How did the American church become so fractured?
At the end of 2020, Liveright Publishing released a book that attempted to address this issue. In Jesus and John Wayne, How White Evangelicals Corrupted a Faith and Fractured a Nation, Kristen Kobes Du Mez explores the recent history of the American church, specifically, from an evangelical perspective. Du Mez is a professor of history and gender studies at Calvin College, a Christian Reformed university in Grand Rapids, Michigan. She brings a level of scholarship to a topic that has engulfed many Christians throughout the pandemic: when and why did American evangelicals become obsessed with political power? Du Mez suggests that this has been decades in the making, the result of a flawed faith system, and in reality, a religion constructed on masculinity and nationalism.
Du Mez isn't the first person to launch such a critique, nor is she the first academic to take a research-based approach to explaining it. Yet her book is striking a chord, resonating with readers both Christian and skeptic alike. Du Mez thoughtfully exposes topics that evangelicals have long ignored. As a result, this is an important work and should push the American church to do better as we wield the gospel.
While I appreciate her desire to make American Christians address the missteps of our forefathers, I was also extremely frustrated while reading Jesus and John Wayne As someone who agrees with her on multiple points, there were many times when I felt her math was mistaken. In my view, Du Mez was selective with her research, avoiding key counterpoints, to prove her hypothesis.
If you haven’t read the book, you might want to stop reading my take. Or perhaps you may want to use my thoughts as a primer before you dive into the book. Regardless, I took copious notes of Jesus and John Wayne thinking that I’d write a multitiered reflection on it. But because I want this to be a constructive critique, I focus on the titular character and what I believe Du Mez misses in her analysis of the American church’s understanding of masculinity and nationalism.
DECONSTRUCTING JOHN WAYNE
Throughout the book, the author suggests a generation of Christian men (and in turn, most of American Christianity) were influenced by the masculinity of John Wayne. Essentially I was one of those men. I didn’t arrive there through happenstance: my father was a veteran of the Vietnam War and part of the bonding experience he and my brothers participated in was watching John Wayne movies. Du Mez suggests this was an indoctrination, but I feel that she overstates that influence. While a fan of “the Duke,” I was also a child of the 1980’s; John Wayne died when I was three. I always viewed him as an historical figure; he was fascinating, but not an idol.
And while Du Mex uses Wayne’s life and movie career to define the current Christian patriarchy, she overlooks some key parts of his story. In fact, she avoids what is perhaps the most definitive role of his movie career.
The Man Who Shot Liberty Vallance is one of the most lauded of John Wayne’s films. In 1962 director John Ford, who was in the twilight of his career, decided to make a movie featuring two aging stars: John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart. It was shot on a Hollywood soundstage so missing in production are the sweeping views of the Wild West that Ford featured in Stagecoach and She Wore A Yellow Ribbon. Ford is one of the most prolific directors of American westerns and could be credited with making John Wayne a star. An aside I’ve always found fascinating: Ford devoted the years of the Second World War to using his skills in the fight against the Nazis; a navy commander, he was actually present on Omaha Beach on D-Day.
The hyper-masculinity that many associate with John Wayne was in fact the creation of John Ford.
If you’ve never watched Liberty Vallance, I’d suggest it or, at the very least, read Roger Ebert’s review of it. The movie is a flashback, a story told by a successful senator (Jimmy Stewart) who established his career in a wild west town. Returning to the town to attend the funeral of the cowboy (John Wayne), the senator’s arrival is a newsworthy event. The local newspaper, represented by a young reporter and a seasoned editor, press the senator to recount the event that made him successful: he was thrust onto a national stage because (spoiler alert) he shot the nefarious Liberty Vallance. Yet unbeknownst to the public, the senator’s defining moment of heroism was the action of the cowboy.
The central thesis of the movie is the exercise of power. The senator was a peace-loving man who believed in the rightness of law. The cowboy, the only character who stands up to Vallance, believes that violence is the only resort to challenge a corrupt bully. The cowboy struts along as he always does in John Wayne movies but, in the end, it’s the man of law and justice who survives and thrives.
With this movie, Ford lays to rest the mystique of John Wayne; he does this literally, as the movie centers around his character's funeral. Yes, Ford created the immortal image of the romanticized pioneer who tamed the range but in Liberty Vallance, life goes on without John Wayne. And, in fact, his death ushers in a new era. No longer is the projection of masculinity the gunslinging, punch-wielding cowboy but rather the gentle senator who not only gets the girl, but spends the movie standing up for the disenfranchised (women and minorities).
RECONSTRUCTING HISTORY
My breakdown of a movie made six decades ago seemingly has nothing in common with American Christianity, but it’s apt if we are to accept Du Mez’s articulation of the American church today. She opines that hyper-masculinity and nationalism are the cause of the fracture of the American church. If this is the case, we need to clearly delineate all the historical events that speak into this. My diatribe on The Man Who Shot Liberty Vallance stands as a contradiction to her thesis. How does John Ford’s final commentary on Western masculinity impact the current trajectory of the American church?
In response, I’m assuming that Du Mez would reject my take as either an outlier or a superfluous critique. But as a John Wayne movie fan (I also enjoy professional wrestling, so my culture palate is diverse), I can’t imagine avoiding Liberty Vallance when considering his career. To be clear, Du Mez offers anecdotes from Wayne’s personal life (most importantly, some of his racist comments) as an amplifier of this trend toward toxic masculinity. But she blurs the lines between the characters portrayed by John Wayne and what he personally believed. This, in my view, takes the critique beyond the work of the historian to that of cultural interpretation.
In a recent New York Times article, Du Mez highlighted the criticism she’s received from evangelicals about her book. When considering the impact her words could have on Christianity, she rejected any potential negative outcomes of her work by nothing that it’s purely history and “history isn’t a marketing campaign to win converts.”
Du Mez understands it as just history. This is why I struggled with the book: it’s more than just history.
Even though Du Mez is a trained historian, she identifies as a follower of Jesus and works at a Christian seminary. I’d argue that the reason the Du Mez’s book gained such popularity is because of her role on the faculty of a seminary. Her critique comes from what the masses perceive as a pastoral position. There’s a preference among scholars to view their contributions as merely academic endeavors—somehow staking a position participating in a process that hovers above orthopraxy (the practice of faith). But in situations like this, it is impossible to divorce the history (the collection/systemization of a series of events) from practical theology. Like it or not, her words have greater weight than that of a simple academician. It’s accepted as work of theology.
To be fair, Du Mez does solid work as a historian; her citations are many and diverse. But in her desire to prove her hypothesis correct, she approaches history more selectively than a secular theologian would. She takes advantage of the pastoral position to prove a case: American Christians refuse to address the flawed figures of our past. Even if she’s right, it’s not just history; it’s commentary on evangelicalism.
There’s nothing wrong with subjectivity unless you’re suggesting that it’s actually fact. And this isn’t to say that Du Mez doesn’t offer some compelling facts that many in the evangelical world have avoided Her blindspot, however, is exposed as she discusses those who have committed wrongs. For example, I take issue with Du Mez’s merciless critique of Billy Graham for his missteps. While his transgressions (his political exploits and hesitation to support parts of the Civil Rights struggles) should be confronted, they needn’t negate other areas of life where he made considerable positive impact; in fact, I appreciated the recent PBS documentary on Graham’s life (apparently directed by a non-Christian) that acknowledged personal failings but showing he learned from and moved beyond them. All humans have highs and lows; we should be careful not to summarize one’s contributions by their extremes.
CONFRONTING CYNICISM
Again I repeat that Du Mez’s work is important because American Christians can’t continue to ignore the skeletons in our closest. We should own the scandalous parts of our past as the current times make transparency inevitable. Jesus taught that the evil hate the light because their evil deeds will be illuminated (John 3); the digital world have made His words a reality. I’m thankful for Du Mez’s passion in exposing the sins of masculinity and nationalism yet her tone is far too cynical for my taste. If that’s how I, someone who agrees with many of her assertions, interprets the book, how can it be a force for positively impact? Unfortunately, this is lacking.
The effectiveness of biblical Christianity is rooted in the power of Gospel. And the power of the Gospel is realized in the application of redemption. While the hyper-masculinity and nationalism in the American church today bring me sadness, I cannot find any benefit in a complete rejection of anything associated with American evangelicalism. This movement is no more noble than any of its predecessors, but neither does it deviate from the template. All movements are flawed but the failings of humanity are redeemed by Christ. Sanctification is an elusive goal, but that doesn’t mean we stop trying.
The book led my thoughts to my father, who instilled in me a love John Wayne movies. He was not a war-monger; in fact, I can count on one hand how many times he discussed specific experiences from his time serving in Vietnam. He witnessed firsthand the brutality of war and was able to separate cinema from reality. He was my model of masculinity and nationalism and, in all things, his understanding of them were rooted in Christian identity. Yet I felt that Du Mez convicts him as guilty by association. I’m sure it wasn’t intentional (she has never met my father), but when we speak on spiritual things, we must always be pastoral. Otherwise, all we’ve done is throw logs on the fire of cynicism.
Cynicism is incompatible with the Gospel. This doesn’t mean we are forbidden to critique, but I believe Christians must follow deconstruction with reconstruction. The story of the Gospel is a story of hope through which we should consider all other human history. Yes, we’re still forced to confront evil and misdeeds, but we recognize that evil is powerless when compared to the message of Christian Scriptures. In the end, the Lord will rights all wrongs. In the end, corrupted systems and ideologies give way to the kingdom of God.
At the end of The Man Who Shot Liberty Vallance the characters struggle with what to do with their newfound truth; reality was far more complex than they ever imagined. When the newspaper editor nixes the true story the senator asks why. He responds, “this is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”
In an inverted sense, this is what Du Mez decided with the recent history of American evangelicalism: she told a great story. Yet in order to accomplish this, she amplified all the wrongs and refused to give credit to the good it’s accomplished. The story of the church (yes, even the American church) cannot be fully told unless intertwined with the story of the Gospel—the continued journey of a people in pursuit of God while needing redemption.
That’s more than just history.