Most feed the Age of Aquarius, back-to the-garden-in-blue-jeans narrative that passes for Woodstock's spiritual legacy. After August 1969, pastors could wear Hawaiian shirts in church, hold yoga classes on weekdays and focus on feeling good instead of doing good. The rest of us were free to try therapy, designer drugs and Tantric sex positions.

But Woodstock's impact on the white evangelical community has been woefully understudied and marginally reported. Dovetailing with the rise of the Jesus People, the three-day festival helped evangelical leaders to see how the counterculture could, albeit counter-intuitively, save the Baby Boom generation.

Their subsequent crusade encompassed everything from organizing a "Religious Woodstock"  to seeding contemporary Christian music to growing new denominations. Just look at the Willow Creek association, the network of Calvary Chapels or the Vineyard Fellowship to see the campaign's ongoing impact.

These developments have a lot more social and political valence than do recordings of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and the resurgence of tie-dye T-shirts. Jesus kids may have worn long hair and beads in the 70s, but they looked clean-cut when they started families, purchased homes and climbed the corporate ladder in the '80s and '90s. Their lifestyle changed but their religious fervor didn't. According to historian Preston Shires, they became "the hippies of the religious right."

If that connection seems a little strong, it is safe to say that they are now the conservative evangelical rank-and-file: Baby Boomers who, to the consternation of the woo-woo, lefty Woodstock cohort, oppose same-sex marriage and health care reform.

So if you're thinking of getting back to the garden, make sure you know which one you're stepping into.

This past weekend, the New York Times ran a front-page story on the health-and-wealth gospel. If you missed Laurie Goodstein's feature, have a look-see. The prospects for "the gospel of getting rich" might seem bleak given today's battered economy. But Goodstein finds their message—give a little to God and get lots more back—"reassuring to many in hard times."  

In her colorful overview, Goodstein visits a Fort Worth crusade held by prosperity preacher Kenneth Copeland. Copeland tells supporters that by giving to God, God will give back healthy bodies and bank accounts. Accordingly, Goodstein interviews families who, despite financial setbacks, donate regularly to the ministry. But she doesn't mention Copeland's comments on health care—a relevant political angle in a religion story.

Here's what Jonathan Walton reported in Religion Dispatches:

"Over 5,000 persons from across the country packed into the Fort Worth Convention Center to hear Copeland and the Word of Faith line-up proclaim their message of divine health and wealth. Yet when it came to President Obama's plan for health care reform—a plan that would greatly assist the vast majority of working-class and underemployed conference attendees—Kenneth Copeland was excessive in his disdain for government-run health care.

"'Socialism' seemed to be Copeland's favorite term throughout the week as he warned the crowd to reject any government assistance. 'Sickness and death,' according to Copeland, 'is not a medical problem, it's a spiritual problem.'"

Goodstein gives readers lots of color and characters but not enough context or currency. When Copeland tells 5,000 believers that the government is getting ready to "start killing 70-year-olds," that's news.

Want more on this convoluted spawn of Christianity and capitalism? See Anthea Butler's overview; Jonathan Walton's pop quiz; Milmon Harrison's Righteous Riches, and Andrew Brown's musings on the link between the prosperity gospel and the health care debate.

Diane Winston