Christianity is the religion of my youth, the predominant faith in our culture—and the entire world, with about one-third of the world’s population (over 2.2 billion people) identifying themselves as Christian (Islam ranks second, with 1.6 billion followers).
I don’t feel drawn to Islam, probably because I don’t connect with its cultural trappings—and the same could be said for Judaism and other spiritual practices. But for me, an Irish Catholic boy from suburban Buffalo, Christianity is not easily dismissed.
Of course, popularity doesn’t necessarily make a religion the optimal path to finding God, or, say, the quickest path to enlightenment. To put it in Hollywood terms, One Direction might have been a really popular singing group, but they had cheesy songs and eventually broke up and everyone moved on. Ditto, Every-Boy-Band Ever.
So does Christianity’s enduring popularity stem from its inspiring message of eternal salvation through faith in Christ? Or did Jesus just have a really good team of publicists in the form of his disciples?
If I have learned anything in Hollywood, no matter how good your product might be it will fail if no one knows about it. And no matter how good your marketing and publicity efforts, if your product truly sucks, then people won’t consume it over the long term. In that sense, there is something to be said for the lasting predominance of all the great world religions, including Christianity.
If Christianity is the most popular American religion, then one of its most visible preachers (and a very media-savvy publicist for Jesus) is the Rev. Joel Osteen. I have long been a fan of Osteen’s preaching style and his uplifting message. For years, even the ones where I was not spending any serious time contemplating my faith, I would stumble upon his TV sermons on Sunday mornings from his Lakewood megachurch in Houston. His messages are inspiring and positive. He’s what I would call a motivational preacher, something of a latter-day Norman Vincent Peale, who was known for his 1950s bestselling book The Power of Positive Thinking. In fact, there is often very little difference between Osteen’s messages and those of a secular motivational speaker—except that, naturally, he always ties in that faith in Jesus is what makes all things possible. Otherwise, it is his aw-shucks genuineness and overall positivity (without any of the sliminess of televangelists of yore) served on a massive TV and book platform that has made him arguably the most popular preacher today. Sure, he has come under criticism from all sides for either being too watered-down or making millions off his publishing and TV empire, which reaches 100 million households, but I still enjoy listening to him, critics be damned.
Having grown up in an era when televangelist scandals were as common as formulaic Rocky films, I do have a reasonable dose of skepticism around virtuous preachers who use television to reach the masses while also building massive fund-raising machines.
There was Jimmy Swaggart, the Bible-shaming Southern minister caught having sex with a prostitute back in 1988, the year I graduated high school. A year earlier, another TV preaching star was Jim Bakker, who was busted having sex with a woman named Jessica Hahn and had paid her supposed “hush money” with church funds. Christian leader Jerry Falwell famously called Bakker “the greatest scab and cancer on the face of Christianity in 2,000 years of church history.” Literally that same year, the “faith healer” Peter Popoff, who was reportedly making $4 million per year allegedly healing people of various ailments, was exposed as a fraud. Popoff would claim to heal people of cancer by simply yelling, “Back off, Devil!” and pressing his palm into their foreheads. The preacher with the shock of slicked-back black hair would call out people’s names and their afflictions, without having met them, claiming that God was sending him the information so he could heal them. The scam was working until magician James Randi infiltrated Popoff’s scheme and, with the help of a radio scanner, discovered that Popoff was being fed information not from God, but his wife (who had lifted the personal info from cards filled out by seekers ahead of time). These and other unsavory televangelistic characters damaged the credibility and image of all television preachers, while emboldening secular humanists and skeptics who have long criticized faith as mere fantasy.
But Joel Osteen represents the new generation. Sure, he asks for money, but it is a soft sell and his charities seem straightforward about the work they do with donations. Sure, he has perfect teeth and a smile as bright as snow but he also preaches with humility and humor and a nonjudgmental tone.
When I saw recently during one of his Sunday TV shows an ad that he was coming to the Los Angeles area—specifically the Citizens Business Bank Arena in suburban Ontario—for one of his “Night of Hope” revivals I immediately got tickets. I may not be all in for Jesus, but when it comes to hearing inspiring messages of hope and faith and love, I am always open for business. His uplifting sermons, with titles such as “If You Believe, All Things Are Possible,” focus on the transformative power of faith. Now I want to see him in person.
It’s a Friday night, and I am driving east on the car-clogged I-10 freeway toward Ontario. Seated beside me is Trish, an E! News producer whom I have invited along because we often talk about religion in between taping sessions (she attends a church in L.A. every Sunday). Earlier, I emailed Joel’s publicist (yes, even celebrity preachers need a PR rep) and she agreed to take me backstage after tonight’s event for a quick “meet and greet,” something I am very familiar with from my experiences with Taylor Swift or Justin Bieber concerts, but never with a spiritual leader.
Hungry, Trish and I hit the snack bar. When I pay for our chili dogs, popcorn, and water, the clerk hands me my credit card and says, “Enjoy the show!”
A show, indeed. When we leave the concourse and walk down the aisle, the 11,000-seat arena is close to sold out, packed with fans of his work such as me and local church groups showing up by the busloads to hear Joel and his wife, Victoria, backed by a soft-rock band, deliver their “message of hope” for the next two hours. The event, which very much feels like a concert, is also being broadcast live on Sirius XM Radio.
Trish and I are seated in the second row, directly behind Joel’s eighty-three-year-old mom, a thin woman from Texas with big hair to prove it. After an upbeat introduction from the attractive band (cymbal clash! guitar solo! thumping bass!), Joel charges out onstage in his perfectly tailored blue suit and shiny black shoes, a smile as wide as the Texas Panhandle.
Joel strides across the stage and back again, both his hands free to gesticulate due to the presence of a tiny mike clipped to his jacket, thanking the crowd, most of whom are on their feet (including me), for coming to the Night of Hope.
“God can turn things around in a split second,” Joel says, beaming. “God’s going to accelerate your dreams and bring things to pass sooner than expected. Let tonight be a new beginning for your life.”
He introduces his attractive, blond wife, Victoria, who bounds onto the stage and holds hands with Joel. Their stagecraft scores a little high on the Hilary Clinton Stiffness Scale. Even so, I find that I am smiling and genuinely like them.
“Maybe tonight you need to take off a coat of heaviness, a coat of discouragement, a coat of self-pity,” Joel tells his congregation. “Take off that old coat and put on a coat of praise, of thanksgiving, of gratefulness to God.” The crowd applauds, the first of dozens of palm-slapping breaks of praise.
Over the next two hours, between interludes of Christian rock, follows a Bible-based pump-up session that reminds me of when a speaker comes to a corporate retreat to fire up the troops, or a Tony Robbins seminar.
After a long week of work at E! News in which I got paid to gossip about reality stars and sex-crazed socialites, Joel’s aphorisms of positivity and hope make me feel like this spiritual journey I’ve been on for the better part of the last year is something I want to spend tonight celebrating. I decide I’m not going to judge Joel and sit here and intellectualize the influence his celebrity-like image and star quality is having on this crowd. I am not going to let my inner voice interfere with having a fun, innocent night of uplifting words from a guy who helps a lot of people feel less alone, less isolated, and more hopeful. His message manages to be based in scripture while not being of the offensive “follow Jesus or go to hell” variety. So as I settle in my seat I take a vow: Rather than question, analyze, and dissect, I will listen, absorb, and receive.
Which is easy to do when every other line out of Joel’s mouth is something worth taping on my bathroom mirror:
“Happiness is a choice we make each day.”
“Seeds of discouragement cannot take root in a grateful heart.”
“Find something to be grateful for.”
“Don’t bring negative baggage from yesterday into today.”
“Let every day be a new beginning.”
“He’s not just the God of perfect people, he is the God of imperfect people too.”
“You wouldn’t be alive unless God had another victory up in front of you.”
“Let tonight be a new beginning in your life.”
“You can feel good about who you are knowing that God picked you and put seeds of greatness on the inside.”
“You don’t need someone else’s applause. I would rather have God’s applause than people’s applause.”
“A promotion doesn’t come from people, it comes from the Lord.”
“Life goes better when you put God in first place.”
“The forces that are for you are greater than the forces that are against you.”
The energy of Joel’s night has been building up to this: a guitar-backed crescendo of feel-good adjectives—“Lord, we are blessed, we are prosperous, we are redeemed, forgiven, talented, creative, confident, secure, prepared, qualified, motivated, equipped, empowered, anointed, accepted, and approved!” The band turns it up. “In Jesus’s name!”
Joel slows it down. “Quit fighting it, quit trying to make everything work out your way, and just release control. Let those winds blow you to where God wants you to go. When you release control, quit worrying and losing sleep, and say, ‘God, I trust you.’ ”
Then comes the “call to action” that happens at the end of every Christian revival. Joel asks us to bow our heads and softens his voice, imploring anyone who “needs a fresh, new start, or new beginning, to take the step of faith and stand where you are.” I sneak a glance around the arena and see hundreds of people—young and old, of all races and ethnicities—getting to their feet, many raising their hands as if giving heaven a high-five. It’s a heartwarming sight to see so many people showing their spiritual hunger in such a public, vulnerable way. But I am not among them. I have received and appreciated his message, and I am buoyed by his words.
“C’mon, Ontario!” Joel exults. “Let’s give them a hand clap!”
The congregation obliges the joyous leader.
“The angels are rejoicing in heaven right now. It is gonna be a new beginning in your life. Let us pray, Lord, Jesus, I repent of my sins. Come into my heart. Wash me clean. I’ll make you my Lord and savior.” Joel looks up and smiles. “If you stood up, you are starting with a fresh, clean slate!”
After Joel leaves the stage, Joel’s publicist comes to get me and Trish. She escorts us back to a VIP room underneath the seats. As we wait for Joel, I joke to Trish that VIP stands for “Very Important Pray-ers.” Trish, embarrassed that I said it so loud among the other fans, elbows me in the ribs. “Ken! Shush!”
“What did you think?” I ask Trish, who, unlike me, is a regular churchgoer and self-described Christian.
“I loved it,” she says. “He’s a really gifted speaker. Thanks for inviting me.”
Trish tilts her head. “And what did you think?”
I tilt my head in kind. “Well, I think this is exactly what I needed to do tonight. I am exactly where I am supposed to be.”
“That’s so Zen of you,” she says.
I nod.
Joel walks in with his wife and starts shaking hands and greeting the other VIPs. Eventually, he gets to me. He firmly shakes my hand. “I know who you are!” he enthuses.
“Do you watch E!?” I’m taken aback that a TV preacher watches the cable network of the flamboyant Kardashians and bitchy Fashion Police squad.
“I believe I do,” says Joel, whom I notice is wearing as much makeup as I do for my work. “I recognize you. I do, I do. Good job!”
“Shouldn’t you be reading the Bible instead?” I joke.
“Maybe, maybe,” Joel says, adding, “but we all need a little break every now and then.”
I convince Trish to take a quick picture on her phone of Joel posing with me. After, I lean in to Joel and tell him over the VIP room chatter, “You know, in my line of work, people come up to me and say, ‘I’m a fan.’ But I wanted to tell you that I am a receiver of yours. I am a receiver of your gifts.”
He smiles and graciously replies, “I like that, thank you. Well said. God bless.”
I didn’t accept Jesus tonight. But I leave the arena having accepted what I believe is a greater truth: That I can appreciate and receive benefits from a message based on a faith in which I do not exclusively or entirely believe. I no longer need to stress about having to be entirely committed to a faith tradition in order to reap some wisdom and peace from it. If I am listening, learning, and doing so with the intention of hope, love, and insight, then I am living in faith. And for now, that is enough for me. Maybe this is what experiencing the Holy Spirit is all about.