Decision Points

campaign. In my first major policy speech, delivered in Indianapolis, I said, “In every instance where my administration sees a responsibility to help people, we will look first to faith-based organizations, to charities, and to community groups.”
    Nine days after my inauguration, I issued executive orders creating an Office of Faith-Based and Community Initiatives in the White House and in five Cabinet departments. The offices changed regulations and broke down barriers that had prevented faith-based charities from accessing the federal grant-making process. To emphasize the initiative’s nonpartisan nature, I appointed Democrats to serve as the first two directors. One was John Dilulio , an innovative professor from the University of Pennsylvania. The other was Jim Towey , a thoroughly decent man who had led Florida’s social services department and served as Mother Teresa’s lawyer. I used to tell Towey that we sure have a litigious society if Mother Teresa needed a lawyer.
    Some said the faith-based initiative blurred the line between church and state. I took that concern seriously. Government should never impose religion. Every citizen has the right to worship as he or she wishes, or not to worship at all. I was always wary of people who used faith as a political weapon, suggesting they were more righteous than their opponents. My favorite Bible verse for politicians is Matthew 7:3—“Why doyou see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?”
    At the same time, government need not fear religion. If social service programs run by people of faith did not proselytize or discriminate against people receiving services, I thought they deserved a chance to compete for taxpayer dollars. The government should ask which organization would deliver the best results, not whether they had a cross, a crescent, or a Star of David on their wall.
    The initiative opened up roughly $20 billion a year in federal funding to competition from faith-based groups. Many of these organizations had no experience interfacing with government, so we held forty conferences and more than four hundred grant-writing seminars to help them apply for funding. Ultimately, more than five thousand faith-based and community organizations, mostly small grassroots charities, received federal grants.
    In January 2008, I visited the Jericho Program of East Baltimore. Operated by Episcopal Community Services of Maryland and funded by a grant from the Department of Labor, the program provided mentoring, counseling, and job training services to recently released adult male convicts. The nine men from Jericho were quiet when I walked into the room. I detected a fair amount of skepticism. “I drank too much at one point in my life,” I said to break the ice, “and I understand how a changed heart can help you deal with addiction.”
    The men opened up and told their stories. One had been convicted of selling drugs, another of cocaine possession, another of theft. Many had been in and out of prison several times and had abandoned their families. Thanks to the services they received at Jericho, they had begun to find purpose in their lives. One man emotionally explained how thrilled he was to have reunited with his three daughters. “Six months ago, I was broken down,” he said. “Now I am shaking hands with the president.” Another told me proudly that he had received two job offers. “Drugs have always been a problem in my life, up until now,” he said. “Thanks to Jericho,” he said, “I got my groove.”
    The Jericho Program’s recidivism rate was 22 percent, less than half of Baltimore’s overall rate. The men I met that day were among fifteen thousand who had benefited from the Prisoner Reentry Initiative welaunched in 2004. Their recidivism rate was 15 percent, one third of the national average.
    My most extraordinary meeting on faith-based initiatives took place right across the hall from the Oval Office. In June 2003, I had convened a roundtable discussion with faith-based leaders. Chuck Colson and several members of InnerChange attended. When I stepped into the Roosevelt Room, I spotted a familiar-looking African American man. I walked over and gave him a big hug. “I’m sure glad you’re here,” I said.
    It was George Mason , the man from the prison choir in Sugar Land. Upon release, he had earned a job as a janitor at his church. He also led a Bible study and served as a