c. 1997 Religion Writer

(Tom Ehrich is an Episcopal priest in Winston-Salem, N.C., an author and former Wall Street Journal reporter. E-mail him at journey(at)interpath.com)

APEX, N.C. _ With imagination and shared labor, hardy souls rush to turn a large classroom at Apex Middle School into church.

Accoutrements of worship arrive in minivans, the vehicle of choice in this booming suburb west of Raleigh. In a matter of minutes, the drill is complete: coffee and sweet rolls laid on a table, sound system set up, books for praying and singing distributed, bulletins unboxed, school table reborn as an altar, and smaller classrooms claimed temporarily for Sunday School.

Ten minutes before the hour, no one is sitting in a pew. A few chat outside; most have setting-up jobs to do. Visitors are quickly noticed.

Every Sunday, The Prince of Peace Episcopal Church worships in rented space. So do thousands of other faith communities across the nation. This is how congregations tend to start: in schools, restaurants, movie theaters, banks, American Legion halls, community centers, funeral parlors and living rooms.

Many dream of the day when this phase will end but a few don’t ever plan to incur the overhead of bricks-and-mortar. Pioneers at The Prince of Peace occupy a prudent middle ground: they bought land but don’t plan to build on it until the land is paid for.

At first glance, worshipping at Apex Middle School is like attending a school play here: nice, earnest, but not Broadway. Many who visit makeshift churches flee to established congregations whose rented-space days are a fond but thankfully distant memory, where pipe organs have supplanted three guitars and a keyboard.

Whatever space decisions lie ahead, the future is being born at leading edges like The Prince of Peace, and the future looks different.

Music is changing. The 60 who gathered on a recent Sunday used four hymnbooks, only one of them traditional. They sang twice as much music as one normally finds.

The center of worship, it seemed to me, was the healing ministry offered just before communion. A dozen people dealing with illnesses like breast cancer stood before a priest, while the congregation sang quietly. People looked deeply into each other’s eyes.

Like many new congregations, The Prince of Peace has cycled through several leadership groups, tried several styles of worship, and worried over its rate of growth.

But over time, a”soul”has emerged, a feeling or atmosphere that expresses this congregation’s identity and is no longer a reaction to where members used to worship. It is a gentle soul, a distinct contrast to the brash and aggressive spirit reshaping this little town, and seems little rooted in denominational identity.

Nor does vacating these makeshift premises drive the congregation’s life. After a period when they were anxious about becoming a”real church,”folks at The Prince of Peace seem relaxed about bricks-and-mortar and focused on other things. They help in a local feeding ministry, serve at the local prison, raise funds for overseas missions, and participate in non-denominational activities like Promise Keepers.

Worship still features traditional elements like a procession and worship leaders in white vestments. But it wouldn’t surprise me to see them fade away, not in ideological reaction, but because”church”is seen as involving other things.

In both literal and figurative senses, The Prince of Peace keeps its”overhead”low. Their pastor, Steve Pogoloff, is a computer engineer who doesn’t burn for a full-time pastorate. Like the Hebrews tenting in the wilderness, these Episcopalians own just enough gear to set up for Sunday worship. Their leadership circle remains fluid.

Pioneering isn’t for everyone. But the freedom, fluidity and low”overhead”of congregations like The Prince of Peace are both alluring and sobering. But the”overhead”issue is more than inherited buildings and stale denominational ties. The tension has to do with stability.

Is the faith community being called to provide a stability missing in rapidly changing American life? Or is it being called to journey even more radically, to travel light, to tent in the wilderness, to trust in God’s daily providence, as opposed to manmade durability?

DEA END EHRICH