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ELECTION 2016

Split Over Donald Trump and Cut Off by

Culture Wars, Evangelicals Despair
By LAURIE GOODSTEIN

SEPT. 29, 2016

GRIMES, Iowa Betty and Dick Odgaard used to own the tiny church next door to
their home. They had built it over 13 years into an art gallery, bistro, flower shop
and framing service. They even rented out the chapel, with its bright stained glass
windows, for social events.
But three years ago, the Odgaards refused to rent the quaint site to two gay
men for a wedding, saying it would violate their religious beliefs about marriage.
The men filed a civil rights complaint, and the Odgaards settled, paying a penalty
because it is illegal to discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation. After the
controversy, regular customers stopped coming. Friends and family members
stopped speaking to them. The Odgaards were vilified as bigots and haters.
But it was not long before the Odgaards found themselves cast as heroes as
well. Senator Ted Cruz of Texas, then a Republican candidate for president, visited
the Odgaards business and videotaped a sympathetic interview with them. They
joined a troupe of business owners upheld as Christian martyrs in the nations
culture wars: the cake baker, the florist and the photographers who stood up for
their religious beliefs and lost legal battles. They received a standing ovation at a
Cruz rally and signed on as religious liberty ambassadors in his campaign.
Now, a year later, the Odgaards and other conservative evangelicals
interviewed in central Iowa say they feel as though they have been abandoned.
Many say that they have no genuine champion in the presidential race and that the
country has turned its back on them. Americans are leaving church, same-sex

marriage is the law of the land, and the country has moved on to debating
transgender rights. While other Americans are anxious about the economy, jobs
and terrorism, conservative Christians say they fear for the nations very soul.
Some worry that the nation has strayed so far that Gods punishment is imminent.
So, in a year where many voters see nothing but bad choices, many
evangelicals feel deeply torn. Long a reliable Republican voting bloc, many are
appalled to find Donald J. Trump their only alternative to Hillary Clinton. They say
he has taken positions all over the map on same-sex couples and abortion and does
not have the character to be president. Others are still bewildered that Mr. Trump
defeated not only Mr. Cruz a pastors son who made religious liberty a
signature issue but also half a dozen other conservative Christian contenders
they would have gladly supported.
Nevertheless, polls show that the vast majority of evangelicals are now
coalescing around Mr. Trump, largely out of fear that a President Clinton will
appoint liberal Supreme Court justices.
The change in America seemed to happen so quickly that it felt like whiplash,
the Odgaards said. One day they felt comfortably situated in the American
majority, as Christians with shared beliefs in God, family and the Bible. They had
never even imagined that two people of the same sex could marry.
Overnight, it seemed, they discovered that even in small-town Iowa they were
outnumbered, isolated and unpopular. Everyone they knew seemed to have a gay
relative or friend. Mr. Odgaards daughter from his first marriage disavowed her
fathers actions on Facebook, and his gay second cousin will not speak to him. Even
their own Mennonite congregation put out a statement saying that while their
denomination opposes gay marriage, not every congregation or Mennonite does.
Mrs. Odgaard, 64, the daughter of a Mennonite minister, was devastated.
It all flipped, so fast, said Mr. Odgaard, a patrician 70-year-old who favors
khakis and boat shoes. Suddenly, we were in the minority. That was kind of a
scary feeling. It makes you wonder where the Christians went.
The beginning of the end of the Odgaards familiar life came on Aug. 3, 2013,
when Lee Stafford and Jared Ellars arrived at the Odgaards gallery, Grtz Haus.

The couple were in a panic because the hotel they had booked for their wedding
had gone bankrupt two months before the date, and they had already sent the
invitations out. Mr. Odgaard spent about 45 minutes showing them the property
and figuring out seating, flowers and how many guests needed gluten-free meals. It
was only when Mr. Odgaard asked if it was a same-sex wedding that his tone
changed, they said.
Ill remember these words for the rest of my life, said Mr. Ellars, 35, a
database administrator. He looked at us and he said, I cant take your money, and
we dont do anything for free.
The couple, together for 13 years, say they never wanted the Odgaards to go
out of business. They say they wanted them to stop discriminating against gay
people and never put another gay couple through the rejection they experienced.
The case was settled in arbitration, and the Odgaards had to pay $5,000 to Mr.
Stafford and Mr. Ellars, which they donated to an anti-bullying program for gay
students.
Their wedding was held in a barn, officiated by a minister with the Disciples of
Christ church that Mr. Stafford attends. To this day, Mr. Stafford, who is 43 and a
business systems analyst, is troubled that the debate over religious liberty appears
to be so one-sided, he said.
Their religious beliefs say they dont approve of gay marriage, but my
religious beliefs say that we can, he said. Why does their religion trump mine?
About a year ago, the Odgaards sold Grtz Haus to Harvest Bible Chapel, a church
start-up that had been meeting in rented quarters. Its senior pastor, Ryan
Jorgenson, 36, leads Sunday services in sneakers and jeans. He was trained and
sent to Des Moines three years ago by a fast-growing network of conservative
evangelical churches based in Elgin, Ill., that believe the Bible is Gods inerrant
word.
Mr. Jorgenson jumped at buying the Odgaards picturesque property on the
busiest street in Grimes, a suburb of Des Moines. He converted the lower floor,
where the flower shop once stood, into a childrens ministry, and installed
soundproofing to insulate the childrens ruckus downstairs from the electric

guitars and drums of the churchs worship band upstairs.

He liked the symbolism of converting a landmark site that had represented a
defeat for conservative Christians into an outpost for preaching Gods word,
without apology, he said. The church now draws up to 300 on a weekend, and is
already outgrowing the space. On a recent weekday, the secretary sat working on a
stool in a hall closet. The staff was planning a conference to teach Christians how to
evangelize to atheists, agnostics and Mormons.
It is necessary to train believers to hold their own, the pastor said, because
mainstream biblical Christianity is less and less mainstream. On Sundays, he
notices that half of his neighbors do not even go to church.
He expects that more and more Christians will, like the Odgaards, suffer
persecution for their beliefs. He regularly visits the Capitol in Des Moines to pray
with and lobby legislators with the Family Leader, a conservative Iowa group.
Mr. Jorgenson was among many Iowa pastors who publicly supported Mr. Cruz,
though not from the pulpit, and he is not sure if he will vote for Mr. Trump in
November, even though Mr. Cruz has now said he will vote for Mr. Trump. He
would not even consider voting for Hillary Clinton, the Democratic presidential
nominee, and said he did not know anyone in his church who would. But asked
how much hope he had that Mr. Trump would protect the religious liberty of
conservative Christians, Mr. Jorgenson held his two fingers a quarter-inch apart.
My hope is not ultimately in the government, he said. I am not of this
world. Jesus is going to come back. Hes going to bring the perfect government.
Until then, we live in a world of sin.
Melissa and Tom Berkheimer started attending Mr. Jorgensons church after
hearing him interviewed on Christian radio. They had become frustrated that their
minister watered down his sermons and never said a word about same-sex
marriage even after the Iowa Supreme Court legalized it in 2009.
She is an accountant, he a chemist, and they met in an online Christian chat
room. They had something in common, aside from their faith: Mr. Berkheimer is
half-Japanese, and Mrs. Berkheimer had lived in Japan and her children from her

first marriage are half-Japanese.

Over dinner at a steakhouse recently, the Berkheimers said they had nothing
against gay people a refrain the Odgaards also repeatedly sounded.
My brother was a homosexual, Mrs. Berkheimer said. Her brother became a
born-again Christian before he died of complications from AIDS many years ago,
and she named her son after him, she said.
She said she became seriously alarmed about the nation in the past year as
Congress failed to cut off funding for Planned Parenthood after an anti-abortion
group released videos taken surreptitiously of the organization. The Berkheimers
are in the Never Trump camp.
Im worried for America if we dont turn away from abortion, said Mrs.
Berkheimer, who is 48. I think our country is going to be punished, with a nuclear
weapon. I dont think you can mock God forever.
She quickly added that she was worried she would sound crazy saying such
things.
The Truth 99.3 FM, a Christian station that features daily clips of Mr.
Jorgensons sermons, broadcasts from a drab office building in a shopping center
in Des Moines. In a studio on the sixth floor, the host of a daily afternoon talk
show, J. Michael McKoy, known as Mac, sat at a broad table recently facing his
three co-hosts. Leaning into the microphone, he asked his listeners, Do you
boycott businesses that go against your walk with Jesus?
Should Christians boycott Target for announcing that transgender people
could use the restrooms of their choice, he asked, or Ikea for a winsome ad
featuring gay families? Callers reactions were mixed. A woman said Target only
cares about political correctness. A man pointed out, Even gay parents need
furniture.
Mr. McKoy steered the conversation to the Odgaards. He had quietly played a
part in their saga: When Mrs. Odgaard was in the depths of despair over a boycott
of Grtz Haus, she often called Mr. McKoy, and he prayed with her. He introduced
the Odgaards to Mr. Jorgenson, the young pastor looking for a permanent place for

his church.
On air, the radio hosts suggested that the Odgaards story showed that
Americans were developing a double standard on the notion of tolerance. I just
wish that this tolerance went across the board for Christian businesses, said one
co-host, Frank Thomas Holzhauser, who on air calls himself Frank (the Verse)
Thomas a nod to his facility with Scripture.
When the show ended, the hosts debated the election. Only Mr. Holzhauser
said he was certain he would vote for Mr. Trump, but he admitted it had caused
him to lose some friends who cant stomach Trump.
The others said they had not decided how they would vote. None had
supported Mr. Trump in the Iowa caucuses. Mr. McKoy and Chris Rohloff had
supported Marco Rubio, Mr. Holzhauser had favored Ben Carson, and Bob
Monserrate had backed Mr. Cruz. Mr. Rohloff said he had thought that Mr. Trump
was finished last year, the moment he said at a candidates forum in Iowa that he
had never asked God for forgiveness.
Everyone in the room just went, Are you kidding me? Even if youve never
done it, you should at least know the right answer, Mr. Rohloff said. Thats a
fundamental thing for Christians.
But by late September, Mr. McKoy said in a telephone interview that he and
his co-hosts had decided to vote Trump: Its the lesser of two evils. And I dont
know by how much.
Some evangelicals in Iowa said Christians who praised Mr. Trump were giving
Christianity a bad name. They blamed evangelicals in the South or Nascar
Christians who go to church only when car races are not on.
Some Republicans are working to boost evangelicals enthusiasm.
Before Mr. Trumps arrival at Senator Joni Ernsts annual Roast and Ride in
an arena at the Iowa State Fairgrounds in Des Moines last month, Steve Scheffler
was working a crowd of bikers and farmers sitting on hay bales near the stage. Mr.
Scheffler, president of the Iowa Faith and Freedom Coalition, used a line borrowed
from the conservative activist Phyllis Schlafly: If youre looking for a perfect

candidate, you will not find Jesus Christs name on the ballot.
He sounded exasperated with Christians who disparaged Mr. Trump.
I hope the good Lord shows more grace to me as a sinner than these people
show to Donald Trump, he said.
On a recent Sunday, the Odgaards walked into the church and sat in the rear,
where Mrs. Odgaard, an artist whose paintings once filled the space, used to design
frames for customers. The seats stackable banquet chairs that the Odgaards had
bought for their wedding business were nearly full of mostly young worshipers.
They rested their coffee cups on the hardwood floor that the Odgaards had stripped
of carpet and sanded when they bought the place, spending a week on their knees.
One Sunday in church, the memories were so raw that Mrs. Odgaard said she
began to cry and left for home.
Its like losing a child, Mr. Odgaard said.
Mr. Jorgenson asked the congregation to stand, and the worship band struck
up a catchy song called Im Going Free (Jailbreak), played with a hoedown lilt.
The lyrics were projected onto a screen placed under faded windows that Mrs.
Odgaard had painted long ago to resemble stained glass. While the worshipers
clapped and pumped fists in the air, the Odgaards gamely sang along: Jesus is my
liberty. Im going free.
Church members were invited to stay afterward for a quarterly meeting. Dylan
Knudsen, a co-pastor, made a major announcement.
Harvest Bible Chapel had just been approved for a loan to buy the Odgaards
tidy red brick house next door. The Odgaards were about to move to another town.
But they planned to keep attending Harvest Bible Chapel, Mr. Knudsen said. There
was brief applause.
Please thank them, Mr. Knudsen said, for their sacrificial role.

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