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We have come to believe that the concerns of our community are the only thing to be concerned about. Thus, we expend our energy on perfecting our community: we demand more from our schools, more from our municipal government, and inevitably, more from our churches.

Schaller points out that the demand by consumers for higher quality products extends to churches themselves. People choose big institutions (churches) because they want choices, convenience, a strong consumer orientation, and specialized services. People want the best in preaching, teaching, and children's programs. Can you blame them?

A statement by Garreau caught me short. In contrast to the old idea of a parish church, he observes, "A large modern church functions like nothing so much as a spiritual shopping mall. It is surrounded by a very large parking lot located astride a good network of roads." And while I may be carrying the analogy further than Garreau intended, it left me wondering. Have Edge City churches become spiritual shopping malls, complete with products I can pick and choose from, selecting only that which catches my eye, fills my needs, and makes my life more comfortable?

From my perspective, they often have. Possibly by necessity. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. It may be necessary to be consumer-oriented in order to draw the consumer in. But what then?

The challenge to the church only starts here. The challenge is to take those consumers who enter our churches seeking to be served and to be fed and bring them to a place where they seek—with a passion—to serve and to feed. The challenge is take those who worship a god they can define and control and transform them into servants who are willing to cede their control to an Almighty God. The challenge involves breaking down the walls, stepping over the rubble, and venturing out into a world not of our own making.

It takes more than good intentions, however, to venture through the rubble into a strange world. When I have attempted to reach across racial and economic barriers, to engage in real interaction and not just handouts, I have been frustrated by my lack of ability to control others and their environment. I have been frustrated by my inability to "fix" them. If control is such a priority within the walls, why wouldn't it be on the outside? Thus, I return to my cocoon. The pull of the comfort and control within these walls is far stronger than the pull to venture out.

I recently visited an inner-city church that has a vision far beyond its material resources. As we stood and prayed in an abandoned auditorium that will someday be a House of Prayer, my joy for this church was tempered with sorrow. Not at their poverty, though they are indeed very poor. And not for the monumental task before them, though the work to be done is overwhelming. No, my sorrow stemmed from the fact that they were witnessing the power of God in ways that my suburban church cannot yet see. Their vision is so beyond their control, so beyond their resources, that they must allow God to provide—and provide he has, in incredible ways. They have the privilege of seeing God work with a free hand, not constrained by those of us who insist on being on the planning committee.

Deborah Windes is a consultant and a writer. She lives in Naperville, Illinois.

Ushering a bishop into a big autographing event, I give him a four-inch button imprinted with the title of his book. He winces. "Won't wearing this be incredibly self-serving?" "Yes, of course," I nod, grinning.

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