"Hello. I hate you."

That anonymous message taunted Mike Woodberry as he checked his e-mail messages at Montana State University. Mike, together with his best friend, Ryan Johnson, had agreed to serve as point men for the weeklong, evangelistic "I Agree with Mike and Ryan" campaign. That made them lightning rods for criticism and persecution.

The week of outreach began Monday, April 2, as students arrived on campus to find "Mike and Ryan" plastered everywhere.

Campus Crusade for Christ students had come early and written "Do you agree with Mike and Ryan?" on every blackboard. Almost 400 believers went to class wearing neon-green T-shirts emblazoned with "I AGREE WITH MIKE AND RYAN." The T-shirts dotted every sidewalk and most classrooms, and even a few faculty members wore them. Curious professors asked students to explain to their classes just what their shirt meant.

Chalk messages on sidewalks, "table tents" in the cafeterias, banners, information tables, even a student in a chicken suit all asked that same simple question: "Do you agree with Mike and Ryan?"

And what was it, exactly, that Mike and Ryan believed? Simply put, that college students need Jesus.

Campus Crusade had planned the week built around Mike and Ryan's faith to surprise the campus, arouse its curiosity and create opportunities to explain the gospel. It also united all of the local Christian groups.

The idea for Mike and Ryan Week came from a similar event in 1998 at Humboldt State University in Arcata, Calif. The following year Campus Crusade staff members and students at the University of Arizona expanded on it and ran a wildly successful campaign resulting in dozens of new believers, an invigorated movement on campus and greater openness to spiritual conversations. Since then over 60 campuses in the United States have followed suit, including Montana State.

The Campus Crusade team wanted Mike and Ryan for this mission because of their faithful walks with God, as well as their humility.

	Point Men | Mike Woodberry (left) and best friend Ryan Johnson (right) agreed to have their names plastered all over campus for the weeklong, evangelistic campaign.

People know them because of their athletic prowess: Mike starts at linebacker on the football team while Ryan is the starting tailback. But neither can be defined in one-dimensional terms. Mike, a senior computer-science major, loves fly-fishing and hiking. A grin breaks out as he describes getting his pickup stuck in the mountains—one of his most cherished hobbies. Ryan, a senior pre-physical therapy major who has never received a grade lower than an A in his life, hikes the mountains in search of hot springs and plays the guitar in an alternative rock band.

Both seek adventure and pursue life with vigor. Ryan tells of a tubing trip down the Gallatin River where "a couple of guys almost drowned." His eyes gleam as he retells the tale, describing how onlookers in six-man boats were aghast that anyone would risk the rapids in an inner tube.

They pursue God with the same verve and spirit. Although both describe themselves as introverts, they jumped at the chance to spearhead Mike and Ryan Week. Mike compared their circumstance to that of Queen Esther in the Bible, saying, "maybe we are at Montana State just for this reason."

One early goal of the campaign—an open forum for frank spiritual conversation—was immediately and clearly achieved. Literally thousands of students logged onto the Web site, freely agreeing or disagreeing with the Christian message and presenting evidence for their stances. Others engaged Christian students on campus more personally. Some were encouraged; others found such an up-front Christian presence troubling, even outrageous.

"I don't believe in God," said Garret Kane, senior economics major, "but you don't see me out here in a chicken suit telling people what to think." Not every student had such a negative reaction, but virtually every student had to respond in some way to the ubiquitous message.

Mike and Ryan certainly put themselves on the line, but they had plenty of help. Ryan says he volunteered for pretty much the same reason as the other Christian students: "I expect it to stretch a lot of us to reach out and share our faith."

Taking a Stand | An opinion board at a campus crossroads allows students to voice their views.

Scott Wynegar, an intern at Montana State with Campus Crusade, and Jamie Bruce, a sophomore math major, stretched their faith at a table on the main drag in the heart of the campus. Breathing the crisp mountain air and standing amid the remnants of a spring snowstorm, they waited quietly for students to write their comments on a sandwich board and pick up free literature.

Fonda Porterfield, a junior family-science major, took exception to the religious nature of the outreach, and to Scott and Jamie's presence. "Can't you talk about something other than Jesus?" said Fonda. In a 25-minute harangue, Fonda spit pointed questions and complaints at Scott and Jamie: questions about evil and pain, the veracity and authenticity of the Bible, religious abuses, the Jews, Jesus and, seemingly, whatever came to mind.

As a crowd of spectators assembled and students on the 24-hour prayer chain prayed, Fonda fired her verbal broadsides while Scott and Jamie calmly tried—usually unsuccessfully—to get a word in.

"I don't remember what I said," Jamie later noted. "I just kept asking God for help." And an odd thing happened. Fonda's tone changed. Her questions became more seeking and less vitriolic. She began telling Scott and Jamie about the pain in her life and, before she left, graciously accepted a gospel tract and two evangelistic books. "It's only for scientific purposes," she emphasized, glancing at the crowd, but did add that she would read the materials.

Scott and Jamie's faith matured with every barb Fonda tossed. The two typified the experience of most of the student participants who experienced the spiritual battle, sometimes for the first time.

"I don't think I've ever prayed so much in my life," saysTanner Claridge, a freshman engineering student. "We knew it was going to be a battle."

"For some, this may be the boldest thing they have ever done," says Bob Schwahn, who directs Campus Crusade's work at Montana State. "You think of [the apostle] Paul praying for boldness, and I think a lot of these students are praying the same prayer."

The week culminated in a forum at an on-campus gymnasium where Mike and Ryan gave their Christian testimonies and participated in a panel, offering to answer questions from all comers.

In spite of death threats left on the Web site—like "I'll slit your throats"—and rumored bomb threats, almost 1,000 people came. Some asked their questions and received a response. Those less bold filled out comment cards.

Some wrote coarse remarks. But some were more poignant, like the card left by a young woman named Marcie: "I have felt an empty void in my life and am searching for answers. Please contact me."

And everyone went home. But not because the outreach had ended, for in reality, it had just begun.