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Preacher Reenactor Brings Age-Old Gospel to Battlefields


GETTYSBURG, Pa. (RNS)— From his Old Testament beard down to his scuffed boots and battered Bible, Alan Farley looks the perfect picture of a Civil War chaplain. On a dusty field five miles from where the Battle of Gettysburg was fought 147 years ago, Farley acts the part as well, thundering sermons from his homemade pulpit, praying with bedraggled soldiers, and handing out tracts with titles like “Everlasting Punishment.” The thousands of soldiers and spectators at the Gettysburg Civil War Battle Reenactment in early July could be forgiven for swallowing the chaplain’s perfor- mance—the tracts look aged, the religion old-time. But it is no act, says Farley; it is a divine calling. For 26 years, Farley has driven thousands of miles, distributed millions of pages of tracts, and delivered hundreds of sermons— all for one mission: bringing Civil War reenactors to Jesus.


“No one was reaching them,” said the 59-year-old Virginian. “They are gone every weekend and most wouldn’t darken the door of a church, ordinarily. But they need to get saved.” Farley’s Reenactor’s Mis- sions for Jesus Christ combines modern means with 1860s-style evangelism to reach the estimat- ed 50,000 Civil War enthusiasts who live to relive famous battles like Bull Run, Antietam, and Shi- loh year after year.


28 EVANGEL • SEP 2010


Pitching a cross-steepled tent beside the battlefields, Far- ley and a handful of costumed volunteers pray with reenactors, promote a Civil War chaplains’ museum in Lynchburg, Virginia, and preach as often as event organizers will allow. Farley estimates that 1,800 reenactors have been led to Christianity


Alan Farley preaches to Civil War reenactors.


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both reenactors—come along. Fifteen churches support the Farleys through their monthly mission budgets. “Just like mis- sionaries going to Africa, Ireland, or wherever,” Farley said. Farley was ordained by an independent Baptist church in 1994, at, of course, a Civil War reenactment. While many fellow reenactors adopt a specific historical per- sona, Farley does not. “I feel very strongly that if I portrayed some- body, and somebody realized I was not that person, they might


Confederate soldier, he read the Bible in his tent as the moon rose. It was the Book of Ezekiel, where God warns that those who do not dissuade backsliders will be held accountable. “I said, ‘Lord, are You speak- ing to me about these reenac- tors?’” Farley recalled. “And the Lord said, ‘Look at them singing and carrying on around the campfire. My Son died for them and no one is coming to them. If you go, I’ll give you the strength.’ From then on, my bur- den was for the reenactors.” Since reenactments are often held on isolated farms, getting to church on Sunday and back by battle-time can be nearly impos- sible. Farley resolved to bring church to the men. He began with 15-minute sermons held in the shade of an oak tree between battles. At the recent Gettysburg reenactment, Farley led two ser- vices packed with hundreds of soldiers and spectators in a tent beside the battlefield.


through his ministry. One day, he hopes, he’ll see an evangeli- cal revival like those that blazed through Confederate camps during the Civil War.


In some ways, Farley and his family are typical Christian mis- sionaries, albeit with an unusual mission field. They live in Appo- mattox, where Robert E. Lee sur- rendered to Ulysses S. Grant in 1865. But the Farleys spend 40 weeks a year away from home, crisscrossing the country in an RV that carries Alan and his wife, Faith, to scores of Civil War reen- actments and events. Often their twenty-something children—


think the message or gospel I’m trying to share with them is also phony,” he said.


Reenactors spend countless hours learning to dress, shoot, and speak like Civil War soldiers. But for all their historical high- mindedness and fastidious atten- tion to period detail, reenact- ments can be bawdy affairs, with modern-day enthusiasts assum- ing the role of dissolute soldiers on the eve of bloody battles. Then as now, drinking and gam- bling are the biggest vices. At a reenactment two


decades ago in North Carolina, where Farley was playing a


That’s where William Collins of Portland, Indiana, heard him on July 4, just hours before he rushed into battle as the color sergeant in Pickett’s Charge. Three years ago, Collins said, Farley saved his life— eternal and temporal. “I was going down the wrong road. He brought me back and gave me a new out- look,” he said.


Not everyone appreciates his ministry, Farley admits. Some chaplain reenactors, turned off by his evangelism, turn tail when they see him coming. Some spectators and reenactors turn up at his 1860s-style worship


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