T he article by Charles Dickson [TLC, April 15], a college chemistry professor and a Lutheran pastor, prompts me to express some thoughts on the matter of faith, and hope, and charity, not so much as Christian virtues but as foundation stones of the religious enterprise. Pastor/Prof. Dickson wishes that the warmth which he perceives in diocesan gatherings within the Episcopal diocese where he is geographically located could somehow be imported into Lutheran synodical sessions which he characterizes as cold.

Pastor Dickinson seems to think that the physical arrangement of the session, as well as the relative size of the two groups, has a lot to do with this difference in feeling which he has sensed. Well, maybe. We seem to be living in an age when feeling is paramount for the success of the religious enterprise. I remember attending a meeting of our convocation (deanery) in which delegates to the Triennial were sharing with us their recollections of the meeting. A woman who was a delegate from our diocese at the gathering was asked what they did at the Triennial. Her reply was significant: "I really don't remember exactly what we did, but we had a wonderful time."

There have always been those who find it appropriate to tell the priest when leaving the church after service how much they "enjoyed" it and/or the sermon/message. Clergy become inured to this, which they assume is well meant though not really relevant. It is certainly not what one would prefer to hear. Occasionally one senses that one's homiletic efforts are appreciated for their intent when people say that it has caused them to think. As far as the liturgy is concerned, people who have any conception of why they are there would not think of telling the priest that they "enjoyed" the representation of the death of Christ and our share in that.

It is difficult to imagine that in those instances where the apostles perceived the action of the Holy Spirit that they were describing a warm glow, which made them feel good. "It seems good to us and to the Holy Spirit" is not a phrase which comes from some kind of sentimental story telling, but is one spoken in the context of a heated controversy over the place of gentiles in what was a predominantly Jewish community. When the coming of the Paraclete is described as a rushing mighty wind and tongues of fire, it was in the context of the Feast of Pentecost and the remembrance of God's thunder and lightning on Mt. Sinai. Can we really conceive of the apostles sitting around in a session of caring and sharing?

The traditional liturgical and biblical expressions of faith, centered as they are on the awful events clustered at the end of Jesus' public ministry, express the faith of those who have encountered the living God, not some giggly buddy from around the corner. The realization of God's meaning and purpose for our lives does not come as a kind of slap on the back at halftime telling us that we can "get out there on the field of life and do better." The perception of God's closeness to us as indwelling Spirit is necessarily tempered by our awkward attempts to understand the vastness of his Being.

It is this faith which undergirds and informs the religious enterprise at its best. The church has too often compromised the expression of faith in order, mistakenly, to kindle something called faith in the hearts of those tormented by despair. We have too often been afraid to tell the despairing that, as far as religion is concerned, "you can't get there from here." In this the radical Reformation had it right; the experience of the Almighty must come first, in some fashion or other. There must be faith before there can be religion, which is more than a repetition of meaningless acts. And this is not a process which makes one feel good. Until one has faced the awesome abyss which is reality without God; until one has encountered the terrifying reality of unconditional love which fills all things, there is no religious practice which can fill the void.

But once this has happened, there is no turning back. There is no striving after a religiously engendered pleasure. But there does come the wonderful realization of what this religion business is all about. The words of scripture and the actions of the liturgy take on a meaning which transcends any desire to pander to the adolescent yearnings of the soul, which still wallows in the despair of a faithless existence. The gospel is not the answer. It is rather the assurance to faith that there is an answer. It speaks as the apostle tells us, from faith to faith. It is an assurance that our suspicions about goodness are true, and that the all-too-obvious overabundance of evil is not even close to reality.

So let us put an end to the talk of a missing warmth in our meetings, in our liturgies, in our reading of scripture. Let us stop trivializing what is important and giving meaning to that which is not.

The Rev. John S. Ruef is rector of Emmanuel Church, Chatham, and Trinity Church, Gretna, Va.