Rev. Billy Graham

At 82, the Elvis (and Marshall McLuhan) of preachers is still the king of ecumenical evangelism.

By David Rubien

Nov 21, 2000 | The Rev. Billy Graham, for 50 years Protestant Christianity's leading Pied Piper, is ailing. He turned 82 on Nov. 7, and has been grappling with Parkinson's disease and other infirmities. Yet he recently told the Associated Press that his crusading days are far from through. As his son William Franklin Graham Jr. stands by to assume control of the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association, the elder Graham just presided over one of his patented crusades, a Jacksonville, Fla., wingding that featured performances by Johnny Cash, June Carter Cash and Charlie Daniels. As usual, Graham convinced thousands of attendees to make their "decisions for Christ."

He's been doing this since 1947. Depending on the source you consult, he's corralled between 200 million and 225 million souls for Jesus. He's sermonized in almost 200 countries, following the biblical dictum to "Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation" (Mark 16:15). The only religious figure of comparable influence is the pope, and there have been five of them since Graham started doing his thing. Popes come and go, but the right reverend endures.

Graham's specialty -- the crusade -- has been the medium for the most extravagant Christian spectacle of the last century. Part circus, part holy pilgrimage, part evangelism school, part TV miniseries, part Bill Graham Presents rock concert, these events sometimes go on for weeks. Yet the message he communicates is profoundly simple: Confess your sins, accept Jesus Christ as your lord and savior and get your ticket to salvation. Or, to quote Graham quoting the Bible, "By faith, commit your life to Christ. God's promise is true: 'Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved'" (Acts 2:21).

It's the lowest common denominator of Christianity: Faith is its own reward. It's not about doing good works. It's not about giving up your material goods. It's simply about belief and surrender. Graham doesn't hector. He doesn't condemn. He doesn't intellectualize. He doesn't even talk about hell much. He merely extends a hand. And if he is controversial at all, it's because his "the other shoe doesn't have to drop" theology offends some Christians who see religion as more complicated. Namely, fire-and-brimstone preachers, Christian academics, Christian-right moralists and Catholics. But to these folks Graham has said: Come on into my tent. It's a big tent. And most of them have agreed. He's made joint appearances with popes, rabbis, Buddhists, even African tribal leaders. Graham is the world's leading ecumenical preacher. He doesn't bother about categories at all. And with numbers like he racks up, why should he? Does General Motors worry about Jaguar?

Or, a better question might be: Did Elvis worry about Eddie Cochran? Because Graham is indeed the Elvis of preachers. Except instead of grinding his pelvis, he gyrates his arms. There's no denying that sex appeal is part of what Graham is about, and unlike Jimmy Swaggart, Jim Bakker, the fictional Elmer Gantry and Lord knows how many others, Graham has had the good sense to make it work for him and not succumb to it. He has said that he never allows himself to be alone with a woman who is not his wife or one of his daughters.

Like Elvis, Graham has a God-given combination of looks, charisma and talent. Like his globe-spanning ministry, he is outsized -- 6-foot-2 with an imposing cinder block of a head topped with a lavish crop of wavy hair. Thanks to penetrating blue eyes, a prominent nose and teeth that seem to gleam into infinity, Graham on or off the stage projects heroism before he utters a word.

At the pulpit his words spill out in an even tenor that bespeaks his North Carolina upbringing. Unlike the florid cadences of the Southern preachers who seem to dominate the airwaves, Graham's sermons are borne on the wings of an almost Midwestern rectitude. He is passionate, but his passion is focused, tailored to the message he is delivering, not to his own ego or to any innate sense of theater. Yes, he gesticulates and bellows, but he does not sink to melodrama; he does not weep or tug at his hair or use any of the overwrought techniques of the preacher who claims to be in the mighty thrall of the Holy Spirit.

Next Page: A fire-and-brimstone preacher named Mordecai Ham

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