As I waited outside to start pole dancing class, a man wearing a toque and a concerned look approached me.

“PLEASE, take this and read it.”

He then thrust a Jack Chick tract into my hand. The kitschy religious booklets are recognizable by their Crumb-esque comics and ominous warnings of eternal damnation. This one was fittingly named “Party Girl” and told the story of Jill, lured by satan to a mega-party rife with “drugs, alcohol and immoral sex.” She is rescued just in time by her long-suffering grandmother, who shows Jill the error of her ways and points her to the path of salvation.

In a city rife with carnal delights, what possible measurable effect could these little booklets have? By the time I left the pole-dancing studio, the tracter was gone. There was no contact information on the booklet, just instructions on how to order more.

According to Wikipedia, a tract is “a literary work…usually religious in nature. They are often either left for someone to find or handed out.” I was brought up in a Brethren protestant assembly. I remember the wall of tracts in the church lobby—colored pamphlets silently presenting their inarguable views on doctrine and alcoholism and women’s submission. On a design level, they were laughable. To a kid, they were terrifying. To outsiders, they were likely as spiritually moving as wallpaper.

Yet even here in secular, multi-culti Toronto, these little slips of paper persist, cropping up on laundromat bulletin boards or wedged between streetcar seats. As a practice, tracting is fairly passive. You can read them, or not. The worst case scenario is litter. Historically, these pamphlets were not so bent on converting the unbeliever as they were about sharing the finer points of theology and church organization.

Tracts and religious publications have had a long history in Canada. The United Church Observer and the Christian Guardian (from the Wesleyan Methodists) were the definitive church publications in Canada (the latter was edited by Rev. Egerton Ryerson—the founder of Ryerson University). Meanwhile, the Presbyterian Church published The Banner, whose editor was Peter Brown. Mr. Brown’s son George published the paper, and he went on to found the Toronto Globe (which you know now as The Globe and Mail).

Tracts have been a mainstay throughout the Protestant reformation, and have permeated other faiths. Watchtower or Awake! are probably the most recognizable and well-distributed. In Canada alone, more than 255 million of these magazines are printed yearly. Mormons send out thousands of pairs of missionaries wearing their Sunday best and bearing reams of tracts,  all in the hope of opening up a “sharing” connection. In evangelical circles, the tracts are built around preaching the gospel and calling to repent. Still, others veer towards blatant hate-mongering and causing rifts between other faiths. Sometimes these publications are provided by the church, others are purchased by individuals on their own missions.

At the corner of Yonge & Dundas, a man stands beside a rolling trolley covered in pamphleture, asking, “Is Jesus God?” Further down, two smiling JW’s hand out copies of “What does the Bible really teach?” complete with full-color illustrations and answers to questions like “Should we celebrate holidays?” and “Where are the dead?” I decline an offer to join them for formal study, and am directed to the website instead. In a month I receive at least four tracts, either handed to me or draped on streetcar seats, or shoved onto hydro poles.

You throw enough mud against the wall, some will stick. The intent is to plant a “seed” which will germinate. But with our limited attention spans (not to mention our smartphone addictions) tracts seem outdated and ineffective. Often, it will not inspire lasting belief, but mockery.

Despite this, an old lady pressing a tract in my hand in the laundromat is far less invasive and annoying than the relentless charity canvassers who block the sidewalk and shout compliments in an attempt to solicit funds. In an a city rife with ads, brand ambassadors, and sponsored content, it’s weirdly comforting to see these lo-fi attempts toward saving another. Even if it is misguided, it’s the thought that counts.