M. TOMOSKI

A campaign organizer took the altar on Sunday afternoon to announce that anyone who parked at the shops across the street would have their vehicle towed.

“Someone’s not a fan of Ted,” a member of the congregation said.

“Must be a Democrat,” another joked.

Despite his first place finish on caucus night, many would agree that Ted Cruz is someone you either love or hate—and most, including Cruz himself, would say hate. As he stood in front of the crowd that night, he assured his supporters that Congress hates him, Democrats hate him and even Republicans hate him. But all this is just fine because Ted knows in his heart that we ought to hate them all in return.

The cars that packed the lot and surrounding streets at Davenport’s Adventure Community Church suggested that he was onto something big, something he liked to call “a grassroots movement against the establishment.” With 65 percent of Republican caucus goers identifying as evangelical Christians, it’s not hard to see how Cruz beat Trump on caucus night, even if the billionaire with ‘New York values’ did pull out a Falwell family endorsement.

Cruz supporters are a devout bunch, and there are few ways to describe that night without calling it a religious experience. Donald and Ted had been leapfrogging each other in the polls for weeks, but one thing seemed to be set in stone: Teddy had the evangelical vote locked down. So it hardly came as a surprise that the ‘Cruzin’ to Caucus’ team would be coming to church on Sunday.

With 65 percent of Republican caucus goers identifying as evangelical Christians, it’s not hard to see how Cruz beat Trump on caucus night.

As everyone filed inside to the sound of Christian rock and Tom Cochrane’s ‘Life is a Highway’ on loop, there was something about the place that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It sent a jolt straight to the lizard brain reflex that lets you know someone’s watching your every move. These were not the same Iowans who went to Trump rallies just for kicks. These were true believers.

I made my way to the centre of the room where a dozen or so supporters stood by the press, leaving empty chairs in the back corner.

“I don’t want to sit all the way over there,” someone said, “I want to see Ted.”

“What’s so special about Ted?” I asked.

“He’s a modern-day George Washington,” the woman replied with her hands clutched together and held firmly to her chest.

All eyes were on the front of the room, where the backdrop to the altar assured supporters that Ted was: “Courageous, Conservative, Consistent.” And every so often, the crowd would glance nervously at the doors on the other side where he was expected to make his entrance.

This was it, Davenport was ready and the room nearly erupted as Cruz’s campaign manager took the altar and teased the crowd before eventually announcing Heidi Cruz as the future First Lady, who charmed the audience with intimate stories of her husband.

Those who had brought their children to the rally encouraged them to raise their rally signs as Ted made his way down the aisle to the sight of tiny hands encouraging everyone to ‘Choose Cruz.’

But not all Iowa Republicans were swooning for Cruz on caucus night. Earlier that day, I met Margery Stell, a Republican from the small town of Eagle Grove, where her father once ran the local paper. “I just think [Ted’s] evil, bad, horrible, ignorant–there is nothing about him I can stand,” she says.

Marge is not a typical Republican, although she’s been involved in Iowa politics long enough to remember a time when being Republican meant something entirely different. “I’m certainly not evangelical or one of those Tea Partiers–and I’m pro-choice, and I’m for same-sex marriage.” She says firmly, “I don’t think those things belong in government at all.”

That night, Ted spoke about the values that all Republicans share. Marge believes the social values of Jerry Falwell and the Moral Majority were forced on to the party . “Those people took over the party and I watched it happen…I watched them [take it over] bit by bit.”

As he paced back and forth with a satisfied grin, Cruz rattled off a laundry list of his first acts as president which included a promise to reverse all of Obama’s executive orders and to defund Planned Parenthood (PP). “And that’s just day one,” he laughed.

The promise was a response to the recent decision of a grand jury, in Cruz’s home state of Texas, to indict David Daleiden and Sandra Meritt for the creation of a video in which the anti-abortion activists tried to incriminate PP employees by offering to buy fetuses.

Cruz went on to compare Obama to Jimmy Carter, claiming that the president is having the same problems with the same countries: Iran and Russia. The clever line set Cruz up as the heir to Ronald Reagan, who, after Carter, took the White House in a landslide.

Although, it’s hard to tell why Cruz would want to be seen as another Reagan among Iowa evangelicals. The actor-turned-president talked a big game in front of religious voters, promising to restore school prayer and reverse the Roe v. Wade decision on abortion, but left them hanging in order to ‘focus on the economy’ and appointed pro-choice judge Sandra Day O’Connor as the first female Supreme Court Justice.

In truth, the conservative idol looks more like Donald Trump than any of the other candidates in the field. The Gipper was an inexperienced showman who knew exactly how to work the media but skipped the Iowa debate and placed second on caucus day.

Still, while other Canadian-born children dreamed of being hockey players, Cruz likely looked up to Ronald Reagan. On the night of the Davenport rally, Cruz’s opening act, conservative radio host Glenn Beck, unwittingly explained exactly why.

He may not have been the guest of honor, but Beck certainly set the tone for the night. “This is the only time I’ve ever endorsed a candidate,” he told the audience before launching into a speech about the founding fathers.

Beck told the story of an honest man who wanted nothing more than to do his duty for his country. “And that man,” Beck said, “was George Washington.” But the radio pundit wasn’t giving Iowans a history lesson, he was giving a sermon on political scripture.

Like many of the founding fathers, Washington has long been a part of a national mythology which suffers from a refusal to admit that most of these revolutionaries were ordinary men with ordinary flaws. Many were barely 30 by the time they signed the Constitution, an age at which most people openly admit they have no idea who the hell they are. Reagan’s legacy as the president who brought an end to the Cold War has earned him a place among these political gods.

Like many of the founding fathers, Washington has long been a part of a national mythology which suffers from a refusal to admit that most of these revolutionaries were ordinary men with ordinary flaws.

But this starry-eyed interpretation of the founders embodies a rigid ideology based on a mythical version of history. All the while, Beck held up Washington’s own copy of Don Quixote while speaking about the threat of Islam, missing the irony that the book he held was about a man who fought imaginary monsters. The sight could only be described as political scripture.

“We have this faction that aren’t really Republicans,” Marge Stell says, “they’re just religious people.” And when their candidate considers himself the Second Coming of Reagan, they believe him, and there’s no endorsement that could pry them away because their belief is based in a view of historic facts that casts candidates who promote political scripture as leaders who can do no wrong. Trump never had a chance.