RUCH, Ore. -- When a church bought several acres in this bucolic corner of the Applegate Valley, Jim Hicks envisioned waking up to the chiming of bells and the soothing melody of hymns.
But on a typical Sunday morning, Hicks is jolted at 7 by the crackling sound of amplifiers and the banging of drums. By 9, the steady rumble of hundreds of cars turning into the Applegate Christian Fellowship's parking lot drowns out the sound of chirping birds and rustling leaves. By 10, sermons and music broadcast on loudspeakers echo more than a mile away.
With a congregation of more than 5,000, the Applegate Christian Fellowship is no quaint country church. It's a megachurch -- and part of the latest hot spot in the national debate over sprawl.
Sprouting up in the countryside, suburbs and cities, many of these giant houses of worship are antagonizing neighbors and local officials who say the churches cause noise, traffic jams and environmental damage. Churches also are exempt from property taxes, and some communities bemoan the loss of revenue that they could otherwise collect for roads, police and other services.
Especially controversial are the non-traditional services that megachurches are offering, from hotels and day-care centers to bookstores and health clubs -- activities that often would not be permitted in residential neighborhoods if they weren't on church grounds. These quasi-business ventures bring in people and generate traffic throughout the week, not just on Sundays.
Churches, protected both by the First Amendment right to freedom of religious expression and by a sweeping new federal law, are proving to be powerful adversaries. They have filed about 50 lawsuits against local governments trying to regulate their size and location. They argue that zoning and parking restrictions infringe on the constitutional right of religious freedom because they don't allow churches to meet the needs of their growing congregations. Many lawyers expect the issue to reach the U.S. Supreme Court.
For now, most of the fighting is happening in neighborhoods.
''We've been called everything from demonic henchmen to agents of the devil,'' says Hicks, 52, a retired computer specialist who lives on land his family has owned for almost 40 years. ''What we're going after has nothing to do with their religion. . . . Our lifestyle has gotten to be curtailed around what they do, their comings and goings, especially on Sunday. They told us, if we didn't like it, to move.''
Joe Stroble, part of Applegate Christian's leadership, says, ''We believe here that we have one purpose: To preach the gospel to anyone and everyone who wants to hear it.''
One-stop shopping
Applegate is one of 700 megachurches in the USA -- double the number in 1990. Most have settled where the population has grown the most: the suburbs of large cities. Defined as churches that attract at least 2,000 worshipers a week, these Protestant organizations also followed the population boom in the Sun Belt: 73% are in the South or West.
Mostly evangelical in doctrine, megachurches have changed the religious experience for thousands of worshipers who come from miles around for more than sermons and prayers. Usually founded or headed by charismatic pastors, the market-savvy churches target busy baby boomers and their kids, promoting one-stop shopping under their roofs. Take in a sermon, work out marital problems, then work out at the health club. Sip a latte at the coffee shop, browse in the bookstore and make a deposit at the credit union.
''All these and other non-traditional church activities may be theoretically protected as religious uses and may not be excluded from even the most quiet secluded residential neighborhood,'' says Jonathan Weiss, director of the Center on Sustainable Growth at George Washington University in Washington, D.C.
Prestonwood Baptist Church, in Plano, Texas, near Dallas, has 15 ball fields, a '50s-style diner and a fitness center. It soon will add a coffee shop and a food court.
Brentwood Baptist Church in Houston has a McDonald's. The church commissioned demographic research to see how it could serve its 10,000 members and reach out to more. It found a shortage of restaurants in the neighborhood of the 111-acre church campus. So Brentwood five months ago became the first to have a McDonald's franchise on church grounds -- drive-through window and golden arches included. The restaurant is open to the public during regular church hours. Because proceeds go to the church's youth programs, customers pay no sales tax.
''The reasons why churches are getting bigger are the same reasons why your Costco, your Wal-Mart, your Home Depot and Lowes are expanding and are successful,'' says Charlie Bradshaw, executive pastor of North Coast Church, which has 5,500 members in Vista, Calif., a suburb of San Diego. ''They're providing what you're looking for in options and prices, and that's why people are driving by the mom 'n' pop stores.''
In some communities, megachurches are churning as much community anger as reviled big-box retailers:
* The Greenwood Community Church in the tony Denver suburb of Greenwood Village has run out of room for its 2,000 members. When it proposed adding 28,000 square feet and 250 parking spaces, neighbors howled and the town council nixed the request, saying it would create too much neighborhood traffic. The church sued. ''If this was a Kmart, the city could've denied the special use permit without running afoul of federal law,'' says Lee Phillips, city attorney.
* Castle Hills, Texas, a suburb of San Antonio, is fighting the 17,000-member Castle Hills Baptist Church in court. The church bought six residential lots to add parking.
The city allowed it to demolish the homes on the lots but vetoed the parking lot. The church sued, charging that the city is waging a ''campaign against places of worship.'' In one reply, the city said the church ''seems to grow like a cancer, feeding on homes in much the same way as a cancerous tumor feeds on healthy cells.''
If a city enacts ''a regulation that has a clear rational connection to the public interest and is not intended to be discriminatory, there's no reason why it shouldn't stand up (in court),'' says Jim Schwab, senior research associate with the American Planning Association in Chicago.
He says communities' concerns are legitimate. ''Churches are not just for Sunday morning anymore,'' he says. ''They're 24-7.''
Power of law
Churches have more than constitutional protections and the word of God to fight back.
Congress in 2000 enacted the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act to prevent cities from using zoning laws to keep out religious institutions. It essentially gives churches the freedom to ignore local land-use restrictions unless there is a ''compelling governmental interest'' to stop them from building what they want.
Churches generally are not exempt from environmental or safety ordinances, such as pollution and fire codes. But when the issues are design, height or parking limits and zoning restrictions, ambiguity remains over what constitutes a compelling governmental interest. Does the loss of tax revenue qualify? How about noise or traffic? That's why planners hope courts will define the law more clearly.
''What's to stop churches from being the subdivision of the future?'' asks James Kushner, professor at Southwestern University School of Law in Los Angeles. ''What's to stop a church from being a Day-Glo church? What if it's in a historic place or building? Are they free to tear it down and modify it any way they want?''
Many cities say the federal law is unconstitutional because local governments, not the federal government, have the power to make land use and zoning decisions. But a federal district court in Philadelphia found the statute constitutional earlier this year. An appeal is pending.
''The anti-sprawl movement cannot allow people to locate in exurbs but deny them from building churches,'' says Anthony Picarello, general counsel for The Becket Fund for Religious Liberty, a public-interest law firm that has joined several churches in court battles.
Conflict in Oregon
Located on 85 acres in southern Oregon's wine and pear country, Applegate Christian Fellowship has a 1,200-seat sanctuary, an outdoor amphitheater that can accommodate 2,500, paved parking for 750 cars, three barbecue pits, 20 cabins, classrooms, child-care facilities and a coffee house. Traffic in and out of the church is so heavy at times that neighbors say they can't get on a two-lane state highway until after services start.
Worse, to its critics, the church built some of its structures without permits and in a 100-year flood plain. In a state where protecting the environment is almost a religion, the church is under fire.
On Sunday mornings, volunteers scrape the barbecues, set up the coffee kiosks and direct traffic in the parking lot while the band members tune their instruments.
Families, dressed in their best Sunday casual wear -- shorts, midriffs, jeans, flip-flops -- head for the outdoor amphitheater. They lay out blankets and stadium cushions on the grassy tiers and sip coffee and soft drinks. Some choose a spot in the sun and catch some rays. Musicians and singers take the stage -- a rocky garden surrounded by brightly colored impatiens. The songs that praise Jesus are folksy. Many sing along, raising their hands to the sky.
This concert-in-the-park atmosphere appeals to young and old. Eric Mellgren, police chief in nearby Medford, attends with his teenage son. There are doctors, businessmen, clerical workers, teenagers and toddlers.
Pastor Peter-John Courson climbs the stage in shorts and sneakers. He makes jokes, talks about current events and walks into the baptismal pool as dozens of people line up for their chance to be born again. Everyone is rejoicing -- except neighbors and community activists who dislike the noise and traffic.
''Many of us chose to live here because we don't want an urban environment,'' says Ellen Levine, chair of the Greater Applegate Community Development Corp. ''The impact (of the church) is the same as if a large manufacturing firm moved in and suddenly hired 1,000 employees.''
Local officials cited the church for building parking lots, bridges and the amphitheater without getting permits. ''It was ignorance on our part,'' church leader Stroble says. The church could be required to take down the amphitheater, apply for permits and rebuild.
Stroble doesn't rule out the possibility of suing under the religious land-use law. ''We don't want to go into the courts,'' he says. ''That's not at all what we're about. Where we're pushed and what we're forced to do, we don't know yet.''
Many communities don't want to take on megachurches. Big religious institutions can afford lengthy court battles, and they have the power of huge congregations -- many of them voters -- behind them.
Weiss, the growth expert at George Washington University, says communities should work closely with their new neighbors to stop them from sprawling ''in contradiction to the Christian ethos of being a good neighbor.''
''This must be done on a consensus basis,'' he says, ''because there is little by way of practical legal mechanisms to control a megachurch.''