By Bethany Kohoutek

It's 9:15 on a Sunday morning, and Jordan Creek Parkway, like most suburban thoroughfares, is still sleepy. The banks, chain restaurants and car washes that follow the schedule set by nearby Jordan Creek Mall won't fully awaken until about noon. But the 900 block of Jordan Creek is an exception.

Pull into the driveway, and a team of traffic attendants is busy guiding cars and SUVs into parking spaces. Much of the lot is already full. Twenty- and thirty-somethings, older couples and, especially, young families, are streaming into a building that would not be identifiable as a house of worship if not for the thin, post-modern cross reaching skyward from the center of the structure.

Once inside, greeters posted inside each entrance welcome attendees to the Lutheran Church of Hope. The smell of brewing coffee lures congregants toward the sunlit sanctuary, where a rock band, replete with electric guitars, bass and a full drum set, is readying for what will be the third in a string of eight Sunday services.

Among the band members is Pastor Richard Webb, an attractive and charismatic man with styled hair who is dressed in casual attire. He wears a headset microphone and plays keyboards during songs. There are no hymnals; lyrics to the rousing numbers are projected onto two screens the size of garage doors above the crowd. The soundboard and concert-quality speakers mounted on the ceiling would make any Des Moines-area venue swoon. The whole process is carefully coordinated by technicians in a booth at the back of the room.

Lutheran Church of Hope's minimalist décor bears almost no resemblance to the neighborhood churches where many Americans spent their Sunday mornings. Ornate altars and pulpits have been replaced with simple tables, barren except for a Bible or a vase with a single flower, perhaps. Pews have been exchanged for comfy folding chairs, and massive windows and skylights have supplanted stained-glass images of saints and the stations of the cross.

But then, this isn't your typical neighborhood church. With an average weekend attendance of 4,500 adults, plus 1,200 kids in Sunday school, Lutheran Church of Hope in West Des Moines is the fastest-growing church in Central Iowa - and the 64th fastest-growing in the nation. It is also among a new crop of Protestant churches that are springing up mostly in Des Moines' suburbs, keeping pace with the 'burbs' burgeoning populations.

Mike Householder, lead pastor at Lutheran Church of Hope, says creating a comfortable environment and staying culturally relevant are crucial to his church's growth.

"It's not as hard as people might think," he says. "God's word definitely speaks to our culture, to contemporary culture. ... Culture changes so quickly, and we have to, as a church, think of ways to listen to the culture instead of always talking to the culture - not because it's going to influence God's word; that stays the same. But we have to listen so that we can point the culture to those places in the faith journey that I think people long for."

Churches like Waukee's Point of Grace, Valley Church and Lutheran Church of Hope in West Des Moines, and Cornerstone in Ames have been dubbed "megachurches" by sociologists and other watchers of religious movements. Defined as a Protestant church with 2,000 or more members, the megachurch stands out on the Christian landscape because of its growth and its unconventional means (music, technology, an informal approach) of attracting the people it refers to as "the unchurched" - or nonbelievers.

Studies show that attendance at smaller American churches has either flattened out or is on the decline. Membership at megachurches, however, has increased by 50 percent in the last five years. Books like "The Purpose Driven Life" by Rick Warren, and "Your Best Life Now" by Joel Osteen - pastors of two of the largest megachurches in the U.S. - remain firmly lodged on the New York Times bestseller lists, with weekly book sales in the millions.

Such rapid and widespread growth is prompting a slew of questions about the megachurch phenomenon, and especially about the impact it is having on the churches' surrounding communities, U.S. politics and on American culture at large.

'Wherever two or more are gathered'

Most megachurches are located in the South, a region that is home to such massive institutions as Osteen's Lakewood Church, which claims more than 30,000 members and worships in Houston's Compaq Center, former home to the Houston Rockets basketball team.

But the phenomenon is exploding in the Midwest, too. Illinois and Minnesota rank among the top 10 states with the highest concentration of megachurches, and more churches are added to the roster of Iowa megachurches every year.

According to the Hartford Institute for Religious Research, which published the most authoritative report to date on megachurches, the typical profile of a megachurch looks like this: Most are evangelical in nature, with an average weekly attendance of 3,585. Fifty percent of them are located in newer suburbs, and an equal number use several locations, or broadcast their services to satellite sites, to increase capacity. More than 80 percent utilize electric guitars and drums every Sunday.

Ninety-nine percent of megachurch pastors are male, while a majority of their flock tend to be younger than 35, college graduates and married, with young children. Almost 90 percent of congregants are Caucasian, although most megachurches have launched extensive campaigns to recruit minorities.

The average income of a megachurch is $6 million, and the combined income from all of the megachurches in America amounts to a $7 billion-per-year industry.

Perhaps most notably, their main vehicle for growth is evangelism, or word-of-mouth advertising.

"This might be due to marketing savvy or seeker-sensitive profiles of a target demographic," conclude the Hartford Institute researchers, "but it also might mean that these churches are able to excite their members to tell others about their church, invite their friends and neighbors at a greater rate than other churches."

Jeff Mullen, lead pastor at Point of Grace, says this characterization is right on. He attributes his church's growth to "friends inviting friends," so much so that his congregation of 2,700 regular worshippers has already outgrown the 60,000-square-foot facility that was built just two years ago.

"That is the number one way that churches grow," he says, "that people care enough to build relationships with other people."

Mullen, outfitted in faded jeans, an untucked shirt and a silver-and-turquoise bracelet, is sitting in Point of Grace's brightly painted lobby. Visible through the windows behind him is a 500-car parking lot, which is consistently jam-packed on Saturday nights and Sundays. The campus sits on 45 acres of prime Waukee land, and Mullen displays a master blueprint that he hopes will one day include restaurants, retail outlets and apartment spaces.

Inside, vending machines with lit-up Point of Grace logos are parked next to sparkling restrooms. Areas for teenagers are equipped with cozy couches, coffee bars and X-Boxes wired to flat-screen TVs. Mullen compares the feel of the church's interior to that of a mall or movie theater - places he says are familiar to people who may not be drawn to the formality and religious iconography of traditional churches.

"We are in constant pursuit of relating to real people in the real world," Mullen says. "Too often churches have been isolated from the world. Churches have become islands. They are not comfortable places for people to walk into. People think, 'This doesn't feel normal to me.'"

At the same time, Mullen acknowledges that the huge space, outfitted with all the accoutrements of modern convenience, could foster a sense of anonymity for some visitors. So at the same time he seeks to grow the church ever larger, "we also want to grow smaller," he says.

Crucial to the church's success - and to the success of most megachurches - is the ability to move people from anonymous attendees into participating, plugged-in members. Both Lutheran Church of Hope and Point of Grace have specific programs that guide new members into close-knit circles that meet often, both inside and outside of church.

Small groups are "absolutely essential," says Householder.

"We really believe, and experience, at Hope that the big, radical changes, the really positive ones spiritually, happen best in small groups."

Another means of connection is the buffet of extracurricular programming megachurches offer their congregants - services that smaller neighborhood churches often lack the resources or staffing capabilities to provide.

Christian weight-loss programs, drug- and alcohol-abuse therapy, divorce counseling, breast cancer survivor groups, dance lessons, book clubs, ministries for singles and adolescents, money management seminars, parenting classes, scrapbooking and knitting circles are all available at Des Moines-area churches.

"With megachurches, it's almost like it is a full absorption into that particular community," says Eric Northway, a full-time lecturer in Iowa State University's Religious Studies department, who teaches a course called "Religion in America." "It's like an enclave. ... They are creating little towns and little cities where people are like-minded."

'Make a joyful noise'

Researchers, and many pastors, agree that such dramatic growth would not be possible without megachurches' unprecedented mastery of technology. It is a major piece of nearly every large church's organization (and budget), and it's evidenced everywhere, from Point of Grace's computerized child check-in system, where each child is assigned a number upon arrival, to Lutheran Church of Hope's TV monitors and satellite locations, which broadcast services to overflow crowds.

Many megachurches also maintain extensive Web sites that include blogs, RSS feeds, podcasts of sermons and online stores, where visitors can purchase Christian clothing, books, CDs and DVDs.

One member survey ranked Point of Grace's Web site as the second most-important way that new people find out about the church. Last month, 15,000 individual visitors logged on to the site. Mullen says this is merely a function of modern communication, meant to enhance the message, not overshadow it.

"It is part of today's way of talking, conversing. It's a way of connecting with each other, a way of saying, 'This is who we are.' It's a way of interacting. It doesn't change any truth of the Bible or anything we believe."

Householder agrees.

"If it helps us to get God's word out, we want to embrace that," he explains. "If there's something we can do visually, if there's something we can do musically, if there's something we can do with an illustration or by using a clip from a movie, we will look for those opportunities in order to be more effective."

From an academic point of view, Northway says that the full-scale incorporation of media serves several key purposes. In order to attract Generation Xers and Yers, who are barraged constantly by information, megachurches wisely use familiar means of communication (Internet, podcasts, etc.), yet preach a message designed to offer constancy amidst such chatter.

"The message, from their perspective, is that [the church] is the one stable thing in life and everything else is in constant flux," Northway says. "That allows them to say, OK, what is hip? Because that can change, we don't care about that. We can maintain being hip, we can go with culture at large, appropriate what we deem acceptable, but we have to maintain this one message.

"It's great marketing..." he continues. "They are adopting the cultural norms of common culture. They are adopting literally a corporate sort of strategies and paradigms about how to make the church function."

'Make believers of all nations'

At the same time, such tactics have also been a major point of criticism for exceptionally large Christian churches. As with any significant sociological movement, megachurches are not without their detractors. Much of the criticism stems from two key points: megachurches' open-armed adoption of corporate styles of management and behavior, and their political impact.

Many megachurches adhere to efficient organizational structures culled from the business world, with skilled teams of marketing executives, media technicians and staffs of employees and volunteers numbering in the hundreds, leading some critics to coin the phrase "Christian capitalism."

Forbes magazine, for example, published a story in 2003 titled "Megachurches, Megabusinesses" that opened with the line, "Maybe churches aren't so different from corporations." And Evan Derkacz, a popular blogger at the independent news site AlterNet.com, recently penned a blog titled "Jesus Christ mega-manager?", in which he quoted Ted Haggard, president of the 30 million-member National Association of Evangelicals and pastor to a 14,000-member Colorado megachurch, as saying, "They're pro-free markets, they're pro-private property. ... That's what evangelical stands for."

Some analysts believe that the expansion of megachurches is simply an extension of the American drive for consumerism, anonymity and, simply put, big things - literally, religion "supersized." (Houston's Brentwood Baptist Church has a McDonald's in its lobby; several other megachurches sport on-site Starbucks outlets.)

Northway suggests that megachurches have learned how to appeal to a certain demographic by tapping into this mindset.

"Consumerism drives us; anonymity drives us. Those are things we like," he says. "There is this sort of consumerist mentality that we're going to shop around and find something we like, and once we find that thing, we're willing, to a certain degree, to become involved."

Point of Grace's Mullen says that while churches may employ business strategies, there is a key difference: "The church is a church. It's not a business; it's not a bank; it's not retail. The better part of wisdom says, use best practices while you can. ... We'll use the best practices of companies, but our outcome is different."

Critics also take issue with some megachurches' foray into the political arena. In the aftermath of the 2004 presidential election, much TV time and newspaper ink were devoted to dissecting the "values voter" bloc that reportedly tipped the election toward born-again Christian George W. Bush and facilitated the passage of numerous anti-abortion statutes and gay-marriage bans.

For example, Rev. Ken Hutcherson, the NFL player-cum-megachurch pastor who leads the Antioch Bible Church in Washington, is credited with turning out 140,000 of the faithful for an anti-gay-marriage rally in Washington, D.C. in the weeks before Election Day.

More recently, televangelist and megachurch leader Rod Parsley launched a campaign to bring 400,000 new, young voters into the evangelical fold in the political hot-potato state of Ohio, deploying Christian rock and rap groups and partnering with far-right lawmakers like North Carolina's Rep. Walter Jones and Kansas' Sen. Sam Brownback.

And last year, President Bush reportedly conferred with several megachurch leaders before naming his judicial nominees for the open seats on the U.S. Supreme Court bench.
This interplay between religion and politics makes some observers squirm.

According to the national group Americans United for the Separation of Church and State, "Houses of worship and religious leaders may address political and social issues, but federal tax law bars most nonprofit groups from endorsing or opposing candidates for public office. Churches, temples and mosques must refrain from outright electioneering.

"It is not the job of religious leaders to tell people which candidates to vote for or not vote for."

The Hartford Institute reports that the perceived political persuasion of most megachurches is "much as the popular media portray it." Its researchers found that "over 50 percent were predominantly conservative, with another 33 percent somewhat conservative."

Only 2 percent of megachurches classified themselves as "liberal," the study revealed.

So far, Des Moines-area pastors have been careful not to tow the political line. Mullen says liberals, conservatives and everyone in between is welcome at Point of Grace, though he acknowledges that, given the church's location in Waukee, the majority of members' political affiliations probably reflect the Republican leanings of the suburb.

"As far as we are concerned, when it comes to election times, we have the opportunity to live in a free country, and we encourage everyone to be a part of the process. ... But we as a church are into the God thing; we're not a political organization," he says.

Householder, at Lutheran Church of Hope, says part of a church's mission is to speak out for justice and for the oppressed, and "sometimes that means adding our voice to public conversations about issues that can be political."

At the same time, he says, "I really do get concerned when it starts to feel like churches are using religion to get somebody elected or further their political agenda. I don't see that as our mission. ... It's not the way we vote that makes people feel united, it's Jesus."

'Be shepherds of God's flock'

It would be a mistake to lump all of Central Iowa's large churches into the same category. The snapshot that existing research provides is just that: a summary. Individual churches vary significantly in their beliefs, approaches, leadership styles and membership profiles.

Take, for example, First Assembly of God, located on Merle Hay Road, well within the boundaries of Des Moines proper. It counts more than 2,000 attendees, but it also has existed in the community since 1939, setting it apart from some of the newer suburban megachurches. Its history shows in its retention of traditional iconographic staples, like pews and stained-glass windows. But it also utilizes massive projection screens, a rock band, podcasts of sermons and a casual worship style.

Pastor Dave Beroth, who worked as a traveling church consultant for three years prior to joining the staff at First Assembly, answers the "growth" question carefully. He says First Assembly's team of pastors is meeting weekly to determine how to promote "healthy" expansion.

"So many times what I've discovered... is smaller churches want to be bigger churches," while big churches want to create the feeling of a smaller church, he says, echoing Point of Grace's Mullen.

"You have to ask yourself the question: How many can we house in this building without expanding? There are alternatives to growing - satellite churches, new plants, those sorts of things," Beroth adds, pointing to First Assembly's launches of African-American, Hispanic and Asian satellite congregations.

"[The minority churches] are growing in the sense that they are becoming healthy," he says. "Not growing in large numbers, but they are becoming great communities that help the needs of their friends and their peers. They are reaching out."

Regardless of their specific methods, there is no doubt that each of these large churches is creating a significant footprint in its community, not only as a result of physical space and size, but also in terms of the influence it casts.

It's visible in the bulldozers crawling like ants over piles of dirt outside of Lutheran Church of Hope, where workers are scrambling to complete a new 2,600-seat worship center - this, just six years after Hope moved into its new building on Jordan Creek Parkway.

And it's visible in Ankeny, where, on Oct. 15, Point of Grace will begin holding services at the Springwood 9 movie theaters. Essentially, the church will overtake the theaters on Sunday mornings, before the films start up for the day. Members of the pastoral staff will be on hand, along with coffee, pastries and a live band, but the actual sermon will be a high-quality taping of the Saturday-night service at Point of Grace's Waukee location, piped in and projected onto Springwood's theater screens.

"Why is this happening here?" Mullen asks. "We have worked hard. Everyone on staff works diligently and efficiently. Did we create this? Did we create what you will experience on Sunday morning? No. This is not about us. This is about what God has done here. ...

"Why do we get to be here in the middle of a beautiful cornfield, in the middle of beautiful Waukee? I can't tell you it's because we're just so dang neat. ... We pray, "God, keep your hand of favor on us.' Not because we're worthy, but because we want to make an impact and a difference. We rejoice over it, and every weekend we thank God for the opportunity to make a difference in people's lives, to teach what we believe is true." CV

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