Reportorial Christianity

Few men can count the number of denominations in this country and fewer still can estimate the number of religious periodicals. Occasionally one of them breaks forth into a theological tirade, but otherwise they are published, as far as the general public is concerned, in secret.

Last week, however, brought to a close a highly professional piece of religious journalism. It was an exhaustive investigation of the Episcopal Diocese of Dallas--so-called "Darkest Dallas"-- conducted by The Churchman. It developed the amazing story of a die-hard Bishop, and a Hell-and-Garden-of-Eden Baptist, united with the Ku Klux in a bond of enmity against a liberal Rector.

The story, according to The Churchman, was substantially as follows:

Rev. Lee Heaton is rector of Trinity Parish in Fort Worth, Tex., the only Episcopal parish in the residential section. An element in the parish desired to get control for purposes not entirely spiritual. Failing to dominate the rector, they decided to oust him and last year seized upon his theology as a pretext and charged him with heresy. The Bishop-one Harry Moore-apparently took fright at the storm of protest from beyond the borders of Texas and "quashed" the heresy proceedings on the ground that certain Northern Bishops were as liberal as the rector. But the Bishop left the stigma of heresy upon the rector, and sided with the disgruntled section of the parish in attempting to force Mr. Heaton's resignation largely by financial pressure.

At this point entered the Rev. J. Frank Norris-"Two-gun Norris who gets his man," "Norris, the Texas bear-cat," the most Fundamental in the most Fundamental of all Baptist communities. He is the publisher of The Searchlight, a paper with scare headlines and such "leads" as: "Judas Iscariot, when he betrayed his Lord with 'Hail, Master' on his lips, went and hung himself, but these modern Judases continue to occupy pulpits and use the name of Christ and live off the money of orthodox people." Now, under ordinary circumstances, Mr. Norris would show as much love for a High-Church Bishop as for the Pope of Rome, whom he regards as anti-Christ, but his alliance with the Bishop in the Heaton case was made necessary by a demand for more liberal lambs (or goats) to cast on the altar of his Searchlight. Out came the Searchlight (100,000 circulation) with screamer headline: HEATON, MODERNIST, CORNERED AND EXPOSED. The Bishop chuckled with glee. Frank Norris had given Heaton not more than six months to live in Texas--and Two-gun Norris gets his man.

But Rector Heaton still kept going about, preaching "love." Finances weakened, so he began canceling his salary. Most of his parish stuck with him, and more came into his fold. Big battalions were needed to finish him. Enter the Ku Klux Klan. First of all, the Klan presented to the disgruntled section of Heaton's parish a completely equipped meeting room which they were to use until a rival Episcopal Church could be built. Big men in the Klan-bossed state were lined up in the little parish fight. The Bishop, the Searchlight, the Klan -it seemed that Heaton could hold out no longer when down rushed The Churchman to be his first ally. Its investigation of this curious alignment of forces resulted in the collection of a few thousand dollars for immediate financial aid, and, more important, the awakening of a strong national sentiment against the obscurantist tactics of Heaton's persecutors. Heaton is, for the present, safe. The Bishop can no longer attack him openly.

Two-gun Norris, also distressed by the failure of his frontal attack, attempted a feint. He wrote a personal letter to Heaton, urging him, in effect, to leave the Episcopal Church and become a Baptist.

But Heaton determined to remain an Episcopalian.

Thus, The Churchman's story. Whether it was good churchmanship is a matter for debate. That it was fearless and enterprising journalism is agreed.