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Roaches occasionally crawl along the tile floor of the 80,000-square-foot space. The flags of 21 nations, representing the different nationalities of attendees, are all about the room. Sitting in the chairs are about 400 people, including a U.S. senator (Mark Pryor), a homeless man, a former nba star, an undocumented alien, a local tv anchorwoman, a Middle Eastern convert from Islam, an attorney, a disabled teenager, a physician, an alcoholic, and a blind man. It is a mosaic of a church. In fact it is Mosaic Church of Central Arkansas.

By his third year at a predominantly white megachurch in Little Rock, Mark DeYmaz had settled comfortably into his youth pastor position. But in 1997, the 40th anniversary of the integration of Little Rock schools, DeYmaz still felt some attitudes had changed little in the Arkansas capital, which is 55 percent white and 40 percent black. He sensed God calling him to be a catalyst for change in this historic battleground for civil rights. By 2001, the church had held its first service.

Mosaic's growing congregation meets in a building abandoned by Wal-Mart. DeYmaz preaches only half the services. Early on, DeYmaz recognized that "one size fits all" doesn't work in worship. So there is no dominant style. Seven different worship teams take turns leading Sunday services.

"If the worship style is the same from week to week, it will appeal only to a certain segment of the population, which puts up an unintended barrier," DeYmaz says.

DeYmaz likens worship at Mosaic to a family dinner. The teenage son might not like liver on Tuesday night. Grandma might not like pizza on Friday. But they endure it for the sake of unity. And so, while non-Hispanics may not care for Latino worship at first, it helps break down racial barriers. Words to the songs at every service are projected on the wall in both English and Spanish.

Today it's the 15-voice gospel choir's turn. Five different people take turns directing the choir, and five more switch off singing the lead.

"Mosaic is not a church focusing on racial reconciliation," DeYmaz insists. "Rather, we're reconciling men and women to Christ. Racial reconciliation is a byproduct. We didn't start this church to bring blacks and whites together."

Still, the leadership is deliberately multiethnic: Harold Nash, an African American, heads Mosaic's inner-city mentoring and discipleship ministry for youth. Honduran César Ortega leads the nondenominational church's Latino outreach. Ramón Chaparro, of African American and Puerto Rican descent, runs the youth ministry. And Harry Li, a second-generation Chinese American, coordinates Mosaic's small groups.

Those small groups, which meet monthly, intentionally blend races. DeYmaz believes singing and studying together is the best method of becoming acquainted.

Lately, much of Mosaic's outreach has been to Latinos. Although Hispanics accounted for less than 3 percent of Little Rock's population according to the 2000 U.S. Census, their numbers have mushroomed since. Ortega and his wife, Elisabeth, reach out to recently arrived immigrants with clothing, food, and furniture, as well as English language classes and marriage counseling.

Nearly one in five Mosaic attendees is Latino, and most don't speak English. Bimonthly a sermon is preached in Spanish. There the majority of English speakers must wait and listen for the translation (at other services, Hispanics listen with headphones for simultaneous translation). At the conclusion of the service people gather for a barbecue beef fellowship meal. The Sunday afternoon lunch, held monthly, shows that the multiethnic tapestry is natural: There are no all-white, all-black, or all-Hispanic tables.

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April 2005, Vol. 49, No. 4