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Tucked into an auto-rickshaw, the three-wheeled open-air taxis that swarm Indian cities like a plague of beetles, I survey my Sunday morning Delhi surroundings. By Indian standards the traffic is light, but it would make Manhattan seem orderly. Cars, trucks, pushcarts, pedestrians, scooters, motorcycles, bicycles, bicycle-rickshaws, and bullock-carts jostle for place. And the costumes! Business suits, sarongs, turbans, saris, burhkas, and many variations of dress I cannot name, all paying no attention to each other whatsoever. For stunning displays of diversity, an Indian city street beats any place I have ever seen.

I tell my driver "St. James Church, Kashmiri Gate," and he sets off without hesitation. It is not much direction in a sprawling city of 12 million, but he inquires of pedestrians along the way. Eventually someone lights up. "Church?" He points, and I am deposited at the front gate of a spacious, apparently deserted compound.

In the center sits a domed and columned church building. Inside, I find a small Indian congregation at worship. The sanctuary is high Anglican, with marble and mahogany memorials for British colonels. A sung-and-chanted liturgy begins when a robed priest and altar boys process, accompanied by organ.

Afterward the 100 or so worshipers gather outside for tea in a frigid fog. A friendly member explains a bit of church history: St. James is the oldest church in Delhi. James Skinner, an Anglo-Indian cavalry officer, built it in fulfillment of a battlefield vow. I cannot help thinking of this place as an alien survivor, a sleepy relic of British rule that can hardly relate to the dynamic, hustling world outside its compound.

Next morning I return for conversation with the Rev. Paul Swarup, who helps me see it differently. Swarup is a young man not long back from Cambridge University, where he earned his Ph.D. in Old Testament. "The exciting thing is," he says, "God is really at work in India—in every part of India. In the last ten years, our situation has definitely changed." He laughs. "Even in the mainline churches, God is at work."

Swarup tells how home groups at St. James have recently taken form. Members are beginning to invite their neighbors from other faiths.

"Christians don't feel cut off from their neighbors?" I ask.

"I don't think so," Swarup answers. "At the local level, I don't think there is any animosity."

Each week, he says, two or three people seek him out wanting to become Christians. "They don't know the gospel. They just know this God may answer my prayer." A Hindu couple began to worship every Sunday, even though they speak no English. "They were troubled by evil spirits. I got them a Hindi Bible, and they began to read it. They said they wanted to be baptized."

Students from nearby university dormitories often come to the church to pray. Some ask for Bible study, to learn about Jesus. At Christmas, hundreds will come for special services, and will, at Swarup's invitation, approach the altar to receive a blessing. Even here in North India, where Christians are few and resistance can be fierce, boundaries are porous. Spiritual seeking leads people to St. James Church.

As for the persecution that makes international news, St. James experiences none. "There's complete freedom of worship here. We experience no pressure. Hindu militants will not make a noise in the city. If a church were burned in Delhi, it would be front-page news in every paper."

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May 2004, Vol. 48, No. 5