In November 2006, the world of the American Evangelical Christian was turned on its head when Ted Haggard, one of its favorite judgmental sons, was outed as a patron of male prostitutes and a user of crystal meth.  At the time, this was a big deal because Mr. Haggard was a) married, and b) the head of a 30mm person Evangelical movement who carried on policy liaisons with George W. Bush with nearly the frequency of his liaisons with his man toy.  For the evangelicals in America, Haggard was the connection with the country’s Man of God in Chief.  Haggard was the so-called Senior Pastor of the New Life church in Colorado Springs and was well known for his self-aggrandizement, annoying reptilian looks, and a brand of Christianity that combined all of the judgment fear mongering of Roman Catholicism with songs that involve extensive use of the keyboard, PowerPoint presentations, and people who have never been out of the state pretending to speak in other languages.

Haggard initially denied the allegations but shortly after the prostitute shared voicemails left by the Senior Pastor, admitted to “some” of the claims.  He was immediately removed from his duties by the Church’s board, and swept away for some analysis of his behavior by the church’s experts on homosexuality.  Haggard emerged from this experience to little fanfare but issued a press release saying that the results of his stay at the center had been inconclusive with respect to his gayness, which seemed like an odd diagnosis given that Haggard and the church regards homosexuality as depraved conduct, rather than a state of being.

I hadn’t heard much from Ol' Ted for two years or so until a couple weeks back when I caught Ted and his wife on with Joy Behar, discussing their lives, the state of their marriage, and of course, Ted’s attempt to start a new church in Colorado Springs.  The interview was as awkward and pathetic as might be expected but did give Ted a chance to explain that this new church, St. James Church, would cater to people who suffer from all kinds of sins and would be a place where people could feel welcome, even if they were, for example, methamphetamine users who paid for extra-marital sex.  

After hearing the interview I immediately checked out the church’s website which mostly contains photographs of a bespectacled Haggard in various unrealistic poses studying the bible with members of his comically large family clad in vaguely militaristic/hunting apparel.  It’s tough to say whether or not the photographs speak conclusively to Haggard’s sexuality, but there is a strong indication that all members of his family shop at Cabela’s.

I was pleasantly surprised to read Haggard’s welcome message which included an invitation to “walk through scripture” to those who are “straight, gay, bi”, “ex-cons and adulterers” and also to those who suffer from being “black, white, Hispanic, Native American or a confusing combination”.  Aside from the strange conflation of being mixed race with being an adulterer, the welcome message was refreshingly free of judgment, and seemingly consistent with my understanding mainstream Christianity so I decided to read a bit more to make certain that Haggard was still every bit the douche I believe him to be.

The bit more I read was the section entitled “healing overview”. If one expected a section by this name to contain a substantial amount of self-reflection and humility one would be entirely mistaken.   Instead, the section contains 1,000 words dedicated to a painfully detailed recounting of the prostitute/drug dealer’s allegations, as well as the results and specific questions and answers included in the four self-imposed polygraph tests the Haggard undertook, which he argues confirm that he had only one sexual encounter with the prostitute from whom he purchased crystal meth which I’m sure makes his wife feel 1000 times better and matters a great deal to the people he once scolded for letting their children read Harry Potter.

I’m tempted to go to St. James Church. I’ll don a denim shirt; drag my weary confusingly mixed-race ass there, listen to crappy synthesizer songs, and wait to be fed the wisdom of Ted Haggard and his new-found empathy.  Alternatively I could stay in Boston and pay someone to run over my legs with a cement mixer.  I’m all for redemption and forgiveness, but some people should know when to move to the Florida panhandle and sell cars.