From Billy Graham, A Big-Tent Revival

By 1952, Graham was big enough to play a role in persuading Eisenhower to run for the presidency. And there were his "crusades," all over the world. In 1957, Graham came to New York and he didn't leave until he'd preached 100 times, 97 of them in Madison Square Garden. Sixteen weeks, 2 million attendees, 55,000 people who made "the decision for Christ," as his publicity team put it. Graham mastered the art of super-scale service and he understood the power of television before anyone else in the business of religion. If he was selling soda -- or anything, really -- he would have made a fortune.

Graham never wavered from his core beliefs, and the closest thing to scandal came three years ago, when a newly released White House tape caught him lamenting what he called a Jewish "stranglehold" on the news media in a conversation with President Nixon. Confronted with the recording in 2002, Graham said he didn't remember any of it, but apologized anyway.

He is visibly weak now, hobbled by Parkinson's disease and prostate cancer, and he needed a hand to reach the podium when it was his turn to speak on Friday night. He opened by confessing his nervousness, and told a story about a man who babbled for so long during a speech that someone threw a gavel at him, which instead hit a woman in the front row. "Throw another," Graham quoted her saying. "I can still hear him."

For the first 10 minutes, it could have been a Chamber of Commerce address. When it came to matters spiritual, Graham did as he always has -- he preached through anecdote. At one point, he told a story about a man in an accident at sea, who thrashed around in the ocean for 10 hours, blood on his forehead, fending off sharks.

"A pilot spotted him and dropped a smoke canister and radioed a Coast Guard cutter. He said, 'Hurry, there's a guy down there surrounded by sharks.' So the Coast Guard went there, found the guy." Graham's voice is barely audible.

"You know, he didn't need a new technique, he needed outside intervention. And tonight you need outside intervention. That's what God will do for you. He'll bring a peace and joy to your heart that you've never known. He'll fill the void in your heart."

There was then the traditional call to come forth and accept, or re-accept, Jesus Christ into your life. Thousands of people streamed toward the stage.

"You may never have another moment like this in your life," Graham said, now sitting down. "You come now. Now is the time."

He never said goodbye or good night. He just turned, and with the help of a walker, he left. The many who had shuffled toward the stage were greeted, one at a time, by one of the counselors, who helped everyone fill out a questionnaire. ("Have you come forward to personally accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?" was the first question.)

There were some tears of joy here and there, but the whole thing seemed kind of measured and sedate. Maybe this is what happens when a blue state gets its red state on. Or perhaps events like this are the equivalent of those quiet PBS shows that you stumble across while channel-surfing through the hectoring wilderness of cable. If you're accustomed to the shrieking, everything else sounds mellow.