"The Republican Party has been taken over by something that it's not," Danforth says over a suitably austere lunch of steamed vegetables in a well-appointed 40th-floor St. Louis club overlooking the Mississippi. "How do traditional Republicans put up with this? They put up with this because it's a winning combination, for now. It won't last."

Why won't it last?

"It won't stand the light of day," Danforth says in one of several conversations. "The more people think about it, the more people will resist it. People do not want a sectarian political party, including a lot of people who are traditional Republicans."

"People do not want a secterian political party." And people do not want a secterian federal government, either. This is the kernel of what we are taking action about- that resistance and rejection of secterian inroads to our government.

This isn't the first time that Danforth has spoken out about this problem. In a memorable op-ed in the New York Times last year, he said,

In the decade since I left the Senate, American politics has been characterized by two phenomena: the increased activism of the Christian right, especially in the Republican Party, and the collapse of bipartisan collegiality. I do not think it is a stretch to suggest a relationship between the two. To assert that I am on God's side and you are not, that I know God's will and you do not, and that I will use the power of government to advance my understanding of God's kingdom is certain to produce hostility.

By contrast, moderate Christians see ourselves, literally, as moderators. Far from claiming to possess God's truth, we claim only to be imperfect seekers of the truth. We reject the notion that religion should present a series of wedge issues useful at election time for energizing a political base. We believe it is God's work to practice humility, to wear tolerance on our sleeves, to reach out to those with whom we disagree, and to overcome the meanness we see in today's politics.

Inclusiveness, rather than exclusivity, is the foundation of his faith. He speaks of the "Love Thy Neighbor" commandment as the one that ursurps all others, including other laws. Few other of his peers believe- or practice- this tenet.

Here's what one of his aides, Susan Schwab, had to say about him in his role as priest:

One of his chief aides, Susan Schwab, recalls him mentioning faith only once on the Senate floor, during a debate over a constitutional amendment to allow school prayer. He was against it.

"He's not a holier-than-thou type," Schwab says. "He's always been called upon to do this sophisticated juxtaposition of faith and politics." She recalls once picking him up on Easter morning at St. Alban's Episcopal Church, where he was a volunteer rector, and waiting for him to take off his robes so he could get to the Sunday talk shows.

If he sticks to his usual form today, Danforth, who declined to be interviewed for this article, will mention God once or twice near the end of his homily. But he can be counted on not to cause a stir by freelancing an impolitic mention of Jesus, as Franklin Graham did at George W. Bush's inauguration. He will likely perfectly embody Washington National Cathedral's other role, not as an Episcopal chapel but as the closest thing we have to a national church, a place where faith is present but muted, as on the dollar bill or in the Pledge of Allegiance.

And there is the balance: Faith being present, but muted. Not exclusive, but inclusive. Not secterian, but universal. That is what should be aimed for. It is time for the bullies in the pulpits to step down.