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Forget what the billboard charts say—to judge from church ads in the Yellow Pages, America's favorite song is "I'm Mr. Lonely." Churches are quick to spot that need and promise eagerly that they will be friendly, or be family, or just care. Apparently this is the church's principal product. When people need tires, they look up a tire store; when they start having those bad-sad-mad feelings, they shop for a church.

Here, for once, denominational and political divisions vanish. Churches across the spectrum compete to display their capacity for caring, though each has its own way of making the pitch. The Tabernacle, a "spirit-filled, multi-cultured church," pleads, "Come let us love you," while the Bible Way Temple is more formal, if not downright odd: "A church where no stranger need feel strangely." (The only response that comes to mind is "Thank thee.") One church sign in South Carolina announced, "Where Jesus is Lord and everybody is special," which made it sound like second prize. And one Methodist congregation tries to get it all in: "A Christ-centered church where you can make new friends and form lasting relationships with people who care about you."

But when Jesus preached, he did not spend a lot of time on "caring." The first time we see him, in the first Gospel, the first instruction he gives is "Repent" (Mark 1:15). From then on, it's his most consistent message. Yes, he spoke words of comfort like "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden" (Matt. 11:28). But much more frequently he challenged his hearers, urging them to turn to God in humility and admit their sins. Even when told of a tragedy that caused many deaths, he repeated this difficult theme: "Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish" (Luke 13:1-5).

We love one of these sayings of Jesus. We repeat it often, paste it onto felt banners, and print it on refrigerator magnets. We mostly ignore those on repentance. This says more about us than it does about Jesus.

One thing it says is that we live in a time when it's hard to talk about Christian faith at all, much less about awkward topics like repentance. (No era finds repentance easy, but many have found it easier to talk about.) Paradoxically, we live in a very easy time. We are the wealthiest, healthiest, most comfortable generation in history. With less to struggle for, we become increasingly oriented toward pleasure. This all-too-natural inclination is what most unites us. America is a place of wild diversity, but we all meet at the shopping mall.

We're confirmed in this expectation by a ceaseless stream of advertising messages. These messages tell us who we are: special, precious people with no faults, who deserve to feel better than we do. Ads tell us, "Your wife (boss, teenager, classmate) doesn't understand you, but we do. Here, buy this, and you'll feel better." Advertising invites us to be big babies—an invitation that fallen human nature has always found hard to resist.

Try telling a person who's been discipled by advertising that he's a sinner. A hundred years ago, a preacher would have seen heads nod in recognition at that familiar concept. But today's consumer is likely to be shocked—and baffled. How could he be a sinner? All he knows is that he's unhappy because he does not have his fair share of stuff, and he isn't appreciated enough by those around him. Original sin? He will readily agree that everyone else keeps letting him down. That he's estranged from the one, holy God and needs to be reconciled? He's likely to respond, "So who's this God who thinks he's better than us?" Bring up Judgment Day, and you'll get to see someone genuinely appalled; the very idea just sounds so judgmental.

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February 4 2002, Vol. 46, No. 2