Walking down Creed Lane in London from St. Paul's Cathedral to the Blackfriars tube station, a voice from within a local pub cried out, "There goes Terry Waite."

A chubby figure in a three-piece suit appeared at the door of the public house, holding a pint of ale in one hand and motioning with the other, "Hey Terry ... Terry Waite, come and have one with us."

Terry Waite looked somewhat embarrassed as he flashed his familiar grin and waved back. "Some other time. I've got to catch a train."

In the almost seven years since his release from captivity, Terry Waite remains one of the most instantly recognizable Anglicans in the world. At 6 feet, 7 inches, he's difficult to miss and little has changed in his basic personality. He remains a humble, compassionate human being, uncorroded by the oxygen of worldwide publicity.

Dubbed by the press as the "Anglican Henry Kissinger," Mr. Waite appeared on the world stage almost by accident. A lay minister in the Church of England's Church Army, he was a surprise appointment by Archbishop Robert Runcie as his assistant for inter-Anglican affairs. In that role he successfully negotiated the release of British hostages from Iran and Libya.

After 1985, when he negotiated the release of Presbyterian minister Benjamin Weir and Roman Catholic priest Lawrence Jenco, media attention became intense. His last mission into Beirut, on behalf of American journalists Terry Anderson and Thomas Sutherland, was his downfall and the liberator became a hostage himself.

During the almost five years of his captivity, prayers were said for his release in the chapel of Lambeth Palace. The archbishop and staff were joined by millions of Christians around the world. He was grateful for these prayers.

When, after 1,763 days of captivity, Mr. Waite walked back into freedom, the first task before him was the recovery of his health. And in his own words he was "close to the edge of life." The doctors who examined him said that his arsenic level was 10 times the normal.

The second task was to re-establish his relationship with his family. He joined his wife, Frances, and their four children in the home they had purchased in London.

Then there was the book which he had composed in his head. He had received an appointment as a "fellow commoner in residence" at Trinity Hall, Cambridge, which allowed him the time and space to write Taken on Trust. It took a year to complete and was written entirely in longhand. The hardback, published in 1993, sold more than half a million copies in the United Kingdom alone, and the paperback was distributed throughout the world.

This was followed in 1995 by Footfalls in Memory: Reflections in Solitude. He now has two more books in the works, but won't say anything more about them until they are completed.

Six months after his return to the U.K., he resigned his post as assistant to the Archbishop of Canterbury. "I now earn my living writing and lecturing," he said. "I do this six months a year." His travels have taken him to Australia, South Africa, Europe and North America. He comes to the United States at least twice a year. The other six months he devotes to special ministries and charities concerned with youth, the homeless, hostages and their families, those in prison, peace, reconciliation and third-world development.

He is particularly keen on a new communication technology being developed in South Africa which combines solar power and the wind-up technology of an old alarm clock to power radios, land mine detectors and water purifiers. "The implications of all this for third-world development are enormous. It's concerned with opening up channels of communication ... working for reconciliation, peace and basic development." A foundation with this end in mind and with its center in London is being organized and will be announced in the near future.

Mr. Waite was interviewed in August shortly after the U.S. missile strike on Afghanistan and the Sudan. While he was reluctant to criticize the U.S. operation, he felt that retaliation, "not only kills innocent people, but often has the opposite effect of rallying support around the terrorists and consolidating their position.

"The real way you deal with terrorism is lengthy, difficult and costly," he said. "What you have to do is alienate, isolate and marginate the terrorist from his base of operation. If the terrorist has no base of operation within the community, then he is in a very vulnerable position."

Mr. Waite pointed to the Omagh bombing in Northern Ireland and the dissociation of Jerry Adams from the "Real IRA" as a hopeful sign. "What happens in a terrorist organization," he explained, "is that you have both the political idealist and the psychopath. You cannot control the psychopath, but for appearance sake you have to say that you do. To do otherwise is to lose power.

"What is hopeful in Northern Ireland is that the IRA and extreme protestants have been drawn into the peace process, which has now been confirmed by an overwhelming democratic vote. Adams and the southern government have condemned the Omagh bombings. The psychopaths continued with the 'Real IRA' but are now marginalized."

In his writing and conversation, there is an absence of bitterness. "Bitterness," he said, "is like a cancer to those who have it. It eats you up."

What sustained Terry Waite during his years of solitary confinement? What kept him from the "cancer of bitterness?" Trying to understand where his captors were coming from helped. Daily physical exercise helped. Composing Taken on Trust in his head was another. So was the Book of Common Prayer, which he had committed to memory as a young man. He recalls that he would begin each day reciting the Holy Communion service from the 1662 prayer book.

In the account of his captivity, he made the statement, "There is not a lot of faith in me." He explained that his comment had to do with feeling vs. fact. "In captivity, I didn't feel the close presence of God. I felt alone, but that did not mean for one moment that I ceased to believe. I do believe! There's a lot of nonsense about faith ... the great thing about faith is that it doesn't necessarily mean that you will feel good, or feel the presence of God. It does mean that you will be able to maintain hope."

When former Presiding Bishop John Allin died earlier this year, Mr. Waite was unable to attend the funeral, but wrote a tribute, which to his surprise and delight was read at the service. In it he gave thanks for "the serious support Jack gave me when I was involved in the Lebanon hostage crisis."

A friend once told Mr. Waite that in seeking the liberation of hostages, he was also "seeking his own liberation."

"That's true," he said and went on to explain that he discovered in captivity that "true liberation comes from the center of yourself." He discovered that center while in prison and that while his captors could hold him or destroy him physically, "there's a part of me that can not be taken from me because it's in the hands of God."

Setting the captives free continues to be part of his reason for being. His charitable interests all reflect this and, yes, he's still in the hostage business. "I am constantly in touch with hostage families and was recently in Colombia working on behalf of three American missionaries who disappeared some three years ago."

As he headed for the Blackfriars tube station, he recited the statement with which he ended his book. It had been scribbled on the wall of a cell in a Nazi concentration camp. "I believe in the sun even when it is not shining. I believe in love where feeling is not. I believe in God even if he is silent." o