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"Jesse Jackson is the premier social activist of our time," says Dwight Perry, professor of pastoral studies at Moody Bible Institute and the author of Breaking Down Barriers: A Black Evangelical Explains the Black Church (Baker). "He teaches us the importance of not dichotomizing the gospel, that the essence of the gospel is how I am relating to my neighbor, regardless of his race or social condition."

Jerald January, who during the '90s was U.S. director of Compassion International, believes evangelicals can learn from Jackson. "We understand the evangelistic part, but there is still a need for someone to cry out for justice. Jesse fills that void for a lot of us."

Many things can and will be said about Jackson's public and personal foibles, but the untold story on him is this: His vocational heirs will not be radical activists like Al Sharpton or other pseudo-religious figures but honest-to-goodness Christian churchmen who, like Meeks, have a call to ministry both "in and outside the church."

"I take Luke 4:18 seriously," Jesse Jackson tells me as we sit in his Chicago office. "To preach the Good News to the poor, to bind up the wounds of the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom to the captives. If I preach the gospel of truth and reconciliation, I can touch hard hearts and make things happen. That's my calling."

Sitting behind a large desk cluttered with books, papers, and framed photographs of his family, Jackson is gracious and personable but utterly serious about this business of being Jesse Jackson. He rarely smiles and handles my questions with the no-nonsense determination of a weary grad student defending his dissertation.

When I met with Jackson last fall, I had to remind myself that I was there as a journalist, not a fan. In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that I like Jesse Jackson. I grew up liking him. In the 1970s and '80s, he was one of the few living African American heroes, outside of sports and entertainment, whom a young black boy could look up to. Jackson could always be counted on to rattle the status quo. Sometimes he triumphed—his campaigns for president in 1984 and '88 (though he lost the nominations, he brought a new constituency into the political mainstream) or his rescue of American hostages from Syria, Iraq, and Yugoslavia. Other times he stumbled—his insensitive "hymie" remark about New York Jews or his ill-advised defense of delinquent students in Decatur, Illinois. Still, Jackson's good accomplishments seemed to outweigh the bad.

The rap against Jackson for many evangelicals is that he is a Christian minister who does not have a credible "spiritual witness." He's constantly craving the media spotlight and imposing the race issue on all his dealings, whether it's legitimate or not. He seems stuck in a "black victimization" mindset that discourages some African Americans from taking personal responsibility for their conditions. What's more, his political positions on issues like abortion and homosexual rights run counter to that of most people who interpret the Bible as God's inspired Word.

Then there was the announcement a year ago that Jackson had fathered a daughter outside of his marriage. For many, it was a confirmation of what they had suspected all along—that Jackson was a spiritual phony, a scoundrel, a player. Here was the man who had for decades preached sexual purity and male responsibility besmirching everything he had stood for. Worse, his supporters seemed to turn a blind eye and shamelessly welcomed him back into public life after only a few days of seclusion.

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February 4 2002, Vol. 46, No. 2