c. 2004 Religion News Service

PHILADELPHIA _ Standing outside his red, white and blue tour bus, wearing a freshly ironed blue shirt, the Rev. Bobby Welch appeared ready to take his message of energized evangelism to three churches in three states _ all in the same day.

The white-haired president of the Southern Baptist Convention is on a mission to reverse his denomination’s declining baptisms by increasing members’ desire to evangelize. On this seventh day in a nationwide tour, at this stop, the “Everyone Can” campaign found a welcoming group of people at Ezekiel Baptist Church.

The mostly African-American congregation filled plastic bags with tracts in preparation for tour-related evangelism in their southwest Philadelphia neighborhood. Vera Sanders, 46, who joined the church earlier this year, was in Welch’s amen corner.

“It’s unconventional and it’s not the norm … and that’s the way Jesus did it,” she said. “You know, he healed and he performed miracles on the Sabbath.”

For 25 traveling days, Welch, a Daytona Beach, Fla., pastor, is taking the bus to one stop per state on a trip scheduled to end Oct. 7. After visiting Canada, he plans to leave the bus behind to fly to Alaska and Hawaii.

Along for the ride is a team of five _ two drivers, a trip coordinator, a photographer/videographer and a reporter for the Southern Baptist Convention’s news service.

By day seven, the team had eased into a pattern.

They readied a brief video presentation to start off Welch’s sermon. They carried in boxes of cards that declared “Witness, Win and Baptize … ONE MILLION!” Each had a tear-off section for congregants to pledge a commitment to that effort and come to a kickoff in Nashville, Tenn., next June.

And they placed a cleaned-up old mule’s bridle with blinders on the floor at the church’s altar.

As he neared the end of his talk at Ezekiel Baptist, Welch picked up the brown leather device painted with the words “Seek” and “Save” on the two blinders.

Welch called it a symbol of what he and all Southern Baptists need to do.

“I don’t want to get off track,” he said, his northern Alabama accent coming through. “I need this to keep me focused. I believe the church needs that now.”

His bus tour, a modern-day version of evangelists’ travels by stagecoach and train centuries before, has a clear aim. After years of fewer than 500,000 baptisms, he wants to see Southern Baptists baptize 1 million between June 2005 and June 2006.

“Southern Baptists are about to do better than we’ve been doing,” said Welch, drawing applause from the two rows of deacons and the rest of the congregation.

“… Winning a million people is a piece of cake _ if we will use our spiritual muscle.”

After his sermon, he and the congregation exited the sanctuary and lined up in front of the bus for photographs.

Then Welch joined others in a visit to the neighborhood. At 58th Street and Elmwood Avenue, the Floridian stopped to talk to Brenda Irick, a Baptist of another kind, as she waited for a bus to visit relatives in a nursing home.

Quoting a line he uses often _ “It ain’t the label on the bottle” _ Welch shared his belief that acceptance of Jesus is the key, no matter what someone’s denominational affiliation. Irick considered attending an evening service.

Welch quickly moved on to talk and pray with two women sitting on a stoop a few blocks away. He then reboarded his bus.

As he traveled down Interstate 95, Welch shut off the onboard television after getting updated on how Hurricane Frances was affecting his home state.

By midday, the bus had reached the Wilmington, Del., suburb of Newport and the team used an unusual bit of free time to grab lunch at Kentucky Fried Chicken. Welch spotted a young man entering the restaurant and spent several minutes with him in the doorway.

Anthony Mays, 17, sporting a vintage San Diego Clippers cap, seemed a bit awed by the “one foot in hell and one foot in heaven” discussion.

“It was kind of crazy,” Mays said afterwards. “When he saw me, it was like he knew me.”

As the bus rolled into the nearby parking lot at Bethany Baptist Church in Wilmington, Welch had something to add about that encounter.

“Now, if you were that kid’s mother, wouldn’t you be glad somebody did that and wouldn’t you think it’s a little out of character if that kid passed 100 Christians that day and nobody said anything to him?” he asked. “Something’s wrong.”

Minutes later, the Rev. Gene Johnson boarded the bus in the parking lot and shared how in six years his church had moved from an aging congregation to one attracting younger families after adding a day care and basketball hoop to the property.

Dominique Weddington, a 14-year-old who travels on Bethany Baptist’s bus from a low-income apartment complex, was handing out the commitment cards inside the church.

“They helped me, so I’m willing to help somebody else,” he said.

(OPTIONAL TRIM FOLLOWS)

After the bridle was held up, the cards signed and the pictures taken, Welch found a brother and sister at a nearby apartment parking lot and prayed with them.

Then, by midafternoon, the bus was back on I-95, headed to the third state of the day.

By early evening, the bus had reached Stop No. 18: First Baptist Church of Rockville, a Maryland congregation with dozens of flags in the back of the sanctuary representing the birth countries of the membership.

After a hymn was sung, the sermon spoken, and the cards signed, it was raining and dark outside. But Welch was determined to find an evangelistic prospect.

He climbed into the Pathfinder of Ingmar and Joviette Bitter _ from Germany and Haiti, respectively _ and arrived at a nearby shopping plaza, hopping out to find his man of the hour: Dan Willard, a Rockville attorney dressed in a 16th-century costume he wore to a state Renaissance festival.

Standing under a narrow awning outside a Boston Market restaurant, the two men exchanged pleasantries before Welch got to the heart of the matter.

“In your personal opinion … what do you understand that it takes for a person to go to heaven?” Welch asked the 43-year-old Lutheran.

When Willard spoke of faith and good behavior, Welch leaned in with his perspective that trusting in Christ is paramount.

Willard, unfazed by the impromptu moment, embraced Welch’s approach: “You got a message, you got to get out and talk to people.”

Welch walked down a sidewalk to a nearby Starbucks. He stood outside and summarized his philosophy.

“If you can do this, don’t you think you can talk to your neighbor? Don’t you think you can talk to the little boy down there at work? Don’t you think you can talk to the lady at the hairdresser? And the answer is absolutely you can.

“You might be the life-changing agent for their life.”