About the time the indoor fireworks started to explode near the pulpit of Cornerstone Church in Nashville, Tennessee while confetti rained down alongside red, white, and blue balloons, it occurred to me that the thousands of people in attendance were in absolute ecstasy, their team had won. That’s because mega-churches in the south now have more in common with sporting events than they do the churches of my youth. Over the past fifteen years as churches have waged metaphorical war with a surrounding society they see as increasingly immoral, licentious and lewd, many mega churches have embraced videos, music, and even, yep, literal fireworks from the pulpit. It’s all an attempt to make churches relevant to a younger, media-saturated society that previously considered the church stilted and out-of-date. At times the show is so overwhelming you almost forget you’re even in a church at all.

Cornerstone’s newest devotee is my dad, who was so moved by the first service he attended that he placed a twenty dollar bill in the offering bucket. This moved my mom to exclaim, “Your dad won’t give twenty dollars for anything.” Yet my dad was one of thousands of southerners who have found the muscular entertainment of southern Christianity to be an appealing option. My dad and mom had both been appealing to me to attend a service and their appeal finally won me over for Cornerstone’s Fourth of July service which bills itself as, “Nashville’s Largest Indoor Fireworks Show.” This phrase was so compelling that I accepted an invitation on the spot. Call it churchtainment or enterchurch or whatever garbled conglomeration of church and entertainment you’d like. Bottom line: it’s churchtastic. So I embarked upon the first ever Church Game Diary on Saturday July 1 of 2006:

Cornerstone Church: “At preacher…from North Carolina…”

1. Cornerstone is about a quarter-mile from the interstate and appears to occupy at least twenty acres. The current church structure itself is huge, about the size of a college basketball arena. The smaller, original church sits in the shadow of the current church, like an outdated stadium that will soon be replaced for parking. Upon turning into the church parking lot I come face-to-face with a large man wielding a glowing orange stick. There are at least six people directing cars where to park in the voluminous, and rapidly filling, lot. Yep, the church has parking lot attendants.

Ok, either these are parking lot attendants or props from the latest Star Wars movie. Either would be equally effective, but only one would be capable of sawing off hands.

2. Thankfully when I park there is no rapacious parking fee. Exiting the car an American flag billows in front of Cornerstone. The flag is huge. The largest I have ever seen. It is supported by a flag-pole as big around as three grown men. Joining my mom and dad for the walk in, we all gaze skyward. “It’s a pretty big flag,” my dad says.

You know how I hate to start internet rumors, but I believe the Cornerstone flag is the same one that was spread over Soldier Field in Chicago.

3. Entering Cornerstone is the equivalent of entering a stadium or arena, only you don’t need tickets. There are greeters…and giveaways. When asked whether this is our first visit, my parents say that it is mine. I am hustled to a table in the center of the room where I am provided a DVD entitled, “From Prison to Priesthood: The Testimony of Pastor Maury Davis.”

                         
Odds Michael Irvin has not seen this DVD: three million to one.

4. I almost bump into someone who is dressed like Uncle Sam. Uncle Sam beams at me. I’ve been at Cornerstone Church for three minutes and already seen more smiles than I have seen the rest of the week combined.
5. “Popcorn, get your popcorn,” calls a smiling teenage boy. “Cotton candy, cotton candy,” calls a cheerful teenage girl. “You need a coke,” asks another teenage boy who is committing the mortal sin of not smiling. (In the South every soda is a coke.) The refreshment line in the vestibule of the church is jammed.
6. I am wearing shorts, a t-shirt and flip-flops. This is perhaps the only church in America for which my attire is perfect. Hardly anyone has on a tie. More than half of both adults and children wear shorts. The crowd in the entranceway of the church could be heading anywhere: an amusement park, a football game or a quick trip to the grocery store.
7. We enter the sanctuary of the church after chatting with the parents of a former elementary school classmate of mine. The sanctuary is so large it could fit more than one jumbo American flag. There is seating for several thousand in ascending rows that end in the very back against billowing curtains. (Later I will read on the church’s website that the arena seats 3,200. http://www.cornerstonenashville.org/) The pulpit is also covered by a semi-circled curtain. There are probably several Broadway shows that would kill for this venue.
8. Already the seating area is jammed and we head to the far right of the arena where twice, before I am seated, teenage boys offer me a coke as they walk up and down the aisles. My mom is uncomfortable with our view. “We aren’t going to be able to see that well from here,” she says.
9. Pastor Maury Davis makes his first appearance. Davis is both the only man dressed in a suit and presumably the only man in the auditorium who has ever killed a man and been convicted of first degree murder. Davis’s gospel of redemption is infused by his own biography which includes serving 8.5 years in a Texas prison for murder. Davis informs the crowd that the teenagers are selling refreshments to make money for a trip to El Salvador. “This means if you feel like giving $5 for a .50 Coke, we won’t stop you.”

Meet Pastor Maury Davis.

10. The entire ceiling is covered by red, white, and blue balloons which are anchored in nets. A woman sits down behind us and Halloween somehow becomes a topic of her conversation. “Hell House was awesome last year,” she says.

The devil comes for a woman who had the gall to have an abortion at one Hell House. Awesome.

11. As the moments before the service tick away, teenagers set up giant rubberbands and begin shooting t-shirts into the stands. Seriously. A mad scramble ensues. My mom taps me on the shoulder, “They’ve lifted the curtains on the upper row. Let’s go.” We stand and move quickly in the direction of the seats facing the center of the stage. Around us t-shirts slam into the concrete walls like soft mortar shells. Teenage boys are wrestling one another for possession. We arrive at the new seats unscathed. “This is better,” my dad says.

The Cornerstone t-shirt launching was much more understated. There were no mascots.

12. We are on the very last row in the immediate center of the church. Around us, late arrivals are sprinting for seats. I am horrible at judging crowds but it appears to me there are at least three or four thousand people in the church. (Later I will find out there were 3,200).
13. We order some waters from one of the boys and drink them in our seats.
14. At precisely six on Saturday evening the curtains rise to reveal a 200 person choir swaying as they sing. Another American flag that immediately becomes the second largest flag I have ever seen is on the wall behind the choir. Red, white, and blue bunting is draped all over the choir box as if the World Series has arrived. I halfway expect a choir member to lean over the front row and snag a foul ball.

15. There are two huge jumbotron televisions on either side of the choir just alongside the baptismal founts.

Like so.

16. There are no hymnals in the church. Rather the choir is shown on the jumbrotrons with the lyrics to their hymns beneath them.
17. Pastor Maury Davis confidently strides onto the stage and gives notice to the politicians in the audience. The Lt. Gov. of Tennessee, John Wilder, is on the front row and a candidate for Nashville’s Mayor, Buck Dozier, is on the back row. Each stands and waves to the crowd as the spotlight brightens them.

The Lt. Gov. of Tennessee in the midst of making a scintillating political point…or sleeping.

18. The lights go out and the video screen shows a montage of church scenes accompanied by the song, “What I like About You.”
19. As soon as the song is over Davis returns and leads up to the passing around of the offering buckets by saying, “Jesus talked about money more than he did prayer, faith or family.”

Pastor Davis is presumably saving his “Jesus talked a lot about football” for the week after UT loses to Florida again. Thankfully this graphic can be projected on the jumbotron.

20. The offering buckets are passed around the church while the choir sings “America the Beautiful.” The buckets are tall and deep. When I was a child, there was an offering plate. Times change I suppose. My dad places an offering in the bucket. Later I ask him if he gave another twenty dollar bill, “Not that much this time,” he says perhaps chastened by my mom’s teasing.
21. The offering buckets are collected and several men emerge to carry buckets stacked much higher than their heads into a side-door of the stage. My dad nudges me and says, “They look like people who have been collecting all those plastic cups at Titans games,” he says. He is right.
22. Pastor Davis returns to the stage. “We live in the greatest country on earth,” he says to raucous applause. He runs through a short litany of the reasons we are the greatest country on earth. He closes by saying, “No Muslim country would have given me a second chance.” There is more raucous applause.

Perhaps no Muslim country would give Pastor Davis a second chance because he has a four-part DVD for sale moderately entitled Islam: An Evil Religion (A four part series).”

23. We all stand and do the Pledge of Allegiance. This is the first time I have done the pledge since high school graduation and I am vaguely uncomfortable with the words until I see them projected on each jumbotron.
24. A man emerges from the back of the stage and sings, “The Star-Spangled Banner.” My mom leans over to me, “Someone should say, play ball,” she says.
25. There is another soaring video montage featuring the voices of Ronald Reagan, George W. Bush, and Bill Clinton.
26. The arena is led in a group singing of “Old Macdonald Had a Farm” by young children. We are divided into four large sections: the duck, the pig, the cow and the chicken and are instructed to make the sounds of our animal at the appropriate time in the song. These sounds are, respectively: quack, quack, oink, oink, moo, moo, and cluck cluck. Seated in the exact center of the arena I am unsure whether we are to do the oink, oink of the pig or the moo, moo of the cow.  I incline my head in the direction of my mother and inquire, “Are we supposed to be the pigs or the cows?” “I’m not sure,” she says. The crowd minus my mom and I joins in enthusiastically. My father has no qualms about our role, “Moo, moo,” he says.

A staple of hymnals everywhere.

27. Pastor Davis returns to the stage to lead us through a litany of decades beginning, for some reason, with 1950. The lists include the price of milk, price of a car, price of a home, and sundry other unrelated facts. Then someone comes on stage and sings, “Jailhouse Rock.”
28. We hear more about the price of milk and the price of houses and other things I can’t remember. By way of introducing the 1960’s Davis states, “The 60’s are a decade we have yet to overcome.” Then three white women with black afros come on stage and sing a reworked Supremes song now entitled, “Saved. Healed, Delivered Jesus.” Not yet sated, we are treated to a bald white man emerging to sing James Brown’s, “I feel good.” Then Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.”

Almost like this, except three white women with black hair instead of orange. You can imagine how much cooler this was.

29. The 1970’s are represented by John Denver’s “Country Roads,” and “Lean on Me.”
30. For the 1980’s the first chords of “Sweet Home Alabama” are played and the buzz in the arena rises to a crescendo. It doesn’t matter where they are, if you play Sweet Home Alabama for a crowd of southerners, the roof is coming off the joint. It’s the Southern National Anthem.
31. For the 1990’s Davis proves how hip he is by, for some reason, including the introduction of Viagra as one of his 1990’s factoids. “Everybody Dance Now,” is played and an elementary-school age boy dances near the pulpit. His rendition of the robot and the worm bring down the house. The boy is dressed all in black and wears an Under-Armour shirt. Presumably the wick-away power of the shirt aids the dance.

Subtext: Even Christians get limp penises.

32. For some reason the litany of facts about the decades since 1950 ends, as does the music. Four women enter the stage and are identified as the “First Ladies Flag Committee.” One of them, Martha Washington, wears a white wig and old dress. The ensuing two hundred-years of American history are skipped and the other three women are Barbara Bush, Jackie Kennedy, and Hillary Clinton. Immediately the four women place their hands over their hearts and commence speaking, “I pledge allegiance to decorate America,” they say and continue until they have riffed on the entire pledge in a similarly witty vein.
33. Each woman reveals a new flag design they would suggest to replace our current flag. I rapidly lose sight of the point of the skit until Hillary’s character is reached and the Barbara Bush character says, “She don’t even know how to knit.” Evidently Barbara Bush don’t even know grammar. This provokes a mild titter from the crowd. Imagine, a woman who doesn’t know how to knit, the very nerve. Then Barbara Bush’s character brings down the evangelical house, “She don’t even know how to keep the britches on her husband,” she says.
34. I’ll say this: For all those Democrats who think Hillary Clinton could ever win a southern state in the Presidential election: Stop dreaming.

A grim-faced Clinton contemplates how her camp will respond to the “She don’t even know how to keep the britches on her husband” political debate.

35. The skit ends with, for some reason, the four first ladies singing along to Merle Haggard’s “The Fightin’ Side of Me.” My dad leans over to me, “I don’t really understand the purpose of this skit,” he says in a thought that was probably just echoed by everyone reading this.
36. There is another video montage on the jumbotrons. This one is entitled, “In God We Still Trust” and features close-ups of the Ten Commandments, the language on the dollar bill, students praying in school, George W. Bush and the Twin Towers falling. Its message is very subtle.
37. Pastor Davis returns to the center of the stage and begins his message by saying, “Just give me twelve minutes and then they’ll be a song and fireworks.”

Just twelve minutes until the literal fireworks from the pulpit.

38. At 7:25 (one-hour and twenty-five minutes into the service) Davis enters his message full of passion and fire. He attacks an unnamed “they” who “have replaced school prayer with condoms, the 10 Commandments with sensitivity training,” and removed the words under god from our pledge. Worst of all, these same people who preach tolerance are really “the most intolerant people because they have an absolute intolerance of the idea that there is good and bad, right and wrong.” Davis sounds like nothing if not a coach deriding the lack of respect that his team has received from an unnamed, “they” and “them.”
39. An usher arrives in our section to ask a teenage boy to remove his baseball cap. I watch him make the rounds of other sections, gently remonstrating others to remove their baseball caps. We are, after all, in a church.
40. I check my cell phone to see what time it is and it suddenly occurs to me that it is 7:33 and I have yet to hear an actual Bible quote.

To think, all these years and I never realized Bible was just an acronym.

41. It’s 7:39 and I realize I’m watching the pastor speak on the jumbotron instead of watching the pastor himself directly in the center of the pulpit.
42. “We shouldn’t be able to put anti-christ, irreligious people on the Supreme Court,” Davis says to raucous applause.

Odds more than half of said applauders can identify this man. 4 trillion to one.

43. Davis finally quotes the bible at 7:42. However, he does so without referencing the Bible or even having a copy of the book himself. In fact, I realize I haven’t seen a single Bible or any other book since I entered the church.
44. Davis begins the come to Jesus portion of his message by requesting that everyone in the church close their eyes. The entire congregation of 3k follows suit. After a moment I lift my head and gaze around to confirm this fact. The only other man whose eyes are open that I can see is the audio/video man standing about fifteen feet in front of me. As Davis calls the unsaved to the Lord, the audio/video man continues to adjust the sound and lighting on the stage.
45. Davis finishes his message at 7:55, thirty minutes after he began speaking, and eighteen minutes longer than the time he requested.
46. A few people leave their seats and make for the exits. “Dodging the crowd,” my mom says by way of explanation. Later while we wait for twenty minutes for the parking lot attendants to allow us to leave, this will make more sense.
47. The fireworks begin. There are three fireworks stands all spaced in a row near the pulpit. Sparks and colors begin to fly into the air. For five minutes the celebration continues amid the big bangs while the choir sings. The colorful fireworks are loud and a few children begin to cry which is barely audible over the rush of explosions. A film of smoke rises to the ceiling and begins to meld with the red, white, and blue balloons which are suddenly dropped amidst a wave of confetti.

And then the lord spoke and said: “Let there be colorful indoor light.”

48. Children scream and cheer. The entire arena is a mess and my dad remarks, “They’re really going to have to work to get this place cleaned by tomorrow.”
49. We begin our exit, caught in the onrush of humanity, and the popping of balloons in the hands of overeager children. Ultimately I’m left with this question amid the bedlam of the church celebration, if God spoke to Moses today, would his words come from behind a spinning fireworks display instead of a burning bush?

Please, the burning bush is so outdated.

50. Outside, we all stand encased in the heat of the parking lot. There is no breeze and the flag is completely limp. “Flag’s hanging low,” my dad says and then we sit in our cars and wait to be directed to leave by the parking lot attendants. For all the world I feel like I’ve just left a sporting event. Only I’m not sure if my team just won or lost.