By RAY WADDLE

Forty years ago was high summer for music that conquered the world. Church life has been playing catch-up ever since.

In June 1967, the Beatles released the album Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band. Then their song "All You Need Is Love" was broadcast globally on TV. That summer defined the peak-moment claim the Beatles had on the emotions of millions.

Beatlemania had always meant high spirits. But by 1967, their music was more ambitious, more expressive of hopes for the world. Sgt. Pepper offered theater, mystery, even Eastern spirituality — an alternative soundtrack to life.

Because of the Beatles, pop culture got more enthralling, taking up more space in our heads.

It soon rivaled traditional habits, including churchgoing. It posed new ways for new generations to channel their energies and loyalties. Pop music, re-imagined by the Fab Four, was filling spaces where the King James Version used to go.

Generation gaps are nothing new, but something new was happening in 1967. I was 11, a little collector of all things Mop Top (the records, the wig). We still went weekly to Sunday School, a national ritual that had changed little since the 1920s. But the Beatles hits we were hearing on the radio all week were causing a misalignment, a clash between old-style church culture (quiet, predictable, scripture-based) and pop sounds (loud, provocative, growing in confidence).

Congregations tried to adjust. Suddenly we heard sermons about "A Day in the Life" and "Hey Jude." Youth ministers (their hair anyway) got a bit hipper, for a while.

Nevertheless, lots of churches lost membership around this time. It is as if a secular Pentecost had descended, with people choosing the transcendence of rock n roll, R & B, and the Twist.

Church negotiations with pop culture continue 40 years later.

Praise bands, splashy worship video and relevant sermons reign. Churches worry they are losing teenagers, losing men, losing the neighborhood. Ministers complain of a recent study that says people spend more family time on sports and music lessons than church.

Why were we so vulnerable to Beatlemania?

The 60s unleashed war, prosperity, human rights, cheap oil, faster technology, assassination, shopping malls, miniskirts — a new secular immersion. The Beatles embodied the giddiness.

Today the immersion is multiplied — text-message dexterity, hip-hop posturing, 10 billion Web sites, daily celebrity meltdowns.

The religious question is: Can houses of worship find a way to embrace contemporary human exuberance and still keep their ancient identity; can they promote humane values that push back against the relentless, infatuating buzz?

Surprising us all, the Beatles proved mortal. Their next record, Magical Mystery Tour, was a misstep. The White Album revealed adult weariness. After the majestic Abbey Road, they broke up.

The neighborhood church remains in business.