Joel Osteen and the Littlest Big Church in the World

One of the Biggest Congregations in the Country

I’m curious about Houston’s vast Lakewood Church, housed in a 16,700-seat arena that not so long ago was home to the Houston Rockets, I’m curious about the church, but also the pastor, the effervescent Joel Osteen. He’s built one of the biggest congregations in the entire country. How did it get so big? What’s his secret sauce for the church’s meteoric growth? Are his pearly whites as mesmerizing in person as on television?

I’m immediately taken aback by what I see. From vast parking lots surrounding the building, a steady stream of people heads inside. This is not what I expected. It’s Saturday.

Folks seem curiously happy for 8 o’clock on their day off.

I hear Christmas music blaring upstairs and follow the crowd to a room packed with volunteers. They’re stuffing Christmas boxes for children all over the world. Every volunteer is wearing reindeer antlers and seems to be glowing with joy. My experience with church volunteers has always been little, old white ladies whipping up cookies. This crowd is the polar opposite – 200+ people of all ages, races, creeds and colors filling what they call the “Servolution.” No more than 25 percent are Caucasian and nearly half are Hispanic. A video presentation comes on and the crowd gives it their total attention. It’s the story of a woman who received one of these Operation Christmas Child boxes as a youngster. As she explains the effect it had on her life, I see workers blinking back tears.

"Who are these extraordinary people?"

A heaviness fills the room, but is quickly supplanted by a “let’s do this” feeling as the Christmas music kicks back up. Instructions – written and verbal – are given in English and Spanish, and I notice how many of the volunteers are here to manage and serve the volunteers. I meet Joyce, who helps organize these events. She is lovely and glowing and engages me like a dear friend. All these people are all just so nice, I’m talking “you just walked in to Chick-Fil-A” nice.

Joyce is quick to explain to me all about Servolution and proudly rattles off how Pastor Joel has inspired her and others to help in the community. She deluges me with details of the outreach efforts – including women’s shelters, helping the homeless, medical assistance, feeding local families, helping people prepare their taxes. She goes on and on. When I ask about world missions, she says they do trips and disaster-support like most churches, but that Pastor Joel’s father, the late John Osteen, always said, “The light that shines the farthest, shines brightest at home.”

Who are these extraordinary people? Have I been set up? I’m reminded of the scene in the movie Funny Farm where Chevy Chase is trying to sell his house by staging a seemingly perfect rural, pastoral scene, and a director off-camera calls: “…cue the deer.”

"Helping others is the best way to help yourself."

I try to dig a little deeper and engage a few people in conversation. I find a man in his mid-40’s with a scruffy, salt-and-pepper beard happily stuffing boxes. He’s having entirely too much fun so early on a Saturday morning. I ask him why he is doing this and he eagerly replies, “It’s for the kids. We want to show them the love of Jesus and bring them joy.” As the conversation continues, it doesn’t take long for me to realize that, while filled with joy, this is a broken, imperfect man. He’s going thru a divorce. He blames himself and begins to encourage me to look at my own relationship with my spouse, “If you treat every day with your wife like it’s your last, it never will be.” He goes on to tell me that he’s here today to serve because it helps him deal with the pain of a failed marriage.

I meet a woman who has recently lost a child, then several workers who have lost their jobs. One man, who has been without work for months, explains to me how blessed he is. “I’m so lucky to be in good health. There are so many people struggling with illness. The world is full of people who would gladly trade a job for health.”

It’s starting to sink in for me now. I’ve always heard the Osteen message was just, “be a better you” but to these people, that means helping others. It means, no matter what trials you have, there is someone worse off – and helping them is the best way to help yourself.

"The entire group gathers to pray over the boxes."

Each box is not only stuffed with food and other goodies, but includes a personal note (some in Spanish). “You are special!” reads one I see. “God loves you. He wants you safe and happy. I love you!”

I realize this may be a message for the packer as well as the kid who will eventually open it. The boxes are now nearing completion, thousands of them, stacked to the ceiling. Before loading them up into the truck – also provided by a volunteer – the entire group gathers to pray over the boxes, first in English, then in Spanish. Every eye is closed, every head bowed, every hand on a box, as the energetic crowd now quickly calms down, laser-focusing their energy on praying for every child, delivery driver, every pilot and village courier who touch these boxes on their journey.

It’s a touching moment that sums up the day. These people care, deeply. I imagine they will pray for these boxes until they know they’ve been delivered. Actually, they will continue to pray for the recipients.

As I ponder that thought, I meet Eunice, a brilliant young lady from Kenya attending college in Houston. She’s been there today helping. She explains to me how, as a child, she received one of the Operation Christmas Child boxes, “… it was the highlight of my year.” Wow. Cue the deer.

Joyce scurries over and tells me I still have time to get over to “The Beacon.”

"It's not a typical homeless shelter."

It’s not a typical homeless shelter. Here they seek “to respect the human dignity of the poor and improve their lives.” They expect maybe 150,000 visits this year, people needing food, showers, laundry, counseling or all of the above. When I arrive, I immediately notice that volunteers aren’t just from Lakewood, but are wearing shirts that say they’re from the Chinese Church of Houston. I am astonished; in my Bible Belt upbringing, churches were extremely territorial -- in a “Mets vs Yankees” kind of way. It was as much about getting people in seats as getting souls in shape. I rarely see churches intermingling – after all, it could have a negative impact on the weekly offering.

Unlike at the Christmas box stuffing, volunteers here are seeing immediate results – vital needs being met right here and now. People are eating warm meals and have put on clean clothes that they didn’t have when they walked in the door. I ask one particularly rough-looking fellow what he thinks of Lakewood.

“I’ve never been to the church, but they are good people and they really care. They don’t preach at me or make me feel bad; they just ask what I need. And they listen.”

"Listening to a sermon is not required before a meal can be provided."

Actually they do offer a Bible study at The Beacon, but listening to a sermon is not required before a meal can be provided. Several volunteers share with me crafts that clients did in the Bible study that morning. They are proud, in very much the same way as I am of my children’s finger-paintings. In fact, I’m fairly certain that this artwork will end up proudly displayed on a Lakewood volunteer’s home fridge.

Roaming around, I see the sea of blue-shirted Lakewood volunteers helping everyone they can. I meet Greg, a pleasant, articulate and well-dressed man who has volunteered for the last year. He’s not a Lakewood attendee and therefore doesn’t sport the blue shirt. He explains that he once was homeless and found help at The Beacon. He tells of how the loss of his mother led to major depression and how his life just “spiraled out of control.”

When I asked which of the services provided meant the most to him – the warm food, shower, laundry – he answers, “None of those really. What helped me the most was that there was someone to listen. When I became homeless, I lost my voice, figuratively. That’s what I loved about the people from Lakewood, they listened, they cared.” He goes on to explain that while a hand out helped him eat, it did little for his soul. He fought through his depression by starting to help others, by listening to them, by helping them find their voice again. Now he is here every day, ready to lend a helping hand, but more importantly, ready to be a sounding board of hope and encouragement. As he wraps up his story, a couple proud blue-shirters give him a hug.

"I'm not sure what to expect but it should be epic."

On my way out, I ask a deeply weathered older man sporting a torn stocking cap. “What does Lakewood Church mean to Houston?” He smiles, revealing missing teeth and an infectious grin. He pauses, looks me right in the eye and confidently exclaims, “Son, Lakewood is Houston.”

I leave The Beacon and head back to my hotel, I came here to tell a story, but I feel like I’ve learned as much about myself as I have about Lakewood. What am I doing to help people? How many do I walk by every single day that just want me to listen? Is tithing my 10 percent really all I need to be doing to be a good Christian? I mean, I have my PayPal set up to help my adopted girl in Haiti but … what was her name again? Ugh.

I try to rest up since tomorrow is the Evangelical Superbowl, well, actually just the regular Sunday morning service at the headquarters of hope. The spectacle should be awesome. Fireworks? Flag corps? Smoke machines? A release of live doves? I’m not sure what to expect but it should be epic! Cue, the sleep.

The next morning, after a couple cups of hotel coffee, I’m ready to go. I’m off to the second service and from my hotel window I can see a mass of people, half coming in, half going out. When I start to make my way over, I notice the same thing as the day before – a very diverse crowd, but not just in race, but in everything. I see both Prada and Payless shoes. I see a man in a $1,000 suit conversing with a fellow in blue jeans and a t-shirt. I’m fairly certain I even see some Democrats.

"Everyone, and I mean everyone, is carrying a Bible."

One very interesting thing: Everyone and I mean everyone is carrying a Bible. In the bustling lobby, I meet my guide for the day, Andrea. Once these escalators were filled with anxious Houston Rockets fans ready to cheer Hakeem Olajuwan catching an alley-oop from Sleepy Floyd. But today they are here for hope, not hoops.

Despite the sheer massiveness of the facility and vast number of people moving about, there is something curiously cozy about the place. Andrea explains that Joel has made every effort, from the carpet to the signs to the seats to the lighting, to make this feel less like an arena and more like a church. It works. It certainly helps that there are cheery volunteers at every turn. Every one of them tells me how much they like to serve. Somehow getting up two hours early is an honor in their world. When I ask how many volunteers there are for a typical Sunday I am utterly floored by the answer, “Approximately 5,000.” WHAT?! I try to catch my breath and Andrea adds that there are also a couple hundred paid church staffers as well.

I used to work as a church janitor back in the day (hey it was the Lord’s work) and to get someone to help me often required bribery – which included rides in my 1985 Pontiac Fiero, access to the church candy coffers and, for those with less integrity, a peek at the answers for next week’s Bible Bowl questions. The idea that Lakewood could drum up 5,000 happy, willing volunteers just blows my mind. It all goes back to the philosophy here I suppose, the 5,000 are here not only to serve but to help themselves in the process. It’s amazing, but it kind of makes sense.

Time’s a’wasting and I’m anxious to see everything, so I head over to the kids’ area. Having four of my own, ages 6, 4, 2 and 1 (yes, I married Superwoman), I know how important a good children’s program is for a church.

"These wee ones are having praise and worship."

On the bottom floor, I see room after room of nurseries, all well-staffed, kiddo-themed and cozy. Then I come to “The Champion’s Club” -- a special series of rooms just for kids with autism and other special needs. Andrea explains that when you have this many people in your congregation, there are just as many needs. These rooms are specialized -- some padded and filled with science-based stimulation lights and machines. Other rooms are colorful, loaded with computers, puzzles, everything one of these precious children might need. Andrea tells me they have up to 100 such children a week and more than 20 volunteers to help. It’s a touching scene and a reminder of how “the Church” should be positioned to provide for such needs.

I head up to the next floor and Andrea explains that each floor up, the kids get older. On the elevator, there are four kids, ages seven to ten, mixed races and background, but each of them has a well-used Bible tucked under their arm. I find myself questioning some of Osteen’s critics who claim he’s not teaching the Bible but instead a watered-down prosperity message enhanced with glittering promises. I’ve been to hundreds of churches and I can honestly say I’ve never been to one with so many people carrying a Bible. It’s actually difficult to spot someone over 6 years old without a Bible.

When I head into Children’s Church, I find something very different than I’m used to. This is actually church. These wee ones are having praise and worship. Even more amazing, they are being led by other children, just slightly older. There’s a band, including a horn section and a violinist, and the instrumentalists are all children. There’s an all-kid singing “worship team” and the entire vibe is a mini-church, essentially the kid-friendly version of what is now happening in the main sanctuary. It’s pretty awesome and each floor up, it gets a little better. When I was a kid, “Children’s Church” generally consisted of a lovely blue-haired lady fumbling through a flannelgraph presentation of David slaying Goliath, followed by “crafts” in which we glued uncooked pinto beans to a paper plate to form a rudimentary image of Nebucadnezzar.

"I see humility in Osteen."

Here at Lakewood, after praise and worship, the kids are ushered off to Bible class by grade. Andrea talks about how much emphasis Joel puts on giving everything a biblical foundation. That starts with children learning and understanding the Bible. On television, Joel Osteen plants seeds, but here, in these rooms is what you don’t see on TV. This is where the church works the soil, brings the rainwater and helps those seeds take root.

It’s time to head to the adult service. There, the music is wrapping up and Joel is about to take the stage. I settle in my seat just as Joel begins – just as he does every sermon – asking every person to raise his Bible (iPad in my case) and recite after him. EVERYONE has a Bible. He asks anyone needing prayer to come down, just like in every smaller church in America, Osteen steps down from the stage to assist the elders in praying for all those in need.

Andrea explained to me that Osteen is a working pastor who knows the importance of one on one interaction. He performs church-wide baptisms a couple times a year and oversees every detail in pastoral operations though he's quick to give credit to his pastoral staff.

I see humility in Osteen. Today’s message is one about dealing with change and the different seasons in our lives. I feel less like he is preaching at me, and more like he is talking with me. He’s funny, charming and inspiring, but also not afraid to challenge one’s thinking.

At first the message seems very general, but then, even though I’m here to report, not repent, it connects with something deeply personal in my life. Judging by the reaction of the crowd, it is connecting with them as well.

"He’s perhaps the most effective preacher I’ve ever heard."

There is no escalating tempo, no change in the volume of his voice or swelling music cues like I’m accustomed to. Joel just keeps delivering his well-prepared message, filled with hope and packed with practical examples. He’s perhaps the most effective preacher I’ve ever heard. He isn’t teaching a Bible lesson, he is teaching a life lesson in which he frequently references Jesus, the Father and key Bible verses. He’s planting seeds.

The sermon winds down and Osteen invites all visitors to meet with him afterwards. This I have to see. I make my way up to the main concourse and a line has already formed – hundreds of people waiting to meet Joel. Within minutes, Osteen arrives, sporting his infectious smile. I decide to work the line and first meet young wrestlers from Austin, they are an inner-city youth wrestling team, ages 13-17, in town for a match. They came to see their favorite preacher, a guy they watch on the Internet every week.

Some of the people in the line are there to get prayer from Joel and he kindly obliges. Others are there for a brush with celebrity. There are even three Muslim women in line although I don’t get to speak much with them. Osteen spends the better part of an hour shaking hands, greeting and praying for everybody. It’s crystal clear that this is a genuine real-deal guy. His effervescent smile started long before his days on TV and unlike many of his preacher-kid counterparts, he was not groomed to take over his father’s church. He just ended up with it when his father suddenly passed away and Joel was thrust from behind the camera to in front of it.

"I came to find spectacle, but I found something else instead."

I get a few minutes with Joel before I have to head to the airport. He confirms everything I have observed. He’s fun and approachable. He asks me about my family, my wife and if I have children. He’s genuinely in love with the people of Lakewood, Houston and the world. He believes God works through him, reluctantly at times, to be a harbinger of hope. I give him every opportunity to take a jab at his critics, but he refuses. He’s the Tim Tebow of preachers. He invites anyone who is skeptical to come, please, and be his guest at Lakewood.

“We have nothing to hide,” he says. “We are here to serve, we love people, all people.” Osteen has figured out something that my grandpa once told me. Some people like to be negative. Arguing with them is like wrestling a pig in the mud. You both get dirty, but only the pig enjoys it.

It’s now time for me to head out and the only evidence of the enormity of this church I’m left with is the seemingly marathon-like hike across the vast parking lot. My time here, while enjoyable, has gone much differently than expected.

I came to behold a spectacle, but what I found was quite possibly the littlest big church in the world.