During the final quarter of the nineteenth century, black members of the Methodist Episcopal (ME) Church published a steady stream of anti-Mormonism in their weekly newspaper, the widely read and distributed Southwestern Christian Advocate. This anti-Mormonism functioned as way for black ME Church members to articulate their denomination's distinctive racial ideology. Black ME Church members believed that their racially mixed denomination, imperfect though it was, offered the best model for advancing black citizens toward equality in both the Christian church and the American nation. Mormons, as a religious group who separated themselves in both identity and practice and as a community experiencing persecution, were a useful negative example of the dangers of abandoning the ME quest for inclusion. Black ME Church members emphasized their Christian faithfulness and American patriotism, in contrast to Mormon religious heterodoxy and political insubordination, as arguments for acceptance as equals in both religious and political institutions. At the same time, anti-Mormon rhetoric also proved a useful tool for reflecting on the challenges of African American life, regardless of denominational affiliation. For example, anti-polygamy opened space to comment on the precarious position of black women and families in the post-bellum South. In addition, cataloguing Mormon intellectual, moral, and social deficiencies became a form of instruction in the larger project of black uplift, by which African Americans sought to enter the ranks and privileges of the American middle class. In the end, however, black ME Church members found themselves increasingly segregated within their denomination and in society at large, even as Mormons, once considered both racially and religiously inferior, were welcomed into the nation as citizens and equals.

Francis Hall Johnson's (1888–1970) work to preserve and promote Negro spirituals places him among the twentieth century's most influential interpreters of African American religious music. Johnson was most closely associated with Marc Connelly's 1930 Pulitzer Prize-winning play, The Green Pastures, for which he served as musical arranger and choral conductor. His participation in this production, which became a lightning rod for discussions about the nature of black religious thought, made him sharply aware of the complex terrain of popular culture representations of African American religious life for the consumption of white audiences. This article examines Johnson's 1933 “music-drama,” Run, Little Chillun, through which he hoped to counter the commonly deployed tropes of African Americans as a simple, naturally religious people. Moderately successful on Broadway, the production did particularly well when revived in California in 1938 and 1939 as part of the Federal Theatre and Federal Music projects.

Most critics found Johnson's presentation of black Baptist music and worship to be thrillingly authentic but were confused by the theology of the drama's other religious community, the Pilgrims of the New Day. Examining Johnson's Pilgrims of the New Day in light of his interest in Christian Science and New Thought reveals a broader objective than providing a dramatic foil for the Baptists and a platform for endorsing Christianity. With his commitment to and expertise with vernacular forms of African American religious culture unassailable, Johnson presented a critique of the conservative tendencies and restrictive parochialism of some black church members and leaders and insisted on the ability of the individual religious self to range freely across a variety of spiritual possibilities. In doing so, he presented “the secret at the root” of black culture as not only revealing the spiritual genius of people of African descent but also as offering eternal and universal truths not bound by race.

This article examines how radical evangelicals employed psychological concepts such as sanity, temperament, and especially the subconscious as they struggled to understand and respond to the rapidly expanding pentecostal movement within their midst. By tracing the growing tensions over ecstatic spiritual experiences that emerged among Holiness and Higher Life believers during the 1880s and 1890s, this article demonstrates that differing assumptions about the importance of consciousness for the religious life presaged reactions to the pentecostal revivals of the early twentieth century. Although their proclivity for rational judgment predisposed Higher Life evangelicals to question the sanity of involuntary phenomena such as speaking in tongues, some prominent leaders within this community appealed to “mental science” in an effort to revise conventional understandings of the spiritual self and its capacities. For participants in the Christian and Missionary Alliance— an organization in which disputes over the propriety of pentecostalism were particularly contentious—notions of temperament and the subconscious articulated in the works of “new psychologists” like William James offered resources for reassessing Higher Life views of authentic spirituality in light of pentecostal revivalism. By analyzing how a particular faction within the radical evangelical movement made use of psychological theories to contend with the challenge of the revivals at Azusa and elsewhere, this article exposes some of the social divisions that exacerbated debates over the validity of pentecostal religious experiences. Exploring the complicated interactions and creative tensions that arose as Higher Life evangelicals appropriated constructs such as the subconscious in the wake of Azusa Street also shows that this influential contingent of conservative Protestants engaged with aspects of the field of psychology in dynamic and inventive ways that involved both selective borrowing and critical resistance. While there is truth in the common observation that radical evangelicals were deeply suspicious of the “new science of Psychology,” this article uncovers a more complex history that expands our understanding of the interplay among scientific discourse, the varieties of evangelical spiritual experience, and the emergence of pentecostalism in the early twentieth century.

This article examines advice literature directed at English-speaking members of the American Catholic priesthood in the Gilded Age and Progressive Era. From the Third Plenary Council of Baltimore in 1884 through the late 1920s, advice literature transformed from emphasizing how the priest should be a man set above the laity into emphasizing how the priest should be part of a broad priestly fraternity, taking on the role of a public citizen speaking out on issues of the day. After the modernist controversies of the first decade of the twentieth century that stifled their intellectual development, American priests’ seminary training particularly emphasized virile masculinity, athletic rigor, and duty and conformity to their superiors. In the late nineteenth century, advice literature encouraged priests to see their lives together in rectories as schools of charity, where all of the priests would, with the assistance of obedient and nonthreatening household staff, encourage each other to be men of prayer and self-sacrifice despite each others’ individual foibles. Every aspect of a priest's life, from the rectory environment to his clothing and bearing, was supposed to mark him as a man set apart. During and after World War I, however, advice literature shifted from addressing the priest's life in his rectory and parish alone to encouraging him to participate in civic duties as an American citizen. Diocesan priests like John A. Ryan took a lead role in advocating for social reforms that married public policy with social and economic justice. While priests’ sacramental duties remained at the center of their lives and ministries, advice literature nonetheless encouraged them to rethink their place in the sociocultural landscape and to become more vocal promoters of Catholic values in the public sphere.

In the early 1970s, a group of progressive evangelicals challenged the mid-century cultural conservatism of their tradition. Activists associated with Reformed, Anabaptist, and neo-evangelical institutions denounced militarism, racism, sexism, economic injustice, and President Richard Nixon's “lust for and abuse of power.” When this coalition met in 1973 to issue the Chicago Declaration, delegates effused a profound sense of optimism. The evangelical left held very real potential for political impact.

Within a decade, however, the movement seemed to be in disarray. This article suggests the centrality of identity politics to evangelicalism in the 1970s and outlines the fragmentation of the progressive evangelical coalition along gender, racial, and theological lines. The formation of the Evangelical Women's Caucus, the growing stridency of the National Black Evangelical Association, and the divergence of Anabaptist-oriented Evangelicals for Social Action and the Reformed-oriented Association for Public Justice sapped the evangelical left of needed resources and contributed to its impotence into the 1980s. The forces of identity politics, which also plagued the broader political left, were powerful enough to sabotage even a group of evangelicals with remarkably similar theological convictions, religious cultures, and critiques of conservative politics. The story of the fragmenting evangelical left, however, reflects more than broader culture's preoccupation with identity. It points to often-overlooked religious elements of the broader left. And alongside the New Left and the New Right, the evangelical left's debates over racial, sexual, and theological difference added to the disruptions of the liberal consensus in the 1960s and 1970s.

In October 1998, Matthew Shepard, a young gay student at the University of Wyoming, was brutally murdered. Upon hearing the news, many Americans described him as a victim of a hate crime. Others, however, proclaimed Shepard a gay martyr. This declaration was not simply political rhetoric. Despite long-standing conservative religious opposition to homosexuality, they believed that Shepard had been granted salvation and a place among the saints in heaven. This article addresses the questions, “How and why was Matthew Shepard declared a popular martyr?” More specifically, how does this popular martyrdom relate to contemporary debates surrounding civil rights for gays and lesbians in America? As part of a series of social movements that followed the Second World War, sexual minorities have struggled to claim legitimate space in American society, leaving dramatic social changes in their wake. Noting this, while contrasting the news media’s construction of Shepard with the simultaneous popular discussion on the Internet, this article argues that a long tradition of popular martyr-making came together with social and political circumstances at a certain historical moment to transform the obscure victim of a hate crime into a popular martyr residing in heaven. That is, although the news media constructed Shepard as simply the affable young victim of a fatal hate crime, these contingencies allowed many Americans to reconstruct Shepard as a popular martyr. They expressed this belief in political, cultural, and social action. In time, Shepard's popular martyrdom helped further a growing acceptance of gays and lesbians into America's mainstream.