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Five, six—seven books. It was 1987, and I was ringing up another sale in my bookstore three blocks off the Indiana University campus in Bloomington. Four of the books were No Wonder They Call Him the Savior, two were God Came Near, and one was On the Anvil. All of the books were by a little-known missionary to Brazil named Max Lucado. "You must really like this author," I said to the customer as she wrote out her check. "Someone gave me his books, and I just love them," she said. "Now I want to give copies to all my friends."

This scenario repeated itself over the next few years as each subsequent Lucado book connected like wildfire with readers in our university town. It was a word-of-mouth phenomenon happening on a much larger scale across the United States—and it showed no signs of stopping.

Today, almost two decades since the release of his first book in 1985, Lucado has written more than 50 books that have sold 33 million copies and been translated into 30 languages. His books are staples on Christian bestseller lists; 10 have sold close to or more than 1 million copies. Pretty good for a writer whose first manuscript was rejected by 14 publishers.

In his books and his sermons, Lucado uses simple anecdotes, retells Bible stories, and emphasizes the Cross, grace and forgiveness, and second chances. It's a message Lucado embraced again after walking away from Christ as a teenager. It's also a message that, unobtrusively and with little fanfare, is engaging more and more readers as the years go on.

Despite his growing fame as a writer, Lucado, 49, continues to preach 40 Sundays a year, as well as at midweek services, at Oak Hills Church in San Antonio, Texas, where he is senior minister. He's been at Oak Hills Church since returning from Brazil in 1988. On a sweltering Sunday morning in June, I sit with Lucado and his assistant and administrative editor, Karen Hill, in the church's front row of folding chairs. About 4,000 people will attend the three services this morning in the church's gymnasium-like auditorium.

Lucado looks relaxed; his red hair is close-cut, and he's dressed casually in an open-necked short-sleeve shirt and khakis. He sings an a cappella praise chorus with the congregation, then walks forward to preach today's message, "Come Thirsty," based on John 15:7.

As Lucado preaches, Hill scribbles notes in her copy of the sermon transcript. The sermon series and Hill's notes will become the basis for a new book also tentatively titled Come Thirsty, which Lucado, working with Hill and longtime editor Liz Heaney, will create this year.

Lucado, a self-described introvert, finds that preaching energizes him. "I think a healthy church boils down to a lot of prayer and a lot of preaching about Jesus. If the message of Jesus is a steady diet, the church has a good chance." Preaching, he believes, allows him to engage with people's lives, and be a better writer.

Sprinkled throughout the congregation are tourists who have made Oak Hills Church part of their vacation itinerary. "I think Max and the church leaders welcome the fact that his notoriety does bring visitors to worship with us," member Larry Heller says. "Visitors may walk in wanting to meet Max, but the hope is that they will walk out having had an encounter with the living God."

Lucado does not autograph books on Sunday morning (he'll sign books left at the information desk during the week, and the church mails them back to the visitors). His name does not appear on the sign outside, and it shows up only three times in the church bulletin. The church's 24-page monthly newsletter has a short pastor's column and a brief mention of Lucado's latest sermon series. That's it. "I didn't come here as a celebrity. I was hired as a minister," Lucado says. "We have grown in this together."

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March 2004, Vol. 48, No. 3