by Tanya Levin
It was a matter of formality and some curiosity that I downloaded Christian City Church’s re-inauguration ceremony for Pastor Pat Mesiti. Dr Phil Pringle officiated over the proceedings on 19 February 2006. Pat, his new wife and baby were prayed over before Pat began to explain himself. And I find my pile of socks going unsorted as Pat introduces a whole new genre in motivation, and describes the same old textbook story, only this time it’s reconfigured to celebrate the AoG, and the power of God’s forgiveness.
In standard fashion, Mr Motivation, as he calls himself on his website, does not specify the situation that lead to his depastorisation in 2002. Instead his past is a springboard for a new flavour of snake oil. ‘I was a bad bad person, but I’m great now, thanks to God.’
Pat reminds people early to tithe and keep going to church. He found he always had money in the bank.
Frighteningly Pat describes at lengths the various forms of psychological distress his situation caused him. He describes acute and chronic memory loss, hearing voices, suicidal thoughts and sleep problems. His marriage ended in divorce, his daughters were devastated and he was publicly shamed. His career didn’t suffer too badly. His motivational website describes all his achievements minus the details about their being Pentecostal-related.
Pat is back. He did four years of restoration; whatever that entails we are not specifically told. He has a new young wife, a new baby, a new congregation, and new ways to serve the kingdom. Same same.
My breathing increased, and my heart started pounding. ‘C’mon church,’ says Pat, ‘I’m preaching better than you’re responding.’ The show must go on.
Fundamentalism won’t leave me alone. It continues to upset me despite my best efforts to exit, stage right. It is arrogantly dominating the world’s resources, and exploiting humans in innumerable splintering ways.
Apparently lots of people already knew this and tell me that all churches are corrupt and my work here was obsolete before it began. I consider correcting them and saying, ‘But we were the puritans, the simple bible-believing Christians with no stained glass or statues. It was supposed to be different for us.’ These days, however, I try to be more dispassionate and wonder why, if that’s the general consensus, is the whole charade of church allowed to go on? But, goodness, this is crazy talk. We couldn’t possibly live without organised religion, and all the benefits that are added unto us.
The residue of religion remains with me in some undeniable ways. Like my inability to fathom why there’s enough food and we still have starving people in the world. All I’m wondering is if we Feed the World, is it really so important to let them know it’s Christmas time?
Jewels tells me there’s an Emerging Church, a new Christian movement who are very cross with the prosperity family and while not yet gaining the airtime, want to take Christianity’s future back to where it was supposed to be, saving the world. She said they estimate that if the tithes the US gave went to world aid, they could feed the world in a year. I’m a Jewish mother now, and I want everyone to eat, eat. And the die-hard Pentecostal in me knows that would be a miracle worth paying for. Amen?
AND THE BAND PLAYED ON
Chapter 24
BLANK SPACE
Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth the law, happy is he.
—Proverbs 29:18
Therefore this is what the Sovereign Lord says: Because of your false words and lying visions, I am against you, declares the Sovereign Lord. My hand will be against the prophets who see false visions and utter lying divinations. They will not belong to the council of my people or be listed in the records of Israel, nor will they enter the land of Israel. Then you will know that I am the Sovereign Lord.
—Ezekiel 13:8–9
There’s no doubt that Brian Houston’s agenda regarding world domination has been explicit for over twenty years. In 1993 he outlined his vision of the way he wanted the church to go. His first hope, in his ‘I Have a Dream’ speech, was not for love or peace, but for influence: ‘The Church that I see is a Church of influence. A Church so large in size that the city and nation cannot ignore it. A Church growing so quickly that buildings struggle to contain the increase.’
His second wish was for a church ‘whose heartfelt praise and worship touches Heaven and changes earth; worship which influences the praises of people throughout the earth, exalting Christ with powerful songs of faith and hope’. Indeed, the music of Hillsong is now inescapable in most of the Christian music world, and beyond it.
Brian’s vision included a church ‘dependent on the Holy Spirit’. At number five on the list was his desire that Hillsong ‘gets out a message beamed to the peoples of the earth through their television screens’. Then he dreamt of compassionate people filling the buildings. Then he dreamt about the cost. ‘I see a people so Kingdom-minded that they will count whatever the cost and pay whatever the price to see revival sweep this land.’
And cost it does. The Hillsong conference will set you back $350 this year. The Young & Free event, for students in Year 7 to Year 12, is only $109.
‘The Church that I see is a Church so committed to raising, training and empowering a leadership generation to reap the end-time harvest that all its ministries are consumed with this goal,’ is the eighth item on Brian’s wish-list. Hillsong is still very much consumed by its goal of producing more leaders of Hillsong chapters. Internationally, there are more ambitious pastors than ever. Many more have now been called, but even fewer are chosen.
Brian’s final vision was of a ‘Church whose head is Jesus, whose help is the Holy Spirit and whose focus is the Great Commission.’ My guess is that Brian thinks the Great Commission is what you make from being a famous pastor.
Some business leaders suggest that it is Brian Houston’s visionary approach which has appealed to so many faithful. His emphasis on the church’s future greatness has been effective, in large part courtesy of a people who will count whatever the cost and pay whatever the price. Houston has achieved what thousands of hopeful evangelical pastors can only pray and fast about: world influence and a movie from Warner Bros. And Justin Bieber in the front row.
Pop-singing idol Bieber has been the messiah of teenage girls for some years now, having been plucked from obscurity on YouTube. His devotees are called Beliebers and follow him with religious zeal. Were Bieber to say the word—or, better yet, promise to follow them on Twitter—a significant demographic of eager-to-please young women would tithe their babysitting dollars to Hillsong right now, and well into the future.
Bieber has made no secret of his attraction to Hillsong and its pastor in New York, Carl Lentz, even tweeting a thankyou note to Lentz in which he described how he ‘broke down’ during one morning’s service. During his latest break-up with his long-term girlfriend, Selena Gomez, Bieber stayed with Lentz and his family. No wonder Brian proudly displayed a photo of Bieber holding a Houston grandson, Zion. Especially since Bieber had recently brought Kendall Jenner, Kim Kardashian’s younger sister, to Hillsong with him. While it is always amusing to see a Kardashian in church, the meaning of her appearance was clear: the church’s quest for celebrity had been achieved.
Lentz himself was always destined for Hillsong success. Arriving in Sydney in 2001 to attend bible college, he stood out from the crowd. Those who knew him back then speak of a tall, fit, handsome man who was driven, determined, charismatic and well-liked. Lentz married Laura, the daughter of pastor Kevin Brett, an old friend of Brian Houston’s. It was a perfect match: Laura lent an Australian edge to Carl’s New York attitude, and gained him dual citizenship in Hillsong pastoring.
The Lentzes have been running Hillsong NYC for the last four years. Carl’s message, very, very simply, he says, is the love of Jesus. In interviews, Lentz is vague about what Hillsong stands for, apart from acceptance. Watching him speak is breathtaking. I’ve seen infomercials that were more educational, with a more rigorous theological base. He told K
atie Couric, ‘We’re about talking to people about their heart and the condition of their soul, and some of that stuff out-works itself. But we’re not trying to change anybody because we can’t.’1 The rest is a conversation, he says. As Laura told CNN last June, ‘It’s not our place to tell anyone how they should live. That’s their journey.’
This is the antithesis of what American Christians have been told for decades. The evangelicals of old were judgemental and full of shame, even when they gave up the fire and brimstone. Americans were told what they must not do, especially with their bodies, if they wanted to go to heaven. Don’t eat too much, drink too much, smoke, have sex, have abortions, watch porn, be gay, do drugs—the list is endless. Now Hillsong is telling people that it’s all just a conversation on a journey. We are not pro-abortion, says Lentz, but we’re not going to throw you out of church for it either.
What a relief for Middle America. We are all on faith journeys, and if people make mistakes, so be it. We can have a conversation about it.
Fortunately tithing and faith journeys are not mutually exclusive. It is impossible to maintain the revenues required for the show to go on if every sinner is ostracised. Thus, the theology of Hillsong has become dependent on its congregation, not the other way around, as has been traditional in most religions. ‘Acceptance’ is far more profitable than condemnation.
This is also due to the independent nature of Pentecostal churches. Unlike in the Anglican and Catholic worlds, there is no income protection for a small or struggling church. Numbers must be maintained for basic survival. Pastors, too, are often unable to find an income outside their religion. Many have no other training; atheist spokesman Sam Harris has estimated that up to a third of US evangelical pastors are actually atheists but have no other way to gain employment.
Carl Lentz’s current greatest challenge is how to address the issue of the non-heterosexuals in his congregation. In an August 2013 post, gay blogger Ben Gresham wrote about a message entitled ‘Scandal of Grace’ that Brian Houston recorded at Hillsong London and broadcast to all the church campuses.2 According to the blogger’s transcription, Houston said, ‘The one elephant in the room for churches around the world at the moment is the gay situation. What would Jesus do? … There’s lots of hatred out there, but in the middle of it all you know there are three things: the world of the times we live in, the weight we live with and the word we live by.’
Houston noted that ‘the world has changed quickly’ and said, ‘With the word we live by, many people have various convictions. In the middle of it all, know that Jesus, when it comes to people, would let nothing stop Him from breaking through a divide to help hurting, broken, everyday normal people like you and I.’
During a trip to New York in October 2014, Brian unwittingly caused controversy by saying during a press conference, ‘We feel, at this point, that it is an ongoing conversation, that the real issues in people’s lives are too important for us just to reduce it down to a yes or no answer in a media outlet. So we’re on the journey with it.’
The next week Houston backtracked, after attracting severe criticism from other churches. ‘I encourage people not to assume a media headline accurately represents what I said at a recent press conference,’ he said in a statement published on Hillsong’s website.
‘Nowhere in my answer did I diminish biblical truth or suggest that I or Hillsong Church supported gay marriage. My personal view on the subject of homosexuality would line up with most traditionally held Christian views. I believe the writings of Paul are clear on this subject.
‘I was asked a question on how the Church can stay relevant in the context of gay marriage being legal in the two states of the US where we have campuses. My answer was simply an admission of reality—no more and no less. I explained that this struggle for relevance was vexing as we did not want to become ostracized by a world that needs Christ.’3
For his part, Carl Lentz has refused to budge from his non-committal stance on same-sex marriage, saying a public forum is not appropriate for such a complex and case-by-case situation.
Critics argue that Hillsong has become aware of the LGBT dollar, as well as of the rejection and pain many LGBT people have suffered in their earlier church experiences; the church, they say, is capitalising on this without openly forsaking its traditional Pentecostal values about the literal interpretation of the Bible. Whatever the case, those who do not identify as heterosexual have very little scope for involvement in Hillsong beyond quiet attendance. Any kind of leadership role is not an option.
Then there’s the overarching question: how much money do they really have? As one ex-pastor told me, ‘Everything on Hillsong is run on a shoestring budget. Nobody knows where all that money goes.’ Documents lodged with the Australian Securities and Investments Commission in 2013 stated the church’s income as $69 million, and gave a very brief outline of its expenditure. A former youth leader told me that over one special donations weekend, following a strong, heavily marketed drive for giving, Sydney Hillsong took in $10 million.
If 30,000 people attend the annual Sydney Hillsong conference, that alone raises over $10 million. Bible college students help with ushering, parking, administration and other menial work. It is a requirement of their course to ‘volunteer’ for such tasks. During the week, Hillsong does not pay for venues, performers or equipment hire; it has its own publishing, sales and distribution networks for its music, books and DVDs. And, of course it pays no tax. What does all this mean for its profit margins? You be the judge.
Hillsong has boasted for many years that it has an open-book policy. All anyone has to do is ask, and the finances are available for viewing. This has been reassuring enough for most attendees; few have taken the leaders up on the offer. Only one has done so and reported the results publicly.
Steve West joined Hillsong in 1999, when he was seventeen years old. He quickly adapted to the lifestyle and enjoyed the social scene. He attended bible college in 2001–02 and spent most of his time at the church headquarters. Steve felt that he knew Hillsong so well that he was comfortable defending it online and promoting the good that Hillsong did. On one Christian forum Steve was challenged about Hillsong’s finances. Where did the money come from, and where exactly was it being spent? Steve decided to end the debate by approaching the leadership and asking to see the books.
After requesting an appointment in 2006, West waited four months to meet George Aghajanian, Hillsong’s general manager. Aghajanian was very happy to show West the church’s total revenue and expenditure. West asked for more information. For the remainder of the meeting, Aghajanian discussed the sorts of items that were in the Hillsong budget. The community outreach teams needed support. The mortgage on the church’s buildings had to be paid; the electricity bills, administrative costs, staff salaries all added up. Try as he might, West was unable to extract any more detailed breakdown of the figures beyond the two original totals. He left empty-handed, leading him to question what he had been taught. His strongly held beliefs eventually unravelled, and today he describes himself as an atheist.
The scandals have been ongoing, yet the church’s attendance continues to grow. In 2008 the Sydney Morning Herald’s Ruth Pollard did an in-depth investigation into Mercy Ministries, the residential program for young women ‘in trouble’. Started in the USA by an ex-juvenile detention officer turned minister, Nancy Alcorn, to house the unmarried and pregnant, it grew into a place where young women with eating disorders and drug and alcohol problems could go to rehabilitate. In Australia, the program was touted as being free and professional. It was neither.
At the end of 2007, a young woman emailed me who had spent several months as a client of Mercy Ministries. She had been referred there by her local church, in the hope she would be able to stop self-harming and deal with her depression, which stemmed from an abusive childhood. ‘Meg’ emerged from the home in Queensland in measurably
worse state than when she entered it.
When she first wrote to me, she was terrified she would be identified. She lived in fear Mercy Ministries would discover she was speaking out negatively about them, and that repercussions would follow. While she was not sure what these would be, the nightmares, panic attacks and fears for her safety were ongoing.
Slowly, Meg’s desire for justice grew stronger, and over time she was able to tell her story. She had been kept in a house where she was subject to exorcism rituals, condemned, manipulated and threatened. The program was far from cost-free. Rather, Mercy Ministries retained 90 per cent of any government benefits the women were on, leaving them around $15 per week to pay their tithe to the church as well as to buy personal items, including toiletries.
There were no professionals. The women were supervised by bible college students and other administrative staff. Young women with complex psychological, social and family issues were subject to the opinions of naive but self-righteous Hillsong college students, who felt comfortable performing exorcisms on their charges. One night Meg was told that the electricity in the building had failed because of all her demons.
The results were catastrophic for others, too. Naomi, a resident in another home, dropped ten kilograms in weight after her stay at Mercy Ministries, having entered the program to treat her longstanding anorexia nervosa. This was due largely to the lack of any professional intervention. By the time she returned to her parents’ home, she had to be hospitalised. Overweight women were given smaller portions of food and woken earlier than other residents, in order for them to exercise more, with the curtains in their rooms open so they could be watched. The underweight were pressured to eat.