TIME: Almanac 1995

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<text id=89TT0604> <title> Mar. 06, 1989: Full House At Willow Creek </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989 Mar. 06, 1989 The Tower Fiasco </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> RELIGION, Page 60 Full House at Willow Creek </hdr><body> 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. </body></article> </text>