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Luis
Palau calls his crusades "missions" to avoid offending Muslims.
Following
in his footsteps: Palau trekked across Latin America in
the '60s and '70s, translating Graham's message into Spanish.
The two are shown here in Mexico City in 1973.
Palau's
column, "Luis Palau Responds," is one of just eight links
listed on the
Moody Bible Institute Web site (www.moody.edu).
Palau
and his wife live in a 3,200-square-foot home in Cedar Mill,
valued at $446,000.
A graduate
of Multnomah Bible College, Palau
holds four honorary doctorates.
Palau's
1997 Kansas City, Mo., crusade cost $246 per convert.
Many
festival attendees in Portland were under the impression
that the bands played for free. In reality, the band budget
was $101,710, with approximately one-fifth of the money
going to Point of Grace.
Over
the next year and a half, Palau plans to hold
missions in Fargo, N.D.; Tucson, Ariz.; Connecticut; Nice,
France; and Shanghai, China
Palau
married his wife, Patirica, a fellow Multnomah Bible College
student, in 1961. They have four sons, three of whom work
for their father.
The
Oregonian carried five stories previewing or reviewing
Portland Festival 99. Three of the articles mentioned Palau
as a potential successor to Billy Graham.
The
Luis Palau Evangelistic Association web site is www.
lpea.org.
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Jesus
Wept : uninspired reworkings of mainstream pop
Classic
God: a brief history of revivals
A
Backslider's Dictionary: Christian Terminology 101
Even in the nation's least-churched major city, a Christian
evangelist can have his fondest dreams come true: to preach
the holy word unto the multitude and convert souls to Christ,
right in his own back yard--and make a name for himself in
the deal. That's just what Luis Palau did last weekend, packing
more than 80,000 area believers in Waterfront Park.
So exuberant was the 64-year-old Palau that he pogoed on
stage with Audio Adrenaline, one of the biggest acts in
Christian rock, as his Portland Festival '99 ended. Only
days before, the Beaverton-based evangelist had been barely
known in Portland, and now he was jumping for Jesus in front
of a sweaty crowd that stretched from Southwest Salmon to
Stark streets.
The scene was an immense contrast to Portland's last large
revival. Seven years ago, Palau sat and politely listened
to Billy Graham sermonize in Civic Stadium. Graham, ravaged
by Parkinson's disease, rambled at times. The music, while
upbeat, never rocked. Nearly 300,000 people turned out over
five nights to hear the grim-faced preacher, but they had
nothing of the youthful exuberance and spontaneity that
marked Palau's two days in the sun.
Palau was part of Graham's carefully crafted 1992 Portland
crusade, but he was only brought out one night to deliver
a prayer and then relegated to the background. It was a
role that must have made Palau grind his molars. Palau,
like Graham, had evangelized around the world, sometimes
to crowds that eclipsed those of the elder preacher. Portland
was Palau's home base, the land of family and relaxation.
He had begun plans for his own Portland crusade in the late
'80s but had been essentially forced to defer to Graham's
wishes.
Last weekend, though, Palau's dream gelled into reality.
It couldn't have come at a more crucial moment for the Cedar
Mill resident.
While Billy Graham, at 80, is alive and in circulation,
so too is the question of succession. Not that Graham's
position as national preacher is an office that has
to be filled. Unlike the case with the papacy, hundreds
of men in red skull caps will not gather and signal their
decision with a column of white smoke. Instead, the matter
will be settled through America's fickle electoral college
of media exposure and public opinion.
Some observers of the evangelical world say that when Graham
passes, his mantle will pass with him--that this evangelist
of world stature was the product of a unique time in history.
"I think it is unlikely that Luis Palau or anyone else
will fill Graham's role anytime soon," says William Martin,
a sociology professor at Rice University and a biographer
of Graham.
Palau, however, is betting that won't be the case, that
America will still yearn for a national pastor, that the
President will still need someone he can call during times
of international--or personal--crisis, one who can offer
comfort after great national tragedies. He's also betting
on the dawning of a new American spiritual revival, hoping
it will require a leader who can connect with an increasingly
diverse populace.
Palau would like to be the one to fill that void.
So last weekend he began his campaign with a two-night,
$734,000 crusade down by the riverside. Palau said he simply
wanted to deliver souls to Jesus, a process he terms "closing
for Christ."
But the goal was also to sell himself to the faithful and
to the media.
Still in its early stages, the campaign to replace Graham
is conducted in the most gracious of terms. Graham has contributed,
for example, glowing jacket blurbs for Palau's recent books.
Palau likens Graham to the Pope. But there is no denying
that a subtle competition is afoot.
Franklin Graham, Billy's son, has been anointed to inherit
the $139 million-a-year Billy Graham Evangelistic Association--and
all the power that goes with it. Allies of the younger Graham
reportedly bristle at Palau's challenge.
"There is a little bit of a feeling among the Billy Graham
organization that Luis is trying too hard," says Martin.
Indeed, during the days before the Portland crusade, the
self-promotion coming from the Palau camp at times bordered
on desperation, as when a Palau publicist said his boss
is among the 10 most important religious leaders in the
world.
One detects at Palau's Beaverton offices a feeling that
he is tired of working smaller American census tracts such
as Tyler, Texas; Fargo, N.D., and Olympia, Wash. There's
a sense that Palau and his $6 million-a-year ministry have
an ever-narrowing window of opportunity, that they better
position themselves now for Graham's inevitable death and
the media's inevitable scramble to find a poster boy for
Christianity.
Palau and Graham have a long history, stretching back to
the 1960s when he served as Graham's translator in Latin
America. Next year, Palau is scheduled to be a speaker at
Graham's "Amsterdam 2000" crusade, which will focus on bringing
together evangelists from around the world.
Though he publicly lauds Graham, there is a chillier undercurrent.
During an interview with Willamette Week on Aug.
16, Palau clearly enjoyed lampooning the tired music that
often crops up in Graham's movies. Palau told how the last
time he and Graham spoke in person, Graham admitted that
he couldn't remember events that had happened three hours
earlier. Dressed in the suburban businessman's vestments
of gray suit and button-down shirt, Palau praised Graham
as a great communicator, then leaned forward in his chair
and whispered, "He's getting old, you know."
Palau has a power base; it just happens to be 2,000 miles
from his back yard. In 1982, for example, the Argentine-born
evangelist preached before 827,000 people in Guatemala City
over eight days. Today, his daily Spanish-language radio
show is aired on more than 500 stations in Central and South
America. So popular is he there that he is commonly referred
to as "the Billy Graham of Latin America."
In this country, Luis Palau Responds is broadcast
on 219 radio stations each day. That's given him enough
traction for his recent books to be published by Doubleday.
The Luis Palau Evangelistic Association's offices in Beaverton
look like those of any other political or marketing machine.
A three-foot-diameter globe sits in the lobby of the former
Tektronix warehouse, the cubicles are topped with rosewood,
but many of the metal desks and chairs look like relics
of the 1970s. Here, 62 people operate the ministry, sending
out letters, newsletters and cassette tapes to the organization's
30,000-person mailing list. There's a radio studio with
a 16-track mixing board and a TV studio with digital editing
equipment.
Along the cream-colored walls, there are reminders of Palau's
worldwide reach: photos of crusades in Singapore, Mexico
and Guatemala; keys to cities in the United States, El Salvador
and Finland.
Yet the man who has prayed with Latin American heads of
state and was anointed a "Friend of Bill" by President Clinton
has only met Gov. John Kitzhaber once and was snubbed last
weekend by Mayor Vera Katz, who sent a letter in her stead.
He needed something to put him on the area's radar screen.
Typically, a Palau crusade follows the protocol established
by Graham in the 1940s. You go to a city only when you're
invited and a local finance committee raises the funds.
Palau's Portland Festival was a calculated break with that
organizational gospel. It was Palau who last summer approached
area church leaders such as the Rev. Ron Mehl of Beaverton
Foursquare Church and Bishop A.A. Wells of Full Gospel Pentecostal
Church and businessmen such as Northwest Natural's Richard
Reiten. Would there be enough support for a Palau festival
among local churches and businesses? After prayerful deliberation,
everyone assented.
Then, last weekend, the masses brought their blankets and
lawns chairs and pounded the grass flat in Waterfront Park.
They sat through baking sunshine and drifts of food vendors'
smoke to partake of what many called "Christian fellowship."
Five video cameras linked to a Palau production facility
were there to capture the faithful's every gesticulation
in the name of Jesus.
But why did Portland--a "peaceful city," Palau says--need
a full-blown crusade?
Palau says he hoped to address a void in this city, which
is best known for its seasonal microbrews and secular indie
rock. He prayed that he could spring from the "pagan Northwest"
to lead the new spiritual revival (a phrase he continually
returned to last weekend)--a revival that might coincidentally
establish him as a leading, if not the leading, evangelist
in America.
While some scoff at the image of Palau donning Graham's
mantle, suggesting he isn't somehow "mature" enough, others
think Palau's time has come.
"He's not some Johnny-come-lately who's been preaching
for 10 years and suddenly wants to become the next Billy
Graham," says Eldin Villafane, a Boston, Mass., professor
and leading expert on evangelists. "That couldn't happen
to a Latino; to a blue-eyed person, maybe."
Those who'd try to discount Palau will find that he has
carefully cemented his credibility over the years. While
he obviously loves the crowds, he's no grandstander. When
he established his own ministry in 1978, he refused to hold
crusades in major American cities, out of respect for Graham's
turf.
Neither is he an Elmer Gantry nor that most spectacular
example of the fallen evangelist, Jim Bakker. Palau's organization,
like Graham's, makes its finances open and has a board of
directors who insulate Palau and his family members from
financial decisions. (Palau receives $122,000 a year in
salary and housing allowance; he drives a 1994 Mercury Marquis.)
Palau also seems willing, if not necessarily eager, to
challenge fundamentalist dogma. He sighs when asked whether
homosexuality is a lifestyle choice or an encoded genetic
predisposition. He explains that a distant relative is gay
and that his nephew died of AIDS. And that level of personal
contact steered him away from the Bible's injunction, in
Leviticus, to stone homosexuals.
"Some people are born with an inclination, it's inborn,"
Palau says with great passion. "I know that goes against
the beliefs of many Christians." He shrugs his shoulders.
Most importantly, though, Palau is poised to broaden the
appeal of evangelical Christianity in the United States
in a way that Franklin Graham cannot. Palau is a Latino
in an increasingly multicultural nation. And when it comes
to other Latino evangelists, there is no second place.
In addition, where the younger Graham is a bloodless copy
of his father, Palau has the impresario's ability to naturally
appeal to any audience, especially youth.
Until recently, only the dorkiest of youngsters attended
evangelical crusades. The traditional specter of crusade
Youth Night--with its 200-year-old hymns--had little ability
to pull the kids through arena gates, much less down to
the altar. But that was the way Billy Graham had always
done it, and most evangelists were caught in his groove.
Then, with the popularity of bands like dc Talk, it became
vaguely cool to be Christian. Knowing that 80 percent of
born-agains are re-birthed before they hit 25, Palau's younger
staff members sensed that there was a connection that needed
to be made.
As the Palau organization tells the tale, Palau let dc
Talk perform at a Palau Youth Night at Phoenix, Ariz., in
1992. Eighteen thousand youths showed up that evening, and
4,000 "made decisions for Christ" (as the term goes), an
impressive yield in a world where a 5-percent conversion
rate is typical.
Two years later, Billy Graham began using contemporary
Christian music groups at his Youth Nights.
The kids who turned out for Palau's Youth Night last Saturday
bore little resemblance to their earlier contemporaries.
Only 20 years ago, young Christians chose to glory in bodily
abnegation; this new generation glories in the flesh. For
on that balmy evening, there was jailbait to the right and
jailbait to the left. Groups of young ladies in tight jeans
and tank tops strolled about the Waterfront Park with bra
straps exposed. Shirtless young men strutted on a high-minded
prowl, sculpted like Greek statuary incarnate, their hair
tinted with just the right amount of bleach. The whole lot
of them had faces so unblemished and clothes so down with
today that they could have been plucked out of Orange County's
beach cities.
They were an innocent yet somehow symbolically confused
bunch, behaving by Christianity's moral absolutes but ignorant
of the cultural absolutes that once accompanied Christian
living. One lad insisted that Nirvana was hardcore punk
and that Christian rockers were better than their unsaved
analogues because they were purer. It seemed odd, in that
context, that the youths jumped their highest and moshed
their hardest when Audio Adrenaline milked rhythm hooks
that were right out of the Black Sabbath catalog.
The young men and women never held hands, let alone kissed,
but they could have easily been mistaken for any congregation
of Limp Bizkit or Korn devotees. And why not? This is a
generation churched as much by rock 'n' roll as by preachers.
Yet when the small, energetic man in the blue denim shirt
and white pants bade them pray, thousands of young voices
responded. Even though most of them had endured the crush
of bodies to hear the bands, Palau's exuberance had many
youths listening carefully to his sermon last Saturday.
When he told them, "God has a plan for you," but skipped
the specifics, they applauded. When Palau told young women
that God had a plan for hooking them up with "a good man,"
the cheers were the loudest of the evening.
Luis Palau was in his element sermonizing to this generation--a
group that could very well hold the key to his future, and
that of the evangelical movement.
Rachel Graham contributed to this article.
Classic
God
If religious trends were like radio programming, Luis Palau
would be working for a golden oldies station, a fresh voice
in a classic format.
Staging a two-night Christian pep rally in a public park
may have been new for Portland, but it was hardly a novel
concept. America's vast frontier landscape and independent
frontier mentality made revivals a vital part of American
religious life, almost from its inception.
In this country, revivals really took off at the beginning
of the 19th century, when itinerant evangelists spread religious
fervor throughout rural populations. As today, people came
to revivals seeking salvation, community and entertainment.
And, as today, the traveling preachers obliged them on all
three counts.
Revivals' popularity waned after the Civil War, though
they remained popular throughout Appalachia and much of
the South. Revivals were revived after World War II by Americans
flush with prosperity and sudden world dominance and unsettled
by their swift migration to urban centers. Although revivals
never regained the central role that they once held in communities,
they once again became sources of salvation and fellowship
for a segment of Christians.
Cities, rather than rural towns, were now more often the
locale of popular revivals. Billy Graham, for example, began
his career in 1943 with a joint radio and parish ministry
in Chicago, but he only reached national prominence two
years later after his tent revival (so named because services
are held under a big tent) in Los Angeles.
--Rachel Graham
A
Backslider's Dictionary
Having trouble catching the nuances of Point of Grace's
lyrics? Can't differentiate between Penthouse and
the Pentecost? Wondering whether you're "charismatic" or
just have charisma? Lay your hand on the newspaper. We can
help.
Evangelical: Describes anything or person whose
primary aim is to spread the gospel and convert people to
Christianity. An evangelist is a person who dedicates
his or her career to preaching the Gospel with the aim of
conversion without pushing converts toward any particular
denomination (see below). Some evangelists lead a
church in addition to preaching before large audiences;
others, such as Luis Palau, have never pastored a congregation.
Billy Graham is the king of American evangelists.
Denomination: Refers to the particular church organization
with which one identifies, i.e., Lutheran, Baptist, Presbyterian
and so on.
Non-denominational: Describes a person or ministry
that is generally Christian with no specific denominational
affiliations. Luis Palau is a non-denominational evangelist.
Fundamentalist: Another non-denominational adjective
to describe any member of a Christian denomination who believes
the Bible is an absolutely inerrant text written by a single
author, God. Summed up by the bumper sticker, "God Said
It. I Believe It. That Settles It." Think Jerry Falwell,
the Scopes "monkey" trial, and the Kansas State Board of
Education.
Ecumenical: Describes an interreligious grouping
within which members retain their particular religious affiliation.
The gospel (a.k.a. "the Good News"): Christians'
general phrase for God's promise of universal salvation,
unconditional love and forgiveness through Jesus. "The gospels"
(plural) refers to the first four books of the New Testament
(Matthew, Mark, Luke and John), which recount Jesus' life
and spreading the gospel on earth.
Pentecostal: A Protestant denomination that began
in this country during the early 20th century. It is currently
the largest Christian denomination and the fastest-growing
religion worldwide (membership is estimated to be more than
410 million and growing by 20 million per year). Pentecostalism's
origins are varied, reflecting the influence of everything
from slave religious practices to 19th-century Methodist
theological controversies. It currently comprises a loose
affiliation of independent churches and organized churches,
such as Church of God in Christ, Assemblies of God, and
Foursquare, and has no governing body. The name is taken
from the story of the feast of Pentecost following Christ's
crucifixion in which the spirit of the Holy Ghost crashed
the disciples' somber dinner. Suddenly, the disciples all
started speaking different languages--yet they understood
each other completely. They then went forth and converted
5,000 people to Christ. Pentecostals believe in the necessity
of this second "Spirit" baptism for Christian salvation,
complete with "speaking in tongues" and occasional divine
healing in response to prayers. Think of Oral Roberts or
Robert Duvall's character in The Apostle.
Charismatic: Adjective describing a style of worship
rather than any particular denomination. Charismatic congregations
hold basically the same belief in Spirit baptism as Pentecostals
and worship in similar emotional and communal style, but
they have remained within historic churches.
--Rachel Graham
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Willamette Week | originally
published August 25,
1999
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