More churches entering field of healthcare

Mr. Morris is passionate about his belief that it is the church's duty to step up. He grew up in Atlanta and was drawn to the church early, but loathed the idea of preaching. He became a United Methodist minister, went to medical school, and began traveling the country for ideas on starting a health ministry. He eventually settled in Memphis because of its high poverty rate.

"He's quite a visionary," says David Jennings, a full-time physician at the clinic.

The clinic is in many ways typical: Morris believes his patients should get the same quality care as their more affluent, insured counterparts. The waiting room is sunny and spacious. Toys litter the floor. Patients who call first thing in the morning are seen the same day.

But when it comes to payment, this operation is different. The clinic treats the working uninsured, children, and the elderly, and working-age patients must show proof of employment. Payment is based on a sliding scale, because Morris believes patients want affordable care, not a handout.

The clinic also offers training to congregations on building health ministries and to communities on how to replicate the clinic. In its eight years, the training has spawned at least 25 other clinics nationwide. Church Health Center accepts no government funds. It also offers a low-cost health plan to small businesses and the self-employed.

The clinic is ecumenical and steeped in the idea that spiritual health promotes physical health. A wellness center called Hope & Healing has a room where prayer groups gather. Nutrition and health classes open and close with prayer. In the clinic's waiting room the verse James 5:14 is painted on the wall: "Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him."

Deadrick Carroll, who has been visiting Hope & Healing for a year, says the spirituality has motivated him in his rehabilitation from an aneurysm that left his left side partly paralyzed. Doctors told him it was unlikely he would ever walk again. Now he walks with a cane, and his slurred speech is hardly noticeable. "My spiritual strength gives me the confidence and fortitude to say, 'Hey, I'm not going to settle for this,' " says Carroll, perched on a weight machine. He is jobless, is drawing disability benefits, and is covered by his wife's insurance.

The clinic's 80,000-square-foot wellness center opened in 1996 after clinic doctors found that two-thirds of their patients had been diagnosed with illnesses considered preventable. The center is available to clinic patients and the community. There is a fee for membership, but some programs are free.

Mr. McClure, the retired preacher from nearby Forest City, Ark., is now on Medicare. But he doubts he could afford all his medicines without the clinic's support. It can be embarrassing to need help paying for healthcare, but he says that Morris, his "lifesaver," puts him at ease.

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