My first Sunday back from some time away, I sat in the worship service and wept. It struck me as such a production, so performance driven. In a word, it was shallow. I couldn't believe this had happened on my watch.
On the surface, all was well. I was a megachurch pastor with invitations to speak at conferences, write books, and mingle with dignitaries. Our church had state of the art facilities next to a major freeway. But that was on the surface. Deep down inside, I was mortified at what we'd become. We had to change. We just couldn't keep going like this. Not anymore.
When I arrived in Phoenix to lead 200-member Community Church of Joy, my whole desire was to reach people—really, at my core I am an evangelist. Any day that I get to tell someone about Jesus is a good day for me. I long to see those who aren't following Jesus transformed by the Spirit of God into empowered disciples.
Within a few years of assuming the helm at Joy, I was invited to a gathering of large-church pastors to dream about the future together. We envisioned what the church might look like for a new generation. At the gathering, Bill Hybels, Rick Warren, and others exchanged ideas about how to build a church "for people who don't go to church." Like men of Issachar (1 Chron. 12:32), we understood our times, at least for the 1980s and beyond. We knew that people didn't want to give anything, sing anything, or do anything—they wanted anonymity, not community. They didn't want theology lectures; they wanted to be entertained and inspired. So we set out to give them exactly what they wanted.
The concept came together for me while standing in a line at a Dallas Cineplex ...