TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/030689/03068900.004

Text File | 1992-09-23 | 5.3 KB | 106 lines

                                                                                RELIGION, Page 60

Full House at Willow Creek


A multimedia appeal to the "unchurched Harrys"

By Barbara Dolan/CHICAGO


    When 150 young people assembled for church services in a
movie theater outside Chicago 14 years ago, the congregation
was so cash poor that some of the members had to sell tomatoes
door to door to pay for the hall. Today the Willow Creek
Community Church in South Barrington, Ill., is the second
largest Protestant congregation in America. During weekend
services nearly 12,000 people regularly cram into its $15
million, 4,650-seat auditorium and complex. At a time when the
mainstream Protestant denominations are rapidly losing members,
Willow Creek's popular success and stripped-down theology are
challenging traditional notions about presenting the Christian
message.

    From a distance, the church looks like a huge granite
amphitheater, a scaled-down version of Chicago's McCormick
Place. The first half-hour of the weekend service is devoted to
such attractions as Christian rock music, drama and multimedia
slide shows. Parishioners sit in posh theater seats rather than
pews. When pastor Bill Hybels, 37, finally appears on the stage
wearing a natty business suit and button-down collar, his
message sounds more entrepreneurial than churchy. Preaching
from a Plexiglas lectern, he talks about "taking risks" to be
Christians and the "user value" of doctrinal studies.

    The prime market for Hybels' soft-sell pitch is what he
calls ``unchurched Harrys," 25-to-45-year-old professionals who
have become disenchanted with the stodgy ritual and
sanctimoniousness of many traditional churches. "This is the
generation that grew up on television," says Hybels. "You have
to present religion to them in a creative and visual way." The
multimedia weekend services are primarily intended to attract
this group into the church. Holding them together is the job of
the more Bible-based Wednesday-evening services and the
church's 70 subministries. In addition to offering the
traditional Sunday school programs and Bible-study groups,
Hybels ventures into more arcane activities such as counseling
for sexual addiction and personal finance management. There are
also a dozen volunteer auto mechanics who nurse members' cars,
some of which are donated to the church and given to other
members.

    Theologically, the church teaches the infallibility of the
Bible. Yet its approach is more evangelical than Fundamentalist.
The church's eight elders do not generally take positions on
controversial issues like liberation theology or school prayer.
On what is perhaps the most controversial of all current moral
issues, they ruled abortion out as a birth-control method but
declared that it may be necessary "in exceptional cases."

    The original idea for this unusual church came from Gilbert
Bilezikian, 60, a professor of biblical studies at Wheaton
College. Bilezikian was troubled by what he perceived as the
growing irrelevance of some Christian churches. "Too often," he
says, "church is like a football game with 22,000 spectators
sitting in the stands doing nothing but cheering, and 22
players providing the action in the middle." In 1972 Bilezikian
found an ideal quarterback for the new kind of team he
envisioned: Bill Hybels.

    The son of a produce executive from Kalamazoo, Mich., Hybels
met Bilezikian while studying theology at Trinity College,
outside Chicago. One day Hybels, then an idealistic 23, stunned
the older man by offering to build a new church that would use
Bilezikian's ideas to attract members. Although neither had the
money for such an undertaking, Hybels was undeterred.

    Along with three friends, the aspiring young minister spent
six weeks conducting a door-to-door survey to find out what
people wanted in a church. Those interviewed said churches were
"boring" and "predictable." Some complained that church
officials "bugged" them for money. Most wanted a church that
was "relevant to their lives." Says Hybels, who now drives a
Suzuki Sidekick and earns $67,000 a year: "We decided to defer
to the customer except where it conflicted with Scripture."

    The results speak for themselves. Last year church revenues
totaled $8.2 million -- tax free, of course. Church attendance
was up 28% over 1987. Contributions average $140,000 a week.
The church is about to break ground for a $10 million addition
to house classrooms, a ministry center and a gymnasium.

    Success notwithstanding, Willow Creek's lack of tradition
worries some observers. "What do you do when you get into
trouble and you're not tied to anything?" asks a concerned
Father Medard Laz, pastor of Holy Family Catholic Church in
nearby Inverness. Even so, Hybels' methods are so popular that
they are being copied nationwide. Three times a year, 500
pastors converge on Willow Creek to study Hybels' methods.
Already dozens of copycat congregations have begun popping up
around the country. One of them, founded by pastor Jim Nicodem
in a shopping mall theater in nearby St. Charles four years
ago, has just launched a $2.5 million fund-raising drive for a
new church complex dedicated to "presenting ageless truths in
a contemporary fashion." There could be no better tribute to
Hybels' vision -- or his marketing savvy.