, scholars, and believing Protestants, and why it is an inadequate category.

The second part of the book explores evangelicalism as a post-World War II religious movement, one fashioned by the likes of Billy Graham, Carl Henry, Harold John Ockenga, and others. Hart argues that this "movement" has fragmented, and concludes that because it is fragmenting, it is dying. In these chapters, Hart attempts "to show how, without a self-conscious notion about ministry, a common theology, and a coherent understanding of worship, evangelicalism has deconstructed." But what he offers here "is also an argument about the damage the construction of evangelicalism has done to historic Christianity."

I don't have much to say about the first argument, since I'm only a journalist. I'll let scholars of evangelicalism reply to these concerns. In the course of this argument, however, Hart writes about Christianity Today's role in helping construct a neo-evangelical identity, and his account needs some fine-tuning.

Hart spends not a few pages exegeting a 1979 poll taken by George Gallup in cooperation with Christianity Today. "A skeptical interpretation of the poll and its joint sponsorship might plausibly conclude that the design of the questions reflected an agenda," Hart concludes, "one that combined Gallup's mainline Protestant sense of the church's duty to society and Christianity Today's responsibility to promote evangelicalism. In evangelical Protestantism and its chief periodical, one of the nation's oldest authorities on public opinion found a growing faith that could fill in for the declining old-line Protestants."

Of course the poll was designed with an agenda. What poll isn't? Of course CT had a vested interest in seeing evangelicalism as broad and influential. CT is a movement magazine, the likes of the National Review or The Nation. We commission articles, interview people, review books, and initiate polls that, among other things, tell us about the breadth and depth of the movement we champion. The real issue is whether we distort or even falsify our reporting beyond what the evidence shows.

This, I'm afraid, Hart has failed to show. In the end, the Gallup poll in question revealed that something significant was afoot in the culture—something which could, in a loose way, be called "evangelicalism." Many more people identified with the constellation of beliefs and behaviors of this world than we had previously imagined. That seems to have been a simple fact.

That there are inconsistencies in the poll data, that we spent editorial space highlighting some data, that the data itself suggests that "evangelicalism" is pretty tough to define precisely—all well and good. But that our reporting on this poll shows that we are guilty of pumping the breadth and influence of evangelicalism is hardly the case, since a look at the magazine over the years will show that, if anything, we grouse about the inadequacies of the movement more than we exult in its cultural strength. And when we do notice its cultural strength, we're often deeply disturbed!

On the other hand, I find myself resonating with large parts of Hart's second argument. I am, after all, a member of the Anglican communion, which has a rich liturgy and theology. Though I identify with the larger evangelical world, I am an Anglican because I don't believe evangelicalism by itself can sustain a deeper Christian life.

But when Hart suggests in various ways that evangelicalism has "done damage to historic Christianity," and elaborates on the weaknesses of evangelicalism—well, I wonder what "evangelicalism" he is talking about.

Two examples. First, he repeatedly says that in order to come together to work on parachurch projects, evangelicals have had to "affirm a lowest common denominator set of convictions and practices." This is an unfortunate phrase, since he mistakes our willingness to limit our theological conversation to certain key doctrines and ethics for the most generic of beliefs.

Second, Hart argues that the evangelical movement is fragmenting because it "lacks the discipline and rigor of the church." He quotes Nathan Hatch of Notre Dame—"The evangelical world is extremely dynamic, but there are few church structures to which many of its adherents are subject"—and then comments: "The result is an unstable constellation of personalities and organizations that in [Hatch's] estimation is 'problematic for theological integrity,' the very opposite of what the coalition builders had in mind."

Both concerns suffer from the same problem—thinking about evangelicalism as a unified abstraction. One example should suffice to suggest otherwise.

Few evangelical organizations lack a statement of faith, one that all or key people in the organization sign every year. At CT, that statement includes such beliefs as the Trinity, the Virgin Birth, the inerrancy of Scripture, the bodily resurrection, and the Second Coming. Far from being "lowest common denominators," these are what I would call key doctrines of the church. Not all the key doctrines—there is little about the church, for example. But one can hardly call such doctrines "lowest common denominator." Just try getting a liberal to sign on.

In addition, CT has an implicit code of ethics that it asks its employees to adhere to, one element of which is active participation in a local church. This is not unusual in the evangelical world, which may give lie to the idea that to be a strong evangelical is to be less committed to the church.

Now let's say, as managing editor of ct, I find I no longer can believe in the Virgin Birth. Meanwhile, I have become addicted to pornography. If I admit this to the rector of my Episcopal parish, he will counsel me to change my beliefs and my behavior. But in the meantime, he will continue to care for me pastorally and will offer this sinner Communion every Sunday. If I tell this to my evangelical employers, they would immediately put me on a leave of absence, and if I couldn't get my theology or ethics under control, I'd be asked to leave. I believe that the actions of my rector and of CT would both be appropriate, for reasons too elaborate to go into here. But this example does suggest that evangelicalism, as it is experienced locally, practices church discipline in a way that the local church often does not. In this sense, day-to-day evangelicalism often supplements and strengthens historic Christianity.

To be sure, Hart is factually correct in saying that the evangelical "movement" envisioned by Carl Henry et. al.—a movement they hoped could unite intellectually and in common mission—has fragmented. But this vision was illusory from the start. As the old saying goes, one cannot corral evangelicals any more than one can herd cats. Fragmentation is at the heart of evangelicalism, because evangelicalism is at heart local. It is Young Life in the suburbs. It is the neighborhood Women's Bible Study Fellowship. Even a Billy Graham Crusade is finally dependent on local churches rallying and working and praying to make it happen. And when these parachurch gatherings fail to do the job, "evangelicals" will abandon them and start new ones that will do the job. And when they believe that such fragmentation is damaging the mission, they'll try to figure out ways to work together—as least for a time! And on it goes.

The people who participate in such local events often share common beliefs, are inspired by the same sort of people, and network across the country with the like-minded. As such, they constitute "a movement" that can be studied. But scholars are wise to note that for many of us, "evangelical" is only a secondary identity. First, we're mere Christians; second, we're Methodists or Presbyterians or whatever, and third, we're looking for ways to supplement the life and mission of our local church. Most of us are not interested in joining a "movement" that will transform "the culture." We just want to make it possible for that young person down the street to meet Jesus.

Mark Galli is managing editor of Christianity Today. He is the author most recently of Francis of Assisi and His World (InterVarsity), and he is at work on a book about the Boxer Rebellion.

Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today/Books & Culture magazine.
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