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Preachers who purchase airtime frequently offer books, calendars, lapel pins and whatnot to those who phone or write in. Viewers requesting "premiums" often send checks, but the preachers' real goal is to build a computerized name list for future direct-mail solicitation. One prominent evangelist, Oregon-based Hispanic Luis Palau, complains with some justification, "When you try to talk to somebody about Jesus Christ in America, they immediately think all you want is to get their name, address and ZIP code."
The mail volume at the warehouse-size depots maintained by top televangelists is monumental. For instance, Billy Graham is notably discreet in asking for money, but after his telecasts 40,000 or 50,000 letters a day come in to his Minneapolis headquarters. Graham remains the leader in prime- time evangelism, confining himself to infrequent specials. Among last year's productions was coverage of his pathbreaking preaching in Communist Hungary and Rumania. The 1985 cost for airtime and other TV expenses was $18,675,000, about a third of his overall budget.
The world of Gospel TV has been rocked repeatedly by scandals, rumors, shake-ups, and reports of high-living preachers, which obscure the fact that many in the field have only modest personal incomes. An inveterate financial secrecy exacerbates the air of suspicion. In a move designed to allay donor skepticism and head off possible Government intervention, leaders of nondenominational ministries in 1979 formed the Evangelical Council for Financial Responsibility. The council certifies that its associated fund seekers fulfill a simple code of ethics. But of the seven major TV ministers, only Graham and Bakker are members.
Like the old-time revivalists to whom they are the natural successors --George Whitefield, Charles Finney, Dwight L. Moody, Billy Sunday--today's televangelists tend to be mavericks, outside of denominational control and resourceful about using entertainment and new technology to find their audiences. When radio was born, the early networks wanted no part of troublesome evangelists. They encouraged stations to donate time for network shows produced in cooperation with the liberal Federal (later National) Council of Churches, as well as Catholic and Jewish agencies. In early TV, too, the networks continued to give traditional denominations free time, in effect confining the conservative evangelists to weak "dollar a holler" stations. As late as 1959 the evangelists accounted for only half the religious airtime. By 1980 they had achieved a virtual monopoly.
What caused the radical turnabout? Primarily, mainline religion violated the first commandment of TV: Thou shalt not bore. The shows avoided not only Gospel appeals but personalities, a necessity on an entertainment-oriented medium. The only galvanizing religious figure to emerge in weekly prime time, Catholic Bishop Fulton Sheen, was sponsored by the Admiral Corp., not by his church. Another factor: the Federal Communications Commission decided to give equal "public service" credit to paid religion and free-time shows. Stations were eager to sell time and increase profits, and the Evangelicals were ready. Their 40 years in the paid-time wilderness turned out to be a boon. Additional UHF and cable outlets became available to them. Videotaping facilitated cheap production and distribution. The computer brought magical mass fund raising.