During the most desperate days of the past century, Americans have turned to faith. The stock market crash in 1929. The bombing of Pearl Harbor and World War II. President Kennedy's assassination. After each, church attendance surged. And so, too, in the days and weeks since the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks.

        After standing-room only services on the first Sunday, churches and temples a month later still report up to 30 percent increases in attendance. There's more money in the collection plates, and faith leaders have launched new Bible studies to educate about Islam and explore complex issues of evil and how to love one's enemies.

        Even virtual congregations have seen an increase. Traffic on the year-old Web site, spirituality.com, tripled in the past month, and chat room discussions are up 300 percent.

        “When we feel threatened or fearful, it's very natural even for people who aren't church members to turn to God, to know we aren't alone in this,” says the very Rev. James Diamond, dean of Christ Church Cathedral in downtown Cincinnati.

        According to a Gallup Poll two weeks after the attacks, 64 percent of people considered religion very important in their lives — the highest percent since 1965. Also, 47 percent said they had attended church or synagogue in the past seven days. The last time church attendance was consistently as high was in the 1950s.

        Rabbi Lewis Kamrass, of Isaac M. Wise Temple, estimated that there has been about a 20 percent jump in attendance since Sept. 11.

        “The people have real needs of encouragement and hope,” he says. “I think the events of the last month have caused people to ask some of the larger questions, whether that's explicitly or simply tacitly, they ask those questions of themselves. And they return home to the places where they think they're going to find those questions and issues nurtured.”

        At St. Barnabas Episcopal Church in Montgomery, Tonna Warren slides to her knees and bows her head at one of the new weekday prayer services started after the attacks. The more Mrs. Warren watches the news, the more she feels the need to pray.

        “It's been scaring me,” she says. “The church seems like the only place to go. The only place that offers solace.”

        The church has opened its doors before to people reeling from disaster. The 1999 tornadoes destroyed some members' homes.

        “A lot of people in our church know what it's like to be there one moment, and the next, your life is turned inside out and upside down,” says Jill Cole, 43 of Montgomery. Both times, the prayers and gifts have reassured Mrs. Cole that kindness and love will prevail.

        “Sometimes the worst of times bring out the best in us,” she says.

Rearranging priorities

        Despite prospects of an economic recession, some churches have seen increased donations. At Bethel United Methodist in Clermont County, the average weekly offering is $5,400. On Sept. 16, members gave $12,000 for relief efforts.

        “There's a rearranging of priorities,” says the Rev. Rob Dauber, senior pastor at the Bethel church. “People are spending less money on things that don't matter and trying to put that money in places that can make a differ ence.”

        Xavier University students donated $1,500 to help victims and rescue workers. Special collections normally raise $200.

        “This is their pizza money,” says Chris Potter-Wroblewski, director of campus ministry. “They really dug down deep.”

        More students are coming in for counseling, says Mrs. Potter-Wroblewski, and the university Masses are packed.

        “The things we used to be concerned about don't seem important anymore,” she says. “It's almost like we woke up and the world was a different color. I'd like to think of this as a permanent shift in the way people perceive the world. I'd like to think it's here to stay.”

Will crowds remain?

        Religion experts debate whether the renewed interest will translate into a long-term revival. Dr. Rhys Williams, head of the sociology department at the University of Cincinnati, says people work hard to normalize their lives after a crisis.

        “Once things begin to feel normal again, old patterns of behavior re-emerge,” he says.

        But Dr. Flavil Yeakley, former president of the American Society for Church Growth, predicts a continued surge in attendance that may rival the religious fervor during and after World War II, when the greatest period of church growth in American history occurred.

        Demographers attributed the increase to “war scaring the devil out of people,” he says. “There was an old saying in World War II: "There's no atheist in a foxhole.'”

        The events since Sept. 11 “moved us into a new world,” says Dr. Yeakley, a theology professor at Harding University in Searcy, Ark. “We are not as comfortable, as sure, as we once were.”

        Earnest Winston contributed to this story.

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