is love --- that's why so many rockers fall for him. Ray Charles helped invent rock & roll when he exposed gospel's fervor as a form of transcendent lust, and since then countless artists have gone in the other direction, riding their libidos to get to their souls. Elvis and Van Morrison, Prince and U2, have all romanced their sweet Lord, a conquest much more challenging than the average girl. Even now, with nookie and cash ruling the scene, divine hunger still motivates some rockers. They struggle and they wail, and zealous fans hear their own hidden prayers.

"The distance, it is not doable," Ed Kowalczyk gently sings on the title track of Live's fourth album, admitting that he might not get his God. It's a sign of temperance. The Distance to Here loses some of the bluster that made Live both critical laughingstocks and the most popular spirit-chasing band since U2. Kowalczyk does his usual boxing with God, but this time he doesn't get mad when his arms are too short. Sometimes he finds enough peace to make some very pretty music.

Kowalczyk has turned to Eastern traditions as he's matured, but his lyrics still reflect his Christian upbringing. This is one key to the popularity of divinely inspired bands: They appeal to young people who grew up swayed by catechism, Bible study or Hebrew school. Questioning childhood beliefs can be as confusing and painful for them as sorting out the mysteries of sex -- it creates rifts with parents and leaves doubters feeling lonely and scared. Live's more aggressive songs mix the comforting cadences of hymns with wild outbursts, offering churchy ritual plus a means of releasing anger about shaken faith.

The Distance to Here, with the band's longtime producer, Jerry Harrison, at the helm, offers drama to fans still craving it. But its best songs venture into subtler territory. Kowalczyk backs down enough to let his band mates do something besides flail behind him. Given this chance, Chad Taylor turns his guitar into the voice of temptation, laying down sinuous riffs that suit Kowalczyk's new sexiness and ambivalence, as well as his righteous swagger.

"Run to the Water," with its gusty crescendos, could be as big a hit as 1994's "Lightning Crashes." Here, though, Kowalczyk turns inward, and he ends up courting contentment. Elsewhere, he almost gets funky: "Voodoo Lady" may portray a