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Days before race weekend, the turf around Atlanta Motor Speedway has sprouted FEMA-like villages of RVs with fans who have paid big bucks for a choice location. By Sunday's NASCAR Sprint Cup Series event, the track's population will surpass Topeka's.

Flapping high above tents and trailers, flags sport racecar numbers and signature booze brands (Jim Beam, Jack Daniel's, and Budweiser). Liquor and raw language flow as fans hoot for their heroes and jeer those whom they've labeled the bad guys. The crowd response to Juan Pablo Montoya, a top driver from Colombia, leaves little doubt that folks here can't stand the guy who is perceived as "driving dirty" and not being a team player.

At times, racing fans are out for blood. After legendary racer Dale "the Intimidator" Earnhardt crashed and died in the 2001 Daytona 500, the driver whom fans blamed for the accident received death threats. But when 43 cars spin around an oval at nearly 200 miles per hour, common sense tells you that sooner or later, something bad will happen (see "Cheating Death," page 28).

Champions don't win races by riding their brakes. Sooner or later, somebody else will die. "If you give 43 guys, mostly between the ages of 20 and 35, cars this powerful," a racing official said in the best-selling book The Physics of NASCAR, "there's only so safe you can make it."

Since 1971, at least 26 NASCAR drivers have been killed at racetracks. When a driver crashes, people in the grandstands cheer. "They don't know if he's dead or alive," comments superstar Tony Stewart in his 2003 documentary film, Smoke. "I don't think they care."

Tony's mom says, "I pray a lot."

Fueled by testosterone, horsepower, and Fortune 500 mega-funding, the National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing is America's biggest spectator sport, measured by per-event attendance. Last year the average Sprint Cup gate exceeded 120,000. Today, 75 million Americans are fans of this Southern quirk gone global.

Two decades ago, evangelicals took a tentative step forward in NASCAR-focused outreach. The year was 1988, and racing fan Max Helton was on staff at a church in Glendora, California, where he met Darrell Waltrip. Helton told the NASCAR legend, who has earned nearly $16 million in his career, of his own dream of full-time ministry on the racing circuit.

That conversation spurred Helton to create Motor Racing Outreach, a nationwide ministry that brings Christian witness and discipleship to drivers, their families, and fans. Waltrip serves as MRO's board chair.

Waltrip is among a handful of NASCAR's elite who are open about their faith, including team owner Joe Gibbs and drivers Kyle Petty, Michael Waltrip, and Mark Martin. At tracks in Atlanta and Fort Worth, I found the faithful at the track, the pit, the infield, and everywhere in between—in the quiet presence of born-again drivers and crew, in well-attended chapel services, and in Bible studies that introduce the curious to Christianity and instruct believers in Christian living.

At the campgrounds, local churches and raceway ministries offer worship services. Raceway "ambassadors" hang out with fans, ready to talk about Christian hope. MRO stages concerts where top drivers share their faith journeys. Focus on the Family, K-LOVE, and Radio Bible Class have partnered with MRO to produce gospel tracts, special New Testaments, and driver testimony cards. Some local racetracks feature church nights and "faster pastor" clergy racing.

Like every other major professional sport, NASCAR has at times been the context for allegations of drug and alcohol addiction, public bullying, and discrimination. (In June, a former NASCAR inspector sued the association for $225 million. She charged on-the-job racial and sexual prejudice.)

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August 2008, Vol. 52, No. 8