Invasion of the Promise Keepers.

• Author: Conniff, Ruth
• Position: 1997 Promise Keepers rally in Washington, D.C. - Column

How often do 700,000 men come to your town, drop to their knees, and beg for forgiveness? I felt compelled to go watch the Promise Keepers do their thing in Washington, D.C. I found the whole spectacle fascinating, and, I confess, strangely appealing.

Seven other leftwing journalists went with me on this field trip. "One wonders what Gore Vidal would say," remarked The Nation's Christopher Hitchens, alluding to Vidal's homoerotic tribute to the police at the 1968 Democratic Convention. Hitchens provided acid commentary throughout. There was plenty of material.

The Promise Keepers say they are focused entirely on private, spiritual matters: helping men to stop committing adultery, stop abusing and neglecting women and children, and start renewing their commitments to their families. But the founder, former Colorado football coach Bill McCartney, calls gay people "an abomination," supports a ban on abortion, and preaches that men must take back their rightful role as head of the household. His group enjoys the support of Pat Robertson of the Christian Coalition and James Dobson of Focus on the Family. And the Promise Keepers have a penchant for holding massive rallies in centers of government--on the mall in Washington, D.C., and, they hope, at every statehouse in the nation on January 1, 2000. It's enough to make anyone who is not Christian, straight, or male a little edgy.

But despite the cocktail of testosterone and evangelism, there was nothing aggressive or hostile about the D.C. rally. Unlike last year's Christian Coalition rally in San Diego, the Promise Keepers event didn't feature anyone calling down the wrath of God on feminists, gays, and all the rest of my friends. When we arrived, Promise Keeper leader Randy Phillips was proclaiming from the stage that "no woman should feel threatened by this gathering." And instead of the No Girls allowed signs I expected, I met a lot of smiling bouncers, who ushered our wary little band into the sea of singing, praying men.

It was a very happy crowd. And fairly diverse: a group of sixtyish men and women in matching leather motorcycle jackets with Christian logos; scrawny teenaged boys in Jesus T-shirts; bus loads of men from black churches; and a lot of paunchy, middle-aged white guys wearing shirts that said: I Am a Life that Was Changed.

I couldn't help being moved by all the good feeling, by the sudden stillness when everyone fell into prayer, and by the acres of upraised arms signaling...