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The bus driver deftly dodged a group of bishops and gave plenty of room to an Indian theologian in a white turban. When the street ahead looked reasonably safe again, the driver turned to a newsman standing next to him. "So what are they going to do?" he grumbled. "Save the world?"
No one could expect salvation from the thousand-odd clerics, prelates and Christian laymen from the world's four corners who had gathered in Evanston, Ill. Yet more and more people expected help—on earth—from Christianity. Every week, in pulpits, editorials, Parliaments and Chancelleries, in universities, clinics and at cocktail parties, Christianity is invoked. Juvenile delinquency? Broken homes? Neuroses? "The answer is a sound Chris tian upbringing." High divorce rate? Alcoholism? Disintegrating ethics? "We need a firm Christian morality." Is science getting out of hand? Are art and literature aimless? "Christianity gives the only aim." Communism? "Only Christianity can defeat a false religion." A more complex, highbrow version of this mood is expressed by British Historian Arnold Toynbee, who concludes his massive, ten-volume A Study of History* with the finding that the West can be saved from atomic war and utter downfall only by a renewed Christian faith.
This is a tall order for a religion that, only a few decades ago, seemed to many irrelevant to "progress." Certainly the churchmen at Evanston could not try to provide earthly salvation, for that would be blasphemy; the kingdom of God must be sought for its own sake. But neither could they escape the atmosphere of urgency that surrounded their meeting. For the crescendo of ecumenical conferences of which Evanston is the climax† tells of a renewed Christian hope and a hunger for unity. These forces have brought together men and traditions that centuries of Christian history had driven asunder.
At Evanston this week, the delegates of the World Council of Churches looked to their leaders to draw out of the 200-odd meetings some message for the world. There was plenty of disagreement about what the message could be, and the disagreements were well publicized. Newspapers across the U.S. sprouted an unfamiliar word—eschatology—and reported the theological differences on whether the Christian hope lay in this or the next world. In a sense the very attention paid to this disagreement was more significant than the disagreement itself. In the 20th century it was big news that more and more people saw a hope in Christianity, not that there were theological differences about the nature of that hope. Reported TIME Correspondent Sam Welles from Evanston: