I was surfing Web sites the other day when I noticed a funky-looking Bible titled My City, My God. It's a New Testament full of coloured pages and personal testimonies designed to appeal to urban youth. Urban ministry seems to be on everyone's mind these days. Those who have laboured long and hard in the impoverished urban setting tell me that for many years they survived: under funded, under appreciated—the slightly grubby and tousled younger brother in a family of overachieving Natural Church Development suburban churches. If that was true, then it seems in recent years that the younger brother has grown up and become the dazzling star of the family tree.

As the unique Bible indicates, urban ministry is exciting. Tons of books are being written on urban ministry, the Church universal is starting to wake up to the needs in the inner city, “hip” suburban churches take their youth groups “slumming” on the weekends. Some of the most dynamic people I know are living passionately for the urban lost, and almost every serious young disciple I know wants to be in the thick of it. The once ignored “younger sibling” of urban ministry has blossomed into a dynamic and exciting option.

While much of the Church is “discovering” urban ministry, The Salvation Army ministry to the urban poor takes on the form of revival―the crusade we were designed to fight for. As the military rhetoric begins to fly, we discover that the inner city is for the fiercest and most devoted warriors; the ones who can stand the fight and are willing to get bloodied in the sweat and stench of it all to win the Father's favour. And those who can't hack the pace and pulse of the truly depraved? Well, they go to church in the suburbs.

Maybe they go to my church.

Ah Suburbia, the once favoured sister impregnated by materialism and indifference and now cast out of the family to raise her children alone. Does the Church and The Salvation Army have an investment in her? A redemptive glance for what has evolved in suburban life in recent years?

There are many places where faithful suburban Christians pray, fast, give, sacrifice and persevere in spite of the apparent apathy of the unbelievers around them

I have heard it said: “Everyone else is doing church in the suburbs; we don't need to be there.” I assure you this is not the case. Certainly there are a few famous and successful suburban churches, but where I live the many church buildings stand like empty tombs, with tiny congregations huddling inside for warmth―discouraged and longing for a happier past. Some might suggest that they are only representing the values of the suburbs―their vacancy being the result of a consumer church losing its edge, like The Bay giving way to Target. And perhaps that is sometimes the case. But there are many places where faithful suburban Christians pray, fast, give, sacrifice and persevere in spite of the apparent apathy of the unbelievers around them. The reality for those “with eyes to see it” is that the spiritual battle in the suburbs is as profound and vital as that in the inner city—it is just manifested in tidier ways. The unsaved are still as hopelessly lost.

Sin and injustice are obvious in the inner city. Crack houses are notorious, gunshots explode in the night, kids go to kindergarten with empty tummies and the homeless shiver in bus shelters. It's visible. Everyone knows something is awry. Locals hate it, politicians debate it, churches and other social agencies flock to fill the gaping tears in the fabric of humanity found in these communities.

But sin in the suburbs is more subtle. It starts with a sense of general comfort and well-being. Many people are educated, they know how to balance their chequebooks and give witty toasts at company functions. In the eyes of society they're doing well. Apathy toward God and others, idolatry of material possessions, gossip―all these are sin, too—all these separate us from God.

Shortly after we arrived in Milton, Ontario, a teen suicide pact involving three young girls devastated town locals. But according to teens, and those who work with them, this tragedy is only representative of larger issues bubbling below the surface in high schools full of “well-adjusted” middle-class kids. Poverty, injustice and hopelessness are universal. There's no crack house in town—but everyone knows that a certain gas station sells more than cigarettes and candy bars. The local newspaper reports on craft fairs, cattle shows and endless editorials regarding the location of a new bike path. But in the everyday life of this community some kids are hungry, others are bullied. Their parents sedate themselves alternately with work, television and prozac.

Whatever the perception may be, many in suburbia are on the edge of poverty. Of course they'll never tell

Whatever the perception may be, many in suburbia are on the edge of poverty. Of course they'll never tell. They max out their credit cards, take out a line of credit, invest in a mortgage at impossibly low interest rates so that even the slightest wind of financial instability has the ability to topple them. We have people come by our food bank who don't qualify for that service. They have a family income of $60,000 but it's so absorbed in debt that they can't buy lunches for their kids. What do we do for those people? Do we turn them away? “Stupid suburbanite, you misspent your money and now it's your own problem.” How are they different than a drug addict whose self-inflicted abuse has led to disaster? The addictions are different but they share a root of compulsion and passions that are out of control.

My neighbour calls me at home: “Does The Salvation Army give people milk?” I glance out the window at the BMW in her driveway. She continues: “I wouldn't normally do this, but you know I lost my job … I just need it for the baby.” I agree to bring some by and her voice begins to waver as she pleads: “Don't tell my husband I called you—he'd kill me if he knew I'd called.”

Paula calls the family services. Her story is one of domestic violence. Her estranged husband was recently laid off and his alimony was her only source of income. Panicked about the impossibility of providing for herself and son she is sobbing. Suddenly there is a pause: “I feel sick,” and a moment later I hear her wretching in the distance through the phone receiver as she vomits violently―her body responding to the anxiety within.

This hidden material poverty is not half as terrifying as the spiritual poverty. Food can be bought, rent paid—hearts eventually heal. But those who “have eyes but do not see” are oblivious to their own plight.

I'm at a street party. It's getting late so people have a few drinks in them. The guys I'm talking to start arguing: “You know, money isn't the most important thing in life.” “Is too.” “Is not.” “Is too”… I duck out quickly—the inane debate obviously going nowhere. But ironically their booze-enhanced logic accentuates the fact that for some, money is their primary idol. The hopelessness of a life lived in such fruitless pursuit frightens me.

Later, in a quiet corner, Rod tells me about his past experiences at church: “Benny Hinn called me a pissant,” he says. Hypocrisy among believers is his favourite distraction when spiritual topics come up. He describes himself as a “backslidden Christian”. He knows the terminology because his father (who beat him through his childhood), later converted into a rip-roaring evangelical who now spends his retirement trying to crack the biblical code to see when Christ will return. Sometimes Rod figures he's bound for Heaven, other days he's not sure. His confusion is not surprising.

There is a certain fear among the middle class of religion. Somehow it all gets bundled together with abusive priests, gay bashers, televangelists and terrorists. For those who minister in the suburbs the cost of proclaiming Jesus is an infinite investment in relationships that dissipate that fear. Small talk, “safe conversation,” is a practical indicator of genuine love and friendship. We earn our “brownie points” one step at a time. It takes a lot of time—trust must be built and we're working our way back from a negative perception of Christians, toward normalcy, and eventually toward a place where our love of Christ actually seems interesting to them. Forcing a “spiritual” conversation before the Holy Spirit leads usually results only in a bizarre glazed over look or else fidgety panic and a quick escape from the conversation. We pray a lot. More and more I recognize the battle here as a profoundly spiritual one.

And that is why we need warriors in suburban ministries, too. The brave and the resilient. We need the soldiers with expertise in guerilla warfare―those who know how to integrate themselves into the landscape of the community enough to be accepted and earn the right to proclaim the truth, but who are solid enough not be dragged into the quagmire of indifference. We need warriors who persevere. Who keep interceding for those who won't admit their need for prayer. We need “special operatives” who not only passionately love Jesus, but can discern how to interpret him to those who have never heard the truth, having pieced together a “personal truth”: one part Catholic school, one part Da Vinci Code and one part Feng Shui.

Please don't think for a moment that I am suggesting that this kind of ministry is more important that what goes on in the urban context. But I do believe that because God loves all of the world―rich and poor, black and white, urban and suburban—he has gifted some people for ministry in the suburban context. For those, like me, who have grown up in suburbia, we may already be fitted for the intensity of the battle. Ask God to wake you up to the opportunities and realties of the war that happens here every day. People are dying―wealthy, well adjusted, healthy and successful, they are dying just the same and they don't even realize it.

The Word of God calls out saying: “How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?” (Romans 10:14).

God is longing to draw everyone to himself. He is at work. His Spirit is seeking to melt “hearts of stone” to awaken the sedated suburbanites to the power and passion of Jesus Christ. And because God's presence goes before us this ministry to the suburbs can be exciting.