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(OPINION) The Pat Robertson for President advance team made it clear that journalists were barred from its campaign rally in a church near Denver.

The candidate wanted friendly faces. As one volunteer said, “What Pat might have to say to a group of pastors … might not be the kinds of things he’d want mainstream Republicans to read in the press.”

The faithful inside that 1988 event raised their hands in praise to God and sang familiar choruses with a true believer that they knew shared their embrace of miracles, prophecy and “speaking in tongues.” That kind of trust fueled Robertson’s media-driven career, which ended on June 8 with his death at age 93.

READ: The Legacy Of Pat Robertson, Televangelist Known For Mixing Religion And Politics

Yes, I was on the outside of that door, researching my very first syndicated “On Religion” column. Before Robertson arrived, supporters prayed for a “special anointing” of God’s power on their candidate. There is the kingdom of heaven, one man prayed, and there is the kingdom of the earth. “We thank you for men of courage, like Pat Robertson, who are working to bring these two kingdoms closer together,” he added.

Robertson avoided blunt faith language when facing the press during that high-wire political campaign. However, he kept blending subtle biblical references into remarks about economics, foreign policy and hot cultural issues. He knew fans of his daily “The 700 Club” broadcasts could break the code.

“Robertson had his own program. He knew he could say whatever he wanted to say there,” said Kenneth Woodward, known for decades of work at Newsweek and books such as “Getting Religion: Faith, Culture and Politics From the Age of Eisenhower to the Era of Obama.”

On one level, “he didn’t need to talk to the press because he could talk straight to his own people. But that doesn’t always work in politics, when you need to reach other people in order to succeed,” said Woodward, reached by telephone.

Once Robertson veered into politics, his critics paid closer attention to what he said about almost anything. In an online “First Things” essay, Woodward noted that this included “The 700 Club” prayers, in which Robertson — “his eyes squeezed tight for inward gazing” — said he could sense that viewers were being healed.

“Pat never quite asserted that God was working these miracles through him. … But he did claim extraordinary spiritual powers,” wrote Woodward. “In the 1970s, when I shared the stage with him at the University of North Carolina, he told the students he had recently preached Jesus to a polyglot crowd on the main quay in Shanghai, and that each listener heard him in his or her native tongue. It was Pentecost all over again.” Then there was the time, in 1985, when Robertson claimed his prayers “diverted Hurricane Gloria away from his broadcast headquarters in Virginia Beach — and toward the towers of New York City.”

This kind of overtly Pentecostal language was not common in mainstream evangelicalism until recent decades, noted Mark Tooley of The Institute on Religion and Democracy. Now this trend is changing religious life everywhere — around the world — especially in independent churches and the freewheeling world of online media.

“Robertson transcended and never needed denominations,” wrote Tooley in an online essay. “His ministries were evangelistic, instructional, humanitarian, academic, philanthropic and political. … They depended on his personality and entrepreneurship, backed by dollars raised by televised appeals or direct mail.”

In one frequently cited quotation, Robertson proclaimed: “As far as the majesty of worship, I’m an Episcopalian; as far as a belief in the sovereignty of God, I’m Presbyterian; in terms of holiness, I’m a Methodist … in terms of the priesthood of believers and baptism, I’m a Baptist; in terms of the baptism of the Holy Spirit, I’m a Pentecostal.”

This blurring of lines between historic Christian traditions affected Robertson’s work in politics, especially with his emphasis on end times revelations and new prophecies. Meanwhile, his business skills and blunt on-air commentaries created direct links with millions of believers.

“I assume many of his viewers went to church, while many did not,” said Tooley in a telephone interview. “But I’m sure about one thing — many of those viewers were far more excited about what they saw as their connection with Pat Robertson than they were with whatever was happening in their own local congregations.”

Terry Mattingly writes the nationally syndicated “On Religion” column for the Universal Syndicate and leads GetReligion.org. He lives in Oak Ridge, Tennessee and is a senior fellow at the Overby Center at the University of Mississippi.