c. 1998 Religion News Service

(Tom Ehrich is a pastor, writer and software developer living in Winston-Salem, N.C.)

UNDATED _ I could tell a church convention was in town.

My parking garage was filled suddenly with Cadillacs and Suburbans, as well as shiny 15-passenger vans advertising specific congregations. I saw men and women walking toward the city’s finest hotel carrying Bibles in leather cases.

Most unmistakable were two men walking toward me on the sidewalk. They were deep in conversation. As I drew near, one reached into his pocket. Without breaking stride or making eye contact, he thrust a pamphlet toward me.

I had the strangest feeling I had just become a notch in some evangelistic belt, a”face-to-face encounter,”perhaps, or a”personal witness,”however they keep score. I could hear this man sharing in a small-group session:”Why, I was evangelizing before breakfast!” It made me angry.

I have taught evangelism. I believe in evangelism. I believe people of faith are called to share their faith with others, to pass on to others the blessings they have received. But idly sticking a pocket-sized tract in the direction of a stranger _ without bothering to know that stranger _ surely isn’t what God commanded.

Faith happens in many ways. Some experience a sudden revelation, as the apostle Paul did on the road to Damascus. Some let go of old ways one grudging step at a time. Some listen to compelling words, and their hearts are changed. Some experience the grace of a faith-centered community and want to come closer. Some read and are touched, or watch TV. Some walk in a church door, without understanding why, and smell, taste, hear and see something new.

It’s hard to be programmatic about conversion. It’s hard for a congregation to”plan”evangelism, any more than parents can plan their children’s maturation. To some extent, congregations share faith simply by being themselves. As in parenting, a good heart matters more than good technique.

Religious loyalties, like hemlines, are always changing. After World War II people flowed into mainline congregations, drawn by the stability they offered the suddenly mobile. That flow stopped in the mid-1960s, as the first baby boomers started graduating from high school and a habit of churchgoing lost one of its reasons.

Growth shifted to more fundamentalist congregations, like those in the Southern Baptist Convention and the Assemblies of God. Enormous buildings went up at suburban crossroads. Nowadays, cars line up outside nondenominational congregations, which feature exciting music, strong preaching, good production values, and freedom from denominational baggage.

On the horizon seems to be the religious equivalent of home-schooling: people pursuing faith without benefit of clergy or Sunday gatherings, but turning rather to books, tapes, personal prayer and small fellowships.

At each shifting of the sands, the fading institution wonders what it has done wrong _ a question for which in-house partisans have abundant answers _ and the ascendant decides it has”found it.”Cycles of recrimination and gloating tend to produce heated arguments but little understanding.

The underlying reality, I think, is this: Our need for God starts deep within. That need frightens us and yet compels us. In pursuit of that aching, we will endure dull preaching and self-satisfied congregations. We will even serve on committees. But that deep need isn’t for church; it’s for God.

In the end, faith is intensely personal. It’s the early-morning hour of despair crying out for solace. It’s anger that no longer satisfies. It’s joy that seems fragile. It’s loneliness that needs a home. It’s questions that seem too deep for the mall. It’s fear that door locks don’t ease.

One can’t generalize about such personal matters. But I can say that on the morning in question, I was deep in thought. My thoughts weren’t overtly about God, but I believe my hunger for God was at their center.

What did I need from two evangelism-minded men out for a stroll? Probably to be left alone. A pamphlet in passing does nothing to convey God’s love. Nor did I see a shred of God’s grace in the tract that I later found wedged into my car door.

DEA END EHRICH