The praise and worship brought me here,” says Natalie, sitting beside me in the fifth row of Houston’s Lakewood Church – a vast, converted stadium that seats 16,000. “I was raised Catholic, but I don’t feel the spirit there like I do here.”
Three enormous video screens advertise church groups such as Griefshare: From Mourning to Joy and the Freedom Series. But just as I’m wondering what the Quest for Authentic Manhood involves, the house worship band kicks out the jams. It’s 11am exactly and the day’s second service has begun. The stage is dominated by an enormous revolving golden globe, in front of which is a rock orchestra flanked on either side by a multiracial gospel choir. Meanwhile, no fewer than nine lead singers are dancing about the stage, praising the Lord. And as if the stage isn’t busy enough, down on the floor a small army of serious-looking men dressed in black suits stands alert, ever watchful, communicating with each other through radio mics. Theoretically they’re church ushers, but they look more like secret service men guarding a president. Gently but firmly they guide latecomers to their seats, leaving nothing to chance, as if one wrong step could upset the delicate balance that keeps 16,000 evangelical Christians from erupting into violence and anarchy.
The praise and worship brought me here,” says Natalie, sitting beside me in the fifth row of Houston’s Lakewood Church – a vast, converted stadium that seats 16,000. “I was raised Catholic, but I don’t feel the spirit there like I do here.”
Three enormous video screens advertise church groups such as Griefshare: From Mourning to Joy and the Freedom Series. But just as I’m wondering what the Quest for Authentic Manhood involves, the house worship band kicks out the jams. It’s 11am exactly and the day’s second service has begun. The stage is dominated by an enormous revolving golden globe, in front of which is a rock orchestra flanked on either side by a multiracial gospel choir. Meanwhile, no fewer than nine lead singers are dancing about the stage, praising the Lord. And as if the stage isn’t busy enough, down on the floor a small army of serious-looking men dressed in black suits stands alert, ever watchful, communicating with each other through radio mics. Theoretically they’re church ushers, but they look more like secret service men guarding a president. Gently but firmly they guide latecomers to their seats, leaving nothing to chance, as if one wrong step could upset the delicate balance that keeps 16,000 evangelical Christians from erupting into violence and anarchy.
Leave a Reply