I was driving home from Owensboro one night about 10 years ago, saw a lit-up tent by the roadside and decided to stop in. A full-blown, old-fashioned Holiness revival was going on. Old women who looked like they had walked right out of a Dorothea Lange or Walker Evans photo — long braids and plain dresses, weathered skin drawn tightly over thin faces — danced ecstatically by the front of the altar. The preacher, adding a sort of grunting extra syllable to every phrase in his lengthy sermon, merged his calls for revival with a complaint about the lack of official sanction for religion: “They took prayer out of schools-uh, and they put evolution in-uh.”
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