Church’s Membership Rises; So Does Criticism : Religion: In 15 years, the Boston-based group has grown from 30 members to 50,000. But critics say its principal tenet is growth and it manipulates recruits with false friendships. Adherents link appeal to back-to-basics approach.

She’s 24 years old, an MIT graduate working on a doctorate in cell biology at Tufts University. She’s friendly, personable and religious.

And at many colleges, Elsa Mak is not welcome.

Mak belongs to the Boston Church of Christ, which in 15 years has swelled from 30 members to about 50,000 worldwide.

It is how it became one of the nation’s fastest growing churches that has stirred criticism and prompted dozens of colleges to ban it.

Members say the church has flourished because of the appeal of its back-to-basics approach to religion. People tired of the pomp and ritual of traditional churches are drawn to the Boston church’s pure dedication to the Bible.

But critics say they are being duped. They say the church is obsessed with growth and will do almost anything to achieve it.

The critics, including former members, say the church smothers recruits with false friendships--”love bombing,” they call it--to lure them into the church and keep them there. It dominates their lives and, they say, threatens them with eternal damnation if they leave.

Church members recruit wherever they can--on the street, in parking lots, and especially on college campuses. They say they are following God’s command to proselytize, but their efforts have buttressed the arguments of those who call the church a cult.

But is it a cult? Even some critics don’t like the term. The Boston Church isn’t like many cults of the past 25 years. Kip McKean, its 40-year-old leader, calls the shots, observers say, but he hasn’t made himself a highly visible, charismatic guru. Critics haven’t charged him with living luxuriously.

There’s no serious concern that the Boston Church of Christ will turn violent, and members don’t walk around in trancelike stupors. Mak is a typical member: intelligent, likable, unfailingly polite.

“They are all the things your mother would like you to be,” said Robert Randolph, associate dean for student affairs at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. “That’s one of the biggest problems about them. They’re extremely nice people.”

The dangers critics see are more subtle: a loss of individuality, estrangement from friends and family and members losing control of their lives.

Sherrie Morrill remembers her first encounter with the church. She was approached by a friendly young woman on a New York City street in 1992; she welcomed the conversation. Morrill was 28, a social work supervisor, far from her Rochester, N.Y., home. She was lonely and struggling to live on a small salary in the big city.

When the woman invited her to church, Morrill said no. “I thought, what are you, some kind of Jehovah’s Witness?”

But the woman kept calling her and Morrill attended a service.

“I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen,” she said. “People holding hands, praising God. I thought this was really it.”

She joined, moved in with members and tithed 10% of her gross wages. Her life revolved around the church, with services, Bible studies and little time to rest.

In her free time--on bike rides or Staten Island Ferry trips--she was expected to invite strangers to church, she said. On dates with church members, she and her companion might invite a waiter.

“They told me that everyone else that doesn’t belong to this kingdom, everyone else on the outside, is not saved, is going to hell,” she said.

When she came home for Christmas, her family had arranged for her to meet an exit counselor. After three 12-hour sessions, she returned to New York, quit the church and her job and headed home.

Morrill’s experience was typical, church critics say. They say the church preys on the weak and lonely to make them feel wanted. It identifies weaknesses of members--perhaps a history of failed romances or a drinking problem--and convinces them the problems will recur if they leave.

“It’s a manipulative process in which friendship is a technique. It’s not friendship,” said Jeff Davis, a former minister in the mainstream Churches of Christ who has counseled ex-members of the Boston movement.

Rick Bauer of Bowie, Md., a leader of the loose-knit ex-member movement, said church members are taught “we are the only saved people in the world.”

“That kind of jargon has a way of inspiring the Oliver North-type rogue treatment of people that really hurts,” he said.

Church members say they are being criticized for trying to live under the strict guidance of the Bible--something considered unusual in a secular world.

“We believe the Bible is the solution, the only solution, and that is a radical stance,” said Gordon Ferguson, 51, a church elder.

They reject accusations that they target the downtrodden and note that many members are, like Mak, well educated and popular.

Many members are professionals. For example, a Boston-based evangelist, Doug Webber, is a Yale-educated physician who gave up his practice to work for the church.

They say they don’t try to control members’ lives but offer suggestions, as a parent would. Members often turn to church leaders for advice, they add.

Members don’t deceive--or at least they are told not to, Webber said. And they take proselytizing seriously.

“This is important stuff. This is a life-changing thing. This has an impact on eternity,” Webber said.

The church says its good work is often ignored. Last year, its charitable arm, Hope Boston, donated $100,000 for AIDS research at Children’s Hospital.

There are disgruntled ex-members, they say, but many others have seen their lives improve through the church.

In its Bible-oriented teachings, the Boston Church is similar to the mainstream Churches of Christ. But while the mainstream churches comprise 18,000 independent congregations, the 163 churches of the Boston movement are linked under what is sometimes called the International Church of Christ.

The Boston Church was formed in 1979 when McKean, an evangelist from Florida, took over the mainstream, 30-member Lexington Church of Christ. By teaching disciples, and sending them out to find more disciples, McKean and his followers were able to expand into a congregation encompassing the whole Boston area. Services were held in the Boston Garden. Members began starting new churches across the United States and abroad.

Eugene Britnell, a mainstream Church of Christ minister in Athens, Ala., said there are a lot of similitaries in the teachings of the mainstream churches and those of the Boston church. But “one of the things we disagree with them on is their effort in gaining converts and controlling them.”

“They don’t deviate from old-line Church of Christ teachings. It’s just they have become high-pressure evangelists,” said J. Gordon Melton, director of the Institute for the Study of American Religion in Santa Barbara, Calif. “They work the streets. They understand young adults are the best targets. That’s why they’re growing.”

At a recent service at Boston’s Park Plaza Hotel, most of the more than 200 participants were young.

The service was a cross between a Bible study and an old-time revival. Members sang, discussed biblical passages and stood and described how they’ve been helped by God’s power. The service leader encouraged them to invite people to church and to contribute money to spread the church overseas.

Critics say membership is leveling off nationally and, amid reports depicting the church as a cult, the church is losing members as quickly as it recruits them. Bauer said members had stayed in the church an average 4.3 years in 1991. Now the average membership lasts 2.8 years, he said.

Internationally, the church is growing.

“One could describe it as a church dedicated to church growth,” said the Rev. Jerry Handspicker, professor of pastoral theology and evangelism at the Andover-Newton Theological School. “They want to be large. They want to make converts. They want to keep them.”

Handspicker’s interest in the church is more than academic. His 33-year-old son, Nathan, was a member.

Handspicker said that he didn’t like the church, but that he didn’t try to interfere with his son’s membership.

He saw some good from the church: His son enjoyed Bible studies and the camaraderie. But Handspicker also saw the church as authoritarian and demanding.

After three years, Nathan quit without prodding.

Handspicker explained, “He started thinking, I don’t think the God I know in Jesus wants me to do this.”